I Can’t Get Started 

I remember one night when I was down at Sheldon’s. The place was packed. Always was, back then. Everybody crammed in shoulder to shoulder. And good Lord, the jazz. Talk about hot. I couldn’t get enough of the stuff. 

Anyway, I’d gone alone that night and I was standing by the bar, which worked out just fine, because I lived close enough to stumble home without much trouble. I was a lot younger then. I could really put he stuff down.

I was standing there feeling pretty good, but there was this guy at a table beside the bar that must have been feeling a lot better. He’d really been hitting the stuff hard, and it was showing. He wasn’t getting rowdy or anything, but you could tell he had some in him. He had that look in his eyes. And he had some girl with him. She was the kind that always looks uncomfortable, and it was pretty clear she wasn’t having a good time. She’d glance at him every now and again and give him a tired, glazed look. The guy would just get this ridiculous smile on his face, and wink at her. It’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. I can’t really say why, though. I must have been a little giddy. Every now and again this girl would lean in and say something to the guy about wanting to leave or something. Whatever it was, he’d just get tickled. He’d do the funny wink.

The band started into a hot one. High Society, I think. One of the standards, anyway. Whatever it was, this guy started dancing. All by himself, too. He just stood up and started dancing. He wasn’t going crazy or anything, just kind of juking around, moving his hips a little. The bartender got kind of rattled. He said “Hey man, stop that. You’ve got to stop that. We don’t have a cabaret license. You can’t dance in here.” But I’ll tell you, this was nothing compared to what that girl with him did. She grabbed him by the collar, yanked him back, and said “what do you think you’re doing?” The guy laughed a little, told the bartender he was sorry, and sat down. He looked over at the girl with him and stuck out his lip, then shook his head real slow. That really lit her fuse. She grabbed her purse like she was going to leave, but she didn’t. She stayed. But she didn’t look too happy about it.   

 As soon as the band started another tune, this guy started tapping his foot and moving his head back and forth. Then he started swaying side to side. The jazz really moved him, you know. The hot stuff. The girl knew what was about to happen, and tried to reason with him. She leaned over and said something to him and put her hand on his arm, like she was trying to hold him still. It didn’t work. He stood up and started moving around again. I swear I think the music got to him worse than the liquor. It really did something to him. The bartender saw him and went through the whole thing again, but a little more forcefully this time. He told him not to do it again. The guy was nice enough and sat down. He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t trying to cause any problems, he was just having a good time. I don’t think he could help it, really.

The band was playing I Can’t Get Started. After a few choruses, the guy couldn’t take it anymore. He got up and started dancing again, and a good bit livelier this time. The bartender came unraveled. He came around the bar and took the guy by the arm and said “all right, buddy, you’ve go to leave.” The guy didn’t say a word. It was the funniest thing. He just shrugged the guy’s hand off, leaned down and kissed the girl on the cheek, and started moving toward the door. He was still juking around, too. He didn’t look back or anything. Everybody in the place was watching him go. I think we all expected some kind of grand exit, but there wasn’t one. The guy just stepped out the door.      

                                                                                                            Carl Nery