23 comments/ 28841 views/ 74 favorites Smooth Jazz Ch. 01 By: Dlovely SHE WALKED IN THE BAR, a frown burrowed in between her neatly done eyebrows. What better way to forget her troubles as the smoky air started to fill with cigar and cloudy cigarette puffs .They floated around her atmosphere, in her nostrils, and did a good squeeze. The surroundings spoke of vibrant moods, drunk and somber. Conversations were lively, argumentative, flirtatious & loud, romantic and Jazz was indifferent. She took in the worn down walls, the wallpaper peeling and the decorations looking ancient. Dart boards hung next to the pool tables that aided Pool sharks and local hustlers trying to make a quick buck. The drunk soliloquies would come she thought bitterly. Men came to the bar to express their ill will. They spent the whole night drowning themselves in straight scotch and whiskey. The drink they considered of a man and let it go down smooth and burn the throat and tear the eyes. They wanted to wash down their dismay of going home to a wife they didn't love and children they didn't want to leave. God she was becoming cynical. Jazz Simmons could care less about family and marriage seeing as she had neither now. Her hazel eyes watered and became blurry as she thought about the day and how it had played out. It all seemed like a nightmare, distant, quick, but now as if it would last an eternity. Still it was brutal and hard to shake and come to terms with. How could she expect that her husband William of four years would tell her he was no longer in love with her? That in three months, three weeks, and two days they had been separated he had been moving on. All the while she had waited for him to come back home so they could make it work. She thought that it was what he wanted. She walked to a vacant stool and eyes flashed on her. She was an attractive woman. She was attractive enough to make men linger. Even in her state of fatigue and stress. Appealing to the eyes she was even when her hair, that was usually to her shoulders in a wavy pool ,was pulled back in a stubborn pony tail and her full mouth set low in a grim. Even her eyes saggy and red rimmed from crying and lack of sleep were big doe eyes that men found very sexy. She was unaware of the attention. She itched' for a piano as the bartender handed her a drink, and a alluring wink to go with it. His pony tail shook as he threw bottles in the air and messed with shakers, meanwhile keeping a cocky smirk on his thin lips as he looked at her. No luck here buddy. She thought. Not unless he wanted to switch careers to a bell hop. Carrying her baggage. As the music slowly played over her head, she thought about pressing down and running her fingers over white key's. Until they ached and her headache subsided as her hands would go numb. She blew her bangs out of her face. Bangs she had cut for him, her husband William, willy as his mistress called him. The one he blatantly threw in her face. Her eyes narrowed but now with blinding rage. She willed her hands from shaking as she took another sip of her second drink. She was struggling to keep her temper in check, along with other emotions. She decided to drink her sadness and depression away. What would she tell her family when they called her and asked about her and William? What would she say, when they asked if they would come down to Georgia. She rubbed her temples as she replayed the scene in her head that had taken place 12 hours ago, early noon. "I can't do this anymore Jazz." Williams handsome face that could only be described as "proper." was set in what seem like a permanent scowl. His larger bottom lip jutted out in a fashion which spoke of annoyance. Annoyed that he had been caught trying to leave. He had planned to sneak out her life, without a word. Fattening her up with hope and then disappearing was his plan. He did it slyly distracting her as he shifted money, made plans, drew paper work together, and searched for houses with his new beau. He turned to her the rest of his clothes and things in a suitcase in his right hand. Fear and confusion twisted her heart. Panic clasped inside her chest making her breathing uneasy. Her husband was leaving her. After four years, going on five, he was leaving her. No warning, no words, no explanations. Just silence, thickened the air. She had come in from one of her tutoring sessions. Teaching Joseph walkers how to play the keys of the piano instead of strike them was a battle in itself. The smile faded and the battle was forgotten as she walked in on William about to stroll on out the door, with a slick smile on his face. It dropped when he spotted her and responded to her question of where the hell are you going? "Will-William." He preferred his proper name, appose to what he considered slang. Everything about him was proper. His looks, the way he talked, his mannerisms, his emotions. Everything was just proper and perfect, until the curtain comes up. "We can work this out" She blew a calm breath that didn't help her heart slow any. "We can make it right again William. You said it yourself, we need each other and I thought it was clear we still loved each other, I don't understand how-" "You could be so naïve? I wondered the same thing every time I lied to you about the ability to save this thing?" "Thing? We-" "Yes a thing! It's not a marriage. Its become a problem and a situation, and I'm taking care of it today. Once and for all!" The words slipped out of him and smacked her right in the face. Even though not physically, it hurt so that she held a hand to her cheek as pain tumbled through her like a raving storm. Suddenly, he rushed to her and took her in his arms against his wiry frame. He had always been of medium height and build. His fingers manicured and well kept. They were firm and reliable. His body was cold as he held her against him stiffly. He was uncomfortable and so was she as she relaxed into the shock of his words, his actions. He was lean, no real muscle on him, so for the first time she realized she didn't quite fit. Still she ignored the discomfort. She loved him; she had to fight for him. She looked up into his dark brown eyes, they were blank. No smile to show the beautiful dimples in his round face. Jazz pressed her mouth hard against his in desperation. Wanting the spark, the flame, lust, anything besides this state of "properness" that always seemed good enough for them, well maybe for him. "What do you feel?" She asked him "Don't you feel something?" "Nothing Jazz, I don't love you anymore. I don't think I ever have." He murmured this into her hair and she pushed him away. The distance between them kept by sudden rage and self-disgust. "You can't mean that!" Jazz screamed. Her hazel eyes sunk in. His eyes said it all, even as his mouth stayed close. She wanted to throw something, to crumble a piece of decoration that graced the empty walls. They were white and blank, and impersonal. Everything was how he wanted it. Nothing said her in this house, but the piano that sat in the dining room, rarely played when he was around as he hated the loud noises as he worked. "You don't excite me! or arouse me anymore, I don't want you or love you. Just accept that. But that would be asking too much of you right, that you act like an adult instead of throwing yourself at me like a desperate whore." His voice was laced with malicious and Jazz shot daggers at him. He was bruising her ego and ripping her heart out. Stepping on it, as the skeletons rolled out the closet. The words unsaid, everything he had held inside, until his plan was complete. This was not part of the her plan. William blew an impatient breath as her eyes started to water. He prided himself on order and promptness. He should be out of here right now. Still she was making shit difficult. "Whore?" She watched his eyes filled with disgust of her. He thought she was pathetic; she was starting to realize it. She turned her back on him with tears, raw in her eyes. Tightness was in her throat as she stomped on the plush carpet that laid rectangular on the wooden floor in the living room. She kicked the mahogany love seat that sat at an angle to the identical couch. He stepped closer to the stone brick fire place as she plopped on the couch. "I am your wife, you sonofabitch!" She threw a pillow, which he didn't bother to block "And you look at me and talk to me like that." "Ex-wife! For four months I made that clear." "You told me you wanted to work it out!" "I didn't lay a finger on you, except for a casual kiss. You brought this on yourself. You saw what you wanted to see. I was going to leave without a word, without this "scene" that you insist on making." He spoke to her his tone accusingly aimed at her character. As if she was in the wrong. "No! Not a finger William but you laid your words though. Oh Jazz I can't wait to be with you again. We can make it work Hun. I just need to get some things together. I want to wait!" She dragged on dramatically mimicking him. "Wait till we touch each other again, lets savor the moment, don't you agree?" Her voice nearly broke into a sob as she felt like a fool. He had made one out of her. "I lied! Okay fine I did. I needed to move my money before I asked you to sign the divorce papers. I didn't want you to take a share of my money that you didn't earn." He had planned this? She felt like an even bigger jackass. He had did it right under her nose. "I won't sign a damn line; I'll get what I deserve." William moved quickly at her words pushing her deeper into the couch under his weight. One of his hands large and callous was at her throat. "Oh you will give me the divorce." The rage in his voice and burning fire in his eyes eased her sadness and brought on her fear. "Okay." She gasped for air and he smiled. "Okay." She tried to get out from under his grip and started to squirm and try to bite down on his hand as he wouldn't let go. Just as she almost got a good position to bite, she heard a voice. "Let her go." A firm voice ,female, a growl slash command rolling off her tongue as she assessed the situation. Her thin painted mouth was set in a frown. The words broke through the tension and brutality of the moment. "Ellen, Baby I thought you were going to drive up and wait in the car." Jazz closed her eyes and choked gasping for her breath as he lifted off of her and his weight no longer pressed down on her weary body. Baby? The reality churned in her stomach. He wasn't only leaving her, but for another woman. "I'm calling the police you bastard." Jazz went to reach for her phone on the living room table and William grabbed It first. "Stop this!" The mistress screamed, and snatched the phone from William and handed it to Jazz. Jazz looked into her eyes. She felt insignificant and small under the tall woman's piercing bright and narrow cobalt blue eyes and elegant raised eyebrow. She imagined her voice must have come out as a shaky squeak, as she tried to regain some composure and scramble for what was left of her dignity. "Who are you?" Jazz questioned snatching her phone ready to dial, and get his punk ass arrested for choking her. "I'm his attorney and obviously his new lover. I can understand Ms. Simmons how hard this must be for you but were all adults and he did lie-" William opened his mouth then closed it abruptly as Ellen shot him a heated glance. Now it was Jazz's turn to shoot up an eyebrow at his quick obedience. "I don't need an explanation. Just go. I won't call the police but I'm not signing anything until I get my own lawyer. You two need to leave now." She quivered and tried to salvage some self-worth. She just wanted them to go. Her anxiety was getting high and her blood was pumping in her ears. She grew weak by the second. She closed her eyes and open them. Jazz took in the woman in a long glance. She was tall, lean and obviously competent. She had narrow and sharp sexy cat eyes and a sensible painted mouth. Her hands were long elegant, she had trimmed nails and impeccable posture. She exuded confidence and control. The woman seem to have everything she couldn't manage to salvage right now including her husband. Jazz thought wearily that her life was crumbling before her eyes and she could only watch. Knowing one of them had them, she asked for the divorce papers. She tried not to cringe as William blew a sign of relief. She smirked as she rip them in half. "Bitch!" William lunged for her, and his mistress stopped him with one hand on his shoulder. "Get the hell out my house! Before I change my mine about calling the police. Both of you. Now!" She yelled throwing the papers in his face. "Willy get in the car." Ellen ordered and he lifted his bag and turned his back on her. "This isn't over Jazz. I'll get the divorce and you won't see a dime." Not even a nod or a goodbye from good ole William she thought bitterly. He was just willing to give it all away. He was giving up the marriage, the promises and every vow given under god and in front of friends and family. "I'll be contacting you soon with details and you can get a lawyer if you wish." She spoke as if there was nothing wrong. She could have easily been talking about the weather. With those parting words, she slipped out the door sashayed was more suitable and as the car screeched away, Jazz put her hands to her face and had a good sob at her sorry life. THAT WAS ABOUT TWELVE HOURS AGO NOW Jazz smiled grimly her head was spinning, as she took another swig of scotch. She had had one too many drinks tonight. The alcohol was beginning to settle in her stomach. The liquid churning inside her guts distracting her from thoughts of William. Just for a few hours she would sleep and not think about it. She could be well rested and face it in the morning. The bar was only blocks away from her house so she rationalized walking instead of calling a cab. She grabbed her clutch and walked out unbalanced onto the sidewalk. It was dark outside and the moon was shining down, full and glowing. She had no idea what was lurking in the dark. Jazz stepped into the alley. Her converse shoes that she wore tonight because she knew William wouldn't approve were laced on her feet, over the bottom of her skinny jeans and in a tight white t-shirt, she looked like a teenage girl from behind. Until you came up close to notice the soft curves, they showed poorly in the piss yellow light that blinked at the backdoor of the bar. The light above the backdoor swinging therefore; making her noticeable enough for a predator looking for easy prey. Oh yea, the man thought that was crouched behind the dumpster. She was one hot piece of ass, and she was drunk. Maybe she wouldn't put up much of a fight. He scratched his scruffy black beard and lunged at her, covering her mouth before she could scream. He attacked her neck, as he felt her squirm against him. He always appreciated a challenge. CONNOR O'MALLY WASN'T ONE for bars, but he always needed a drink when he was on leave. The army had been his whole life, since he had got out of high school. He always had dreams of going into the military. When he was young he thought it was all about fighting and killing people but now after many years in service it was about saving lives, and protecting the country and his brothers. He had done it, riding off of an ROTC scholarship he had been enlisted. When he first started he was scared shitless at the thought as 9/11 happened, and the focal point had become avenging Americans who has lost there lives in the great tragedy. He found that it came with some sleepless nights and questionable actions. Still he believed in the greater good. The point of doing whatever it took to survive and protect his country and his Men. In the beginning he had trained hard and eventually formed friendships, finding lifelong friends, some that would stay and some he would watch die from a distance and once in his arms. He shuttered at the recollection of those moments, his broad shoulders tensing at the images that hunted his dreams. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night, once he was on leave in a cold sweat. He would look out his window and scan the trees, looking for the enemy. Nights such as those made him feel weak and ashamed. Still he was determining to fight it. He never shared his dreams with anyone but his father. The reason was clear when his father suggested he see a psychiatrist. Connor figured he wasn't one for shrinks. He didn't want any doctor or therapist probing his inner thoughts and giving him some type of bullshit analysis. That was the last thing he needed. He had successfully built a stone wall. One made up of a dependable material his pride, one that no one could penetrate. Many women had tried and failed. His relationships never lasted. Either they couldn't handle his job. The thought of him being gone all the time on tours, and returning home sparingly. He always went back and they were in no hurry to say they would wait for him. He didn't expect them to so it wasn't a disappointment. It was a lifestyle that he preferred. He didn't have to get attached, strings pulling him in different directions. He could enjoy the casual sex and conversation of a woman. The feel of a woman in his hands was always long overdue when his tour was up. It was only temporary he would always let them know and didn't want to admit that sometimes it hurt, when they were in no rush to ask him to stay. Although, he had a way about him that women were drawn to. The fact that he kept himself at a safe distance, made them see him as a bird with a broken wing. They felt they could fix him and mend him. Change him or even make him give up the army life and do something less dangerous. Some of them like the thought of him being almost like an assassin wanting him to embellish on the danger and killings, they saw him as fascinating. They got a thrill out of being with a lethal weapon and someone they considered dangerous. None of them had even come close. He never talked about what he did, when he was overseas. He purposely made it sound boring, as if it was all kicking up sand and patrolling streets. Nobody wanted to know what really happened. Nobody would understand the explosions and sneak attacks, the women and children being sacrificed. The crying echoing in your head of a four year old girl in the middle of the street, being used as bait by the insurgents. Her little body jerking as she is caught in the crossfire. He closed his eyes and stopped walking, trying to calm himself. Sometimes the images crept up on him unexpectedly. His face was forever brooding, rarely gracing with a smile. His father thought his look disconcerting. Though his father was the most exuberant person he knew. He made everything sound simple and direct. No complications that was too hard to handle. While Connor saw the area as black or white, his dad thought there was always an area of gray. What if he did leave the army? Connor pondered this and then shook his head. What would he do? What else could he do? His father had offered to add "And Son" to his O'Malley construction company. Connor was good with his hands. They were big and capable. He had a knack for fixing things. On the tour he always was fixing broken toilets or even chains. Pasting back shattered picture frames of his crew's friends and family. He had little family except his dad. His mom had died while giving birth to him. He had always blamed himself for that and grew up angry. He thought his father hated him, but kept it inside. Deep down he felt his father resented him. He had taken away the love of his life. Took away the future and everything they could have had. He was a mistake that cost his mother her life. He was unworthy of forgiveness or sympathy. This is how he felt, and tried to bury that feeling until he convinced himself that he didn't feel that way anymore. Smooth Jazz Ch. 01 Word had got around one day about it at school, when he was in the sixth grade. One of his classmates heard the teachers talking about it. He was a mean and rather large redhead kid, that they called Ginger. The freckles on his face were kisses from angels, he use to tell them. More like the devil, Connor always thought. The kid definitely had a mean streak. Back then Connor didn't know that Ginger's daddy was beating him senseless and his momma as well. Had he known, he could have been sympathetic as Ginger started calling him a murderer in front of everyone. His classmates just looked and stared, some giggling and joining in the little chant. He remembered his face, his eyes dripping tears. He remembered the coloring and the heat that rose on his white cheeks. He went blind with anger as he lunged himself at Ginger and tackled the heavy weight to the ground. Connor had always been skinny as boy. He had yet to grow into a man and develop the broad shoulders and hard pectorals that he had now. Still adrenaline and fury gave him speed and agility. He tackled Ginger to the ground as they fumbled on the grass at recess which took place as a break after lunch. Connor punched with inexperience and wild strikes. He didn't know what part of Ginger he was hitting. He just kept punching. Ignoring the pain as Ginger grabbed his dark hair that went a little past his ears at the time. He was numb and he fueled himself on the hurt and the guilt. He believed the entire chant. The mocking tones mimicked his every thought, from the day that he knew how it happened, he lived in shame. He was born in grief and in death. He bumbled away at Ginger. Until teachers ran out, it took three of them. By the time they got him off, Ginger had received a busted lip and nose. His eye was swollen and starting to grow black and tears ran down his face. Connor didn't have a scratch on him, the same could not be said for his white polo which was ripped but he was okay. He was dragged to the principle office, without a word. Although when his dad came the look on his face was one to fear. He was angry, because he had to leave work because this required him instead of their neighbor Cindy who usually picked him up from school. His principle explained how he came out and saw him attacking Ginger. Even Connor winced as he recounted how Connor had punched him and kicked him repeatedly. There was still no mention of why or how it got to that point. There was no point, which he could see to explain himself so he didn't. He kept it to himself and spent his time finding a way out. Apparently the army was that way out Connor thought to himself as he neared the bar. The sign only having a light that shun from the "A" and the "R" of the full wording "Bar" left little to the imagination, of what the place might be. He would take the back way since his friend from high school had got in touch with him and said he worked here and practically owned the place. The owner was slowly passing through his eighty year old birthday. Therefore he could stand behind the bar with him, even though he imagined he would take up a lot of space, it was the price to pay for free drinks and some time to catch up and worth it. He walked into the alley and stopped as he heard a muffled cry. His eyes zeroed in on a short but stocky man pushing a woman against the concrete wall his hands around her neck pushing against her and one over her mouth. Connor moved silent and quick. His big frame didn't stop him from moving gracefully and easy. The army had made him deadly and on alert at all times. It took him only a minute to disengage the man from the woman and chop his neck and put him into a sleep hold so he would pass out as he slide to the concrete ground. The man never even registered who and what had went wrong as he was nearing his goal of being inside the pretty caramel brown skin woman. His dark eyes went blank and he passed out. Connor was by the woman side in a flash. "Don't touch me!" She kicked out from the ground and nearly knocked him over as he was on uneven footing. He caught a glimpse of her full and lush mouth and zeroed in on her pretty hazel eyes. The kind of eyes that made a man wonder what depth lied within him. Her voice rang with a southern twang the native life couldn't seem to completely get rid of. It sounded like honey and sweet molasses dipped in sugar. It was tantalizing, pulling him closer to her. The way she shook, made him want to take her into his strong arms until she was calm. As he reached for her she splashed muddy water in his face. "Shit!" He wiped at his eyes and with that she raced out of the alley, her feet flying and she was gone in a flash. He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? He should have asked if she was okay. He rubbed his wet hands on his jean in frustration. Maybe it was the damsel in distress look in her eyes. Or was it those quivering full lips? He looked to the guy on the ground. He thoroughly searched him, for any weapons in case he woke back up and tried anything. He made a quick call to the police and waited by the man until the cops would come. Still as he stared off into the distance he couldn't help but wonder-who the hell she was? And how was he going to explain knocking this guy out when his victim was gone in the wind. Although he would be lying if he said that was the only reason he wanted to see her again.