Jarod walked into the bar in the lower level of the hotel, a smile on his face. It had been a few months since he had last been in Dover, at this place, but the memories were still fresh, and very much alive. He gazed over at the stage, the spotlight cutting through the smoky atmosphere, but there was no one there except a middle age woman and her Karaoke machine, crooning out a long-dead country song. Not exactly what he was hoping to see.

The beefy security guard walked up behind him and slapped him playfully on the back. "Jarod!" he whispered loudly, trying not to make conspicuous noise in the mostly empty bar. "Long time, no see!"

Jarod took the man's outstretched hand and shook it with a smile. "How's it going, Tim? Did your son make it into that school?"

The bouncer beamed. "Of course he did, with your tutoring help. Would you believe that he's started helping other kids now? I can't believe how he's blossomed, all because you took an interest in him."

The man's effusive thanks were almost too much for the Pretender. To him, it had been simply the right thing to do.

"Say, man, do you remember that lady that was singing that night you came it? You know the one, she had every guy in this place heading home for a cold shower."

Jarod blushed at the thought - that had been his first reaction as well.

"Well, it looks like I was right," continued the bouncer, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "I knew that you were her kinda guy. She left something for you, in case you would come back some day."

Tim walked over to the coat closet and pulled out a notebook from an alcove within. From inside, he retrieved a shiny blue matchbook and handed it to Jarod. "She told me to give this to you whenever you came back. She was pretty certain that you would, too, gave me fifty bucks just to hold that thing for you." He watched as Jarod looked over the cover. "I guess she had you pegged," he laughed.

Jarod smiled to himself, and absentmindedly pulled another bill from his pocket. "Thanks, Tim." He shoved the bill into the bouncer's hand. "Buy your wife something nice, and take your son out for an ice-cream cone."

Tim nodded and watched the other man as he walked out of the bar. Nice enough guy, he thought to himself, but a little strange.




The Blue Note Café. The letters stood out in black script against the metallic indigo of the matchbook cover. Jazz and other diversions. Jarod scanned the address, just a few blocks away, he could walk there easily. It would give him time to think, to try to decipher exactly what this was all about.

Walking through the front door, Jarod saw immediately that he was underdressed. The crowd, small but intimate, was to a person outfitted well, elegant suits and dresses de rigueur. The clientele was mixed, older, younger, black, white and almost everything in between. For a Thursday night, the café seemed to be doing well, fully two-thirds full. He wondered how crowded it would be on the weekends - it looked as if he had been guided to one of Dover's current "hot spots."

Along the wall on the far side from the bar, Jarod was surprised to see a ten-piece band set up on a raised stage and playing a swing tune. He had seen such bands in old movies, but never expected to see the real thing in this day and age. The music was contagious and he found himself tapping his toes as he watched a half dozen couples twirling around on the dance floor that occupied the center of the room.

He pulled up a stool in the corner of the bar, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible in his casual clothes. The bartender noticed him, gave him half a smile and an understanding look.

"First time here?' he asked, placing a napkin in front of Jarod. "What can I get you?"

Jarod ordered a beer, soon delivered in a long pilsner glass, and sat back to enjoy one of his favorite past-times, people watching. The band was very good, as were the dancers, the beer was cold and refreshing and he had to thank Miss Parker silently for her suggestion that he come here.

But he still did not know why.

After a few more songs, the band announced a break and headed off stage. Jarod tentatively ordered another beer, unsure of how long he should stay, just what he was waiting for. There was a sense of expectation, though, and he thought that he sensed it from more than just his own butterfly filled stomach. He looked around at the other patrons, noticing them glancing toward the stage now and again. He looked back at the matchbook cover once more. What did she want him to see here?

The band walked back toward their seats, joking around good-naturedly as they settled in. The leader, a tall man in a almost comically striped suit, approached the microphone that stood at center stage. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to The Blue Note. Once again, tonight it is my very special pleasure to introduce to you the very beautiful, very talented, Miss Angela Haven."

The lights of the room and stage dimmed dramatically, so that only the flicker of the candles on the tables illuminated the room. A small but powerful spotlight forced its way through the smoky atmosphere and spilled onto the corner of the stage, at the base of the heavy curtains hanging along the side. Slowly, seductively, it caught sight of an elegant foot, arched into a simple black pump, and the hem of a long green velvet skirt. It was accompanied by another and they slowly made their way across the floor toward the microphone. The spotlight followed, moving up with aching slowness, the woman and the light conspiring together to tease everyone in the room.

A saxophone began a low call. The light played up across velvet-enrobed legs, hips, waist. It caught a glimpse of long black velvet gloves, a rhinestone bracelet, four sparkling straps that led up across a creamy white décolleté' to a green velvet collar, bare shoulders, hair upswept, elegant. And that face, the eyes of his dreams and his nightmares, but now, different. Soft, smoky, seductive. Not the raw sexuality that she had shown before, the dominatrix, the woman in control. Now she was something different, something very much like - her mother.

The music grew around her as she reached for the microphone on the stand. Jarod was thrown back into the movies of old: the band was Duke Ellington's, the singer, Lena Horne. The violins, the horns, the snare drum circled around him intoxicatingly while he, and every one else in the room, waited.

Miss Parker reached for the microphone with both hands, closed her eyes, and began to sing.

The poets say that all who love are blind
But I'm in love and I know what time it is!
The Good Book says "Go seek and ye shall find"
Well, I have sought and my what a climb it is!
My life is just like the weather
It changes with the hours
When he's near I'm fair and warmer
When he's gone I'm cloudy with showers;
in emotion, like the ocean it's either sink or swim
When a woman loves a man like I love him.
Never treats me sweet and gentle the way he should;
I got it bad and that ain't good!

For the second time, Jarod found himself dumbfounded. Her voice, her inflection, the meaning that spread out like a warm breeze from her words, he had never expected to find this in the woman he thought of a huntress.

My poor heart is sentimental not made of wood
I got it bad and that ain't good!
But when the weekend's over and Monday rolls aroun'
I end up like I start out just cryin' my heart out
He don't love me like I love him nobody could
I got it bad and that ain't good!

Like a lonely weeping willow lost in the wood
I got it bad and that ain't good!
And the things I tell my pillow no woman should
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Tho folks with good intentions tell me to save my tears
I'm glad I'm mad about him I can't live without him
Lord above me make him love me the way he should
I got it bad and that ain't good!


The applause was thunderous. Miss Parker smiled sweetly into the spotlight, her eyes sparkling as they glanced out into the shadows beyond the glare. For a split second, they caught Jarod's - he could not be sure if she could see him or not, but a current of electricity went up his back nonetheless.

As the band started again, she sang one, then another and yet another song, songs of loneliness, of valor, of pain and of strength. Jarod sat transfixed, his beer forgotten, his freedom forgotten as he drowned himself in her deep rich voice. When it was over, when she had left the stage, he felt spent, barely able to hold himself upright on the bar stool. In the back of his mind, a voice cried out "Run! Run away!" but it was overridden by the fervent, desperate hope that she would return and sing again.

The band took their places again, alone, and he stayed, praying silently that each opening note would signal her return to the stage, but all in vain. Slowly the crowd filtered away, he drank his warm beer, sighed deeply and left with the members of the band.




The phone rang on the table near his bed, an unexpected jangle this late at night. His first thoughts went to Sydney - he was the only person who knew the number of this phone, could he be in danger, injured? Snapping awake, Jarod answered, the concern evident in his voice. "Hello? Sydney?"

The laugh on the other side was husky, and just barely malicious. "Finally, Wonder Boy, a little payback."

Jarod was fully awake now. "Miss Parker. I wasn't aware that you had this number."

"I have my ways, Jarod, I have my ways."

"You also have your secrets, don't you." Jarod found himself trying to bait her, and regretting it the moment that the words left his mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way that it sounded."

Miss Parker was remarkably calm. "That's alright, I understand - I woke you out of a dream, didn't I? Turnabout is fair play, so they say. Did you enjoy?"

Jarod paused. "You knew that I was there?"

"Of course! As I said, I have my ways." She laughed. "I could have had you, you know. I'm surprised you went after the cheese so completely, labrat. You almost ended up in a cage once again."

Jarod shifted on the bed. He had become aware as the night wore on just how vulnerable he had been, but yet he could not shake the desire to stay, to perhaps hear her sing just one more song. "So why am I not?"

She laughed again. "Control. That's what it's all about, after all. You caught me last time in a momentary loss of control. I wanted to make sure you knew I had it back. My music, my terms, my control."

"And the songs, the music?"

"That belongs to Duke Ellington, an old favorite of my father's. I grew up listening to it."

"So…it has no meaning, other than something to sing."

Miss Parker sighed. "You know, you really spent too much time around Syd. They are songs, they are words, they were written and I sang them. End of story."

Jarod noticed a touch of resentment in her voice that had not been there before, but he decided to let it go. "Whatever you say, Miss Parker, whatever you say."

"Finally, you've got that right. Good night, Jarod. Sleep well, tomorrow the hunt is on again."

"Good night, Miss Parker." His finger slipped over the disconnect button, his mind drifted back though the night. "You were incredible. And that ain't good."