It's almost my time when I get to Cactus Bar. Skye and Devon are onstage, showering the moderate crowd with a sad, acoustic version of "Midnight at the Oasis" as I walk up to the bar. I scan the room and spot a few curious newbies hiding in the corners, but it's mainly the old faces. Devon's on an impressive pedal steel guitar and Skye, dressed in the sparkly gown that reminds the regulars it's Friday night, cradles the mic with both hands. Maria would be proud. Sitting with a few friends in the back center booth, I see Bernie Caldwell wipe a tear away. The room is mostly dark, illuminated only by the light hitting the liquor bottles behind the bar, the red glow from the tabletop candles, and the soft directional spotlight reserved for the stage.
It's almost my time, but that seems irrelevant. It's always midnight here.
I have a rule that I only order red wine if the first version I hear is slower than Maria's 1974 hit, even if it's immediately followed up by a rousing hip-hop cover or a speed metal take. All the same, I'm relieved that nobody seems to be dressed for any wild interpretations tonight. I order a Cabernet from Denise. Devon and Skye take their bows and I'm quick to join the scattered applause. Paulie, our constant host and DJ, cranks up an appropriately slow, but jazzy instrumental of "Midnight at the Oasis", grabs the mic, and takes the stage.
"Thank you, guys," he says. "That was one for the books. Let's hear it again for Devon and the always, always, always lovely Skye."
I clap again with the others as Denise pours house red into my glass. Skye playfully waves away the applause before joining Bernie's group in the back booth. Devon lifts his scotch and soda to the crowd as he rolls the peddle steel guitar's stand back to his table, rejoining his wife.
"What do you call that big, old instrument, Devon?" Paulie asks, though his attention is on the clipboard hanging off the side of the booth next to the stage.
"Oh, this is Cindy," Devon says, extending his arms out toward his wife.
"Bah-dah-dum," Paulie replies as he shoots a smile to the crowd. "That's a little joke for you newcomers, but please don't hold it against us. We'd love it if you returned next week and became old comers." A few more laughs. "No comment. Coming up next, we've got a Cactus regular that doesn't need an introduction. He could use a little cash though, if you've got any to spare." Paulie clears his throat and mock-shrugs to the crowd. I grab my wine, stand up, and make my way toward the stage.
"Oh, and here he is, ladies and gents. The man of the midnight hour, Raymond Goodheart."
I shake Paulie's hand and take the mic. Gentle applause greets me from the crowd, but I'm not here for adulation, nor are the others. We're here to celebrate the song we love and a bygone time that we'll never get back, but one we'll always remember. I take a sip of wine and lay the glass on a small table behind me. Paulie cues up my preferred version of "Midnight at the Oasis", a lush, synthesizer-driven ballad that I personally commissioned from a now-defunct local band. I step into the spotlight and sway to the intro. It's my time, here in an oasis of the world that's just mine for nearly four minutes every Friday night.
"Thanks for the great intro, Paulie," I say over the music. It's only a few seconds till the first line, and every part of me wants this to last forever. I let my voice slide into a deep baritone as I lean in close to the microphone. "Hey, here's one that you might have heard before."
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