Daffodils in the South Wind

Townley nodded his head slightly to the beat and stole a glance at Wyatt, who, obviously spellbound, tried to hide his surprise. He sat quietly and listened to the opening song.
“How long has she been at the Seashell?” he finally asked Townley, trying to sound detached. His eyes were glued to her as she began her second selection, to light applause.
“Little over a year,” Townley said as he lit a cigarette.
Wyatt said little else as he sat back in his chair, stared at the artist, and ordered scotch. Townley instantly noticed his cousin’s switch to a stronger drink but spared him any jousting because of it.
Townley sat quietly, enjoyed the singing, the atmosphere, and the sight of the scantily-dressed waitresses. As the evening waned, Lou Jenny departed from the mellow tunes and sang a few upbeat songs.
Townley popped the question to Wyatt. “Well, Y, you wanna go backstage with me for a few minutes after the set?” he asked, clearing his throat.
“Backstage?” he asked incredulously.
“Y, when have you known your cousin T to stutter?” He studied Wyatt. “Yeah, I said backstage. Been doing that for months naah. You know me, man. I cain’t come this far, see a home girl, and not look her up. Some of these bougie southerners can do that, but I cain’t. She knows that if I’m here, I will pay her a visit backstage. Last time we kicked it at the Blue Moon after her performance. We sat up until the wee hours of the morning talkin’ about Troutdale and old times. Yeah, we talked. We talked, and I had a few. You know Jen ain’t gone drink nothin’,” he said between cigarette puffs. “That was until the bartender put us out so he could close the joint.” He reminisced, shook his head, chuckled, and took another sip of his drink and another puff of his cigarette.
Wyatt hated cigarette smoking but, obviously intrigued with the conversation, hung on to each of Townley’s words, oblivious to the circling smoke. He pondered his cousin’s question but did not answer right away. Instead he looked around the room, deep in thought; took a swig of his scotch; and looked straight ahead at Jenny Morgan, who was singing her finale. Wyatt never answered Townley. He just sat looking ahead as the crowd of patrons began leaving. Townley drank the rest of his tonic, stood, put on his jacket, and patted his cousin on the shoulder and said, “C’mon, Y; let’s go.”
After exiting the lounge, they walked along Lennox Way, headed for the West End Bridge. After walking a few paces, Wyatt slowed down, turned to his cousin, and asked, “T, ahem.” He cleared his throat. “Were you going to say hello to Jenny tonight? I know you said you usually…” His voice tapered off.
“Well, I wasn’t sho’ what you…I mean, if you wanted to see her or talk to her or not?”
Wyatt looked around, touched the back of his collar, and responded. “I can talk.” He mused as he ran a cupped hand down his chin.
“Shore, man, shore,” Townley responded. He took a moment, finished two puffs from his Camel, threw his cigarette on the concrete, and smashed it with a turned toe. They retraced their steps to the area of dotty businesses near the Seashell. “Let’s cut through this side over here.” Wyatt followed his cousin down a short, dimly lit alley and they entered the side of the Seashell. Once inside, there was a short row of mostly dark dressing rooms. When they arrived at a lit center room, Townley motioned for Wyatt to wait outside of the room for a minute. After leaning against the wall and waiting patiently outside for the space of about four minutes, Wyatt began to pace for another minute, and then he slipped inside Jenny’s dressing room, with the side stride and the air of a paramour. He looked at Jenny, said hello, and smiled. Jenny was seated, brushing her hair. Townley was seated as well, sideways, on a counter near her mirrored dresser.
Jenny turned her eyes from the mirror, looked at Townley, stood uneasily, turned to Wyatt, and held out her hand. “Wyatt,” she said with a nod and a glossy-eyed half smile. Her eyes burned from the smoky ballroom.
“Well, hello, Jenny,” he said, accepting her hand.
Rising, Townley said, “Ummah go get a snack on the boardwalk. See you in a few, man.” He tapped Wyatt on the shoulder. “Later for ya, Jen.” He gave her a knowing look and exited through the alley.
“So, how’ve you been?”
“I’ve been good, actually, Wyatt, and you?” she asked, looking down at first and then glancing around the dressing room area. “I was just leaving for the evening, or”—she checked her time piece—“shall I say the early morning,” she answered in a genial tone. She appeared to Wyatt to relax a little more.
“I’ll walk you out, then.”
As they strolled down the boardwalk and became reacquainted, a few pedestrians shot approving stares. They did make a striking couple: she a honey-toned beauty and he a bit taller, a shade darker, and handsome.
“I see the years have been a friend to you. Still a dish, I see,” he said to compliment her.
“Thanks, you look well yourself.” She smiled, looking at the sidewalk and then at Wyatt. “What brings you to the ’Lon?”
“Well, I’m actually here in Barcelon working on a building project for my father.”
“Your father?” queried Jenny. “Why, I didn’t know that you knew him!”
Wyatt told Jenny how he had become reacquainted with his father, and the conversation grew from there. Jenny listened attentively with her ears and heart, as she always had when Wyatt spoke. Wyatt shared his last seven years with Jenny: school, work, Ari’s demise, and Niagara’s birth. She expressed her condolences regarding Ari.
“Townley told me about Ari,” she said compassionately. “Are you all right?”
He looked away from her. “Time has a way of healing all things, I guess,” he said, without directly answering her question and looking out over the harbor, with a glint of pain in his eyes and voice.
They walked along the riverfront in silence for a few minutes. They continued their leisurely stroll and visited for a while longer, until Jenny arrived at her transit stop near the West End Bridge.
“Good night, Jenny,” Wyatt stated as he looked at her under the moonlight. “It’s been great seeing you again—really.”
Jenny smiled and returned, “Likewise.” She extended her hand, which he brushed away and gave her a brief hug. He then stood for a moment and looked at her under the streetlight. They parted ways for the evening and agreed to see each other again soon.
After Jenny’s bus departed, Wyatt walked back toward the boardwalk, and Townley caught up with him and asked, “Well, did you holla at your girl?”
Wyatt looked quizzically at Townley and then responded, “Yes, T, I hollered at my girl.”
“Get a load of you,” he said cheerfully. “That’s a good thing,” he said approvingly, with a smile in his voice.
As they walked down the avenue, Townley raised two thumbs in the air and bobbed his head. He pointedly bounced in his stride as they walked toward the boardwalk and said in a raised tone, “Holla!”
Wyatt just laughed and shook his head.
A stream of glistening daffodils along the riverfront stirred in the dark and looked on.