raybear | Gennifer Flowers said you were a local.

It all started very innocently with an offhand comment from Damon.
"You probably already know this, but Gennifer Flowers has a bar here."
Jigga wha? Um, no I didn't.

Next thing you know, it's Saturday afternoon and I'm scouring through his guidebooks to plan a packed evening, a tour de force of New Orleans, knowing full well if we only completed half of it, we'd be golden.

"Okay, so first we're going north and east from your place, and we'll pass the Saturn Bar where Micky Rourke and Dennis Quaid hang out and see if it's worth it, then we'll go to this fancy restaurant and throw down for dinner, then we'll work back here, maybe go to Phoenix [the gay leather bar] or Cowpokes [the gay western bar] or Big Daddy's [the unknown but gay-sounding bar]. Oh wait, first we'll go to Pat O'Brien's for hurricanes, then go to Gennifer Flowers Club, then Chris Owns Club, and then karaoke....."

We were ambitious. That night we hiked out to the restaurant, but it didn't meet expectations, so we ate next door at Captain Sal's, a greasy fried fish takeout joint, much more our style. Saturn Bar gave us no vibe. We hiked back towards the Quarter, nearly jumping through some tankers connected to a train on the train tracks, but decided to not try out hand at hobo-ing and waited it out. We got the infamous hurricane and walked around Jackson Square and the Bourbon street strip while sipping it up. Then over to the Kelsto Club. Specifically, Gennifer Flowers's Kelsto Club.

We went inside and there were maybe only 10 small tables and a bar and a gold piano with a bar around the edge. We sat far away from the piano, where a guy with a shaved head and soul patch beard and loud tight polyester shirt and indeterminate sexuality played piano and sang and bantered and frightened us. We ordered a drink.

I looked around at the various deer heads on the wall and exotic fur skins stretched out and framed, as well as the blond press photo of Gennifer. On the walk over, Damon and I had discussed whether either one of us knew what she looked like. Damon had her mixed up with Paula Jones, I only remember her as blond, we both remembered there was plastic surgery involved. I turned around to the bar and saw a blond woman and knew it was her. The guidebook said she sang Thursday, Friday and Saturday night, and this was Saturday and we were ready.

I jokingly said to Damon "wanna sit at the piano?" It was only half full. He called me on it. We sat there. He immediately asked where we were from.

"Chicago," I said.
"Ah, Chicago! What kind a music do you want? Jazz, blues, pop....country....rap?"
I almost called him on it. Instead I said, "Barry Manilow."
He cringed. "I asked for genre, not requests."
At this time, I should point out he had already played two, count 'em, TWO Billy Joel songs. C'mon now. No love for Barry? I relented and chose "jazz" and he played a generic version of a generic Duke Ellington song. I was not so impressed. Still, sitting so close to him now, I didn't hate him as much. I started to even like him a little, felt a bit sad for him being trapped in this bar when he wasn't so bad of a voice or fingers. When he played Damon's request of Nat King Cole's Love, and did pretty good job of it, he had officially won me over.

The other people sitting at the piano got up to leave. "Gennifer is late," one of the sorority girls insisted. Geo, the piano player (I didn't learn his name until after the night), said, "um, she's right at the bar." Which was ten feet away. "She's coming on next."

They left anyway, or perhaps they left in the first song or two of Gennifer's and I didn't notice because I was too enthralled. She came up and sang about three feet from me. I needed to order a second drink for this. (If you look at the picture above, I was sitting right in the lower lefthand corner from the pic.)

I can't remember what songs she sang first, but her voice was good. Not amazing, but a really strong solid piano bar torch song singer. She did the requisite asking folks where they were from -- one table was from Memphis, and she said "I'm from a town 80 miles west of Memphis in Arkansas." Um, yeah, we all know where you're from. And one of the people you slept with while there.

On the third song or so, she turned to me and Damon. "So where are you from?"
"Chicago," I bragged loudly. (I blame the liquor -- normally I have no real Chicago pride.)
She asked what brought us down here, if we were at a convention.
"No, my friend here just moved down here, i came down to help." I hit Damon on the shoulder in case my words were slurring and I wasn't aware. I didn't really feel drunk -- though I did feel like my life was at it's most absolute surreal.
"Oh well, HE's a local. You're a visitor." We nodded. Then I turned to Damon. "Dude, Gennifer Flowers just said you're a local! It must be true."

The next song was "It Had To Be You". A guilty pleasure of mine and I was probably singing along, or at least nodding my head and mouthing some of the words. At one point in the middle, Gennifer sang directly to me. "Might never be cross...I know you, you want to be the boss." I grinned sheepishly and shurgged. "Uh-huh, I knew it, " she sang. I'm sure I was blushing and was totally eating it all up. I think then I leaned into to Damon and said, "I'm totally asking out Gennifer Flowers after this." Except she's married and her husband is the bartender and she sang a version of "Stormy Weather" for him that was sort of sub-par. But I mean, I'm just partial to Lena Horne.

She sang a couple more songs, then left. It was maybe 25 minutes tops. We hadn't even finished out second drink. Geo the piano player sang a couple more songs and my shine to him was wearing off, when someone came up and put ten bucks in his jar and requested "blues". Geo was a little unsure of what to pick, and since he had been hollering out for requests all night, I said "Do Nothing Till You Here From Me". He seemed impressed and excited. Maybe he didn't think someone who requested Barry Manilow would know good piano jazz songs. And he did a pretty decent blues version of the song and even went to town in the middle with a piano solo. We finished up our cocktails and I threw a bill in the jar after the song was done and we got up to leave. He nodded and thanked us and wished us a good night. I don't think it could have ended any better.

So we headed off into the night, perplexed and amused and happy. The logical step after that? Drag queens. We went to Big Daddy's by Damon's house for another round of drinks and a dozen round of performers, and then we called it a night. After all that, we still got home and fell asleep by 2 am.