The unmistakable connection

It was the middle of Summer when it happened. Friday night was as usual expected to be overflowing with patrons. Casey, the owner, had just opened up The Barn. It was just an old barn located in the middle of nowhere. It had been gutted and renovated to be a 1950's style restaurant and had a tri state clientele that would make Guy Fiere jealous. He slowly walked into the heart of the cooking field and took inventory as to what was needed for tonight's menu. The alcohol count and food supplies were enough to take him well into next week, for that, he was sure. Support staff started coming in and filling their assigned positions until the open at eight P.M. Sam, the bartender, double checked everything, and signed off on the list of okaying all. The head chef jokingly chastised Casey for contaminating the food prep area without a hairnet. Casey, was very popular with the ladies, he was not sure whether it was his sparking personality or his long auburn tresses that fell 'round his shoulders. Be that as it may, it was strongly suggested that upon greeting the public when he goes in front of the public this evening, he put his mane in a "Man Bun" and secure it with a net. Nevertheless, he ate up the attention to the point of narcissism. He approached the juke box and put in a quarter and his selections stated playing. There was a large dance floor in the center, of the building, where if the mood struck people could "Cut a rug" and still feast on the cuisine at the same time. Suddenly, as he was straightening tables and chairs, a song came on that was not on the turntable of the juke box. He hastened over to check on the title and all it said under that letter and number was "J.J." The initials matched the song. That's funny, he looked around to see if anybody else was moved to this catchy beat. It seems he was the only one hearing this little ditty. Shrugging it off as to imagination, he went on about his business.

Eight o'clock arrived and there was a que clamoring to came in, but only the chosen few, that were deemed appropriate by the bouncer could enter. By this time Casey begrudging had put his hair up, and was doing the "glad handing" of everyone, making sure that they were happy, and if they needed anything. He attended to every single table, if not once, he checked on them again. His "dogs" (feet) were barking, and his stomach was growling, he had failed to eat and he was getting a headache.

It was getting close to the end of the evening and everyone, well, most everyone was still enjoying themselves. It was ridiculous, Casey thought, it a D### good thing I have more food and drink than anticipated.

The customers were of the "artsy' crowd and they decided to have poetry readings tonight while they ate. This was not in the plan by a long shot, but Casey went with it, hoping it would be better than he could ever have imagined. Sam, standing behind the bar, had a towel on one shoulder and was cleaning a drinking glass with a towel looked at him and shrugged his shoulders in an "I'm game, are you?" mood.

Casey went over to unplug the juke box and dimmed the light that had showcased it all evening. He strode to the center of the dance floor and announced. "The floor is open for sharing."

At first there were no brave souls. Casey's heart sank, he thought, this is going to be a bust, how could I get sucked into a late-night poetry jam. Then very slowly they started to "Melt" away from their tables and moreover the people they were with, to perform their "Pieces". All in attendance were having a good time. Suddenly, someone started chanting "Casey" "Casey" "Casey", he tried to avoid the spotlight whenever possible, and now in his own place of business he could not avoid it. He had to do a poem. He mustered up some courage and entered the center circle, he swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He reached up and threw caution to the wind and released his amber tresses down onto his shoulders, gave his head a shake and waited for a moment before he shared. Right in the middle of his poem, the entryway to the barn opened and in walked a vision from the 60's, she came with an entourage of friends. You could hear a pin drop. Sam was startled and dropped a glass spewing shards all around his feet. There was not a closed mouth in the buildings. She walked up to Casey, all decked out with a flower in her long brown hair, there were multicolored boas around her neck, perched on her perky nose was a pair of rose-colored glasses, and she wore a bohemian style outfit that would make Russell Brand blush. In her left hand she held a bottle of Southern Comfort and presented it to him as a gift, and in a parting gesture she removed a multicolored boa and placed it around his neck. She looked him straight in the eyes and spoke. "Don't cry baby, Don't cry, I just came back to thank you for the Mercedes." His hand came up to his chest and touched the boa. His heart skipped beat, as she was walking out the door she crackled in her gravel voice "Groovy party man,

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the light over the juke box was on and that it was plugged in. looking around him was his staff getting ready for the night. There were no customers at the tables and his hair was still in a man bun. Casey came back to reality, but one question remains. How did that bottle of Southern Comfort come to be in his hands? He retreated to his office and opened the bottle and poured himself a drink. He raised his glass, saluted the universal and said, "Anytime, Pearl, Anytime"