Old Love FM

By Dustyn C Bailey

Ah, the sweet sounds of the misty night. I sat in my chair, the only one I own, in my one-

bedroom apartment in North-town. The hauntingly beautiful piano pervaded the stale air through

the dusty holes of my old FM radio set. Smooth jazz, smoother than the polish off an old Ford

Galaxy, smoother than fresh Irish cream. I sat and let the notes wash over me. 11:00 pm, the

amber top lights of the street lamps and the neon sign-lights were still bright all over the city, a

city that denies a man more than five solid minutes’ worth of rest. I was finally off work, and

finally able to enjoy life. I sighed in relief, how would that night venture for I, Mr. Michael

Ashford. Haven't heard of me? How could you? I'm a no-one. I work in the offices and cubicles

like any other stooge. Yeah, I'm not proud of it. I’m a step in a long winding staircase for

younger more ambitious men. However, I can afford my little one-bedroom apartment with a

twin bed, a mini-fridge, and a couple coat hangers on my shower-curtain rod.

Oh well, that's the fatal attraction of the normal-life. Then again, life isn't always as

straight forward as that, especially that night. Shortly after I came home I rolled the dial of my

radio left and right until I caught her. The elusive tail of my favorite frequency. Some called it a

ghost channel. Bull-shit I say. I could find it every night, and I will let you know my secret –

perseverance it jumped frequency like a pirate radio station, never docking in the same number.

The sweet sounds of the old classy jazz. Not the big band-stand personalities like Deano and

Sinatra. Not that I didn’t like those talents, hell they were the last kind of good music I heard on

the radio, and I had hadn’t heard a single from the Rat Pack since I was child. The ghost channel

was different though, they played everything from early Mississippi Blues like Cab Calloway to

the whole Bebop gang of Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald, and Duke Ellington. Sometimes the MC

wouldn’t speak at all, and there would just be a stream of continuous jazz pouring out of that

dusty old speaker, and the only way to know who was playing was to listen to the art and

understand the brushstrokes and voices of these immortal artists. I do admit, I am no slouch

when it comes to jazz, so I swear that there must have been some unknown artists mixed in with

the shuffle because the string of notes and vocals that invisibly decorated my one-bedroom

apartment was not in the encyclopedia of jazz. “This sigh is not a sigh of sorrow, oh but only

time will tell,” came soft and yet deep between the piano and the upright bass. This mysterious

artist was becoming more common the longer I listened. I had a feeling it had something to do

with the nameless person that broadcasts them, the MC who had that honey-sweet voice. I loved

it, I could never get enough of it, and that is why I was listening that night.

“Hello – hello, all you faithful listeners standin’ by to hear the next track. I feel your love,

trust me I do!” Every inflection of her voice stirred a boiling soup in my chest, but I had a chunk

of solid ice in my belly. My mind tried sculpting an image of her rom out of the scenes from old

movies, like the Maltese Falcon and Double Indemnity. “Now I know you want to know what’s

goin’ down tomorrow night, sugar. All you cats should come down to the old Royalty and watch

a classic with yours truly!” My heart skipped a beat, she was gonna be downtown at the movies!

Never had I jumped from my little chair with such haste and purpose. A little Teddy Hill number

came on and I found myself with a little kick in my step. I spun around and took a quick look at

my face. Wrinkles had taken over a long time ago. Whatever was left of my hair crowned around

with an oily sprawl, and it matched the droopy pepper mustache that had grown over my upper

lip. I couldn’t quite tell if my hair was black with gray flecks, or gray with black peppered in. I

guess it changed what side you look at me. “Tomorrow,” I said into the dimly lit room. “I’m

gonna be lookin’ good!”

Early in the morning I decided to call my office and relate the news that I would be taking

the day off. The receptionist was a tad speechless, probably because she had never heard my real

voice, or the fact that I had never called out of work in my ten plus years working there. She

stuttered “Oh, m-my Mr. Ashford, I-I didn’t recognize your voice – h-ha, I’ll let your supervisor

know that you will not be in. I didn’t realize you still worked - sorry. Oh w-wait! Do you have a

reason that you will not be in Mr. Ashford?”

“No – I don’t have a particular reason for not comin’, but I should have some excuse for

not showing up, shouldn’t I? Oh hell, just tell them I’m sick with the flu, but no - that might

worry people, I am ancient.” The receptionist giggled, I scoffed. “Oh hell, what do I care? I have

pneumonia, I’m bed ridden, and I can’t get up, and I was up drinking all night, and get this, I

caught something from the lady down the hall, damn it.” I’m pretty sure I shocked the girl on the

other line because I waited a couple seconds and she did not respond with the slightest peep.

“You get that all dear, I want it word for word repeated.”

She replied with something like an “uhhhh,” and then I hung up on her. That morning I

had performed the bravest action in the history section of Michael Ashford. Here was a lesson I

resorted to; when you want to be brave enough to take on a difficult challenge, like finding the

girl of your dreams, take on lesser braver tasks before you take on the big fish! I decided I was

gonna clean up good. My little noted pad was out, and a list of tasks was set up in a column. #1

call out of work, check! #2 was clean up. I had never been to a real barber to have a shave, but

damn it I was gonna man up and do it.

On the far side of North-town I found myself a little hole in the wall with a red striped

poll screwed to the outside of it. I stepped in and awkwardly sat down next to the rest of the men

awaiting service. The time was around nine and I was already behind three other gentlemen, and

there was something weird about being there. There was no music, no radio playing, not even

any of that new pop stuff from that kid, Michael Jackson. The unsettling silence was maintained

by the other men in the waiting room as well, they all had their noses in Sports Illustrated, The

New Yorker, and Popular Science. Not a single word was exchanged. The only noise was the

ceiling fans hum, and the buzz or snip of the barber’s tools. I lost track of time and at some point,

the barber walked out and motioned me that it was my turn. Only after did I sit down did the man

ask, “haircut or shave?”

“Both” I answered. “I want a nice trimmed look, keeping the mustache, and tidying up

whatever I got left on top.” The barber grunted, and worked his art. I will say, the gentleman did

an exceptional job of cleaning me up, but he did not pursue any conversation with me. The

moment the barber gave me the warm towel I stood up, paid him what I owed, left no tip and

booked it. I spent the rest of the day getting a new bottle of stink pretty, some good leathery

smelling juice that set me back a little, and I went out to a department store got myself some new

duds, something grayish so my hair wouldn’t stand out. Then I went home and waited until it

was dark.

Time passed, and I found myself on the side of the street trying to hail a taxi. It had

started to rain, and the streets didn’t have many people on them. Everyone in sight were obscured

and figureless through the rain drops. Finally, after a terribly long wait a shoddy taxi drew up and

allowed me to take passage. “Take me to the Royalty please,” I said quickly.

“Where, pal?” spat the taxi driver.

“The Royalty, you know, the movies, the lights and stuff – that place.”

“Christ, I guess it’s a good night to go the movies, nothin’ doin’ in this rain.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I reluctantly replied as we drove off.

“So, you goin’ to this place alone, pal?”

“No, I am meeting up with a lovely lady who plays the jazz music on the radio.”

“Pal there ain’t no jazz channel in this city, you must be picking up some bum waves.”

“Oh no there is, you have to look for it, it changes! It’s all up and down the FM!”

“Huh” spat the driver, “so is the lady ta die for?”

“I-I don’t know what she looks like,” I blurted.

“Hell pal, do you have any clues?”

“Well – no, I just know she has very pretty voice, and she can play the piano – and I

might fall in love with her because she is all I really think about.”

“Woa - look pal, I don’t know what movies you have been watching lately, but men don’t

just walk into a cinema on a whim, fall in love with a girl over her voice and try to marry her.

You won’t make it to the end of the film, you’ll have girls hollerin’ creep, and they’ll put you in a

looney bin!”

“Thanks – pal,” I mimicked. “How about you keep your advice to yourself.” For the

remainder of the drive the cabbie was silent, but I had lost a little confidence and reflected on my

actions and their weight.

The taxi drew up in front of the Royalty and I dashed under the canopy at the mouth of

the cinema. Facing the road, I noticed there wasn’t a soul stirring. I felt springy as I watched the

water wash away the dirt and trash off the sidewalks, as the rain always does in the city. After the

cabbie rounded the block I became aware of the lack of souls about the street. I glanced from

side to side, there wasn’t even a cab or truck or bus, the street was empty. Though it felt odd I did

not think anything of it, I was too obsessed with meeting that mystery woman.

I entered the cinema and realized that the old Royalty was just that – old. The decrepit old

ruin had six projection rooms, but it appeared that night only three movies were showing:

Casablanca, Vertigo, and one of those new flicks about spaceships and all that nonsense. Only

one of those films had any good music, and that was good ol’ Casablanca. I grabbed a ticket and

grabbed a middle seat. Oddly enough I was the only one in the room, the feature only had

another five minutes and I was alone. The blues were creeping up on me when, a small party and

a few couples came. The nearest anybody would sit next to me was about twelve seats away. The

film started up and that score washed over me. I soaked it all up and relaxed. By the time I heard

“you must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh, the fundamental things apply

as time goes go by,” I was starting to drift off. I was too warm, the seats were too comfy, and I

am a not young.

I drifted in and out then out of nowhere I felt a cold sensation creep on my neck.

Startled, I whipped my head around. Apparently, the person in the row behind me was sticking

ice-cubes down my shirt, but as my heard turned around the cup of soda they were holding

dropped from their grasp and came splashing down on my head. The sticky sweet nectar glided

down my undershirt. By the time my eyes focused on the culprit they were running down the

row. I uncomfortably shifted my body back and forth feeling the ice and soda. Standing up I

realized the movie was about to roll into the credits and not a sole was left in the cinema, just me

and my sticky-wet shirt. Even if that mysterious master of ceremonies had shown up, I had slept

through a solid chunk of that film. Defeated, I swallowed my blues and carried on home.

The next evening, I didn’t quite feel like searching the waves to see if she was out there. I

sat around most of the early evening reading about better-worse times and such. Then I felt that

chunk of ice nudging around my guts. I jumped right up and toyed with the dial. After a little bit

I got that sweet bebop swirling out of those dusty grates in the face of the radio. The piano

delicately lacing the horns, the bass gently walking about the rhythm. Nothing beat that old

sound. After a short set her voice made its appearance.

11:11“Good evenin’, good evenin’ ladies and gentlemen!” Said a voice seductively. It

was her alright! “My - my, I am so embarrassed I got to that flick rather late last night and well I

made a whole mess over the poor gentleman in the middle row. I just wanted to say I am sorry, I

bet you all wanted to see me and such! Well I tell you what, sugar. If the gentleman who I

wronged calls me up and names the love-song from Casablanca I will give you a chance to steal

a kiss, all you have to do is dial-!”

I jumped off my single rundown chair and yelled, “Yes, yes I am here!” My fingers tore

through my notebook and tore off a page and wrote down the phone number, then picked up my

little corded phone and called. “Hello, you are not on the air, sugar. Are you the man I dropped

my soda on, I was just tryin’ to tease you since you fell asleep durin’ the best part of the film, you

know what I mean, sugar?”

I choked, I wasn’t ready to talk to her. My hands shook the phone against my head and I

coughed to relieve some of my pressure. “Well – ah – yes, you see I dozed off, due to the rhythm

of the score and such, and well I was a bit startled when I felt somethin’ cold on my neck, Miss?”

“The name is Alice, hold onto it to it tight Michael, cause that’s the only name I have,”

spoke the MC with sassy flirtation. “I used to take a little chunk of ice and lightly hold against

the neck to stir people up from them sleepin’. I did it to my brothers I was a child. So, Michael

have you been listenin’ to my station long?”

“Oh yes, Miss Alice, I certainly have. For years I’ve been checking the wave band to

catch another whisper of your beautiful music!”

“Good, I’m happy to have such a dedicated man like yourself express his love for the

music, I’m gonna put you on the air in a second now and you only get one chance to answer the

question correctly, so you are gonna have to be short and sweet about it, Teddy-Bear.”

For a second I lost track of what Alice was saying, I was tasting every sweet syllable she

spoke. Imagine honey, sweet as sweet can be, only sweeter and infused with a little Cajun zest.

“What” I responded, “Oh – oh, of course the song in Casablanca, I can do that Alice it is an easy

one!”

“Alright ladies and cool cats, swingin’ around you partners round and round tonight, here

is Mr. Mike with that most important of answers! What was the song that connects Rick, Ilsa,

and Sam?”

“Ah – oh yes, the song! The name right, of course the name, what name? Wait, yes, it’s

‘As Time Goes By’!” I involuntarily hollered the answer into the phone, and there was a little

static feedback that could be heard through the radio station through my dial speakers.

“That is right, Mikey! Looks like you earned yourself a kiss from yours truly! Come on

down to the old church in West town and collect your award my fine sir! I know you love the

broadcast, and if there is something your MC is good at it is showing a man how to kiss.” I shook

my head up and down, “Don’t keep a girl waiting all night, Mikey-dear. Then the radio slowly

faded into a nice upbeat bebop classic. I got up out of my little chair and started dancing to it. I

was gonna meet the MC, it was like a dream come true. The sepia tone was lifting, and I felt my

life had just be introduced to Technicolor.

I couldn't contain myself. I was gonna go, I made up my mind and began to go through

the checklist. First thing first, look good! Then I stumbled out and looked at myself in the mirror.

I was too gray and much too old. Since the shirt was ruined from yesterday’s fiasco, I decided to

pull out my old army uniform from the very back of my closet. Though I had to suck me gut in at

first, I was somehow able to fit my body into the clothes of a younger Michael. Second thing was

a man needs to waft a pleasant smell. I dove into an old chest hidden under my bed. Inside was a

small glass vial with a lion on it. It was my old cedar wood spritz from jolly old England. I

sprayed some in my tuft of hair rubbed it in with my finger, then I sprayed all six corners of the

body and placed it back in its resting place. Third, a man always needs to be prepared: watch,

mints, gum, cigarettes, unmentionables, flask of peppermint schnapps, keys, and a toothbrush

with toothpaste.

The stars shinning so bright, I stepped quickly around and around, but there wasn't any

sign of a taxi. Not one taxi, and the metro's doors were closed. I cussed and snapped my fingers.

This wasn't gonna stop me. I knew where the church was. It was three miles West about ten or

thirteen blocks. No yellow friends out there in the dim amber streets. I ran and ran until my

breath gave out, I would never make it on foot. So, I looked up almost a quarter of the way there,

and poof, there was another shabby yellow taxi. I hailed it down and jumped in. Inside I was

unpleasantly surprised that it was the same taxi driver as before. “Where to, pal?”

“Oh, it’s you again, I need to get out to the old torn-down church on the West side. You

know what I am talking about?”

` “Sure, I know the place, why are you going to the ruins of some church in the middle of

the night, pal?

“Well, I am meetin’ that lady,” I stated boldly.

“Woa –pal, I don’t know what kind of lady you are meetin’ tonight, but people might

think you are some kinda creep if you go runnin’ round that place at night!”

“Look here, what do you know about ladies and passion! Life takes you to many weird

places, pal,” I spat in disgust. “Have you ever wanted a dream to come true so bad you were

willing to do anything for it?”

The cabbie immediately scoffed and threw a cigarette he was apparently smoking out his

window. “Passion? Hell! There is nothin’ in this world that can make me act like a creep, or a

moron – whatever you consider yourself, pal.” He chuckled a little and angled his mirror towards

me. “Looky here. I have been around the block a few times. I know women inside and out and let

me tell you. After the bar, the bedroom, the break up, and the bar again there is no love in this

life that can make men or women as ‘passionate’ as you! You are obsessed Mr. Creepy!”

Thankfully the cab stopped outside the old ruin and I paid him the fair, “you don’t have to

stick around, thank you,” I said snidely. I stood in front of what was once a real brick and mortar

church. The idea of being obsessed had turned my cab-ride sour. I don’t think it’s wrong to fall in

love with someone you’ve never met… right?

From outside the church I could see light glowing through the boarded-up windows. Odd,

everything seemed odd, but I was utterly entranced by the very thought of meeting Alice. I knew

how strange it was to be summoned to church in the middle of the night, but I didn’t care. It

might be an elaborate hoax or some cruel trick or a tease of a dream, but I bought into it.

The delicate piano was wafting through the broken stained windows and the missing

bricks in the walls. The music swelled and consumed the absent-minded noises of the city. I

walked slowly to the door, my heart jabbing my ribs or my ribs wrapping around my heart, I

couldn't tell. “Damn stupid ticker,” I spouted trying to expel some tension. My palms sweaty, my

mind racing, I opened the door to find a woman sitting there at a piano swishing her hands over

the keys. Her back swaggered back and forth over the melody. The piano was at the back of the

church where the pulpit or alter usually was and there was sermon of candles in attendance.

No matter how odd it was, I was eluded by the woman with the rhythm that sprung from

her soulful sway. Her long brown hair stretching down her back. Her white collared shirt and

black slacks covering her curvaceous figure. I was stunned, and my heart wailed out ‘Alice’ like

a dream come true, generating a soaring sensation. The beautiful pianist finished her solo and I

clapped softly. She looked around and smiled. “You came Mikey!” Her enthusiasm was uplifting.

“Yes, I couldn't wait one more moment. I love your selections, and you sound beautiful

yourself.” I said quicker than I wanted to.

Springing from the piano stool she came right across the floor took her hand in mine.

“Oh, what a charmer. You are so sweet, no one listens anymore. I love playing, and singing, and

listening to the old jazz. No ones like that anymore.”

“I am listening, I still love the music,” I interrupted.

“I know, you're something special aren't you, not many souls went to our little outing last

night – oh well! We can still have quite an outing here too, we can even have a dance.”

“It would be a pleasure, Ms. Alice.” I said bowing. She giggled a little and curtsied.

“The pleasure will be mutual, I hope.” Alice said coyly. I smiled and examined her up and

down. “I am deeply sorry that I dropped all that soda pop down your neck, Teddy-Bear. I ran off

because I was so embarrassed that my little plan backfired. I was hoping we could have some

wine tonight and patch things up?”

“My, Ms. Alice, I forgive you, I didn’t think I was ever going to meet you in person. This

is like a dream come true!”

“Really? Maybe it is!” She placed her delicate hand on my shoulder. “You will have to

tell me all your favorite Jazz artist’s, so we can play them tonight on the radio.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I can help you Ms. Alice. I am a real Jazz lover, but I doubt everyone

wants to hear all the ones I love!” I retorted with enthusiasm.

For some time, we drank wine straight from the bottle and danced as the music swelled

from her own little set and the candles melted to a dim. Nothing stirred outside, the city streets

were the quietest they have ever been. Within the walls of that old church a honky-tonk was born

with all the music playing out of the old speakers over the vanished pulpit. The piano swung, and

the horns bleated, and the drums kept that beat going as we swayed bodies close. Touching close,

knee between knee, nose to nose. We eventually drooped to the floor and sat across from one

another in exhaustion.

“You know what love is?” Alice asked coyly, I couldn't answer, my breath drifted out of

my lungs as I was caught off by how forward the remark was. “Love has seemed to disappear, or

drift away from us. It isn’t like Mickey and Minney Mouse in a little jolly castle on the hill

anymore. It’s a lot of cryin’ and dying’ and laughin’ and lyin’ – don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know – I never fell in love like most people. Hell, it also means I didn’t get

divorced like most people too” I said, eyebrows raised.

“Well, the world keeps changin’, but love seems to creep up when we don’t expect it.

Love at first sight is dead, but maybe love is where we don’t see it – like when you lose you

keys.” I looked at her and puzzled over what she was saying. “You know, like it’s the last place

you look and its usually right in your face.”

I nodded and asked, “so love might be a difficult and sordid thing, do I still get a kiss?”

She smiled and drew me close. Are lips touched and I felt an elation that had lifted me from

those tedious years of gloom. The wine got to me as finished the last sip, bottle in hand. I laid

down and felt a warm sensation all over. My mind went down a path every man has gone on in

the height of his happiness. Like a silent movie show real, but in technicolor. Thing’s didn’t just

become more colorful, they changed shape and form – all of life’s images were painted with an

art deco print and then given the peacock-vibrancy it naturally wanted. Alice smiled… I think.

Sight, sound, and all the physical world disappeared for a little bit. Time shifted, and I

awoke in a panic. I was back in my one-bedroom apartment. The radio was still on, static was all

that remained. I jumped off my makeshift bed and ran down the three flights of stairs and out

into the city streets. I hailed a taxi, not so surprising it was the same cabbie as before. I didn’t

want him or his attitude, but I needed to get back to the church fast, because it was the last place

I remember being. As we started to drive I decided to boast about last night’s reality. “Hey, pal.

Guess what, I was right the lady was there last night and I had a swell time – what do you think

about that?

“What the hell are you talking about, buddy.”

“You know, you made me feel like a weirdo last night.”

“Look, cut the shtick, buddy. I have never given you a ride, I’ve had the last few days off,

because my kids have been running fevers all week, so please just cut it out.”

I strained my eyes and investigated the mirror, I was damn sure it was the same Cabbie as

last night. He looked the same from what I could recall, but he seemed different. “I apologize – I

must have you mistaken with someone else.”

“No problem, buddy,” he politely spouted. “Besides you must have had quite the night,

you look like a damn ghost.”

At first, I disregarded what the cabbie had blurted. However; once I started thinking about

it, everything seemed off. Though my head was thumping, The technicolor sensation had

remained and the feeling of ice in my belly had passed – I was different.

I arrived at the abandoned church, it looked identical to the one last night. I ran into the

doors almost unhinging one of them. Inside all that was left was dust, there was no piano, there

was no empty wine bottles, and there were no candles. There was nothing, it was an open space

waiting for someone to tear it down. I screamed at the top of my lungs and I looked around

frantically for the woman that shed the rust from my life. However, there was nothing there. No

evidence of dancing or drinking or delicate pianos.

I returned home and tried to find the station, it wasn't there. I checked for hours until it

was 11:11 once more. A full twenty-four hours had gone by and nothing. No sign of the radio

station. She was gone, the jazz was gone, and my heart began to shatter. I held no tears back as I

fell asleep.

Thirty days and thirty nights I went to work then came back home to screw around with

that damn dial. I was worth going insane over it. After a month, with my heart in mind, I took the

day off from work. I walked the four corners of the city and found myself at the doors of the

church again. I walked about the church remembering the only time in my life worth living for.

The years preceding it were nothing, but lonely gaps of time filled with beautiful music and

maybe a cool whiskey in my hand.

I felt it was time to let go, so I smiled and walked out feeling fresh, or at least acting like

all was right with the world, even though it was now hollow. The place no longer felt magical,

but haunted. I sat on curb across from the church and starred at it. Then from out of nowhere, a

beautiful young woman walked over and sat down next to me.

“Mr. Ashford is that you?” I looked at her, it wasn't Alice, but a cute middle-aged woman

with a bag of groceries in her hands. “You didn’t come to work today, and you didn’t call in

again, I was a little worried.”

“Oh hell, I didn’t mean to worry you little lady, I’ve been out of sorts lately, Miss?”

“You can just call me Elise,” she said, seeming anxious.

“You can just call me, Michael, it's a pleasure.”

“Let's hope the pleasure is mutual,” Elise said without any hesitation. I glanced at her.

She wasn't the same woman; her face was different, her voice was higher, but she was something

else. She appeared to get a bit of a chill, as she shivered before she asked. “Do you want to come

back to my place, I'm right down the street. I was about to make dinner?” I nodded and thanked

her for the invitation. We walked and walked as we made it down the street and we began to

warm up to one another. As she unlocked her front door and let me in I asked her something

extremely important, well to me at least.

“Do you like jazz?” And the rest of the dominoes fell from there. Elise and I were

together many happy years into our later years. Love isn’t what Disney tried to teach me as a

child, it wasn’t a one true love in the perfect picture frame. I never forgot Alice's lesson – and it

has made the world of difference for me and Elise. Yet, from time from to time, the wife will

catch me searching the waves with my old radio, always looking for that ghost channel and hear

her voice – for old times’ sake…