Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Ghosts

Short Vincent, April 1967 during a George Wallace protest.
Courtesy of CSU's Michael Schwartz Library, special collections. Click to Enlarge.

An excerpt from an entry I posted last March:

... The Theatrical was a legendary club on Short Vincent. It was big and brash with a huge kidney shaped bar that surrounded an elevated stage. The club was housed in one cavernous room, with tables and booths flanking that incredible bar. Giant figures graced the two-story walls: demure chicks in hoop skirts and devilishly exaggerated harlequin men lunging for them. There was a coat check. Attendants in the ladies' lounge handed you a towel and made sure the bottles of hand cream and cologne were properly arranged.

During college breaks, I pushed beers at a weird little joint called the Park Pub in the basement of what is now Reserve Square apartments. I used to go braless and wear cute little outfits with high heels in order to garner better tips (sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't). When my shift was over I would occasionally sashay over to the Theatrical to meet a friend or wait for my ride. The bar proper had four sections, each serviced by a regular bartender who was as legendary as the Theatrical itself. Everyone had their favorite. I always sat in Jim's section. I'd settle in as he'd straighten from his perfect bar lean, amble over and snap open his Zippo to light my Marlboro before pouring me a big icy tumbler of Canadian Club and soda.

"Hey Jim, can I have a paper and pencil?"

"Sure thing, girlie."

I'd jot down, Girl from Ipanema? then hand it to Jim, who would in turn deliver it to the house pianist, who, if he had no other requests pending, would stop in the middle of whatever he was playing and start playing "Girl from Ipanema."

On his break, the pianist (whose name I am purposefully omitting) would ask me to dance. We'd step onto the dance floor and start swaying to and fro. He wasn't terribly attractive, but his sexuality was unmistakable as his cologne wafted between us. The fabric of his suit against my chin felt formal and expensive. When he'd pull me close, I'd look up into his eyes.

"Your lips are less then an inch from my own," he once remarked.

Perhaps not surprisingly, he would become aroused during these interludes, which were as pure and erotic as anything I can recollect. He would push hard into my torso as we moved ever-so-slowly against one another. He never once kissed me.

That's what it was like. Back then. At the Theatrical. In Cleveland.

* * *

So that's what I wrote last March. Yesterday, I was taking photos on Vincent. The Theatrical's a parking lot now.


Yeah, yeah. You go on ahead and charge your $12.50 a day. I'll take the memories.

* * *

16 comments:

Anonymous said...

We would go into the Theatrical after a game, mid-late 80s when there was nothing else open downtown.

A hooker once asked us if we were with the Red Sox.

MR

Erin O'Brien said...

MR, I hope you said, "yes."

Anonymous said...

We could have talked our way through it, no problem, but we would've come up short on the signing bonuses...
MR

PS New picture=good. Last picture reminded me of the cover of the "Trilogy" album by ELP.

Anonymous said...

Off topic-

I saw the hair before I saw the tweet. Of course you know we'll be expecting some sort of explanation.

RJ

Bill said...

The piano player is still pissed at himself. Nice memories. Nice new photo.

John Venlet said...

Yeah, yeah. You go on ahead and charge your $12.50 a day. I'll take the memories.

And a "big icy tumbler of Canadian Club and soda."

J9 said...

Ah to be young and sexual, and dangerously so... I fondly remember those days...

Anonymous said...

no comment, but I can't pass on this wv:'obrai'...Young Erin saying her name after the third CC...
mr

Big Mark 243 said...

This was way cool EOB... I have had a couple of 'time machine moments' recently so I am really feeling this...

... envy that you once were sexy and unconscious of your appeal...

...thanks for sharing..!

DogsDontPurr said...

I love this story. The romantic erotic~ness is palpable.

And, OMG...I love your new hair!! Absolutely gorgeous!

Erin O'Brien said...

Thanks, gang.

I love this story too, so many years ago. How in the hell did I get to be 46?

Yeah, it's a new 'do. Will prolly blog on it later this week.

Anonymous said...

"How in the hell did I get to be 46?"

Hearty Midwestern stock.

Ha. I always wanted to say that.

RJ

rraine said...

same way i got to be 60. one day at a time. they just creep up on you until, BLAMMO!

Anonymous said...

Another Theatrical memory: Standing out in front as a limo pulls up. An NFL quarterback gets out, adjusting his pants. He is followed by an astonishingly stunning woman obviously not his wife, with legs higher than my shoulders. He smiles to the crowd...
MR

The Twisted Tine said...

That's a brilliant story right there...

Except for the part where it turns into a parking lot, although I suppose that's how evolution goes. I wonder how that happened... there's got to be one person that we can pin that on, that we can hold accountable for. I'd like to find this person and ask them, "Why?"

Anonymous said...

1. This was the only place that I knew of that had steak tartare.

2. Bill Doggett used to play there all of the time. I can hear "Do the Honky Tonk" right now.