miller mayfair.

Exchanging a series of text with a random dude definitely wasn’t the strangest thing Miller had ever done.  Being here in New York, dealing with the obligations of visiting with family, he’d welcome the amusing distraction from his normal routine of staying in his hotel room watching whatever convenient marathon of shows they had on their most interesting channels.  The buzz of it quickly wore off, and he’d almost written off the guy completely, until his cellphone screen flashed up with the most magical word of all:  bar.

A bar was precisely the cures to all his ails.  Plus, it wasn’t like there was anything all that bizarre about meeting a stranger at a new location.  Miller did it all the time.  Simply par for the course in his line of work.  And it wasn’t like this was some kind of blind date type of deal.  More like.. blind bros.  A potential to commiserate with alcohol and conversation with someone who didn’t strike him as a total shmuck.

When he arrived, the first thing he did was amble over to the bar to place down a credit card for a tab.  Naturally, the account attached to it belonged to his boss – who would be footing the bill for this entire trip, but it was okay so long as he wrote it all off as being for ‘Research Purposes’.  Ada would probably raise her eyebrows at him for daring to try to pass off a bar bill as part of his field research.  Still.  This place was probably haunted.  So it counted.

Every place in New York was just a little bit haunted.

Miller grabbed the first drink of the night, whiskey in the glass that he thumped down on the counter near the piano.  There were enough people gathered around that spot that he could pretend he wasn’t drinking solo.  He squirmed on the stool to tug out his pack of smokes and lighter, after a quick inspection of the place indicated that it mercifully allowed smoking inside still.  Thank fuck.

The back of his hand shoved absently at the corner of his glasses as he gave a dismissive look at the dude at the piano.  This place wasn’t exactly his normal scene.  Miller didn’t usually get wasted in bars where dudes wore pants with boats on them.  He tapped out debris in a nearby ashtray while the guy sang, glancing around for a signal from the one he was supposed to meet here.

Then, while he stared a while longer at Boat Pants, it clicked in his head that this was exactly the person he had come to meet.  Drink and a show.  Welcome to New York.

As the last notes of She’s Always A Woman To Me finished with a round of applause with the small crowd that filtered in, Blaine plucked at a few more keys and gave the crowd a warm, appreciative smile. His tip jar was filling up nice enough that he decided to continue through to a couple more Billy Joel covers just to keep them coming.  New Yorkers (and especially the tourists) loving that Long Island boy always made paying tomorrow’s bills a little easier. He’d get to his own music later on tonight.  Bank account first, music you wrote and/or prefer after you’re sure the lights are going to stay on.  Ahh, the burdens of adulthood.

Piano Man followed to warm them up.  His eyes kept scanning the bar wondering if his mystery texter was already there.  For some reason, the solo guy at the bar who was watching him and smoking like a chimney stood out from the others.  Mainly because he was alone and the only people that came here by themselves were people he knew by name that had their preferred stools at the bar and drink orders in a could-make-them-in-his-sleep in Joe’s brain menu.

This guy wasn’t one of them.

Mystery texter identified?  Maybe?  As the vocals from his patrons picked up in time with his, Blaine dipped his head in a nod to Miller and then went back to making eye contact with those closest to him.  He even encouraged them to sing louder with the occasional wave of his hand and bounce on his piano bench.  New York State Of Mind rounded things out and just like that, he had his spending money taken care of.  Thank you, Mister Joel.

Standing up from his perch, Blaine gave a promise to be back later, thanked them for putting up with him so far tonight and stepped around the piano.  Bellying up next to Miller and trusting that his guess was right (or this was going to get awkward really fast), the singer brushed his hands on the outsides of his thighs so he could offer him a hand that wasn’t cramped up from banging on piano keys.  

“Hi..uhm.  Sorry to keep you waiting,” his eyebrows scrunched together just above that curious gaze reading back and forth over Millers, “Or did I guess wrong and you have no idea what I’m talking about?”