Every Saturday, Donny would venture down to the Vinyl Café, which was located in the heart of New York City. The café was built into an old jazz ballroom, one that had been famous during the “Big Band” era of jazz, and carried a certain feel of nostalgia. Props, photographs and rare records covered the walls, and it was decorated to feel like you were in the 50’s. Central to the café was a record player itself, which stood on a small square table in middle of the room. Here, anyone could play a record of their choice, whether it was from their private collection or off the walls of the room, and the tracks would echo throughout the old hall. Mostly, this was a place where teenagers would come to dine in the early day, and drink in the evening. Donny was not a part of this crowd, and came here simply for the feel of the room and to play old-fashioned records.
Donny had always entered the café with a disc from his own collection. He usually went for a safe choice, picking out an album from the Rat Pack or Glenn Miller if he was in the mood. By now he had known the shopkeeper quite well, and was often greeted with a big smile and a free coffee. The shopkeeper appreciated that Donny was one of the few jazz aficionados left in New York City, and a young one at that. “Hipsters”, as they were called, now made up the bulk of his clientele. While he accepted this for what it was and needed the business, he liked that there were still a few people in the city who honestly appreciated the work he put into maintaining the Vinyl Café. As his way of showing this, he always gave priority to Donny when it came to playing music.
On this particular day, Donny had brought a favourite of theirs: “Sinatra’s Sinatra,” which was released in 1963. As the record had been designed to be a compilation of Sinatra’s personal favourites, the shopkeeper and Donny cherished the album highly. They had always dreamed of shaking his hand in person, but now that they would never get the chance, they chose to honour him through his art whenever they could. To them, no one had ever matched the spirit of Sinatra, and they didn’t believe anyone ever would. Furthermore, they shared the opinion that “I’ve Got You Under my Skin” was the finest recording that Frank that had ever left behind. Because it was the opening track of the record, whenever he played the album, they would sit a table together and share a coffee. Today was no exception.
I would sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near…
“What I’d give to have a day in his life.”
“You said it buddy.”
“Why don’t you ever dress up the place, hold a concert here or something? It could be just like old times you know.”
“Come on, Donny. Of course I’d love to, but we don’t have the crowd for that. People don’t have a good time anymore…in fact they don’t have a time at all. They just want to go out and drink until they forget the mistakes they’re making. It’s all just a game to them… but I’m not sure there’s ever any winners.” They laughed together for a moment. “When’s the last time you heard a conversation, a real conversation. Those days are dead.”
“Yeah I suppose you’re right, old man.”
Don't you know, little fool, you never can win…
Use your mentality, wake up to reality…
“I guess that’s why we dream, isn’t it?”
“I guess it is. It beats joining em’.”
I’ve got you, under my skin. And I like you, under my skin
“Alright kid, I’ll let you get to your business. Enjoy yourself.”
“I always do.”
Donny took his coffee and sat down at a small round table in the corner of the room. He was careful not to spill any on his suit. He enjoyed being sharply dressed, and often bought suits that were beyond his income. Whenever he met new people, he liked to make an impression on them. It wasn’t that he wanted to impress people, necessarily, but rather wanted everyone to feel that they were important to him, and that above all else, no one was ever wasting his time. Time was a precious commodity, and time spent in conversation was invaluable to him. He didn’t care who you were, but if you wanted to talk, then you talked and that was that. The only exception he made was for people who lacked respect. The city had been built on respect, and if you couldn’t appreciate that, then you didn’t deserve to be here.
A few tracks into the album, three teenagers walked into the building, two boys and a girl. They were dressed in ragged clothing, which sported bright, mismatched colours. They went up to the shopkeeper, ordered coffee, and approached a table close to Donny’s, talking obnoxiously loud for the size of the room. Donny couldn’t help but laugh at them. He never understood why so many people tried so hard to look like they weren’t trying. The irony of their effort amused him. He took a sip of his coffee as they sat down, laughing.
“Hey shopkeep, you mind turning this down?”
“Certainly you guys don’t mind some music?” said Donny.
“You call this music? Sounds like shit to me.”
“Well nothing’s keeping you here, now is it?”
One of the boys had gotten up.
“Don’t worry yourself over it, “champ”, I’m only joking.”
“Damn right you are.” The boy sat back down.
Donny kept drinking his coffee, and began writing inside a black leather book. The music always inspired him, and cafés were made for writing. The only thing he felt was missing was a typewriter, but this didn’t bother him, and he always settled for pen and paper. His current story was about a man who goes crazy over his art, because he knew he could not live up to the great artists that came before him. Every weekend, Donny would sit in the café and write as much as he could, though he was never in a hurry to finish anything, and always took a great deal of care and pride in his work. Someday, he knew he’d publish his stories to the world, but until then, he enjoyed every minute of being nobody.
He was deep in thought when the end of the record gave a sharp crackle and stopped spinning.
Donny rose out of his chair, and went to change the record. Though he had been here many times before, he fancied browsing around the room for an album he hadn’t heard in a while. He slowly paced the floor, carefully looking at each sleeve on the wall. He was in the mood for more Rat Pack and finally decided on This is Dean Martin when something else caught the corner of his eye. Underneath one of the empty tables was a solid black record sleeve. Inside was a plain white 12-inch vinyl. There was no text on it and it looked very old. He blew a thin layer of dust off of the front of the disc, and gave a little cough. Curious as to what the album was, he quickly turned to the front counter, holding the record in the air, but saw that the shopkeeper was busy arguing with the three teenagers, who were now in angry conversation with him.
“Well, what’s the worst that it could be? Some modern stuff I guess,” Donny thought.
He brought the record over to the turntable, carefully removed Sinatra’s Sinatra, and returned it to its proper sleeve. He then placed the white record onto the turntable, and hovered the needle over edge of the disc. Flicking the switch, the record started spinning, and he smoothly dropped the needle into place. He waited for a minute, but no sound was coming out of the player. Puzzled, he thought maybe the speakers weren’t working, as had often happened before. He wanted to wait for the shopkeeper, so he approached the front counter. The teenagers and shopkeeper had all left.
“Hello?? Old man, are you back there?”
No one answered. Donny found this very strange, for he knew the kitchen was small, and it was uncharacteristic of the shopkeeper to ignore him. About to give another shout, Donny stopped as music started playing behind him, growing louder by the second. As he turned towards the record player, he jolted at the scene he was faced with. The café had altered completely before his very eyes. The music he heard was coming from a five-piece swing band who were playing on a grand wooden stage that was draped with red curtains. They were playing a rendition of “Dinah”, an old Fats Waller song, and all five of the musicians were dressed in matching black tuxedos. Where the tables had been was now a large decorated ballroom which was dimly lit by a chandelier hanging above. The walls were white and red with golden decoration, and in the center of the room was a large crowd of people dancing. The men were all wearing suits and the women were done up in old-fashioned American glamour. As Donny stood and stared blankly, two couples brushed by him, heading for the dance floor. The room was brimming with colour, and the room was full of playful noise and energy. He thought he was on an old movie set, the type you would see at an amusement park.
A short, blue-eyed brunette walked up to him and grabbed him by the arm.
“Well, aren’t we gonna have that dance?”
Stunned, Donny froze for a moment, looking at her. “D-Dance?”
“What, you’ve forgotten me already?” she said with a laugh and winked at him. “Unless you’d rather dance with someone else of course?”
“N-No, please, of course” Donny stumbled over his words. “It’s just that, well, I don’t quite know how to describe it exactly—” he said awkwardly.
“Your first time here or something?” She replied.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Donny felt a nervous smile sneaking across his face.
“Well then come on handsome, let me show you the way.” She led him into the ballroom.
Lost in a mixture of confusion and surprise, he began to dance with the girl. He felt the awkwardness of his movements as he was only partially dancing. He didn’t understand what was happening, and was still frantically looking around the room. She seemed to notice this and grabbed his arms, guiding his motions into synchronicity with hers. Giving him a smile, he first noticed how truly beautiful she was. Her hair gently fell to her shoulders, and her soft red cheeks accented the softness of her eyes. He smiled back at her, and started to feel his tension easing away.
After a couple of minutes, the song ended, and the crowd turned to applaud the band. To Donny, they were spectacular, as was everything else around him. Only in his dreams had he ever been in a place like this before, or heard that kind of music. At this realization, he quickly became confused again. None of this made any sense, and he knew that this must have been a dream…yet it all felt so real to him. It defied his sense of logic, and yet he could feel all his senses working properly. In dreams, the details of the room were never so precise. Every corner of the room, every table, every guest, every drink that was being served... It was all in front of him. He noticed the small pearl necklace around the neck of the girl who had asked him to dance, and the way she cocked her head a little to the left when she talked to him. He could feel the air going in and out of his lungs, and the sweat rolling down his face. This wasn’t a dream. Even if it was, Donny chose to ignore it, and instead turned his mind back to the moment. It didn’t need to be real, for he was enjoying every second of the experience. Smiling again, he turned to the girl.
“I’m so sorry miss, but I’m afraid I haven’t gotten your name.”
“It’s Nancy. There’s no need to tell me yours, I think I figured that out on my own.”
Again Donny didn’t understand, but this didn’t bother him.
“Would you like to keep dancing with me, Nancy?”
“Oh yes, that would be lovely.”
The band moved onto their next song, which turned out to be the first in a number of upbeat swing tunes. Donny and Nancy continued to dance with each other, and he was feeling happier by the minute. The music itself was phenomenal. No beat was out of synch between the five musicians as they smiled and danced smoothly to the lines they were dropping. The piano was the lead player, and his skill was unparalleled to anything he had seen before. Electricity filled the air, flowing throughout the entire room, and after a few songs, Donny was beginning to settle into the crowd. Grabbing the girl’s hands, they begun to dance the night away. People were laughing and dancing all around him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun, and by now, the pair had worked up quite a sweat. He was desperate for a break, but couldn’t bring himself to stop dancing.
After a few more upbeat swing tunes, he finally got to cool down as the band launched into a slower movement that Donny had known quite well, called “Moonlight Becomes You”. Some of the couples took this chance to leave the dance floor, but many were taking this chance to get a little closer to their dates. Donny did the same, and they started to dance slowly to the gentle sway of the song. This was his chance to talk to her.
“What is this place?”
“Right now, it’s the only place I want to be.” This made him smile.
“Me too…It’s like I’m dreaming or something.”
“I know the feeling…please don’t let go of me.” She was looking into his eyes.
“I just…I just don’t—.”
She put a finger to his lips, and they continued to dance.
Returning her gaze, he noticed how lovely she truly was. He had never seen anyone quite like her. Maybe it was the romance of the music, or the charm of the room, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. For this number, the lights were faintly glowing on the crowd, and he took in every detail of her face. The curves of her cheeks were soft, and her eyes gentle. Wrapping around the front of her hair was a single black bow, and Donny found a beauty in its simplicity. He smiled at her, and no longer cared about how she knew him. As they stared at each other, moving slowly across the room, he had forgotten about the strangeness of it all. The only thing that matter to him now was the movement of their bodies and the harmony of the music. When the song had finished, Donny didn’t let go of her. He continued to stare at her, and she at him.
Reading the feel of the room, the band quickly transitioned to another romantic number, “Something Stupid”, which happened to be one of Donny’s personal favourites. The rendition was slow, and so they kept dancing in each other’s arms. As the band played, he could feel their bodies getting closer. She put her head on his shoulder as they paced the floor. The warmth of her frame radiated against his, and he could smell the sweet fragrance of her hair.
The time is right, her perfume fills my head, the stars get red and oh the nights so blue.
She looked up at him, and gave him a kiss.
Then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like I love you.
They stopped dancing, and held each other tenderly.
Their lips released as he felt her pulling away from him. Donny also heard the music slowly fading out. The song was ending, no matter how badly he did not want it to. Nancy was smiling at him, and the sound continued to fade ever so slightly. It was then that he knew that something was not right. Still looking at her, he noticed that Nancy was fading too. Right before his very eyes, the woman he had just kissed was slowly vanishing. Giving a panicked look around the room, he saw that all of the people were disappearing. The ballroom was fading out, and the pale walls of the café were slowly coming back into place. Flimsy tables and chairs were filling in the space around him. In the final moments of this transition, he looked back at Nancy for one last glance. She was still smiling at him when her image evaporated into the air.
Behind him, he could see the shopkeeper shuffling out from the kitchen.
“You say something to me, Don…Jesus, you look terrible! You see a ghost or somethin’?”
Donny turned to him, looking rather shocked. Quickly, he spun back around, and looked at the record player in front of him. His Sinatra disc was sitting idly, and was waiting to be replaced by another vinyl. In his hands, he was holding a copy of This is Dean Martin. Internally, he could feel his stomach turning, and he sat down at the nearest table, shaking and sweating. He looked to the spot where he had first spotted the mysterious record, but it was gone.
“Eh Donny?? You okay? You don’t look so good.”
Taking a moment, he answered him.
“Oh, I’m fine, thanks, I just…uhh…thought I had dropped my book, that’s all. You know how clumsy I can be sometimes. Say, uhh…I was wondering, are you sure you’ve never hosted a party here?” Donny did not wish to tell him about what had happened. He was already feeling sick and would need some time to process what he had been through. Uncertainty and confusion clouded his mind.
“Not in a long time, my friend. Look, if you need anything, just let me know alright? Take it easy kid.” The shopkeeper chuckled and went back into the kitchen.
Donny felt his heart sinking. He knew it couldn’t have been a dream, but it felt like it now. He could still see the curves of her face, but she was gone. The band, the people, they were all gone.
But it couldn’t have been a dream, he thought. For a few minutes, he sat silently at his table, moving only to take a drink.
Quietly, he packed up his writing supplies, and got ready to leave the café. Placing his cup on the counter, he left without a word to the shopkeeper. As he stepped outside, the teenagers were still joking loudly among themselves, and everything was as it had been when he had arrived at the café only hours ago. Shaking his head sadly, Donny was about to walk away when something caught the corner of his eye. Slowly, he turned towards the teenagers, staring carefully at the girl.
Noticing this, the boy stepped up again. “Man, what the hell are you are looking at?”
Startled, Donny re-gained his focus.
“Sorry, I just…thought I recognized her. My mistake. Good day.”
“Whatever man,” the boy said as he turned back to the others. They all laughed.
Donny was walking away from them, but before rounding the corner towards his flat, he turned back for one final glance. The young girl was sitting on the curb of the street. Wrapping around the front of her brown hair was a simple black bow. The simplicity of it was beautiful.