Chapter Thirty-One 

Trapper took the hand he was holding and draped it over his arm as they walked down the sidewalk toward the night club he had mentioned earlier that evening. Familiar with the direction they were heading, she wondered if it was the same nightclub she had frequented when she first arrived in San Francisco before she became so busy on her current project. He had mentioned local guitarists. It had to be the same place.

When they arrived, Trapper paid their cover charge and the two were escorted to a table in the center of the club; not right next to the stage, but several tables back. The club band was already playing. “I hope you don’t mind the middle,” said Trapper, leaning in to her ear. “It gets rather loud right up front.”

She smiled as she took the seat he held for her. “It just so happens I prefer the middle in the back myself, but this is fine.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Yes. I used to come here when I first arrived in the city. I stopped when the project work picked up.”

One of the waiters watched them until they were seated, and then went up to the side of the stage, disappearing behind the wings. He and another man leaned out, looking into the crowd and pointing. The waiter went back to his job, but the other man behind the wings stepped out, and walked to their table. “Mrs. Lewis, it’s good to see you back,” said the man with a thick British accent, almost yelling. “You were a favorite here. May I ask why you stopped coming by?”

“Please join us, Reggie,” she said loudly, smiling. “This is Dr. John McIntyre. Dr. McIntyre, Reginald Rose.” The two men shook hands. “Reggie owns the club.”

“I’ve seen you here before, Dr. McIntyre, though not recently. I’m happy you decided to return, which brings me back, Leah, to why you left.”

“Work. I just got very busy.”

“May I offer your usual…on the house, of course.”

“Thank you, Reggie,” she said with a bright smile.

“And for you, Dr. McIntyre?” Trapper looked at Leah with raised eyebrows.

Covering his hand with hers, she shook her head and leaned toward him. “It won’t bother me.”

He offered her a smile, and then ordered. “I’ll have a naked martini…two olives.”

“I’ll be back in a few moments,” said Reggie, turning and hurrying to the bar.

“Martini? I figured you more as a wine kind of guy.”

“Oh, martinis and I go way back to a place where we made our own.”

“We?”

Smiling and gazing beyond the table, Trapper remembered his MASH days. “Captain Hawkeye Pierce and I used to make the perfect martini.” She gave him an inquisitive smile. “In Korea.”

“You were a surgeon in the war?”

“Mm hm,” he answered, nodding, but offering no more. Moving his chair next to hers, Trapper put his arm around her and leaned in, speaking in her ear. “You were a favorite here?” She turned away, scratching her neck, but he turned her face back to his, the warmth of his breath causing a pleasant tickle that made her smile. “I’ll tell you what. If you tell me what Reggie meant by that, I’ll give you one free personal question.” A waiter delivered their drinks along with a bowl of mixed nuts, chex and pretzels while Reggie stood on stage, talking to the club band’s guitarist and pointing into the crowd.

“Oh dear,” she said, biting the end of her index finger nervously. “I think you’re about to find out.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who’ve been coming in to listen to some good blues guitar for awhile, you’ll remember a little lady who got up here every weekend and emptied her heart right on this stage. For those of you who are new, you’re in for a real treat. Lady Leah Lewis is with us again tonight.

Waving her hand and shaking her head, she smiled and blushed.

“Looks like she’s gonna need a little coaxing. Everyone put your hands together and get her up on this stage.” The veteran patrons all turned and clapped, and when she continued to shake her head, they began to stand, whistling and chanting until Trapper finally nodded and motioned toward the stage. Leaning in, he yelled, “It doesn’t sound like they’re going to let you slide,” then stood, whistling and clapping right along with them.

Standing, she turned to him and shouted, “Traitor!” before she made her way through the crowd to the stage. “I apologize for my appearance,” she said, prompting a round of whistles and catcalls. Holding up her hands, she continued, “This isn’t exactly what I’d prefer to wear while playing guitar.” Removing her pearls, she pointed to Trapper and tossed them over the front tables. Taking a guitar from the band guitarist and removing a pick from the strings just under the nut, she turned toward the amp, and played a riff, setting off another round of whistles and applause. Making some slight adjustments to the tuning keys, she played another, nodded to the band and turned to the mike. “Little Boy Blues.”

She started slowly with clear, clean notes, playing typical slow, low blues. Then she made the strings talk just before her fingers flew over the frets to a build up that screamed pain. After another quiet moment, she exploded into a climax that brought tears to her eyes. Trapper watched as she played with her eyes closed, as she finessed the strings into a story of excruciating sorrow and anger to exhaustion, defeat, and then a slow, quiet fall to mere existence. Not only did she make them feel her heartache with the music, she showed it to them on her face, and when she was done, she turned away from her appreciative fans for a moment to wipe her eyes. Handing the guitar back to the band’s guitarist, she accepted a hug and whisper in her ear. She left the stage and avoided looking out, but waved and nodded as she made her way through a crowd that appeared to respect her evasion, several of them reaching out to touch her, offering some softly spoken words of commiseration.

Trapper’s arms were open when she reached him, and she stepped into him and buried her face in his chest as his arms surrounded her. “Why don’t I take you home?” he said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket for her.

She looked up at him, sniffling, and while he wiped the wetness of her tears from her face, she smiled. “Thank you, but no. I’d like to stay and listen. Please.”

“Are you sure?” he asked with some concern.

“Trapper, the older crowd here is used to this. This is probably why they like me so much here. Most of what you see in blues clubs these days are people who have studied blues and are technically adept at it. But they don’t feel their music. This club invites guitarists who play to express themselves, and you may not like all of the music itself, but you’ll surely appreciate the stories. Taking the handkerchief from his hand, she wiped her nose one more time before she turned to sit down. “I may need this again tonight.” Trapper cocked his head with a surprised smile as he resumed his position beside her. “Oh, I’m not playing again. They know they only get one out of me.”

As the club band played, Trapper leaned in and asked, “What is that you’re drinking?”

“Cranberry juice. It’s supposed to be good for my kidney, and since I only have one, I should take care of it.”

With a slight smile, he narrowed his eyes. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” They sat and listened to the music the rest of their evening without saying much, Trapper with his arm around her and Leah eventually leaning into his side. They left after several hours of listening to good blues. As they walked back to her apartment, he placed his jacket over her shoulders, and put his hands in his pockets. “Mark told me you played the guitar the day he trained me on that box taking up valuable space on my desk.” She creased her eyebrows. “You asked how I knew you played in the elevator. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I did,” she said, chuckling. “And by the way, you should just admit that you like your computer. My trending reports don’t lie.”

Trapper smirked, and then chuckled. “He said computer programming and music go hand in hand because of the logic involved.”

“It’s true. Computer programmers tend to be good mathematicians, and mathematics is the basis of all sound. Pythagoras regarded one, two, three and four…only those four numbers…as the source of all perfection. And the closer you get to those numbers in music, the more pleasing the sound to the human ear.”

“I had no idea.”

“Yep. Every chord depends on harmonics and frequency, both of which are described in mathematical terms.” Trapper smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m boring you,” she said.

“You’re not boring me. You’re just…over my head. Listen, I thought we could go out on the boat tomorrow and do some fishing. If you like it, we can stay out and come back in Sunday.”

“Hm. Overnight on a boat? How big is this boat?”

“It sleeps four, and it has a galley and a bathroom. All you need to bring are your clothes, your toiletries, your guitar, and maybe a good book to read while you relax and soak up some sunshine. I’ll take care of everything else.”

“My guitar?”

“Yes, I thought I’d bring my guitar so you can teach me some blues riffs,” he said as he rounded the corner toward her apartment.

She laughed. “You’ve been holding out on me. I don’t know, though, Trapper,” she said, glancing back up at him apprehensively.

“Look, if you don’t want to go fishing, then we’ll just have to drive up the coast to Sea Ranch and spend the weekend. You are not going to spend the weekend working on that list. You’ll be in LA for what, a week?”

“Not quite,” she said, mounting the stairs to her apartment.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving you alone in your apartment with that list this weekend.”

Stopping in front of her door, she went through her clutch looking for her keys, and when she pulled them out Trapper took them from her and unlocked her door, pushing it open. He dropped the keys in her hand. “Trapper, it was a lovely evening, especially since I had started it with…anyway, I did forget…until now. Thank you.”

Taking both of her hands in his, he kissed her knuckles, and with a half smile and a sparkle in his eyes, he said, “Any time.”

“About tomorrow,” she said, looking at her hands in his, and slowly pulling them away. “I’m not sure…I mean, I…”

“Stop worrying,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s just a fishing trip.”