The Silver Jar

"My own business bores me to death; I prefer other people's" – Oscar Wilde

The Speak-Easy Way of Life

I was recently due to attend an event at the London Film Museum, or rather under it. Tickets were £60 but I managed to get them for £10. Cocktails, jazz and glamour all in one place…and it was cancelled.

Perhaps it is better this way, as my illusion of ’20s flapper girls and of musicians wearing hats and smoking cigars won’t be shattered. Also perhaps better this way, because my hopeless fantasy might have just triggered off my next story.

It is currently nameless, but for the sake of suggestion it could be called Happiness Here.

Here is what I’ve written so far, any feedback is welcome..

It all began at Happiness Here. Hidden away underground, a secret club that offered both exclusivity and anonymity to its customers. The room was always darkly lit and seemed small, but if you cared to tilt your head backwards and raise your eyes to the ceiling, you would see that it stood tall. It was decorated with thick beams of wood that ascended into blackness above our heads. We were down far underground. The exposed brick walls were cool to the touch, and were a welcome contrast to the thick air of the club which got hotter as the night went on. Once I clung to a wall, trying to cool myself, when my stocking got caught by the rough texture of the brick and ripped slightly. I don’t think anyone noticed.

A jumble of low and tall tables were scattered across the bar area, cushioned seats and free standing stools, and there was the dance floor by the band – whatever you were in the mood for. The lights were always down dim, and the candles on the tables always flickered. I always wondered how the waitresses and barmen knew what they were serving, it never occurred to me that maybe they didn’t. There was always a characteristic smell of musk in there. I never could tell where it came from, but it was nice. Someone once said that they had an incense burning above the entrance, but I never remembered to look when I was leaving, so I never knew for certain.

The jazz was always playing and the crowd was always happy, it definitely was Happy Here. At least at that time it was.

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This entry was posted on December 17, 2012 by in Creative Writing, Literature and tagged , , , .

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