Of all the gin joints...
13 Sep 2017Darthjazzhands
Continued from "I'm OK"Colonel Apone smiled through his cigar as he stepped into the foyer of the restaurant. He was fully prepared for what he was about to experience.
Every eye in the place was on him. Apone let the various expressions he saw nourish him. Some openly chaffed at his presence here. Others laughed out loud, nudged their friends and pointed for them to look. Most smirked and returned to their drinks and meals. A few simply didn't care. He stuck out like a sore thumb and it brought him back to his days of terrorizing recruits as a drill sergeant. He soaked it in, loving every second of it.
The place was packed but everyone, from the patrons, to the bartenders, servers, cooks, dishwashers, bus boys, and sommelier... every last one of them was a woman.
Apone was the only male in the joint but the ancient piano standard from the 20th century didn't skip a beat. Before he arrived Apone had envisioned the piano music stopping then resuming after a few seconds, like in the old cowboy movies. He shrugged off the disappointment.
The restaurant was La Belle Aurore, a near-perfect replica of Rick's Cafe Americain from the original black and white version of Casablanca. He knew that stepping into this place would cause anything from a mild stir to outright hostility.
A handsome woman in a double-breasted suit and close-cropped black hair approached him with a genuine welcoming smile. She stopped before him with a crisp click of well-polished heel and a slight bow of the head. Then with perfect manner, and masculine yet alluring French accent, "Monsieur Apone, I presume?"
"That's right," Apone projected his voice across the restaurant, drawing from his days as "Sarge". The hostiles in the room finally stopped staring.
"Bon!" she smiled cheerfully. "Your host awaits you, Monsieur. This way, if you please."
The maître d led Apone through the estrogen gauntlet to a wide curtained door. With a flourish, the woman parted the curtain and gestured for him to enter. Apone stepped into what he expected to be a gambling hall. Instead it was an empty banquet room. Every table except one was prepared for guests. As for the last table, it was unadorned save two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He immediately recognized the brand of whiskey on the table and woman seated next to it.
"Hola Sarge!" Vasquez said with a shit-eating grin.
Apone removed his cigar to bellow a laugh. "Dammit, Private! Get your ass over here!"
He didn't wait. Apone barged forward as Vasquez rose from her chair and the bear hug competition commenced. It had been ages yet some things never changed.
After several minutes of laughing, reminiscing, and lobbing good-natured insults at each other, they finally sat down. Vasquez was beaming, genuinely touched. "Thanks for comin', Colonel."
"This is a nice place, Lieutenant, but ... Jesus! I've had warmer welcomes in combat. The only way I'd be welcome here is if I got a gig playin' the piano and smilin' for y'all."
Both laughed until a brief silence fell. The shot glasses remained empty.
"What can I do for you, Vaz?"
At this Vasquez's smile disappeared and wouldn't look Apone in the eye. Instead she watched her fingers absently pick at the the label on the whiskey bottle, peeling the corner of it from the glass with a short fingernail.
"Anything, Vaz. You know that," Apone was rarely this quiet.
Then came something he never thought he'd witness... Vasquez's voice trembling with emotion, "It's my daughter, Sarge."
Apone nodded and set his smoldering cigar on the ash tray. Silent and patient.
"She's getting in over her head on this Aphrodite thing and I could use your help again."
Apone reached for the whiskey, opened it and poured them both a drink.
"Ok, Vaz," he said as he held his glass up in a toast, "Start at the beginning."