This hasn’t happened. It’s a total figment of my imagination. I just kind of day dreamed it the other day.
Cassandra came to see me in my small corner of your globe. It was just a quick visit on a Saturday. She managed to stop off for a day on the return trip from some business thing-ma-jig she was on. So I thought I had better make good use of the time I had with her.
We strolled leisurely down by the water, close and occasionally touching, but no PDA. Neither of us are really into that. She was enjoying seeing me relaxed in my village, in my element, where I’m very comfortable.
The mid-afternoon sun was becoming quite warm so I suggested it was time for a cold beer. I had planned ahead. Cassandra thought this was a superb idea and we headed for a nearby bar. The pub’s outdoor patio was lively and perfect for people watching, a Cassandra-favored activity. I knew this, but instead I suggested we find a table inside.
“Why Darling? It’s so lovely outside. And lots of people.” She knows that in my climes, we need to take advantage of any sunshine we can get.
But I was firm … “No Baby, I want to go inside. I think my pale skin has had enough exposure for today.”
“Ok” she pouted, “if that’s what you want.”
“It is,” I sweetly smiled. I knew it wasn’t making my girl happy, but I rarely do things without a purpose. Cassandra well knows this, but for some reason she didn’t further question my choice.
We found a small table at one end of the bar. It was far from crowded inside and we had our pick of spots. The pub’s dark wood finishes all around would be very warm and cozy on a chilly winter day, but this afternoon they lent an air of coldness and an almost gloomy vibe. Cassandra was not her usual beaming self. I just inwardly smiled. The server approached, raised her eyebrow toward me, and indicated in the affirmative when I ordered two pints of a local brew.
“Oh look,” I said. “Maybe there will be a group performing” as I nodded to a nearby corner where there was a stand up microphone sandwiched between an electric keyboard and two large congas.
“Hmmpphh. Maybe. I hope so.” Cassandra retorted.
And just as she finished snarling her words 3 grizzled veterans of the 1960s strolled up to the mike and instruments. My kind of guys!
“This could be fun!” I said, hoping to drum up some interest. No reaction.
The “boys” immediately broke into Ray Charles’ “Georgia On My Mind“. And it was good!
The songs began to roll out out in a constant stream, mostly blues, and then some older pop hits. These boys were taking no breaks!
Now Cassandra and I are alike, and at the same time, so very different. I’ve touched on these things before, but I should also tell you she plays the piano. Classical. Me? I’m musical, too. Ask me anything about the British Invasion. Same part of the brain I figure … only a different mix and quality of neurons.
Cassandra’s mood was rapidly improving despite the dark interior of the pub.
“The singer reminds me so much of Joe Cocker” she chimed in as she tapped her foot to the groove happening a few feet away.
“Mmmmhmm” I answered while slurping my ale, trying not to choke as I chuckled.
She was correct, of course. He sounded a lot like Joe … a small register higher, and an itsy bit less of a rasp, fewer arm and hand gestures, but the similarity was irrefutable.
“I love Joe Cocker!”
“I know” I smiled. “You used to hear him while riding in your daddy’s truck when you were small.”
“That’s right! How did you remember that?”
I smirked downing another sip. Cassandra was full-on giggly-happy right now.
I told her how I had first been exposed to and got into Joe Cocker, as a young barman in a South London pub, pouring pints while watching him on telly on Top Of The Pops.
The band then did an unbelievable rendition of Ben E King’s Stand By Me. I think this was going to be a Celebrate the Great Ones Recently Gone Saturday for the band.
There was pronounced applause from every corner of the room. The bar was totally full and fully rockin’ at this point. The singer smiled broadly. As the cheering ended, the singer looked towards me. I smiled and not so discretely nodded back to him.
In my mind, Joe Cocker was absolutely the best rock interpreter of other peoples’ songs. He covered songs as well as, or often better, than the original. Think about With A Little Help From My Friends, or You Are So Beautiful, Ain’t No Sunshine, and several others. Including the one that I had prerequested … heh heh … The Letter.
On cue, the piano played the familiar opening chords and I watched as Cassandra’s eyes lit up. She knew what was coming …
“Come on, Baby! Let’s dance!” I shouted.
“Yes!” she laughed. “I don’t care if we’re the only ones!”
This is one thing Cassandra and I have never done … danced.
And we did! My lord she’s a great dancer. Such wonderful rhythm as I twirled her and swung her, as I hugged her, I dipped her. We danced cheek to cheek, we laughed. And I watched the older audience eat it up watching us … the vintage male with a few moves charming the hot blonde babe. The raised eyebrows and nods of first disbelief, then comprehension.
All to The Letter.
We had to leave. The bulge in my jeans was much too obvious now. It needed to be taken care of. ASAP.
Here’s the late great man himself. This reminds me I need to get one of those hot, black female bass players for myself.