Duke’s

No one can remember when the street lights last worked. Now the corner is only lit by the garish glow from the 24-hour laundromat and Mr. Chow’s Chinese neon across the street. I park in front of the heavily shuttered shoe store and turn off the car.”Ahhh… what the hell?” you mutter, leaning forward to peer out the window at the dark, deserted street, sparkling with jewels of false hope after the evening’s short rain.”We’re here.””We’re where, exactly?””Club.””I do not see any damn club!”I lean forward and point out the window at a sign across the street. Sporadically lit by a border of blinking blue lights, its faded paint reads ‘DUKE’s FREE HOUSE: Beer, Blues, Best Fried Chicken.'”When you said you were taking me out to a club, I thought you meant a fucking club, not a death trap!””There are clubs and there are clubs, darling, and this is the latter.””What the hell is that supposed to mean?””Don’t know, just sounded good in my head. Come on.”I get out and come around to get your door. You shoot me a long, hard glare, then slide out, muttering too low to hear.As we walk to the corner, a tall, rangy man comes around and stops short in front of us. His face is invisible under a gray hoodie, his hands behind his back.”Oh fuck!” almanbahis şikayet I hear you groan out.”Hey Jimmy, ‘sup?””Usual shit, Kis — you?””Same. Keep an eye, right?” and tilt my head back to the car.”Always, baby,” and swivels to take you in, making no attempt to hide his stare. “Rocking action, baby.” Assessment made, he saunters down the street, taking a stoop seat and lighting up a fat blunt.”Who the fuck is that?” you hiss out as we continue on.”Lucky Jimmy. He’s kind of the neighborhood watch, but with a whole lot more attitude. His daddy and mine did, ah, business in the day.””Lucky?””As in still alive.””Oh… “We get to the dark doorway and I pull back on the heavy brass handle.The room is wider than one would expect, and deep, with a high ceiling. Along the right wall is a long bar, with a couple of nodding regulars and a formidable black woman washing glass behind the counter, who gives us a nod. The left wall is booths done up in a red vinyl that hasn’t been made since the 1960s. In between, there are scattered chairs and tables, with a few couples nursing drinks and talking in low tones.”Again, Kis. What? The? Hell?””Relax, baby,” as I lead you to a booth next to an enormous jukebox. I get you almanbahis canlı casino settled and go to the bar.”Hey, Rita.””Hey, y’self. Wha’up?””Whiskey and quarters.””Ha!” she snorts, “the usual.”She drops a roll in my hand and I head for the box and start flicking through the cards. I can see you glaring at me from the table. I plunk in some quarters and move back to you.”Come on.””Now what?””The reason we’re here. To dance. Just you and me.”I hold out my hand and you come out to me with a touch of reluctance. I shove a few chairs away and take you in my arms as Albert Collins’ If Trouble Were Money starts up, pulsing out from the big speakers hidden behind the sidewall curtains, deep and penetrating in the soul.I pull you in close and hold you hard, swaying to the deep blues. I nuzzle your neck and you turn your head out so I can kiss down from your ear, tasting the sweet warm flesh, breathing in your scent.”Hey, there’s two dames dancing!” one of the zombies at the bar spurts out.”Shut up, Tom. Drink your beer, if you ever want another!” Rita scolds and freezes him with a hard eye.”What is this place?” you ask, pulling back to look at me with narrow eyes.”This was, in its day, one of the greatest blues hangouts almanbahis casino ever. Everybody came here, everybody played here after hours. Look at the pictures on the walls, baby — that’s Muddy and Pinetop at the bar. Elmore and Little Walter jamming, the Wolf and Willie Dixon, BB sitting six women wide and grinning like a fool. Etta, Aretha, Big Mama, everybody who was, or wanted to be somebody came to Duke’s. Then Duke died and time passed and folks just forgot. Rita owns it now.””Okay, I get it. Blues. History. Dead folk. So who are they?” tilting your head at the two hard butch women just coming in, wearing matching white tee-shirts with the sleeves rolled up high.”Oh, that’s Jen and Allie, couple of profs from the college. They like to look tough, but they’re both real sweeties, been married a couple of years,” I murmur, giving Jen a nod on her way to the bar. Allie goes right to the box and scoops up some of the quarters I left on top, flipping charts and popping in coins.BB’s Sweet Little Angel bursts out as she and Jen join us on the floor. The music floods the room and we dance and sway, holding our partners tight, exchanging kisses and caresses in the half-light of the old bar.As BB’s final wail fades, you and I ease away, ready to sit for a bit. Settled into our booth, you look out and see the once empty room is now filling with swaying couples, all women. Back behind the bar, Rita has her arm around a little blond tattooed angel, both moving to the music.