by Andrew Watts
Colt sipped a cold beer and enjoyed the music coming from the stage. Soon a waitress brought him a plate of hummus with grilled bread and olives. He was about to order another drink when voices from just outside the restaurant caught his attention.
Colt looked up and saw the girl from the yacht, hands on hips, standing on the red brick walkway. She held her chin up as a well-dressed man of about fifty lectured her in a sharp tone, his pointer finger jutting out. A middle-aged woman stood next to the man, looking uncomfortable. By their body language, Colt guessed the girl was their daughter.
The argument was in the rear corner of the square, out of view of nearly everyone in the restaurant but Colt.
Colt saw a single tear stream down the girl’s cheek, rolling over her full lips. She remained silent but the father wasn’t letting up. The mother tugged at the father’s arm for him to calm down. The argument was loud enough for Colt to hear that they were speaking Hebrew, but the noise of the band ensured that no one in the restaurant took notice. No one but him.
Finally, the man Colt presumed was the father turned and walked away. The mother wiped away a tear on her daughter’s cheek and gave her a sympathetic look before following her husband. The girl’s eyes were emotionless as her parents departed.
Whether the girl in the pink dress sensed that Colt was watching her, he wasn’t sure. But for the second time that night, his heart skipped a beat as her gaze rested squarely on him. This time he was only about fifteen feet away, sitting at the bar.
For a moment, they stared at each other. Then she wiped away the final tear streaking down her cheek and began walking toward him. Colt was a deer in headlights, unable to move a muscle as an eighteen-wheeler raced straight at him.
She slowed at the low barrier that separated the bar-restaurant area from the square, holding fistfuls of her dress as she gracefully raised one perfect leg at a time over the barrier until she stood only a few feet from Colt.
He blinked once, then moved to the empty seat to his right, holding out his hand and offering her his bar stool. She sat down, not saying anything. Colt felt like he was witnessing a unicorn run through a forest. He didn’t want to say anything to spook it.
Her face was flushed from the earlier confrontation with her father, but she held her chin high as she studied the liquor bottles stacked above the bar.
Colt had trouble keeping his eyes off her. Long, dark hair that flowed down to her waist. Full lips. Voluptuous figure. She was clearly still pissed at whatever her father had said. She clenched her jaw, nostrils flaring. He could practically feel the anger radiating off her.
“Everything okay?” Colt asked.
She snapped her piercing hazel eyes away from the liquor bottles, taking him in.
On the stage, the band had just finished their performance and the ambient noise level descended. The crowd in the courtyard had grown in size, and now all the standing tables had patrons, most several drinks in.
“My name is Colt.” He held out his hand like an idiot.
She tilted her head. “What do you want?” She spoke in thinly accented English.
Colt could feel his heart beating. “Uh . . . nothing?”
She turned back to the bar.
Colt said, “I just . . . over there. You looked upset. I just . . . wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help.”
She turned back and studied him for a moment longer. Then the bartender came over and they conversed in Hebrew. The bartender flipped down a shot glass in front of her and poured until the clear liquor dribbled over the top. She lifted the shot glass to her lips and swallowed it down in one gulp, then placed the glass back down on the table and said something else in Hebrew. The bartender nodded and refilled her glass, then he walked away.
“You are American?” she asked, facing him.
“Yes,” Colt said. “Please excuse my intrusion, but I noticed you looked a bit upset over there. May I ask what you were arguing about?”
She sipped the liquor this time. “I got into a school. A master’s program.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? What school?”
“Juilliard.”
Colt raised his eyebrows. “That sounds like great news. Congratulations.”
“I can’t go,” she said, taking another sip of liquor.
“Why not?”
She looked at him. “You saw my father’s reaction. He has forbidden it.”
Colt said, “Do you need his permission?”
She looked at him sideways, seeming to see him for the first time. Another sip of liquor from her shot glass. She said, “Music has always been my passion. I play piano. And I sing. I have always wanted to perform on a big stage, to play at the highest level. But it is, in the words of my father, not a serious endeavor.”
“He doesn’t like music?”
“He believes very much in science and mathematics. Not so much in art. I am angry tonight.” She sighed. “But tomorrow, I will move on. I won’t disappoint my family.”
Colt took a gulp of beer. He noticed several men down the bar casting glances in their direction. Probably checking out the statuesque brunette in the pink dress, wondering why she was talking to the wrinkly-shirted American tourist. He realized they were the band members who had just finished their set.
She looked up at him. “Have you ever played an instrument?”
Colt’s cognitive function became inhibited by her spectacular décolletage. He forced his eyes up and managed to say, “I play a little piano.”
She raised one eyebrow. “If I told you to play something now, could you do it?”
“Maybe.”
“What would you play?”
“Gershwin probably . . . well, definitely.” His eyes danced along the floor. “I only know one song, and to be honest I would probably embarrass myself if I tried playing it.”
She looked forward over the bar, taking another sip of her drink. “I like Gershwin.” Sadness in her voice.
Colt looked at the empty music stage and then back at the girl. He looked around the restaurant until he saw someone who appeared to be the manager counting receipts in a hallway near the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”
She gave him a confused look as he left.
Colt walked up to the restaurant manager and made his pitch. The manager listened carefully until Colt was finished and then snapped his fingers for the bartender to come over.
“My boss doesn’t speak English,” said the bartender. “What do you need?”
Colt, feeling more foolish by the moment, thumbed back toward the bar. “You see the girl in the pink dress?”
The bartender smiled. “Everyone sees her, I think.”
Colt said, “She’s a world-class pianist, and she can sing. Tell your manager I’ll pay five hundred dollars if he’ll let her go up on that stage and perform.”
The bartender raised his eyebrows and translated to his boss, who listened and looked over at the girl. Then he replied to the bartender.
The bartender said, “He asks how he knows she is any good? This is a very nice area. He can’t just let anyone play.”
Colt said, “She’s incredible. She is well known in the United States.”
The bartender translated. The manager looked at her again, frowning and shaking his head as he said something in Hebrew.
“He says he can’t.”
Colt turned back to look at her. Her cheeks were still red from tears. “One thousand dollars.”
The manager said something and the bartender translated. “He says if you pay two thousand, he will let her play for one hour. But if she is not good, he will pull her from the stage.”
Colt felt the same adrenaline he did at a poker table when moving a large stack of chips into the pot, or on the bridge of his destroyer, when going out on a limb with a decision that could get him fired if he got it wrong. “You take a credit card?”
The manager didn’t wait for the bartender to translate before he smiled. “Yes.”<
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A few moments later and two thousand dollars further in debt, Colt sat back down at his bar stool next to the beautiful Israeli girl whose name he still didn’t know. “Well, I have good news.”
Her smile was melting him. “And what is your news?”
“I’ve arranged for you to perform tonight. One last hurrah before you go live the life of the obedient daughter.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Colt told her he’d arranged for her to play on the stage, leaving out the part about his monetary contribution.
She gasped. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t just go up and play.” But her eyes said something else. A glimmer of excitement.
Colt said, “It’s already been arranged.”
Something changed at that moment. Her sadness melted away. The tone in her voice was different. “That was very thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome. I think you can go talk to that man over there to figure out when to go up.” He pointed at the manager.
She kept her eyes on Colt. “I would be nervous to go up there on my own.” She finished her drink and shifted in her seat, her figure prominently displayed under the tight dress.
“Oh. I thought that was what you wanted. Maybe I misunderstood.”
“No, you are right. But I think I need help. You said you played piano . . .”
Colt glanced over at the expensive Yamaha keyboard in the center of the stage, the bravery he’d felt moments earlier beginning to fade.
She must have seen his hesitation, as she moved in close, her lips near his left ear as she whispered, “What do you say? We can perform together.” Hot breath against his neck. The dizzying scent of her perfume.
What was going on? He was just trying to do something nice. He desperately tried to think of a way out.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m underdressed. And you. You’re beautiful.”
She flashed a radiant smile. Her eyes snapped to the bartender, and she barked something in Hebrew. He answered but she cut him off and then addressed the manager. The manager’s body language at first appeared strong, but Colt watched this delicate girl transform into a commanding presence, verbally beating them both into submission. When she was finished, she pointed her thumb at the two men and said, “The bartender has a waiter’s outfit you can wear in the back room. That will do.”
Colt looked at the manager, who shrugged.
“I haven’t played anything in years . . .”
“What happened to Gershwin?” She winked.
“This is crazy. Look, I was just trying to do something nice. I still don’t even know your name.”
“Ava.”
He took a deep breath. “Ava, I may have oversold my playing ability . . .”
“What’s yours?”
“My name? Colt.”
“Like the horse?”
“I guess so, yes. Look, I can’t . . .”
The bartender placed a hot plate of steak and roasted potatoes in front of Colt. “Does he want another beer?” Colt noticed the bartender asked Ava, who was apparently in charge now.
Ava answered, “No, he doesn’t. Get us two more shots of this, please.” She held up her shot glass.
Colt frowned. “What is that?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just drink it.” She plucked one of his roasted potatoes and popped it into her mouth. “Look, you were trying to cheer me up. This is how you can do that. So, go up there with me. Be brave.” Amusement in her eyes.
Colt felt his heart pounding.
Ava, seeing his hesitation, sighed and once again leaned in close, her hand resting on his leg this time. For balance. “Colt, do you find me attractive?”
She was gorgeous, and she knew it. “Moderately.”
She started to laugh, and then regained her composure. “Would you like to take me out? Would that be of interest to you?”
“I probably would have said yes a few minutes ago, but honestly, I’m a little afraid of you now.”
Her face was still. “Consider this a test. If you go up on stage with me, then I will let you take me out to dinner.”
Medusa’s song to a sailor far from home. Colt looked over at the empty stage. A small crowd sat in chairs just in front of it. Was it public speaking that people feared more than death? This had to be the same thing. Colt screamed a prolonged curse word in his head.
The bartender placed two filled shot glasses in front of them. Ava picked them up, handing one to Colt.
She said, “Well, what will it be?”
Ten minutes later Colt wore a ridiculous waiter’s tux, complete with bow tie, while he sat behind a three-thousand-dollar professional keyboard. There must have been at least fifty people gathered in front of the stage now. Another two hundred more watched from their seats in windowless restaurants and cafés that surrounded the square. Ava leaned over the piano, turning a music book to the proper page.
“We’ll start with this.” She flipped through pages. “Then here. And then here. If there is any problem, we’ll improvise.”
Colt looked over the sheet music. It was beyond anything he’d done before, and a wave of panic set in.
Ava watched his face.
“How long do I have to study this?” he asked.
She began laughing. The crowd continued to gather in front of them, waiting for the performance to begin. And Ava was near tears, laughing, gesturing for Colt to . . . get up?
Colt looked at her like she’d lost her mind, and he began to wonder if he had completely misjudged her. He was, perhaps, dealing with a crazy person.
She finally got control of herself, closed the sheet music book in front of Colt, and took him by the shoulder, helping him up.
Ava said, “Okay. My fun is over. You passed. Well done, chivalrous knight. Now go sit down over there.” She pointed toward an empty seat off the stage.
“You don’t need me to play?” Colt had no idea what was going on anymore.
She shook her head with a mischievous grin. “I just wanted to see how dedicated you were. And perhaps to see how you would look in this bow tie.” She flipped her fingers through the tie. “Now, if you please.”
She held out her hand, gesturing for Colt to leave the stage, which he quickly did, still bewildered. When he looked back, Ava’s expression was confident and professional as she took her seat at the piano.
Colt sat down in one of the audience chairs set up in the square, still wondering what the hell had just happened. On the stage, Ava had closed the music book and repositioned the microphone to be near her at the piano.
When she began playing, the crowd near the stage went quiet. Colt could immediately tell she was gifted. At first, there was still a lot of chatter from the restaurants surrounding the square.
Then she began singing.
Her voice mixed with the notes she played, and the result was extraordinary. Colt got chills as she hit certain octaves. And as the performance went on, the surrounding bar and restaurant patrons fell silent, entranced by her music.
Ava played and sang for almost an hour, mixing renditions of slow popular songs that Colt recognized with others he assumed were traditional Israeli tunes. All the while, she radiated energy and charisma. This girl who had been taking shots of liquor and toying with him moments ago was now performing music at a world-class level.
By the end of her performance everyone was hushed, and the crowd in the square had swelled to several hundred. People in the marina had wandered over to listen, each spectator hanging on Ava’s every note.
The last song was slow, and some in the crowd wiped away tears. It was in Hebrew, and although Colt couldn’t understand the words, it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever heard.
It was a surreal experience. Colt was half a world away from home and only hours into a port call on a Navy deployment. Lightheaded from the alcohol. A warm sea breeze in his face. And completely entranced by this ra
vishing woman who every so often glanced his way, smiling as she played.
When she finally finished, the crowd roared with applause. People stood, clapping for a full minute. Colt heard some whistling approval and the manager of the nearest restaurant seemed to be begging Ava to continue. But she declined and eventually the crowd dispersed.
It was after midnight when she and Colt sat down at the bar again.
“I see you gave the waiter back his clothes,” she said. She didn’t smile, but Colt could see the amusement in her eyes.
“Ava, you were really good. Really.”
“Thank you.” She bowed her head.
“And please, no more tricks about getting me up on a stage.”
She shrugged. “No promises.” She looked up at the clock above the bar and clicked her tongue. “I must go home now.”
Colt didn’t want to break the spell but had to ask. “May I see you again?”
She walked up to him and leaned in, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Tomorrow night. Here. Sunset. And thank you.”
Then she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing on the brick square. Colt watched her enter the backseat of a black Mercedes taxi.
He swallowed the last of his drink and paid his tab. The bartender gave him a knowing look. “You got hit by something, I think?”
Colt nodded and walked away, seeing Ava’s cab pull away and disappear down the road before he walked to his hotel.
As promised, Ava met Colt at the bar the next evening. He arrived an hour before sunset to make sure he wouldn’t miss her. She appeared wearing a sundress and a smile and handed him a black motorbike helmet without saying anything. She just kept a straight face and nodded for him to follow. She walked him to a motor scooter parked in front of the hotel and gestured for him to get on behind her. Colt held on to her waist as she drove them north.
They parked the scooter near Ga’ash Beach and hiked to a secluded patch of shoreline. Sheer cliffs of sand formed a private enclave behind them. The recent sunset painted the clouds above the Mediterranean in reddish-orange light.
Ava placed a large blue and white beach towel down on the sand, setting a basket atop it. She began taking food out of the basket, along with a bottle of wine.