These Dreams of You

~ ~ ~

He realizes, “You’re having me on.” Maybe she knows he shaved four years off the bio he gave the record company. He calls to the bartender, “Jonesy!” with no reason to believe the bartender’s name is Jonesy, then turns to the young woman. “So, this the night then, Jaz?”

She says, “Shut up.”

“A tumble would inspire me for tomorrow’s session, yeah?”

“We both know,” Jasmine answers, “that no tumble will inspire you all the more, don’t we?” Even by lead-singer standards, she thinks, Reg is lascivious; his songs are a nonstop orgy. The bartender brings another. “Dead night,” Reg says to him.

“Monday,” the bartender says, “theatres are closed.”

“Everyone’s at the Indica or Marquee,” says Jasmine.

“Never heard of the Indica,” pouring the drink, “but then I’m new.”

“Me too,” says Reg. “In town, I mean.”

“Hear the Marquee lot used to come in straightaway after the shows.”

She says, “Too late for the Marquee.”

“Don’t know why they stopped. Coming after the shows, I mean.”

“Soft Machine’s on the bill, yeah?” says Reg. “Should be a bit of a crowd, then.”

“That’s Sunday night,” says Jasmine.

“Never heard of the Indica,” the bartender says again.

“Next to the Scotch, over on Mason’s Yard. It’s not a club, it’s a gallery. The Marquee moved.”

“Yeah?”

“From Oxford over to Wardour now.”

“Jonesy. . ” says Reg.

“So if you’re waiting for the lot from the Marquee,” says Jasmine, “you’re going to wait awhile. Everyone heads for the Crom now, or the Ship a few doors down.”

“Jonesy.”

“But you got us, don’t you?”

“Oh,” the bartender assures her, “I got more than you two—”

“But Jonesy,” Reg finally says emphatically enough to stop the other conversation, lowering his voice and leaning across the bar, “who is that?” and points at the Yank across the room.