"Smile for me, baby." 

She was camera-shy. Extremely so. Social media was primarily used for finding nail inspiration, discovering travel destinations, and staying in touch with old friends from her undergraduate days. Her profile was as bare as the day she was born, save for a bio filled with emojis and an outdated profile picture. 

She was stunning. That, everyone knew. From her rich complexion to a slightly crooked smile that belonged on a Colgate commercial. Most would assume she was what society called a Selfie Queen. Yet, she ran from anything that looked remotely like a lens whenever it appeared. 

But this time, she couldn't bring herself to run. Maybe because of the person behind the lens. The way his eyes glazed over like he was gazing at a goddess in human form. Or perhaps it was his touch that calmed the anxiety that tried to creep in like a thief in the night. 

"Kelvin..." She drew out warningly. Her hands instinctively moved to cover her body, which left little to the imagination with her new vacation bikini. Nothing like her usual one-piece. Not that he minded, she looked beautiful regardless. But the small shift, the bright yellow bikini against her glowing skin with fresh braids down her shoulders stirred the desire within him. 

"It's just for me," he assured. "Please?" He asked, a small, persuading smile on his lips. Her lips twitched as she fought the urge to smile. She leaned backward on the bed, throwing her arms above her head. Her legs fell open just enough to make room for his body. 

"Mhm, mhm, mhm," Kelvin hummed, his lip caught between his teeth as he angled the Polaroid camera above her body. It took everything within him not to throw the camera to the side and drive her into the mattress, but he figured he needed some level of decorum since she already didn't like getting her picture taken.

But goodness, from this angle? The way she reached toward him, more to keep him from spurring him on, made for a beautiful photo op. Click. The photo was printed from the bottom of the camera.

"How's it look? Is it bad?" She went into flight mode, questioning if she looked good enough for him to capture. Kelvin's eyes traced the photo in awe. She smiled in the photo. Not a tight-lipped whatever-the-hell it was. But a smile. One that outshone the wedding band on her finger.

She saw the corner of his lips twitch. A smile reached his eyes. He stood still for a few moments, not fully registering she'd moved to sit on her knees before him, her fingers touching his forearm. His eyes met hers sincerely. 

"You look beautiful, baby." 

Her breath hitched. She never liked photos. 

But if every photo felt like this… maybe she’d let him take another.

-

The chatter within the café was soft, the sound of ceramic dishes cloning together louder than the sound of actual voices within the small establishment. David sipped at the hot coffee from the beautifully colored mug he was given, the taste of three creamers and an unknown amount of sugars packets making the beverage just to his liking. The sun was shining through the windows of the place, surprisingly with gentle rays in the summer heat. The soft bell above the door would ring every now and then, people leaving with their order or a new person entering only minutes after the other. And although everything seemed to swell on this fine summer day, David couldn’t help but be a little down as he sat across from Margaret, sipping at his drink

“You’re talented, David.” The woman across from him said, her head tilting a little as she started in his eyes. And the man couldn’t help the way he thought she looked a little adorable any time she did that, fighting the urge to upturn the corner of his lip. “More than talented. But if we’re gonna make you the next big thing, we have to be a little more strategic.” She finished, tapping her manicured nails against the table.

David leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “Strategic as in what? A gimmick? A viral moment?” He asked in a dull tone, fed up with the way the industry seemed to enjoy curated content rather than authenticity. He has all that, he had the life most artist wanted, the money at least. He just wanted to make music the people’s loved, music that spoke to others. Music that he felt was worthy. Not some pop record that he would have to preform at ‘I Heart Radio’.

Margaret sighed. “Strategic as in exposure.” She said, a small smirk on her lips as she placed her hands on top of the table. “The right rooms, the right performances, the right people.” She grinned. “And I’ve heard about this place once—Smoke and Satin. It’s supposedly the real deal. Classic jazz spot, live music, fancy dressed, invite-only type of scene.”

David raised a skeptical brow, his back still against the metal chair as he tapped his long finger on the side of the hot mug. “And you’ve been there?” He questioned.

This caused Margaret to hesitate, the pale girl opening her mouth for a response as she moved to play with her long brunette locks. “Well…” She began, her voice a little high her than before as David’s brow arched higher, his eyes squinting some. “Well, uh, not exactly. But I know people who have.” She said with an unsure laugh.

David blinked at her. “Do you?” He asked, his tone not changing from before, even at her obviously apparent lie. Margaret let out a sigh, shoulders deflecting some at her stupid attempt to hide anything from the observer man. “Yeah, no.” She said a little dejectedly. David pursed his lips with a nod, but Margaret was quick to reiterate. “But I did know a guy that lived in the apartment complex above the joint sometimes I cooks hear the music when I was in the lobby.” She tried to reassure. David just blinked at her, his eyes still slightly squinted as he brought the cup down from his lips.

“What, you used to date this guy or something?” He asked. He couldn’t help but change the subject at her words, because now he was more curious about that than the actual music spot. Plus, the tension and…situationshhip between David and Margaret was no secret, to them at least, they knew. But it was nothing serious, and the other wasn’t sure of their partner wanted it to be serious, so they were in this weird state of limbo and sexual desire.

Margaret sighed at his words, rolling her eyes at him as a don’t smirk graced her face. “That’s not important.”

“Well, I think it is important.” David slightly grinned. “I mean, I’m technically going to this man’s house. Imagine he comes downstairs to see us in his lobby.” He said, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the thought, of Margaret bringing her current “fling” to her old guys place of residence, even though they were technically waiting in this supposed renowned music spot.

“It’s gonna be fine, David.” Margaret grinned along with him. “If you stall on this anymore, I’ll start thinking you’re getting cold feet, mister.” She said, raising her brows at him before being her coffee to her lips. David jerked his head back at her, a playful smirk on his lips. “David does not get cold feet. There is nothing cold about David Cliff.” He smirked. Margaret just rolled her eyes at him, bring the cup down as David’s smile widened some more. “You should know.” He stated. And Margaret almost chocked on the hot beverage at his words, looking up into the seductive eyes of the man across from her who still held a grin.

David was doing anything to distract his mind from the stress that came with music most time, and he couldn’t help but be a little intrigued by the music spot, Smoke & Satin. He didn’t want to be just another industry puppet. He wanted his music to be felt, not mass-produced. He wanted it to be passionate and for it to have meaning. And if Smoke and Satin really had that authenticity, maybe it was worth checking out.

It wasn’t long before night came, and that’s when they had planned to visit the spot. That night, they arrived at a place called Lullaby’s Lounge, the building that housed Smoke and Satin. It looked like something out of another era—a blend of modern upkeep and vintage charm, resembling an old luxury hotel. The golden lighting from the entrance cast a warm glow on the polished black-and-white tiled floors. The place has sort of an art deco style to it, the chandler’s hanging making the place bright but calm. It was nothing like the grittier, hole-in-the-wall places David expected from a so-called authentic jazz spot. He was dressed in a normal suit, although he spiced his outfit up with a green dress shirt and sweater, giving the outfit a pop of color.

Margaret was dressed nicely as well, her long brown hair flowing down her back, dressed in a simple black dress that reached below her knees with a square neckline. They both analyzed the room as they walked in, but were intercepted by the polite voice of a man near the door. “How may I help you two this evening?” They looked over to see a ginger man, dressed in a simple tuxedo. Margaret smiled at him. “Uh, we’d like to go into Smoke and Satin, please.” She said. The man grinned, giving them a small and barley noticeable bow. “Right this way.” He said before walking before them, heading to the left.

Since the apartment and the bar were essentially different spots, he led them to an area directly parallel to the door, passing for the feminine windows until they made it to a hotels booth. Now David thought the club being there was pretty obvious for a place that’s supposed to be weird if mouth, could see the place with a simple turn of your head once your entered. But he figured it was that way to not disturb the actual residents of the complex above that were just trying to go about their day.

“Here we are.” The ginger man said, leading them to the small line outside the large, dark wooden doors behind the woman at the podium. “You two have a wonderful evening.” He flashed them a pearly grin before moving on his way, back to where he found them. David tried to ignore the look the man gave them, noticing the small eye sawing the glint in his eye. He tossed the interaction up to him assuming David and Margaret were a couple, and that was fine by him.

As they stood in line outside Smoke and Satin, the warm night air carried the distant hum of jazz from within. The line moved slowly, filled with people dressed in sleek suits, silk dresses, looking effortless out together. Margaret adjusted the long strap of her small bag, shifting onto one heeled foot. “You’re quiet.” She said softly, looking over at him.

David exhaled, eyes scanning the golden-lit entrance. “Just taking it in.”

Margaret smirked. “I doubt that, you’re never taking things in. You’re thinking something.”

David soared her a small glance, trying to hide to stop the smile that wanted to appear in his lips at just how much she knew him. His gaze then drifted back to the doors behind the hostess, trying to catch a glimpse into the place anytime another wakes in as the door was held by the tall man standing next to it. “I don’t like scenes like this.” He stated.

This caused her to raise a brow, ceasing her arms. “Scenes like what? Exclusive? High-end? Full of people who actually know good music?” She inquired playfully, causing him to cut his eyes at her. “Scenes where people think they know good music.” He reiterated firmly.

“You’re such a snob.” Margaret scoffed, though a grin was apparent in her lips.

David smirked. “I’m particular.”

She sighed, tilting her head toward the entrance. “Look, all I’m saying is—if this place is as good as I’ve heard, maybe you should enjoy it instead of tearing it apart before we even get in.”

David rolled his shoulders. “We’ll see.”

Margaret studied him for a second before nudging him lightly with her elbow. “You need to get out of your head. Have a drink. Maybe even—God forbid—have a good time.” She stated.

David shook his head, but there was amusement behind his eyes. “I’ll consider it.” He said with a coy shrug, causing the girl to let out a small laugh, both unbeknownst to the man they waited in line behind them, eyeing the two.

The line eventually led them to the front desk, where they were met with a knowing smile from the host. “Reservations?” The tan skinned Asian woman asked them, flashing them a polite smile. Margaret glanced towards David at that, a little taken aback at the new information, before looking back at her. “I didn’t know we needed them.” She said, letting out a small nervous laugh.

The host gave a polite but firm smile. “Most nights, no. But when she sings, we fill up quick.” She said, giving them a light nod.

“She?” Margaret and David asked at the same time.

“Stella Mougly.” The name was spoken with reverence from the hostess and a deep voice from behind them. Before either Margaret or David could turn around and respond to the woman in front of them, a man stepped in beside them—a tall, well-dressed figure with light brown skin, enticing eyes and an air of familiarity about the place. “Let them in, they’re with me.” He said smoothly. “You got it, P.” The woman at the desk said as she gave a playfully stern nod. The man, ‘P’, as she called him, gave her a small laugh, his voice deep as he passed the pair and moved over to the doors.

David and Margaret exchanged looks before trailing behind the man, who led them through the lobby and into Smoke and Satin. The interior was cozy—their lighting was romantic, the seats were covered in this sexy green velvet, the floors had the same polished checkered patterns as the thick stripes in the lobby. David didn’t see how such a place bled authenticity.

Their guide turned to them with a grin as they walked through the establishment. “Lucky night for you two.” He said. “I’m Pierre, the manger.” He said before turning back around and maneuvering his way though . They walked through what looked to be the common area, some people sat in booths and at well decorated tables that were wrapped in a thick table cloth. This area also seemed to be more crowded, booths lined the wall while the tables were close enough for a person to fit through.

They thought their seats were gonna be there but they continued to follow the man that invited them in, not questioning his friendly nature. Pierre passed the bar on the other side of the wall, the trio walking down the checkered path that was available in case you wanted another drink. Passing the bar, he spoke to the man behind the counter. “Wassup, Bernard.” He called out, causing the man to look up. The brown skinned man with a thick mustache smiled at him, giving him a small salute as he flashed his perfectly straight teeth with his silver grills. “Wassup, P!” He cheered before going back to mixing the drinks in front of him.

The pair behind the tall man were then led to further into the room, passing some men who opened a velvet rope for them and then going down some steps that separated this sitting area from another. This section was separated from the other, an styled a little different but still styled cohesively. The floors were a dark brown wood, matching the tall walls not covered in picture frames, records and instruments. The lighting was dim and candles sat at the center of the occupied tables, encasing them into this romantic atmosphere. There was plush red-velvet seating, chandeliers that dripped from the ceiling like golden constellations and hum of conversation mixed with the soft melodies of a live band warming up.

Margaret and David were in love with the place as is, but this section was something more. It was alive.

Pierre led them through the large room, passing people dressed to the nines and in chatting away. The man stopped a table in the center of the room, the chairs almost like small couches with how large and plus they were. They were also set up sort of like a booth, two small sofas on either side of table while the other ends held large cushioned chairs as well. “These are some of the best seats in the house.” Pierre smirked as he took a seat in one of the chairs at the end of the table, while gesturing for David and Margaret to have a seat on the plush sofa.

They sat down and almost immediately, a waiter was at their table. “Any drinks in mind?” They looked up to see the same ginger man from earlier, a polite smile on his face as she place the leather menus down on the table. Margaret and David glanced at each other since they didn’t know what the place had.

“I’ll take an a sidecar.” Pierre said, not even opening his menu for food as he looked down at the fancy silver watch on his left wrist.

“Uh, I’ll have a Negroni, I’d you serve that.” Margaret said. The ginger man smiled at her whilst nodding. “Yes, we do.” He said before turning to David, and the man couldn’t help but to see that same flint in his eye. “And you, sir?” He asked, not even bothering to write any of the drinks down. “I’ll take an old fashioned.” David stated. The bright haired man hummed. “Ah, excellent choice, monsieur. I’ll have those to you in no time, let me know when you want to dinner.” He said before drifting away from their table in the blink of an eye.

One he was gone, Pierre looked at the pair, a soft smile on his face. “May I ask the name of the two people I invited to enjoy dinner with me?” He asked as he picked up the match box from the center of the table and sparked a light, the small ember brightening his face as he leaned to light the wax sticks at the center of the table. Their attention snapped over from admiring at the place to the man’s at the other end of the table, watching as he set the atmosphere further.

“Oh! I’m Margaret.” She smiled at him.

“David.” The man said with a small smile and a simple nod of acknowledgement. Pierre nodded with a hum, sparing a quick glance down at his watch again before looking back up with a grin. “Well, welcome to Smoke & Satin, one of the best places on earth. Time spent here is more than just an event. It’s a feeling not many get to experience, so I hope you enjoy.” He said. And it seemed that checking the time on his wrist time everything perfectly, since the waiter from before being over their drinks on the silver platter. “Here are your drinks.” He said, sitting there glasses down on the crème colored cloth that draped the table.

“Thank you.” David said, making sure to give the man his gratitude. “You are welcome, monsieur.” The man said before sitting a drink down in front Pierre. “Thanks, Hughy.” The green eyed man thanked him ginger. “No problem, P.” He said before walking away. David couldn’t help but to squint his eyes as he sipped his drink, not only at the intersection between the two, but also just at the ginger man in general.

Is he…flirting with me? He questioned himself as he smacked his lips a little, savoring the smooth bourbon. The thought lingered in his mind as he sat the glass down, questioning the eyes and the doorman turned waiter was giving him, and the French word that simply meant ‘Sir’, but felt like it had a different meaning to him. They were only got a few sips into the beverage before the light around them dimmed further, causing the room hush. A spotlight flared to life, illuminating the red curtains on the stage about twenty steps away.

A smooth voice resonated through the speakers, deep and velvety as it spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have our most esteemed guest of the evening. Sit back and relax to the most wonderful, the most talented, and just down right gorgeous… Stella Mougly.”

The curtains parted.

And there she was.

She was dressed in a sheer, tiger-print babydoll dress, that thin material shimmering under the soft glow of the stage light as the music began to play. The delicate fabric draped over her body like liquid silk, giving teasing glimpses of her figure. There were specs of glitter dusted across her brown skin, making her glow like something celestial. Her hair was long and black with subtle waves in it, making her look even more exotic and intoxicated. Dainty gold jewelry adorned her wrists and neck, catching the light with every subtle movement. Her heels were like gold as well, a thin strap going across her ankle and across the ends of her polished toes.

“Ooh, la-la-la-la.” Was sung by the deep voices of the band as they eased into the song.

And then she sang.

“I did you wrong. My heart went out to play. But in the game I lost you."

"What a price to pay.” As she sung that last part, the lights became a little brighter to show the men that were singing as they played the instrument behind her. She smiled as she spared them a quick glance before going back to singing.

Her voice—soft, sultry, effortlessly controlled—wrapped around the melody of 'Ooh, Baby, Baby' by Smokey Robinson & The Miracles. The live band played in the shadows behind the spotlight, letting her be the centerpiece, the guiding force.

“I'm cryin'. Ooh, baby, baby. Ooh, baby, baby.”

She moved with ease, swaying with the music as she glided across the stage in a slow pace. The band’s harmonies rolled like smooth waves beneath her voice, their presence steady but never overwhelming. Stella’s sultry tone melted into the melody, drawing the audience into her grasp as effortlessly as a siren luring sailors to sea. She moved with intention—each step, each glance, each soft note weaving an intoxicating spell.

“Mis-takes, I know I’ve made a few,” She crooned, her voice dipping into a gentle rasp that sent shivers down spines. She reached out towards the crowd, her nude colored nails catching the dim glow of the chandeliers above. “But I’m only human, You’ve made mistakes too…oooohhh.”

The hush in the room was thick with longing. Conversations had faded into whispers, drinks were momentarily forgotten. Eyes followed her every move as she sauntered toward the grand piano at the far end of the stage, closer to the crowd. “I’m cryin’,” She sang again, this time softer, letting the words linger before rolling into the familiar, aching refrain. “Ooh, baby, baby…”

The pianist’s fingers ghosted over the keys, his touch delicate yet assured. Stella trailed a fingertip along the glossy black surface of the instrument as she circled it, her dress shimmering under the low lights.

“Ooh, baby, baby,” She repeated, her voice like warm honey, eyes lidded as she let the music carry her, eventually making her way atop the grand piano at the edge of the stage the the help of a hidden step stool.

“I'm just about at the end of my rope.” She sung into the microphone as she came into a resting position upon the sleek instrument effortlessly, leaning her weight on her right hand while her legs were thrown to the side in a seductive crossing. A small bouquet of roses sat at the center of the piano, wrapped in a satin gold bow. “But I can't stop tryin', I can't give up hope.” She continued, her eyes flickering over the crowd she could barely see due to the bright light beaming down in her.

David was entranced.

The world blurred. The chatter of the audience, the clinking of glasses, even Margaret beside him—it all faded. There was only her. He watched as he pulled a rose from the bundle before her, the dark red a nice contrast to her honey skin that glistened with her every movement.

“ 'Cause I feel that one day I'll hold you near.” She sung, her voice lifted highly match that of dear Smokey as her eyes drifted to the young man playing with focused intensity. He faced up at her, flashing her a large white smile that complimented his deep skin well. “Whisper, "I still love you. Until that day is here.” She sung softly as she leaned further towards the man the played the piano before her, letting the petals of the flower brush against his lips before trailing it down. She ran the flower along his chest that was covered by the black and white tuxedo.

“I'm cryin'.” The pianist stole a quick glance at her, his fingers never faltering but his ears burning red. Her heels dangled, catching the light, and the faintest hint of perfume drifted toward the pianist, who was doing his best to keep his focus on the music rather than the woman now practically lounging atop his instrument. A smirk tugged at her lips as she leaned closer, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he noticed her lingering presence.

She was practically laid out on top of the instrument now in order to tease the musician.

“Ooh, baby, baby,” She cooed one last time, drawing out the final note, her voice floating like smoke, lingering even as the music faded. With a teasing smile, she let the flower drift lower as she turned over onto her back, its stem tracing the air just above his knuckles. He flinched slightly, barely suppressing a flustered chuckle, his dimples making an appearance as he tried to shake it off. “Ooh-ooh, baby, baby. Oo-hoo-ooh, baby, baby. Ooh-ooh.” She continued to sing, laid out on her back as one of her legs bent at the knee, her full body shining under the spotlight.

A beat of silence followed before the applause erupted, a mix of whistles, cheers, and appreciative murmurs filling the room. David blinked at it ended, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was hiding as she small smile graced his lips before he began calling along with them. The lights the shift off again, encapsulating them in darkness as they waited for the next act.

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome, The Midnight Muses." The lights slowly brightened as the unmistakable drumbeat of Be My Baby by The Ronettes began, that iconic, heart-thudding rhythm filling the air. A hush fell over the crowd, anticipation thick as smoke in the dimly lit lounge. There, with a soft glow illuminating the stage, Stella stood—standing tall at the center, draped in a new black boa that had to be given to her in the darkness, her presence commanding yet effortlessly elegant as she danced along to the thumping beat before they began.

To her left, slightly behind, stood her backup singers, dressed in matching black baby doll dresses. Their silhouettes were sharp, their high ponytails swaying ever so slightly as they moved in perfect synchronicity.

“The night we met, I knew I needed you so. And if I had the chance, I’d never let you go.” Stella sang, her voice warm and inviting, wrapping around the melody like silk. The boa curled in the crook of her elbows, its feathery texture contrasting against her smooth skin. Her backup singers swayed, their harmonies tight, a perfect echo to her lead. “So won't you say you love me?” She continued, following the same choreography as the girls behind her, being her arms out in a pleasing motion. “I'll make you so proud of me. We'll make 'em turn their heads every place we go.”

Her eyes flickered across the crowd, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she shifted her grip on the boa, her fingers brushing against the soft feathers as the chilies dropped. “So won't you, please.”

“Be my, be my baby.” The girls behind her sung, their voice harmonized perfectly, the sound soft but powerful.

“Be my little baby?” Stella continued, her voice capitulating the perfect raspiness of Ronnie Spector. “My one and only baby.”

“Say you'll be my darlin'.”

“Be my, be my baby.”

“Be my baby now (My one and only baby) Whoa-oh-oh-oh.”

Then, as the music swelled, she took her first step down the stage’s grand staircase. She moved slowly, purposefully, letting the song breathe as she descended into the audience.

“I’ll make you happy, baby, just wait and see, For every kiss you give me, I'll give you three.” She promised, each note carrying a teasing lilt as she eased onto the dining floor, the crowd clapping along, enchanted by her presence among them. She trialed her fingers along some propels shoulder as she passed them, singing powerfully within the audience.

David was watching, his eyes never leaving her, even as he took a large sip from his glass, gaze trained on her at her over the brim as she moved within the crowed. And he could’ve sworn her eyes caught his as she continued to sing. “Oh, since the day I saw you, I have been waiting for you. You know I will adore you 'til eternity.”

From the moment she stepped off that stage, his eyes never left her. He leaned back in his seat, one arm resting along the back of his chair, but his body was taut, his focus razor-sharp.

And then before he could even think about it—she was there. At the same table as him, singing her beautiful song. She draped an arm around Pierre, offering him a soft smile through her singing before slowly dragged it away, her soft hands growing over his expansive suit.

She then sifted around the table, leading to the boa trailed along David’s shoulders, a feather-light touch against his skin. His breath caught, though he masked it well. The world around him dimmed, the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations fading into nothing. Her voice—low, sultry, hypnotic—wrapped around him like the boa itself, pulling him deeper into her gravity.

“So won’t you, please…” She continued as she pulled the black scarf around the man, whose eye didn’t leave her once. The words curled between them, her eyes locked onto his. “Be my, be my baby?”

David’s lips parted, but he said nothing, just watching—captivated, mesmerized.

She was singing to him. She had to be. He knew it. He felt it.

“My one and only baby,” She crooned, the intensity of their eye contact sending a charge through the space between them as the Blake scarf slowly forged from his figure. “Be my baby now!”

Then—just as quickly as she had ensnared him—she was gone.

She turned on the “Whoa-oh-oh-oh!” spinning away, leaving nothing but the lingering warmth of her presence and the faint scent of of jasmine as she moved through the tables and back to the stage.

The crowd erupted, their cheers filling the lounge as she hit the final notes, her backup singers right in step, harmonizing flawlessly until the music came to a dazzling close.

A thunderous applause followed, whistles and calls of her name ringing out as she stood center stage once more, soaking it all in.

And David—David sat there, still feeling the ghost of her boa on his shoulders, still hearing her voice in his ears. For the first time in a long time, the infamous playboy was at a loss for words.

Stella smiled, radiant and full of life and she waved and bowed to the crowed with her singers next her. She then turned to blow kisses to the band behind her. The stage lights dimmed again, bringing everything back to its romantic atmosphere as she gave the crowd another playful wave before disappearing backstage.

Pierre turned to them with a deep chuckle, still elated from the small performance as he watched David and Margaret‘s expression. “She gets to you, huh?”

Margaret exhaled. “She’s incredible. That was… effortlessly amazing.”

David frantically blinked, still processing. “She’s a true performer. But more than that—her voice is clean. You hear how she bent those high notes? That’s a real soprano, but she’s got jazz in her chest. Her breath control is crazy.”

Pierre’s grin widened as he slightly arched a brow at the man adjacent to him. “Well, look who knows there stuff.” He said with a small smirk, gesturing to David as he glanced at Margaret, who shared a small smile with the man as well. “I told you. Smoke and Satin isn’t just a place. It’s a feeling. The history here is deep.” He said, sitting up more in is seat as he began to explain the lore of Smoke and Satin, not caring if they didn’t care to hear.

“As you can tell by walking in, Smoke and Satin is the restaurant/ jazz bar, connected to the apartment complex that we call The Lullaby’s Lounge. The complex was actually the first black owned business in Los Angeles, which sort of gave it an easy target for racism, especially being in closer to white neighborhoods of that time. All people tried their damndest to turn this into another example of a ghetto, white people to love a point that all blacks were alike while black people thought the others that lived there were saditty and sell outs. Not long after all their attention since opening, the establishment gained a lot of traction.” He stated.

“It soon became a place of refuge during the civil rights era. Rallies, meetings, after school programs, different practices, hell, church, were all held at this building at some point. Right in that room over there.” He said counting over to the lit section that the pair had to walk though to get to the section they were in. He then gestured to the room they were sitting in. “This little VIP-esque section was actually hidden. It was a secret jive joint that brought in black folks from all over. A place for grown folk to unwind from their hard days of trying to gain freedom. This room would hold everything from poetry to swing dances. It’s a place of comfort for the community, and it still is in way. The owners still live in the building to this day.” He explained.

David and Margaret blinked and gaped in astonishment at the life history they were sitting in, getting to experience.

“Time passed and this section became a restaurant, a cover up for the secret room in the back when cops started snooping around just because they wanted to. It then became really popular among famous jazz musicians and Black Hollywood elites of that time, and it never really lost its touch. The shtick of the exclusive word of mouth thing was something that rich people enjoyed.” He explained, his bright eyes drifting between the two as he told them the run down. “Traction didn’t start becoming what it was with reservations and stuff until Lady Stella showed up.” He said, not missing the way David’s eyes seemed to glint at the sound of the woman’s name.

“She was getting major attention for not only her voice. I, on the other hand, started out working here as a creek receptionist, but I’ve been a loyal customer from the beginning. My parents took me to Lullaby’s all the time growing up, that’s why when business stated getting more than serious around here with how money Stella was bringing in, I was allowed to take over to help the elderly owners run things smoothly. And that’s essentially how Smoke and Satin became what it was today, though I would owe majority of my thanks and graduations to Stella for that.”

Margaret and David listened as Pierre explained the history of Lullaby’s Lounge—how it was the first Black-owned housing complex in Los Angeles, how it became a refuge during the Civil Rights era, how jazz legends and Hollywood’s Black elite once filled these very booths. And how Stella, in many ways, revived the magic.

Pierre then smirked. “This place only comes to you when you need it, not when you just want it, die to his rich history. I like to call it magic sometimes.” He said.

Margaret leaned forward, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass as she took in Pierre’s words. Her expression was one of quiet awe, her usual sharp demeanor softened by the weight of the history he had just unraveled. “That’s… incredible.” She murmured, glancing around the lounge as if seeing it with new eyes. “I mean, I knew this place had a vibe, but I didn’t realize it was history.” She then smirked, shaking her head slightly. “And magic? That’s a hell of a way to put it.” She glanced around the lounge, her gaze landing on the framed photographs lining the walls. “I’ll admit, though… this place does feel different.”

David, meanwhile, sat back in his chair, absorbing it all in his own way. His gaze drifted across the room—from the framed black-and-white photographs on the walls to the way the candlelight flickered against the mahogany wood. He exhaled, a slow, measured breath, through his nose, drumming his fingers against the table. “So, what—you think certain people just end up here for a reason?” His tone was casual, but there was something thoughtful beneath it. He doubted he believed the useless tale for even a second, but why did he wait for a reasonable response from the man. Why did he sound curious?

Pierre leaned back in his chair, nodding once. “Something like that. People don’t just stumble into Lullaby’s Lounge. They find it when they need it, even if they don’t realize it.” He gestured around. “That history, that energy? It sticks. And somehow, it knows when to pull the right folks in.”

Margaret studied Pierre for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know if I buy all that, but I do know I don’t wanna leave anytime soon.” She took another sip of her drink, looking satisfied.

David chuckled, shaking his head as he pushed his chair back. “Well, I guess we’ll see if I start feeling enlightened after a bathroom break.”

Pierre smirked knowingly. “You might.”

David shot him a look but didn’t press. Instead, he stood, rolling his shoulders before heading toward the back of the lounge, weaving through the tables as the warm hum of conversation and music followed him.

David exited the lavatory shortly after entering and a good wash to his hands, but he wasn’t quite ready to return to the table yet. Do instead, he made his way to the long, mahogany bar that lined the far wall, lining up with the same bar in the upper lounge, the bars connecting with a small set of store and separated by a tiny wooden door that stopped at hip height. His trudge over to the bar with the lit counter top was slow, his hand in his pockets as he contemplated what drink to order next, and questing if he should get food.

And that’s when he saw her. The ethereal being from the stage.

Stella.

Up close, she was even more stunning. The slights sheen of sweat on her collarbones from dancing under that beaming light, the slight smudging of her mauve lipstick—signs of a woman who had just poured her soul into a performance. She leaned against the bar, stirring her drink absentmindedly.

David wasn’t one to freeze up, so before he could even think about he it, he was at the bar standing next to her as he ordered his own drink. He did a double take the at same ginger man, Hughy, behind the bar, mixing up drinks. Hughy glanced up at him with a small smile and an arched brow, waiting for his order. “A Black Orchid, please.” He stated—a rare, moody cocktail with an air of mystery, much like the man himself. The choice catching Stella’s attention just enough for her to glance over.

Hughy brows raised in surprise before he finished the drink he was making for a man at the other end of the bar and began to work on David’s. Hughy’s eyes then drifted to the singing woman who glanced over at David, a small smirk drifting upon his features.

The drink arrives in a sleek coupe glass, its deep, inky purple hue shimmering under the low bar lights. A single black orchid petal floats delicately on the surface, almost too perfect to disturb. The scent carries hints of dark berries, aged rum, and the faintest trace of smokiness, intriguing yet smooth. He was quite surprised they even had the drink, not many places did.

Stella, perched gracefully at the bar with her own drink in front of her, watches as he lifts the glass to his lips, ones she couldn’t help notice the plumpness of. Her curiosity is piqued not only by the drink, but as well as the handsome man’s next to her. .

“That’s not on the menu.” She remarks, voice low and velvety as she looked over at him, her head rested on her arms lazily, giving her this sultry look as she gazed at him.

David softly grinned, taking a slow sip as he looked over at her. “It didn’t have to be. I hear you can order anything at this bar.” He said with a simple shrug. Stella nodded at that with a subtle hum that he could barely hear over the music and chatter that filled the vibrant atmosphere, causing him to lean closer subconsciously. “So, this is your first time here?” She asked. David, who was now closer to her just nodded, looking her in the eye. Stella blinked as she looked into his eyes, his taller frame making her catch the candle lights flickering in his eyes.

She then tilts her head with a small and curious smile, amused. “So what’s in it?” She asked, softly jutting her head to the drink. David blinks from their small staring trance, looking down at the drink and sailing the skinny black stew lightly, the ice shifting against the glass. “Dark rum, blackcurrant liqueur, a little vanilla, and just enough mezcal to keep it interesting.” He leans slightly toward her, his voice dropping just enough. “Not too sweet. Not too bitter. Just…balanced.” He said, looking her back in the eye.

Stella watches him for a moment, her own smirk forming. “Profound taste, monsieur.” She said, giving the man a small clap. David’s brow twitched at the familiar word he’s been called all night, causing his eyes to glance up at the bartender, who was now gone and replaced by a woman. His eyes furrowed slightly at the disappearing act the ginger man kept pulling, but didn’t dwell on it due to the fact that he was speaking to someone. “You speak French?” He asked, looking back down at Stella, noticing her perfect accent when she said the word.

“No, not if you want to count the required class I took in college.” She said with a small smile, this one far more genuine and amused as she watched David laugh a little her her. “But fancy people like you usually love it when someone else pulls out another language. It’s good for business.” She said with a small shrug.

“Well, no business on my side, because I am far from fancy.” He said before bringing his glass up to take another sip. Stella arched a perfectly shaped brow at him, causing him to shrug a little. “I try.” He added, causing the woman to smile with a nod, now agreeing with him.

He waited a beat before speaking, watching as she never once sipped from her own drink, just slinking the beverage around as its ice melted in the ball round glass. “That was… unreal.” He said softly, causing her to look back up at him. She blinked with a glint of confusion. “Your performance.” He stated. “It was really good.”

Her smile turned soft as looked at him, but he could see something unreadable. “Thank you.” She said softly.

David leaned against the counter, tilting his glass slightly. “Most people hear a song. And even though those are basic classics, I felt those. It was like hearing it for the first time all over again.” He explained before taking another sip of the drink that was starting to make him buzz some.

His compliment made her smirk over at him. “Ah, are you a musician?” She asked.

“Something like that.” He shrugged as he swirled the dark liquid in his glass. “You’ve got crazy control. The way you flipped those transitions—seamless. And your band? Tight as hell. You got them playing behind you like it’s second nature.” He began again. And now, Stella looked at him. Really looked at him.

Most people gave her the same rehearsed compliments—“Your voice is amazing,” or “You’re so talented.” But him… he paid attention. He listened.

She finally took a sip of her drink, mainly out of pure nerves of being under his intense gaze and heavy compliments, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer. “Sounds like you know your stuff.”

David chuckled. “Gotta know what you’re talking about when you’re in the game.”

That piqued her interest. “So you are a musician.”

He smirked but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he raised his glass in a small toast. “To real music.”

Stella watched him for another second before clinking her glass against his. “To real music.”And just like that, the air between them shifted. It had already been thick, humming with something unspoken, but now? It was stronger. More certain.

Neither of them wanted the moment to end.

But it had to.

David glanced over his shoulder toward the table where Margaret was still waiting, Pierre now missing as well, which was understandable since he was the manager. With a slow exhale, he straightened up, setting his glass down on the bar.

“I should probably get going.” He said, though he didn’t move right away and his voice didn’t sound too convincing to either of them. Stella blinked out of the trance the handsome man had put her in, nodding at his words but there was something reluctant in the way she did it. “Yeah.” She said softly, just now realizing that his close proximity had her entrenched within his dark amber and smoked vanilla scent.

Neither of them moved.

For a moment, it felt like the whole lounge had quieted, as if the world had carved out a small space just for them, just for this moment as they started at one another, trying to end the night.

Finally, David forced himself to step back. “Guess I’ll see you around, Stella.”

She blinked, realizing then—she didn’t know his name. “Guess so.” She said softly. And before she could ask, he had already turned, disappearing into the dim light of the lounge.

And as he walked back toward his table, the strangest thing hit him. Margaret was still waiting. The woman he was in a situation-ship with, the woman he had come here with.

And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty of the time he waisted with another woman.

Not at all.

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