Page 1 of The Voice of Wild Places
March
Something Wild
Philadelphia,Pennsylvania
March 1st, 1930
Watt’s heart seized at the possibility he entered an alternate reality a mere three steps past the threshold.Tobacco clouded the atmosphere, tinged with spilled wine and an overwhelming amount of cologne.The combination reminded him of the estate.He turned away from the thought, offering his fedora to the hat-check, a friendly woman in a well-tailored pantsuit.
All the patrons were exceptionally dressed, but the staff even more so.The small place could almost pass for a fine gentlemen’s club.Watt fought the urge to take in his own comparatively dressed down state, there was nothing for it now.
He had no worries before when he stood outside, basking in the warm light of a gas lamp as he studied the dingy brickwork of the unassuming place squatting on South Carmac.The floor above the speakeasy was a restaurant, and he’d heard rumors of the scene the place played host to during the night.When he began this search, he had the delusion that if he wandered long enough he’d simply come across Annie, for surely fate had a vested interest in reuniting lost … what?
Acquaintances?Friends?Strangers?
Regardless, doubt shadowed the late night hour.Narrowing down which speakeasy Annie frequented in a city rumored to have thousands of them had proved to be a monumental task, one that stretched into a week long affair.Time was of the essence, considering that he’d be leaving Philly in four—no, three days.If Annie’s mother had elaborated more than ‘somewhere on Carmac,’ he certainly would’ve found her by now.It didn’t help that he’d only sought out the speakeasies back home once, and as such had very little experience in navigating them, let alone in a city he didn’t know.
Sheer desperation and the need to set things right propelled him deeper into the belly of Maxine’s.A guilty conscience was not an easily assuaged thing, but it wasn’t forgiveness he sought.Forgiveness from others was nothing if you couldn’t forgive yourself, and this he most certainly could not do.This was more about things unsaid, and the desire to let it be known that he still gave a damn, that he always had.
Watt casually searched the room while making his way to the bar.The crowd was thick, and he became temporarily distracted by a piano tucked into the corner of the place, and the Italian pianist perched behind it.Nearly as pretty as the music brought to life by his elegant fingertips, his lips were stained pink and a smooth throat was exposed from beneath a thin shirt.He belonged in a theater, not exactly the sort you’d expect to find on a street that played host to street fights and raids on a nightly basis, if the local gossip was anything to go by.Watt had seen no evidence to support the claims, having only witnessed one arrest in this part of the city so far, and the night was nearly over now.
Watt claimed an empty stool at the bar without incident and ordered a gin.Silently, the bartender slid a glass across the clean if not battered counter towards Watt, his stare hard and evaluating.
“Much obliged,” Watt ventured, not quite shouting.
The bartender crossed his thick arms over his chest.“Ain’t seen you before.”
“Ain’t been here before.”
The man studied Watt for a moment longer, then the tension in his shoulders broke a fraction.“Let me know if you need anything else.”
Watt started to ask the same question he'd asked every other bartender he encountered in the last week, but a gentleman down the way flagged the bartender’s attention before Watt could get the words out.He sipped on his drink instead, and his gut immediately twisted on the invasive substance.Despite this, his mind settled a bit, and warmth smoothed over his frayed nerves.The classical music tapered off into tepid silence, and cheerful applause erupted from the patrons.The pianist stood and bowed dramatically, eliciting a few whip-whistles.An encore was called for, but the pianist cited the need for another drink and cleared the stage.A band took his place, a singer, pianist, and a few woodwind players, together they birthed a tune jaunty enough to swing to.Nice enough, but Watt preferred the slower, more drawn out music.
A group of bright young people kept the new musicians company.They sang boisterously, unrestrained and carefree, their arms linked around each other’s shoulders and drinks held high in the air.The sense of camaraderie there was palpable, something Watt hadn’t felt since the trenches.The emptiness where his heart should be churned, not with joy as it should, but ugly jealousy.Emotion, no matter how hideous, was humanity, and he clung to the idea.
Something about the man in the middle caught Watt’s attention, whether it was his unabashed and terrible singing, or the way his eyes creased with unchecked laughter, he wasn’t sure.He was shorter than Watt, thick around the waist and blessed with some bulk in his broad shoulders.The suspenders he wore over his button up were loose and kept drifting down his shoulders, and the rolled up sleeves kept sliding down his arms.His hair was cut into the modern fashion, a more trim and neat version of Watt's own hair, and much darker.His glasses kept sliding down his nose, which was unimpaired by previous fractures.In all, he was unremarkable.Aggressively average.
Watt found it hard to stop staring at him, but the man only had eyes for the crowd, his friends, and his drink.After the chorus finished, he desperately threw back his drink and slammed the cup down on the piano."Une autre!"
Watt flinched at the violence inflicted upon the instrument, and he belatedly recognized the Parisian call for another.His trance broke when the pianist perched on the stool beside him.“Charles!”The man called, raking a hand through dark hair that curled around his ears.He glanced sideways at Watt and winked quicker than a flash.“Hey, angel.Thirsty?”
“I—” Watt blinked at the man, unsure if he heard him correctly.Angel?Him?
The man’s smile spilled like liquid gold, slow and beautiful.“Oh, you are adorable.Let me buy you a drink.”
“One and done for me, thank you.”Watt nodded to his empty glass as he pushed it away from himself.Truth be told, he didn’t imbibe often and the alcohol was already getting to his head.
Charles returned, sliding something deadly in front of the pianist.“Done for the night?”
“Oh, even stars need to rest.”The man murmured, then gingerly sipped at his drink.
Watt’s gaze stuttered on his painted lips settling on the rim of his glass.He forced himself to shift his attention, sweeping the room from this new vantage point.It was small enough that he could see clearly across the place, but the crowd was like fog, constantly moving and revealing the far reaches of the room only in fragments.He should leave, call it a night and give up on this futile endeavor.There was a reason Annie never returned any of his letters.He didn’t know how it all went so wrong, and what did he have to apologize for exactly?Doing what he was told?
Then again, blindly following orders had proven to be an ineffective way to live thus far.
Watt decided to play the only card offered to him tonight.“Do you play every night?”He asked the pianist.
The pianist gave him another sly grin.“Did you like it?”
