The Law of Attraction(18)

“Okay, great!” He called Ahmet over with the check. He and Damla effused joyful tidings a bit more and wished us well. I'm not sure, but I think they may have actually blessed us in Turkish. Braden left them a very generous tip and I knew he would now be on their list of VIPs. It was after nine when we finally left.

“We have to go to Suburban Station.”

“Suburban Station? Is this musician out of town?

“Nope.” I smiled and didn't elaborate. We walked the several blocks to the entrance I was looking for, descended the steps and started walking through the cavernous tunnels leading to the underground regional rail station. As we rounded a bend I heard what I was listening for, a deep rich smoky voice singing the blues and strumming a guitar. It was Stan the bluesman. I started walking faster. Within a couple of minutes we came upon Stan. He was sitting on a couple of milk crates holding his guitar.

“Gabrielle? Is that you?” An elderly voice called out to me. Stan’s eyes were going a little in his old age.

“Stan! How are you?” I smiled at him as I walked closer.

“I'm just fine and how about yourself?”

“Great. I brought somebody with me to listen to your music.”

“Is this your young man?” Stan looked up at Braden and gave him a big grin.

“This is our first date,” I explained. “Braden, this is Stan. He’s a genuine bluesman. He knew all the greats; Willie Dixon, Big Boy Crudup, Muddy Waters, T-Bone Walker and he played with quite a few of them.”

“Oh hush now,” Stan said. “You’re gonna make me blush. Tell you what, since this is a special occasion, I’ll play you a special song by another fella you may have heard of, Mr. John Lee Hooker.”

Stan started to play and I heard the opening chords to I'm In the Mood. I started clapping my hands along with him. He was awesome as always, making that guitar sing.

A few other people started to gather and Stan immediately went into two more songs as folks dropped money in his guitar case. When he finished up, a middle-aged guy who had been standing over against a wall approached him.

“I’ve got to tell you sir, I’m a big-time blues fan and you’ve got some real talent.”

“He certainly does,” I said. “This is Stanford Benson you’re talking to.”

“The Stanford Benson? You’re kidding me right?”

“No sir. Stanford Benson from Atlanta Georgia.”

“Have you been playing here long?”

“A few months. I’ve fallen on some hard times, to be honest with you sir. It can be hard for an old bluesman to get gigs these days.”

“My name is Ron Baker. I write for the Philadelphia Inquirer and I’d like to write a story about you. I’d also like to introduce you to a friend of mine who owns a little club called the Blue Moon. I think he’d be thrilled to have you play his place.”

“Well sir, I would certainly appreciate that,” Stan said, his voice cracking a little. I was feeling kind of emotional myself to tell you the truth. I figured it was time for us to make our exit.

“Thanks so much, Stan. That was like the coolest first date song ever.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Braden said and dropped a hundred bucks in Stan’s guitar case on top of the fifty I had slipped in there surreptitiously.

“Thank you! Both of you! I think you must be good luck.”

We waved goodbye, and walked in contented silence for a couple of minutes and then Braden turned to me and said, “Well, how about that? Something exciting happened.”

“Yeah! No kidding, I really hope Stan gets a regular gig,” I said and he gave me a strange look that I couldn’t interpret. I figured that he was probably thinking that I was nuts. “Is this the weirdest date you’ve ever been on?”

“Yeah, probably. And I like it, but I do really have to get up early.”

“We can just head on back if you want.”

“It’s not that I want to. It really is only because I have to get up at five and I’ll be helping him move.” He hesitated and then said, “I could cancel game night tomorrow and just take you out if you wanted. Mark and Adam would understand.”

“It’s okay. Game night is fine.” I looked at him and smiled. “You’re going to be tired anyway.”

“You’re pretty easy to get along with outside of court,” he said smiling back.

“Maybe I’m just hoping you’ll be easy next Friday night,” I teased. His look heated up again.

“I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. I think your chances of getting pretty much any kind of sex you want are exceptionally good.” My tummy flipped over.