Dreams Eclipsed

Dreams Eclipsed
Second Edition
Kira Stone
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 Kira Stone

Janet Widgeon sauntered into the smoky jazz club, her stiletto heels clicking on the varnished wood floor. Notes of sweet, sassy blues rolled down the dimly lit hall to welcome her. She was early, far earlier than she normally arrived at the Zodiac Club, but pacing in her apartment hadn’t lessened her anxiety.

Is he as excited about tonight as I am? Is he already here, waiting for me?

The burly bouncer stationed at the entrance greeted her. “Evenin’, Miss Janet.” His thin black lips curved slightly upward as he took in her skintight, siren red dress. High praise coming from the stoic man.

Though she wore three-inch heels, she had to stretch to kiss the beefy man’s cheek. “Evening, Trent. How’s the mood tonight?”

“Hotter than Maria’s gumbo.”

Janet chuckled. “Don’t let her hear you say that, or her next batch will violate our fire code.”

Trent ducked his head in agreement. “True that.”

She fingered her slim, sequined purse -- it was the same shade as the dress and shoes -- as she surrendered to her curiosity. “Any messages for me?”

“None of the friendly sort, if that’s what you’re asking.” Even in the dim light she could see his brown eyes sparkle with amusement.

With a nod, she deftly spun on the points of her shoes and headed toward the bar’s crowded interior.

“Going to your office, Miss, or should I ask one of the girls to bring a glass of white wine to your table?”

Her gaze roamed the dim interior as she considered her answer. “I’m far too restless to concentrate on paperwork tonight. I think I’ll mingle first, and then find a seat when Jim begins his first set.”

“You have yourself a fine evening then, Miss Janet.”

Janet penetrated the hazy atmosphere where a broad mix of patrons congregated around small tables in front of the stage. Tonight’s headlining act was a real coup for the club. Jim Byrnes owned a nightspot in Vancouver and rarely played anyplace else. How her manager had sweet-talked him into taking a trip to her little place in bayou country was a secret that man wasn’t telling.

A relatively new kid on the national jazz scene, Chris Thomas King was currently warming up the room with good, old-fashioned songs. Janet hummed along with his rendition of the old Blues classic John Law as she circulated through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with old and new friends.

Jim’s name was a big draw, and Janet was pleased to see her staff keeping up with the clientele’s high demand for fresh, full glasses. Most of the customers wouldn’t want a meal so late at night, just a few Cajun snacks to keep the alcohol company. Janet noted that Maria and her kitchen staff seemed to have those requests under control as well.

There was only one question remaining on her mind. By the time she completed a full circuit of the room, Janet had that answer too. He’s not here.

Instead of being disappointed, a tremor of excitement rippled along her spine. He wasn’t here. Yet. But he would come. She was sure of it.

Janet signaled for a barmaid to bring over a drink as she sat down at an empty table, the one reserved for her exclusive use, in a dark corner at the right edge of the stage. Usually, she invited others to join her, but not this time. The only person whose company she desired now knew where to find her -- and would, sometime before the night was over.

It had been exactly a month ago that she’d first met him, a friend of a friend who shared her fondness for delta blues and late-night conversation. They’d talked until dawn threatened to cross the line from speculation to fact. He’d left her with a passionate kiss and a promise to return the following Saturday.

In fact, he’d come back again and again to the Zodiac Club, never staying beyond closing, never asking if he could take her home or inviting her to his place. But after their last encounter, she knew their next meeting would end differently. The sexual tension between them had hit a boiling point. Next time, they’d either turn up the heat until their rising passion was finally given a chance to burn, or they’d shut off the gas for good.

And now that night had arrived.

Janet sat alone and waited for him to appear through the blues of Chris Thomas King and then Jim Byrnes’ opening set. She enjoyed both musicians thoroughly, yet part of her remained aware of the lingering emptiness beside her.

As Jim’s second set began, Janet succumbed to a trickle of doubt. Had he forgotten about their date? Lost interest? Met someone else? Normally she didn’t allow the presence or absence of a man at her side to cast doubt on her self-worth, but this man was the exception to every personal rule she had about dating. She’d been so sure he felt the same way and now…

“Why do you wear such a sad face, cherè?” a rich, masculine voice asked from the shadows behind her.

She gasped in surprise. She’d never heard him approach, but somehow he stood beside her, a living advertisement for sin.

Inside the dark club, his face looked chalk white. The rest of him was encased in black from neck to toe. A lightweight ribbed turtleneck tucked into a pair of pleated pants. A sports coat hung over one arm, the opposite hand rested in his pants’ pocket. So much the man she remembered, still more shadow than substance. The only part of him that vibrated with life was the pair of quicksilver eyes which now pierced her soul.

Irritated that he’d made her doubt herself, she snapped, “You’re like a damn ghost.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out, moving to her side.

Janet knew his courtly manners wouldn’t allow him to sit in the empty chair until it was offered. She’d keep him on pins and needles for a few more seconds to satisfy her moment of pique. “You’ve missed most of the show. Jim Byrnes, for heaven’s sake!”

“Is this transgression so severe you’d rather I go?” His whisky-smooth voice whispered against her ear.

Pure lust snaked down her spine. How could she be inches away from orgasm just from the sound of his voice?