The Red Piano Lounge

It was one of those nights when I was too tired to sleep and I knew why I was that way. Five hours on the road is bad enough anytime, but starting that five hours at six in the evening made it eleven when I rolled into the hotel parking lot, except because I'd crossed into an earlier time zone, it was midnight local time.

My day hadn't been all that great to start with, and when my boss said the plant in Knoxville was having problems it got a lot worse. I like Knoxville. I just don't like the Knoxville plant, and I especially don't like driving there at night. He said I needed to leave as soon as possible.

It took half an hour to get a rental car and reserve a room, and another half hour to go home and pack enough for a week. As I pulled out of my drive, I was cursing the Knoxville plant for doing what they always did -- trying to fix their problem until it got bad enough they would stop shipping if it wasn't fixed, and then waiting until four in the afternoon to make the call for help. At least it was a Wednesday and not Friday like the last time.

Dinner was in Nashville -- a burger and fries, to go - and as the setting sun painted the clouds in my rear view mirror orange and purple, I drove past Lebanon. By the time I drove into the Holiday Inn in Knoxville, I'd been up for nineteen hours and I was pissed. I dropped my stuff in the room, and decided to find a little liquid mood changer.

The "Red Piano Lounge" didn't look like much from the outside, and there weren't many cars in the parking lot. Ordinarily, I'd have steered clear of a place with few patrons, but that night, I didn't really want to be around a lot of people. I just wanted to sip away my mood with some really old scotch. The sign on the door said "The Knox Five" were playing until three. The music I heard coming through the door was jazz, and I like jazz. I figured with the jazz and a little scotch, I'd be ready for bed in about an hour.

It appeared most of the cars in the lot belonged to the band, because other than the five older men on the tiny stage, the only other people in the place were the bartender, myself, and an older woman sitting at the bar. I took a stool a ways from her because she looked like she was thinking about something and wouldn't want to be disturbed. The bartender brought my scotch, and I was soon lost in the music and the smoky taste of Glenfiddich.

The band was pretty good. The scotch was excellent. In about fifteen minutes, I was well on the way to relaxing because I wasn't thinking about why I was there. The band finished that number, and were talking amongst themselves about the next. With nothing else to do, I looked around the bar, and my gaze fell on the woman.

She was maybe fifty, though I always find it hard to guess a woman's age. I didn't need to guess that she was well worth looking at. She had that quiet beauty that comes only with age, and she had the body to match. Her black dress covered a lot of her curves, but the slit up the side showed me a slender, graceful leg cased in black nylon stockings. Her ass was also great. The way she was sitting, her hips flared out on the barstool and led upwards to a nice, but not skinny, waist. From there up, she was wonderfully large breasts that formed a delicious cleavage in the low cut neckline. Her shoulder length brown hair framed a pretty face that had the soft lines that told me she liked to laugh.

Jack, the bartender came back and asked if he could get me another scotch. I said yes, and then on an impulse, asked him to get another of whatever the woman was drinking and to tell her I'd paid for it. He grinned and brought my scotch, then mixed her drink, carried it down the bar, and sat it down. When she said something, he pointed in my direction.

The woman turned and smiled, then slid off her stool, picked up her purse and the drink, and walked over to where I sat. She was still smiling when she climbed up on the barstool and then turned to face me.

"Hi. I'm Sharon, and who is this nice man who bought me another drink?

"I'm Tom, Tom Spencer."

"Well, Tom Spencer, thank you for the drink, but I don't know you. Do you buy drinks for every woman you see in a bar?"

"No, not usually. You just looked kind of lonely sitting there by yourself."

"And you thought I'd join you if you bought me a drink? You're a real optimist aren't you?"

"I just bought you a drink. You did sort of join me, though."

She smiled.

"I suppose I did, didn't I? I wasn't really lonely, though. I was just remembering."

"Remembering?"

"Yes, I used to come here every Friday and Saturday night with my husband. They had a guy who played the piano and sang then. Dave would always ask him to play "Where Is Your Heart", and he would. It's a song from a movie that's kind of sad, but it was my favorite song back then. It's kind of like me, or so Dave said, so maybe that's why I like it.

I smiled.

"I know the movie. I've seen it. It is sad at the end. Why is the song like you?"

Sharon frowned.

"In the song, the singer keeps asking 'where is your heart' and I'm kind of like that. I have trouble saying how I feel sometimes."

"Is that why you're alone tonight -- Dave isn't your husband anymore?"

"Dave was still my husband until he passed away three years ago. I just come here to have a drink and remember what we had. Silly, huh?"

"No, not silly. Pretty romantic actually. You must have loved him a lot."

"I did. I just couldn't tell him that."

"How long were you married?"

"Twenty nine years. We got married right out of high school."

I chuckled.

"Well, if you were married for that long, I'm pretty sure he knew. He wouldn't have stuck around that long if he didn't."

Sharon sipped her drink like nothing was wrong, but I saw a tear stream down her cheek. She fished in her purse for a tissue, dabbed her eye, and then looked at me.

"Sorry. It just bothers me to talk about it. Dave knew I loved him, but he always needed me to tell him that, and I just couldn't. I don't know why, but I couldn't."

I tried to cheer her up.

"Well, let's talk about something else then. What do you do so you can afford to hang out here on the weekends?"

"When our kids were on their own, we bought an apartment complex. It's only twelve units and the rent's not that high because it's not fancy, but it took in enough that with Dave's pension, we lived pretty well. I manage it by myself now."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

Sharon sighed.

"It wouldn't have to be, but you're right, it is. You'd think people would take care of things, but they don't. This morning I had to buy a new stove for one of the units. The people who rent that unit left a plastic container in the oven and then forgot about it. When they went to preheat the oven, the plastic melted and caught the oven on fire.

"My insurance says I have to have a fire extinguisher in every kitchen and thank God, they had sense enough to use it so there wasn't much of a fire. The stove was ruined though. I guess they don't realize it'll take me three months rent from them to pay for the new one and getting it installed and the old one hauled away."

I chuckled.

"If that had happened to me, I'd probably have thrown them out."

"Well, I could do that, but then I'd have to repaint the apartment and probably put down new carpet. It was cheaper to let them stay. Besides, they're not bad tenants. They don't cause trouble with anybody. They just forgot."

Sharon sipped her drink, and then smiled at me.

"I haven't seen you here before. Do you live around here?"

"No, I'm in Knoxville on business."

"Oh. What kind of business?"

I told Sharon about the Knoxville plant and why I was there. She laughed.

"I have a couple tenants who work there. I don't know what they do there, but the way they talk about the place, what you say doesn't surprise me."

"Oh, it's not the people who do the work. In my experience, they try really hard. It's the management that's the problem. Everybody has trouble now and then. The management at Knoxville just doesn't know when they need help until it's almost too late."

Sharon finished her drink, then put her hand on my arm.

"Thank you for the drink. I'd like to stay, but I really should be getting home. Will you be back tomorrow night?"

Up until she asked, I'd planned on just grabbing a burger and fries and spending the night watching a movie on TV. Her face looked hopeful when she asked though, so I said if I could get away, I would.

Sharon grinned.

"I don't usually get here until about nine. If you're late, I'll just nurse one drink and wait for you. It was nice having someone to talk with for a change and I'd like to do it again."

When I was back in my room and taking a shower, I wondered why Sharon didn't have anybody to talk with. She was a pretty woman, and would surely catch any man's eye. I'd bought her a drink because of the way she looked, and while we talked, the thought how she'd probably be kept sneaking into my mind. I didn't ask, of course. She didn't know me at all, and would probably think the worst if I had.

The next day, I got to the plant at seven, and found out everything was in a shambles. My boss had said they had some problems. He didn't tell me the most important piece of equipment in the entire process had broken down. Without the plating line, they couldn't make anything.

The first thing I did was spend half an hour with Ron Sims, the plant manager. He cursed the equipment for breaking down, cursed the plating supervisor for letting it do so, cursed the maintenance department because they couldn't seem to get it up and running again and then told me what I should do. I listened, but only because he'd tell my boss I refused to take his advice if I didn't. Once he was finished, I walked out to find the plating supervisor and the maintenance supervisor.

I found them both standing beside the plating line and talking. I knew them both from other trips to Knoxville, so I walked up and stuck out my hand.

"Hi, guys. Remember me, Tom Spencer, from the Springfield plant? I hear you have a bit of a problem."

Bill, the plating supervisor shook my hand.

"Yeah. I told 'em this was gonna happen, but they wouldn't let me shut it down for an hour and fix it before it busted."

"What broke?"

"A valve on the acid tank. A week ago Friday when we cleaned the tank, I saw it leaking. Jerry could have had a new valve by Monday afternoon and we don't work weekends anyway. We'd have lost half a day's production at most. When it broke, it dumped the whole tank in the containment pit. We've got that all cleaned up and I got more acid, but I can't refill that tank until Jerry replaces the valve."

I turned to Jerry, the maintenance supervisor.

"Morning, Jerry. Sounds like you're under a lot of pressure."

The look on Jerry's face told me he was pissed.

"Yeah. I keep getting called by the front office about every half-hour asking if I fixed the damned thing yet. I keep telling them I can't fix it if I don't have the part. I'd have it if they'd processed the order last week after Bill saw the leak. It wasn't in the budget, they said, so I'd have to wait until next month. Well, look what waiting got them.'

I asked Jerry if he had a part number.

"Hell yes I do, but it won't do no good. Those valves are made to order and it takes at least four days to get one. Even if they order it today, we'll have run all the customers out of parts before it comes in."

I asked him to give me the brand and part number.

"Maybe we have something that will work in Springfield. Doesn't hurt ask."

I used my cell phone to call Martha, the woman who manages the MRO stores in Springfield and gave her the part number. She said she'd have to check but she'd get right back to me. While I waited, I went to see Walter, the purchasing manager.

"Walt, the maintenance guys say you're holding an order they need. It's for a valve for the plating line. Isn't there any way to bust it loose and get it ordered? That's all they need to get back up and running again."

Walt smiled.

"I released the order this morning after Ron said it was OK."

"Ron was holding up the order, not you?"

Walt looked apologetic.

"Well, you have to understand. Ron is responsible for profitability, and buying things for MRO that aren't immediately needed just costs money with no return."

I didn't say what I was thinking. Ron had already lost three days of production and catching back up would cost at least a hundred times the cost of one valve. I just thanked Walt and went back to the plating line.

Martha called me back about five minutes later, and I put my phone on speaker so Bill and Jerry could listen in.

"Tom, we have the same brand and size valve, but the seals in yours are different. I checked and our seals won't work in your application. If you can find the seals though, ours should work."

I looked at Jerry.

"You wouldn't happen to have a seal kit for that valve would you?"

Jerry grinned.

"I got two. I'm supposed to change them twice a year, so they're on automatic reorder in MRO."

I spoke into my phone.

"Martha, I need that valve and I need it just as fast as you can get it here. I'd settle for a cab or an expedited truck, but if you can find a charter plane that would be better. Get it on its way and then call me and tell me when it'll be here."

"I can do that, but who should I charge all that too?"

"Charge it to my department and if anybody questions it, tell them I said it was all right and we'll straighten the paperwork out when I get back. Don't forget to call me, OK?"

Martha is nothing but efficient. Forty minutes later she called me back.

"I drove the valve to the airport myself and I just watched the plane take off. It should be landing at the Downtown Island Airport in about an hour. Either you or Jerry can sign for it."

She gave me the pilot's name and the FAA number of the plane. I thanked Martha for being so quick. She chuckled.

"You owe me a cup of coffee for this one, Tom. I had to sweet talk the plant manager into signing the purchase order for the plane."

I thanked Martha again, and then ended the call. When I looked up, Jerry was gone. I asked Bill where he went. Bill grinned.

"It'll take him half an hour to get to the airport. He wanted to make sure he'd be there when the plane landed."

A little less than two hours later, Jerry walked up to the line with the new valve and a maintenance tech.

"One of my guys replaced the seals and we checked if for leaks. We oughta have you back up right after lunch, Bill."

There wasn't really any reason for me to stand there and watch while Jerry's guys changed the valve, but I really didn't want to go sit in the office. If I did, Ron would just want to talk to me again. I'd been there before. He'd fuck up something, I'd go fix it, and then he'd spend an hour explaining how what he did was good, sound management practice that because of something nobody could have foreseen had gone awry. I'd have to endure that before I left anyway. I didn't feel like going through it twice.

Instead, I took a walk around the plant. I knew several of the people there from other trips to bail Ron's ass out of trouble. I wanted to see them again while I had time.

Jesse was running her CNC lathe when I walked up. She smiled as she used a micrometer to measure a part, and when she'd written down the measurement on her data sheet, she started the machine. She turned back and grinned.

"Tom, you're a long way from home. Come to fix another screw-up for us?"

"Yeah. Your plating line is down. I drove over to see if I could help."

Jesse batted her eyelashes at me.

"You could help me again. I wouldn't mind at all."

I couldn't stop from smiling. Jesse is over sixty I think. The last time I saw her, she said she was going to retire in a few years, so she has to be about that old. Those years show in her face, but the rest of Jesse is pretty sexy. She knows I like her, and she isn't bashful about flirting with me.

"Now, Jesse, you know that would get both of us in trouble"

"Not if nobody knew, and I sure wouldn't tell anybody."

We chatted until her machine stopped and she needed to load a new part. When I told her to have a great day, she blew me a kiss.

I found Randy running the same paint booth I'd fixed a year earlier. Randy's full name is Randella Lucille Brisson, but she doesn't like to be called Randella. Randy is a tall, slender, blonde and is just about as hot as a woman can get even when she's wearing jeans and a loose T-shirt. It's a shame that Randy doesn't like men, well, except for me, and she doesn't like me that way. Randy lives with Aubrey, a tiny little brunette who isn't quite as gorgeous, but would be if she had any tits to speak of.

Randy grinned when I walked up and stuck out my hand. She wiped her hands on a paper towel, and then shook mine.

"Hi there, Tom. Aubrey and I were just talking about you last night."

"Oh, nothing too bad, I hope."

Randy smiled.

"Nah, you know better than that. Aubrey was just saying she'd like to see you again sometime."

I raised my eyebrows and grinned.

"Oh..."

Randy giggled.

"Don't get your hopes up. She just likes you. You should stop by and tell her hi before you leave."

I made a mental note to do that. I think several people in the plant suspect Randy and Aubrey are more than just roommates, but as far as I know, I'm the only one who knows the truth. They're both lesbians, but they aren't sleeping together. Randy and Aubrey just live in the same house because they're friends. Randy has Cheryl and Aubrey has Denise.

I met Cheryl and Denise one night about two years before. I'd fixed Aubrey's assembly station so it was easier for her to run and she asked if she could buy me a drink. When I got to the bar, all four of them were sitting at a table. I liked Randy and Aubrey from working with them at the plant. It took all of ten minutes for me to like Cheryl and Denise too. All four are really nice women and they're sexy as hell. I suppose part of that appeal is the fact they're sort of the forbidden fruit, but having them as friends is almost as great as having them as lovers.

I did find Aubrey and we caught up a little before I went to lunch. She was the same Aubrey, tiny, cute as a bug, and a little shy. When I got back, Bill was filling the acid tank while Jerry and one of his guys watched the new valve to make sure there were no leaks.

It took two hours to fill the tank and another two to bring it to the right temperature. After that, the line started running again. By five that afternoon, bright, shiny, zinc plated parts were coming off the line and being hauled to shipping. I was done and could go back home, or so I thought.

I called my boss, told him what I'd found and that we had everything back up an running again. He thanked me, but then asked if I'd stick around for the week I'd planned.

"I know you'd rather be back here, but Randall would like us to baby-sit Knoxville for the next few days just in case something else goes wrong. They would have stopped shipping in another day, and he wants to make sure they get caught back up before you leave. While you're there, Randall wants you to look around and see if there's anything else that needs fixing."

I knew what that meant. It meant I'd walk around the plant and find a bunch of things that could be done better. That would piss Ron off, and I'd have to report daily to him on what I'd found so he could tell Randall he already knew and they were eighty percent complete with the fix. I'd been impressed the first time I heard Ron say that.

When I had to go back to Knoxville and actually fix the problem, I wasn't impressed anymore. To Ron, identifying the problem and assigning it to someone was eighty percent of the task. The other twenty percent might take two years to finish, but to his way of thinking, it was the minor part of the job.