Mistress Avenue

Chapter Six: Billie Holiday

They were safe from the cold in the hotel room, their skins crawled with goosebumps and cheeks were icicles by time walking through the door. "I must ask, is America weather better than England's?" Delilah giggles while removing the wool blanket from her shoulders after getting rid of her gloves and earmuffs. She sat upon the couch and watched the broad shoulder and muscular being work his magic upon the fireplace, so easily the American set flame to the stacked logs and pushed the chill out of the room.

"I would not lie and say no. California and Arizona are one of the few states that's warm throughout the year, their winter feels like your fall."

"I would not like that at all." Delilah spoke truthfully like many times before. "I would love to see snow fall at some point and time, and imagine the summers, our summers are already hot enough; I do not want to melt under the sun."

Wyatt chuckled once again for the second time today, an unusual habit, even around his own family and college friends. He stood next for the fireplace that stopped just below his armpit, the craft upon the wooden panels were of angels and and flowers. The light danced along his cheeks as the curtains blocked out the natural sun, it made him look mysterious and sinister with just one glance. "Come, I want to show you something." Breaking the space between them with two long strides, he offered his large hand.

Delilah did not hesitate to be trapped in his warmth and lead the way into the large bedroom, the bed was waiting patiently with its fresh sheets, and four post bed. 'Patience, Delilah.' She warned herself while focusing on whatever Wyatt had in stored. "Oh, what is it?"

The ancient artifact held rust upon the gold painted steel in the shape of a curvy horn, holding it up were a oak box with lever like material and circular cool surface. Instead of answering directly, Wyatt leaned over towards an unpacked suitcase with stacks of square envelopes the size of his hand, printed bold writing were upon the surface, but most of it were scrapped off or fading from time. Revealing a glossy black disk, he placed it on the cool circular surface before rinding the side as of it were a jack-in-the-box.

Instead of a smiling clown, music popped out of the horn and caused the young woman to jump and giggle in shock. Before she could trip over her feet and run, Wyatt placed a firm hand upon her lower back and smiled bright in humor. "It's called a phonograph, made in 1945. It was in my family for generations and one of the saved artifacts during the war. The music was found by my father and I kept them."

Delilah eyes the device closely before focusing on the music that poured out of the horn. The song was a smooth melody with a fast tempo of trumpets and a piano, she never heard such a thing before, emotions filled the song in each note before the woman could even sing. "Who is this?"

"Billie Holiday, very known back then. The music is called the blues, not too different from jazz but the name does distinguish the two."

"Because it's sad?"

"Most of the time." Grabbing hold of her hand once more, Wyatt tore her away from the magnificent piece of history and settled in the middle of the room. "May I have this dance?"

Delilah looked nervous, dancing was not one of her talents nor were she asked to do such a thing by anyone. "I do not know how." She confessed while lowering her gaze shamefully.

"I can teach you. I've recently learned how to dance myself, just five years ago I was the worse dance partner in all of Maryland. Women would leave the event with swelled toes."

Both shared a light laugh from his self teasing, the music continues, not once missing a beat. Wyatt already wrapped his arm around Delilah's waist, almost naturally she knew to place her hand upon his shoulder; their bodies grew close with just one squeeze of his arm, chest to chest, eyes locked and lips inches apart. They swayed to the music as a good start. "Why are you not married, Mister O'Connell?"