This Friday’s gig was filled with folks waiting for the Follies show and included Bill George’s wife Bridget and Alisa, his daughter, back from Argentina, along with other familiar faces and some new folks as well. The Santa Assassin goes over well in these situations, as well as the Louis Armstrong tunes. I played well and folks started heading to the theater about 7:45 for the show. Starts slow, builds and then fizzles out, but that’s cool.
I was on board to do the intermission, riding on the assumption that the response would be like last Saturday’s show, with folks gathering and singing Christmas carols in quite the amazing sense of community.
Not to tonight. In fact there were about five people, including my former wife and her scoundrel of a boyfriend, so it was considerably strained, with them chatting with another couple in an empty room. There was no critical mass of people to disarm the situation. So, I played some mandolin tunes, sang a couple other songs. Thankfully, the show was about to start and everyone exited, with no eye contact from Kim. Gene offered a lame thank you and I grimly said thanks. (Not my real choice, upon reflection.) I packed up and split as fast as I could, like a dog with its tail between its leg.
I had a sleepless night that night, and I remain amazed that this stuff still gets to me, deep inside.
I found out later from Bill that Kim and Gene didn’t stay for the second half, so perhaps I wasn’t the only one bothered by the situation. Small comfort, though.