2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

2:01 A.M

The world is fair tonight, so fair that Madeleine is filled to her ears with fairness; it is fair, fair, fair. She prances back and forth on the stage, delivering this line to that person, and that line to this. The audience looks delighted except for this man who has pounded onto the stage and is cuffing her forearm past the point of fairness.

Madeleine recoils.

“Attention everyone,” the man says. No one listens. The man “Attentions” again.

His gruff words do not match the gentle disposition of the audience. The guitarist stops playing and the drummer stills. The cheering subsides.

It is Len Thomas, flanked by plainclothes officers.

“What time is it?” Lorca says. A cursory survey of the club tells him it is over capacity by roughly seventy-five people. A musician onstage is smoking. He is smoking. It is past two A.M. A minor is singing. In addition to the fine he already owes, who can imagine what kind of improbable debt is being calculated on the notepad of Len Thomas.

“This club is being closed by order of the city. Everyone is expected to leave immediately except those I will keep for questioning.”

Madeleine shakes the man off. She has nowhere to go but into the bank of people who part as she jumps. They clog her running path. She counters, jockeys, double jockeys. Who are you who is that who was that? Toward the tonsil of pale night that peeks into the club at every entrance or exit through its heavy doors, Madeleine runs and Madeleine runs.

Miss Greene and Ben catch her at the door.

“I sang,” Madeleine says, but that doesn’t get to it as deeply as she feels so she says it again, harder.

The door is blocked by an officer. “She’ll need to speak to us. Are you her mother?”

“I’m her teacher,” Sarina says.

“You can stay.” He points to Ben. “Is this your husband?”

“Friend,” Sarina says.

“He’ll have to go.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Ben says.

“No one will be allowed to wait outside,” the officer assures him.

He opens the door and lets people go one by one. The crowd steals glances at Madeleine as they heave toward the door. Ben takes Sarina’s hand to steel them against the current.

“Wait,” he says. “This can’t be the end.”

Sarina searches his eyes as if in them she has misplaced a set of keys.

Madeleine wants to tell them to hurry it up but her teacher’s pained smile stops her. It is the one she uses when a student struggles for an answer, to tell them she believes they have it in them. Even Madeleine knows to stay silent. If you are anything other than humbled in the presence of love, you are not in the presence of love.

“Keep me updated on the status of your everything,” Sarina says, and releases Ben’s hand. The space between them fills with other people.