Lover Man

Hobgood stacked the last chair upside down on table number four and glanced around the empty dining room of the Oceanic Brew Pub. The smell of stale Sea Lion Ale and lemon cleaner lingered in the air. Beyond the windows, fog drifted in from the Pacific, three blocks west of the Coast Route pub. softening the glow of the streetlights outside.

It was around midnight, moving into the wee small hours.

As the dishwasher and cook's helper, Hobgood was always the last to leave. Raphaela and Roy, the owners of the place, had given him a key so they could sneak out early. He swept the floor, wiped the counter, and listened to the old building settle into silence.

Then he heard the music.

The pub's upright piano stood in the corner near the hallway that led to the restroom and storage supply closet. It was a venerable instrument. Half its keys were chipped. A few of them were inoperable.

Yet now a melody floated through the room. Soft. Sweet:  "Lover Man."

Hobgood froze, dustpan in hand.

A woman sat at the piano.

She wore a pale blue dress from another era, perhaps the 1950s. Her dark hair was pinned neatly above her shoulders. She looked to be in her late forties or early fifties. The music flowed from her fingers with effortless grace.

Hobgood's mouth went dry.

"Uh... we're closed."

The woman smiled without turning around.

"I know."

The answer was gentle, almost amused.

Hobgood swallowed hard. "How did you get in?"

She continued playing.

"The same way I always do."

A chill crawled up his spine. The woman's outline shimmered faintly in the dim light. Through her profile, he could see the dark hallway that led to the back alley.

He suddenly understood. She wasn't alive.

The song ended on a lingering note. At last, she turned toward him. Her eyes were kind.

"You're not frightened?" she said.

"I think I'm too tired to be frightened."

That made her laugh. The sound was warm and human.

"My name is Juanita," she said. "I'm Rafaela's mom. I used to come here with my husband Clete, every Friday Night."

Hobgood set the dustpan down.

"This place was a pub then?

"It was a dance hall." Her gaze drifted around the room. "The piano stood in this same spot.. My husband would always request that song I was playing."

Hobgood sat down at a nearby table.

"Is he still around, or... is he with you?

Juanita looked down at the keys.

"He had a stroke. He's still alive. He'll be joining me soon."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she began playing again. The melody filled the empty room, wrapping itself around the chairs and tables like a memory refusing to disappear.

While Hobgood resumed his cleaning, Juanita played old standards. I Don't Stand) A Ghost of a Chance With You," and "A Foggy Day In London Town," "I'll Be Around." and "I Get Along Without You Very Well," And she told Hobgood stories of the bygone days, the town before the freeway, Interstate 5, had gone through east of the Coast Route, the dance hall, and the people who had laughed and fallen in love there decades before.

Sometimes she seemed happy, sometimes impossibly sad.

Hobgood, wrapping up his nightly cleaning up, finally asked, "Why are you still here?"

Juanita's fingers stopped moving.

"Sweet memories." She closed her eyes. "While I wait for Clete."

She smiled faintly.

She played a last note, C minor. The sound faded. Then her eyes moved toward a framed photograph hanging near the register. Raphaela had brought it in to help keep her parents' memory alive.

Hobgood followed her gaze. He saw the photo of a young dandy standing beside a smiling woman in a long dress, his arm around his lover's waist. He was a slick young dude in a three-piece suit, sporting a shiny black pompadour and a pencil-thin mustache, and a big grin.

Clete and Juanita.

Juanita rose from the piano bench.

The air around her seemed brighter. A wistful smile played across her face. She touched the piano once more, lovingly. Then she looked at Hobgood.

"Thank you for listening," she said

The fog outside parted, and moonlight spilled through the windows.

Juanita sparkled, then she disappeared. A luminous skeleton remained. Then it faded into nothingness, too. The piano bench sat empty. The room settled into silence. Hobgood stood alone.

Yet as he gathered his things and switched off the lights, he could have sworn he heard the final bars of "Lover Man" drifting again softly through the darkness—a sweet farewell.