THE COMEDIAN AND HIS MUSE (PART ONE)<br/><br/>‘What am I doing here?’ I thought.  Me, Toby Turner, playing at Dion’s.  I’ve heard some of the other comics at the various bars and taverns with open mic nights talk about how they’d met some other comic that played Dion’s and had the night of their life on that stage.  I had just come in to check the place out.<br/><br/>I’d saved up enough spare cash and gotten up enough nerve to eat in the Lounge section.  Oh – My – God!  I have never had roasted lamb that good before in my life!  If I’m ever convicted of murder I want the Warden to get me a Dion’s roasted lamb for my last meal.  The waiter, Gany, recommended it.  Bless you, Gany.<br/><br/>By the way, Gany is an extremely handsome young man.  Caucasian features with a golden complexion, dark and curly hair, dark eyes all atop a dancer’s body in a tight-fitting uniform.  I imagine, whichever way he swings, that a guy, or a gal, needs to book a date with him at least a year in advance.  Why do I notice?  Because I’m a storyteller and I’m always looking for things to talk about.  That and after years of seeing all kinds of acts, I can pretty much gauge body types.<br/><br/>What’s my body type?  Let’s just say that I could probably do very well if you’re into former sumo wrestlers.<br/><br/>But back to the story.<br/><br/>After the meal, I hadn’t realized how the time had flown, the staff begins to move the tables and chairs away from the center of the lounge to the sides.  It hits me that this must be one of the nights that they set aside for dancing.   On the stage, I see the curtain part and the band comes out to their instruments:  A very expensive looking grand piano (maybe a Steinway), a double bass (and for those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s like a big six foot tall cello…, don’t know a cello?  Go find an online search engine), a black Fender Telecaster HH (my old dorm buddy had pictures and talked about the HH), a high-end looking Yamaha alto saxophone and a high-end Ludwig drum kit.  There’s also a mic stand, but the singer hasn’t appeared yet.  Judging from how the band is dressed and their instruments, the music’s probably going to be soft jazz and maybe some ‘standards’.<br/><br/>I’m not much of a dancer, myself.  My late wife, if she were here, could tell you about the fits I put the Arthur Murray people through, getting ready to have our first dance as husband and wife at our wedding reception.  But I think I’m going to stay and listen to the music and have a few drinks.  After all, I’m in a place I can’t normally afford to go to and I don’t know when, if ever, I’m coming back.  So, I head over to the bar.<br/><br/>There are some beautiful people in the lounge, some not so.  I wore my best duds, but the folks in designer clothes with their younger physiques put me to shame.  Thank goodness the room is lit like the sun just set.  Still, I head to the bar.<br/><br/>When I get to an open spot at the bar, the bartender who’s back was turned then faces me, like he knew I was coming.  This guy looks like he’s in his forties, but a happy and vital forties.  He smiles and asks, “What’ll it be?”<br/><br/>I look at his name tag, so I can call him by his name….  It reads, “Dion”.  The owner, or maybe his son if there’s a Dion junior, is working the bar.<br/><br/>“Sir,” I begin, “first, please let me say, you have a fabulous establishment.”  Dion smiles, not like he’s surprised, just that he probably takes pride in his place.  He doesn’t say anything in response, so I continue, asking, “What do you recommend?”<br/><br/>“How much do you want to remember in the morning?”  Dion replies.<br/><br/>“I’m not here to drown my sorrows….” And as I’m saying this, my attention is captivated by two beautiful young women.  They could be twins, maybe about twenty-five, come up to the bar.  They both give me this look, like they know me from somewhere, which is impossible because I know that I’d remember them.  The one in the darker colored dress smiles and I’m thinking that there’s some kind of connection between us as I say, ‘drown my sorrows’.<br/><br/>I turn back to Dion and continue, “So, nothing really hard.  Something I can nurse three or four glasses of and be merry without being shit-faced.”  I’m still feeling the connection between myself and that first young woman in the darker dress, but then the other sister, I don’t know what it is, also makes the same kind of weird psychic connection with me, somehow, when I talk about being ‘merry’.<br/><br/>Dion reaches under the bar and produces a wine glass and a bottle of wine.  He pours the wine into the glass.  It’s white and it almost sparkles like champagne.  He tells me it’s ‘debina’ and I shouldn’t have any problems, as long as I keep to that four glass limit.  Dion’s eyes, they sparkle like the wine, like he’s happy to be here and happy to have me here.  His happiness in infectious and I’m happy to be here with him.<br/><br/>That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about the sisters next to us.  I tell Dion to pour them each a glass, on me.  Dion smiles and serves the girls.  After he does this, he goes to serve another customer and leaves me with the sisters.  I raise my glass to them in a salute and say, “Ladies, to your health.”<br/><br/>Before the wine touches my tongue, I smell its so very promising aroma.  My taste buds then confirm that the promising aroma didn’t lie.  In spite of a new desire guzzle this pleasantness, I sip, because four glasses is my self-imposed limit.<br/><br/>The girls each raise their glasses and then drink, thanking me.  The girl in the darker dress then walks off, leaving me with her sister.<br/><br/>I introduce myself, "Hello, my name's Toby.  What's your name?"<br/><br/>She extends her hand, I take it and bow over it, as gallantly as a middle-aged fat man can.  I'm not so forward as to kiss her hand, although I want to.  She gives me a big smile and says, "A pleasure to meet you, Toby.  I'm Thalia."<br/><br/>(to be continued....)