“Let me show you something else,” Sammy said. He turned and crossed to a corner of the room and pulled a dingy sheet off the jukebox that Arch had had. “Mint Condition,” he bragged. “Some fellow in one of those antique shops offered me a couple of hundred for it, but I told him he could kiss my skinny ass. I like playing it. I bought a bunch of old forty-fives and loaded it up.” He reached into his pocket and took out a quarter and dropped it into the slot. “Let’s see,” he mused, “you were here in the fifties, right?”

“That’s right. ‘Fifty-five.”

Sammy studied the list of records that he had coded. A smile coiled across his face. Then he pushed a button. “How about this one?”

A record slipped out of the stack and settled on the turntable and the arm holding the needle lowered over the record. The Four Lads began to sing “Moments to Remember.”

“You must have danced a few miles to that one,” Sammy said.

I nodded. The music filled the room.

“That’s great music, Bobo, not like the shit they’ve got today. Listen to those lyrics. Poetry, Bobo, poetry.”

Sammy held up his hands like a dancer and began to move around in a slow dance step.

“God, I wish I’d been here in those days. We’d of been a pair, me and you, Bobo.”

He whirled his imaginary partner across the floor, then dipped her and pretended to drop her. He laughed and said, “You know what we ought to do, Bobo? We ought to have a party in here before you leave. I could sweep up the place a little and we could drink some good wine and dance to some good music. What do you think?”

“Sounds good to me,” I told him.

“We’ll have to find you a partner,” Sammy suggested.

“That’s all right. I’ll play the records.”

“I’ll talk to Lila. She’ll come up with somebody.”

“I think I’d rather just sit in here with the two of you,” I said. “Wallow in the memories, you know.”

The last note of the song faded and disappeared and the metal arm of the record changer reached out and cupped the record and lifted it and slid it back into the stack.

“Yeah, I know,” Sammy said quietly. He draped the sheet over the jukebox. “Shit, what kind of memories can you have with a bunch of strangers around?” He looked at me and smiled. “Hey, while you’re here, anytime you want to come in and listen to a few old favorites, the place is yours.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“I’ve got a feeling there’s a lot of history in this place for you,” Sammy added.

“There is. Yes.”

“I’d like to hear about it sometime, Bobo. I love the old times.”

CHAPTER

6
 

MY HISTORY IN ARCH’S WAS AMY LOURIE.