Ling wondered if it was a grin to say ‘I like you’—but she couldn’t be bothered. She’d come to Hobart on business just the day before and had to take the bus early the next morning for another meeting. And she wasn’t interested in a relationship. Too much trouble.
With Another Fine Mess in her hand, she stood at the back of the bar and watched people bunch up in chatter, red glow on their faces. What peculiar lighting, she thought, as she sipped her drink. Bit strong, but nice.
Soon she was bored as the intermission stretched on. She entertained the thought of speaking to someone… anyone… to while away time… maybe that brooding stranger.
“Hello.”
“Oh hi!” A look of surprise on his face. One she’d never quite forget, even years later.
“A quaint bar, isn’t it?” Ling stood next to him and sucked the rim of the glass, ice cubes resting on her upper lip. The man shifted his bum on the barstool. Perhaps he wondered if he should give it up for her. Or if he should pretend a lovely woman rocked up pretty much every time he sat at the bar alone.
“Yeah, Pablo’s a bit of a legend, hey.”
They chatted about jazz bars they’d been to. Munich, Morocco, Barcelona… he said. London, Singapore, Seoul… she continued. They looked at each other as they talked about how a club could make or break the music in which it is played; how a jazz club could propel an unknown player into “Coltrane fame”, she said.
“I like that.” He smiled. At that moment she saw sparks in his eyes.
Her cheeks flushed without reason. Maybe it was the face. Or smile. His laugh. Or her strong drink. She turned around and gestured for another.
As they walked back to her hotel, the early morning sky had a bright glow.
“A super moon!” She said.
“You’re my super moon,” he said.