Love Me Till Morning

As the taxi he was in turned a left corner into the busy street, Arnold unfolded the piece of paper in his hand, squinted his eye through the taxi's meagre interior light to make sure he was correct about the address. He spotted the bar's neon lights further ahead just as the taxi cruised along and indicated to the driver to stop. He got out, paid his fare, and then turned and walked through the glass doorway into the joint.

The interior was dark looked kind of haunting with its wavering lights. So much of the bar had changed since last time he was he here -- thirty-five years to the exact date -- but it still was the place. A couple of autographed photos of memorable Hollywood stars who'd been here before still hung on the walls. And he was delighted to see the bar still had a jukebox, just as it had been his first night here.

He approached the L-shaped bar and sat on a high stool and ordered for a Black Russian, the same drink he remembered he'd ordered that fateful night he'd stopped by here -- a Chief Bosun's mate then just off his ship for a fun night in the city. His drink arrived. He raised the glass to his lips, about to take a sip, when the corner of his eye caught someone staring at him.

The woman wore a sequined black evening dress with a matching scarf around her neck and she sat at the short corner of the L-shaped bar staring at him. She looked to be about the same age as him -- late fifties, though her smile made her seem younger; she looked so very elegant in her outfit.

"You don't look like you're from around here, stranger," the woman said to him.

"How can you tell?" he asked.

"I just know -- you've got a different walk."

Arnold left his chair and came and took one beside her. "Actually I'm not from around here. I just came into town."

"Hmmm, love your uniform," the woman touched the lapel of his jacket. "You navy boys always look so cute in your plain whites."

The man forces a blush. "Can I buy you a drink, Ms ..."

"Deidre," she gave him her hand. "It's Deidre. And you are?"

"Arnold." He shook her hand and then excused himself for a moment.

He approached the juke box, inserted a dime into the slot and then searched through its library for a song. The same song he'd played thirty-five years ago. He found it and pressed the play button. Seconds later Sinatra's voice floated out of the speakers crooning about summer winds blowing in from across the sea. Arnold came back to her and extended his hand.

"Deidre, would you please honour me with this dance?"

She smiles at him and places her hand in his. "I would love nothing more."

He led her to the centre of the room, their hands interlock around each other's body as they swayed to the sonorous music. Deidre caressed the back of her husband's head while he kissed her shoulder.

"It's almost like the first night we met," she said to him. "I remember how dashing you looked in those Navy whites."

He smiles as the memory comes to his eyes. "I never thought you'd dance with me."

"I never thought you'd ask. But I'm glad you did. So many years married to you, and it feels so much like we've known each other only yesterday."

"Remember what you said to me when the song stopped."

She smiles over his shoulder. "I asked if you would love me till morning."

He then stopped to look at her. "I've never stopped loving you, Deidre. Not once have I ever."

She gazed into his eyes, whispered back to him: "And I have never stopped loving you too, Arnold. Not once, not ever."

Their lips met in a kiss. Behind them, a couple of bar's patrons applauded while Sinatra went on about the summer winds ... long summer winds.