Chapter Seven: Open Mic (Part One)

Tales of Corwin

Sandra was behind the bar with Terri at five o’clock on Friday night, waiting for Mark and his guest. There were only a few tables full yet—two tables and two booths—but it would fill up, she knew. Terri had a tray of pint glasses on her hip, fresh out of the dishwasher, and she was putting them on the shelf above the bar. Terri was looking toward the door when she stopped in mid-sentence and her eyes got wide. The tray tipped in her hands, and the glasses on it started to slide. Sandra made a lunge and tried to catch them, but only managed to knock them further out of control. Two of them slid off the tray and hit the floor with a prolonged shattering and scattering. Heads turned and there was some applause. Someone called out, “Nice catch, Terri!” But Terri was still staring at the front door. There stood an older black woman, with Mark just coming in behind her. That must be his former teacher. The woman was looking concerned, but there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her, or Mark, or whatever it was that Terri was staring at. In a low voice, Sandra asked, “What is it, Terri?” “Sorry, boss,” said Terri. “I just—that woman with Mark—I’ve never seen anything like that aura. It’s almost blinding, like a spirit-creature. Beautiful, though—no harm in it—sorry, it just took me by surprise. I’ll clean this up.” “Okay. If you’re all right, I’ll go take a booth with Mark and his friend.” “Yes, I’m fine now,” said Terri, still not taking her eyes off the woman. “Go ahead. I’ll get this.” Sandra went out from behind the bar to meet Mark’s friend. “Hi Sandra,” he said. “This is Sarah Wheatley—the Reverend Doctor Sarah Wheatley, my favorite professor from my seminary days.” “Hi Sarah, welcome to the Rose and Feather. I’m Sandra.” They shook hands. Sandra couldn’t see whatever it was that Terri saw, but she liked the woman’s smile and her confident bearing. She certainly seemed to radiate a kind of relaxed energy. “Sandra, it is such a pleasure to meet you,” she said, pressing Sandra’s hand in both of hers. “Mark has told me a few things about you, and your tavern, and your circle. This is a lovely place you have here. Is that young girl behind the bar all right? No injuries, I hope?” “She’s fine, thank you. I hope you get to meet her, later. She’s one of the best on my staff. In fact, she’s going to be in charge tonight; I’m taking the night off, to dine with you and Mark. Let’s get a booth with a good view of the stage, for later.” She had already had a word with James, the only server yet on the floor, and she guided Mark and Sarah to booth seven, farthest from the front door but closest to the stage. They took seats in the booth. Sandra chose the side without a view of the door to the kitchen—so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch the workings of her staff. Sarah took the other side. Mark hesitated, apparently unsure which side to sit down on, but Sarah intervened. “Sit next to Sandra, dear boy, so I can look at you both.” She gave Sandra a subtle wink. “There, that’s fine. Mark, I suppose you know what you’re going to perform after dinner?” “Yes,” said Mark. “I wrote this piece—sort of an irreverent interfaith number—a while back. It seems suitable for the occasion. It’s something I can’t do in church, but it might work here.” “Nervous?” Sarah asked. “Well, no, not nervous, but uncertain. I’d never been to the Rose and Feather before last week, and I’ve never seen what they do here on open mic nights. I got a few tips from Terri earlier. But if my piece doesn’t go over—well, that’s Sandra’s problem. She made me agree to this.” Turning to Sandra, he said, “I saw Vicente yesterday, you know. He assured me that if I suck, people will still applaud.” “He didn’t really say that,” she said. “Well, more or less.” James came bearing menus and took their drink orders. Mark got a Diet Coke—”I’ll need a clear head to do my piece,