Let us return to Katrinka's visit. The weekend. I had high hopes. Astrology Zone had predicted big Love for Sagittarius. When the stars talk nice like that, I tend to listen.
I told you about Friday, The Ancient Mariner. I did not tell you about after.
I wanted to catch sight of the cast. Katrinka wasn't feeling well. She stood near the front doors, while I hung back. I wouldn't make her wait long, but one cherub-faced guitarist deserved a glance. The towering piano player wasn't so bad either. Danes, you know.
I lingered near the bar. Bought a CD. Only not to look aimless. The cast trickled into the lobby. I recognized the sax-player. Hair shoe-polish black. Greased part, waves splayed left and right. A voluminous nose.
I sidled up. "Hey," I said. "You were great as The Hermit."
"Why, thanks."
"You must have visited some Baptist churches to get that so right." The Hermit as revivalist preacher—a slight divergence from Colderidge's verse.
"I'm American," he said.
"Not Danish!"
"I did time in Texas."
"No wonder."
"Originally I'm from..." He blathered. I spaced. The Piano Player wandered over.
"But you are Danish?" I asked.
Indeed. "Did you like the show?" He looked down upon me from great heights.
"Loved it!"
"But how did you learn about it?"
"Saw a write up in a magazine." This impressed him.
Katrinka drifted over. "This is my friend, Katherine," I said. The Hermit seemed keen. "I was nervous to buy the tickets," I continued, "because Katherine's a jazz singer. So the music had to be—"
"What?" The Hermit spun on her. "A jazz singer?! What do you sing? Where are you based?"
"London something something something..." said Katrinka.
"Did you study in the states? Do you have a band?" The Hermit spoke hot, fast.
"Uh," I said.
"Standards? Do you write your own stuff?"
"I'm a writer," I broke in meekly. "So the lyrics—"
The Hermit whipped his head around. "Oh, we don't care about YOU!"
I blinked.
He whipped back to Katherine. "I was at University of Texas, you know. They've got THE biggest music program in the U.S. One of the best. No one knows..."
The Piano Player said something to me. I said something back. I wasn't breathing. The Hermit flapped his lips at Katrinka. She nodded. The Piano Player said something more to me. I said something more back. There was a puncture wound beneath my solar plexus. A swift deflation of the internal organs. The Piano Player asked a question. I nodded. Hollow.
I felt nothing. Then a sudden, severe urgency. "Katherine isn't feeling well," I announced. "We really need to leave." I grabbed her by the wrist. "It was nice to meet you both. Great show!" I marched her out the glass doors.
Not until we rounded the corner to the Bahnhof did I come to. "I just had to get away," I explained.
"God, what a jerk," Katrinka said. She laughed. I did not. "What was all that about University of Texas?"
"He was trying to impress you."
"I'm sure they were thinking, closing night, cute girls. Now they're bumming."
"Oh no!" I had just realized: The Piano Player was talking to me. The words "jazz singer" had not turned him into a six-foot-five hard-on. "Should I have stayed?" Man so tall his head scraped the sky. And this my weekend for love. "Did I blow it?" Anxiety swarmed into the hollow. "What was I thinking? How could I have walked away?"
I was twisted up the whole ride home. Then I changed into pajamas and ate parsnips. I lay in Annika's penthouse.
Regret still tickled. Traveling musician? I told myself. No hope for love.
The numb of rejection gave way to burn. The Hermit was a freak, I argued. It didn't really help. But I pretended.
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