We Begin the Beguine

“Does our Miss Emma believe in fate?” Dance asks. Emma rubs her eyes, looks up from the stack of grant application paperwork. “What are you talking about?” “Does Miss Emma ever pray for good luck, as some of the ladies of the Metro do before a performance?” Dance asks. He …

Patron of The Arts

“Whoa, Navarre, how did that grab you!” Drin looks up and his automatic politician’s smile becomes genuine. “You were absolutely right, Engerman, it’s a very nice little orchestra. I’ve got to thank you for the ticket– a truly delightful evening!” “Soothe the savage beast, don’t it? I’m telling you, these …

Stress Fractures

“Stress fractures,” Bud Innes pronounces. His twinkling eyes belie the solemn portentousness of the words. “Oh?” Drin says encouragingly. “All these blow-ups and upsets, small wars… They keep the greater mass from self-destructing, you understand. The First Violist was expecting to take the lead political place, telling the second violin …

Schools Of Leadership

Drin finds himself staring at a pair of backsides. One man has long curly golden hair; the other’s is long, straight, and black. Dance hands Robert a plate. “Go make deadly smile mojo. Take food so people don’t start feeling neglect, yes?” Robert looks over at Bud. “But I’d rather …

The Back Room

There’s half-heard sound, coming out of the backstage hallway. It raises Drin’s hackles and sends adrenalin shrilling through his bloodstream, a vocalization of pain and fright that brings him to his feet before his conscious mind even understands what it is that he heard. He drops the accordion file of …

Ask the Bartender

It’s the music, or two whiskies on an empty stomach, or unrequited desire, but he can’t settle.  He returns from the can to find the place emptying rapidly.  He knows how much Dance can’t afford to lose the jacket he’s clutching, and still he’s halfway convinced Dance won’t be back …

Struggling Artists

“What’s the matter?” Emma asks, opening kitchen cabinets and pulling down tins. Dance flings himself into a chair with a thump and sits looking at the floor, with his hair fallen over his face, and only part of one eye showing. “I’m doing crap tonight.” “Ahh,” she says, and fills …