Mad as Jazzmen |1930s Ryden AU| ✔️

-4-

Brendon's first task as an employee at The Spotted Cat was, quite possibly, the most glorious task that could have been asked of him:

Scrubbing the dirty floors.

Who was he to complain, though?  He had scored himself a job at a jazz club in New Orleans, and as long as it paid his costly apartment bills, he may as well have been the happiest man on Earth.  He had the world on his side, and it was rooting for him.

But the agonizing back pain that came with his first task, however, was a bit disheartening.

He felt like a grumpy old man already.  His joints popped and cracked as he moved to scrub a new spot, the muscles in his back groaning with every movement.  He was sure he couldn't hide the grimace on his face, but even Spencer was chuckling to himself as he watched.  At least his boss wasn't angry with him already.  That was a good start, in his opinion.

Ryan, on the other hand, had his own tasks he was taking care of.  The boy was bustling around the room, wiping off tables with a white rag as he passed them.  He stopped at the bar to get a drink of water from time to time, then continued on toward the empty stage at the front of the room.  Brendon couldn't help but wonder if that was where he played his saxophone.  He was curious to see how well Ryan played.

"I think you missed a spot, Brendon,"  Spencer remarked with a hearty chuckle.  He was one to talk, sipping on a soda as he sat behind the bar counter.  Brendon found humor in it, though.  Spencer was a good man.  He was taking a liking to his new boss already.  How could he not?  Spencer was an honest, kind, jolly man, and Brendon couldn't have asked for a better authoritative figure.

"How 'bout you come and give me a hand, then?"  Brendon shot back with a laugh of his own.  "I'll take a turn behind the counter and watch you scrub the floors."

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head without hesitation.  "Not with my age, boy,"  he replied.  "Once you've got a few years under your belt, maybe I'll consider letting you take a seat behind the counter.  Until then, there's a really gnarly stain under that table there.  I'll throw an extra nickel on your first paycheck if you can get it off.  It's been there for months."

"Gross!"

"Think about that nickel while you scrub, though.  Might give ya some motivation."

With a scowl, his insides already churning at the horrific thought of whatever that stain may have been, Brendon squeezed the soapy rag and got to work underneath the table.

And from the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw Ryan chuckling at him from the shadows of the empty stage.

*  *  *  *  *

Sunsets in New Orleans were absolutely breathtaking.

The deep orange sun dipped over the horizon of the city, casting a magnificent glow across the sparkling ocean water.  It painted the sky a gorgeous pink and purple and tangerine hue, and the clouds looked like droplets of lavender stuffing.  It just seemed to wash the city with relaxation and serenity.  Brendon was sure he'd never seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

As he finished up his first day of work at The Spotted Cat, Brendon wiped a thin line of sweat from his brow.  After he had scrubbed the floor, he dusted the tables, wiped off the bar counter, and straightened the chairs.  There hadn't been any customers that day, so there was no food to clean up, no glasses to wash.  Although Brendon was glad he had been spared of that extra work, he couldn't help but feel his chest tighten.  Why did people refuse to visit The Spotted Cat?  It was a fine building.  There was nothing wrong with it, and surely jazz was still a wonderful escape from the dismal times outside.  He just didn't understand people sometimes.