Dean Wesley Smith - Jukebox Gifts.pdf - Dean Wesley Smith - margozap

JUKEBOX GIFTS

Dean Wesley Smith

Dean Wesley Smith, a multiple Hugo and World Fantasy Award

nominee, has published over 50 short stories, co-edited the

award-winning Science Fiction Writers of America Handbook, and

teaches writing all over the country. In 1989, he won a World Fantasy

award at about the same time as his short story. "Where Have All the

Graveyards Gone!" appeared in the pages of F&SF. He has published one

novel, Laying the Music to Rest, and has sold three more. He is the

publisher of Pulphouse, and edits many of their projects. Alter a hiatus

from writing short fiction, he will have over 14 stories appear in 1994 in

various magazines and anthologies, including Grails: The Quest at

Daybreak, and Christmas Ghosts

Dean has a series of stories written around the time-travel powers of

music, using the device of a jukebox. One such story has appeared in

Night Cry Magazine, another will appear in By Any Other Fame, and

then there is this one, "Jukebox Gifts." Perhaps, someday, he will collect

them all so that we can read the adventures of Radley Stout, his bar and

his magic jukebox all in one sitting.

The stereo behind the bar was playing soft Christmas songs as I clicked

the lock to the front entrance of the Garden Lounge and flicked off the

outside light. I could feel the cold of the night through the wood door and

the heat of the room surrounding me. I took a deep breath. Christmas Eve

was finally here.

I could see the entire lounge and the backs of my four best friends

sitting at the bar. I had never been much into decorating with Christmas

stuff and this year was no different. My only nod to the season was small

Christmas candles for each table and booth. Some customer had tied a red

ribbon on one of the plants over the middle booth and the Coors driver

had put up a Christmas poster declaring Coors to be the official beer of

Christmas. The candles still flickered on the empty tables, but the rest of

the bar looked normal. Dark brown wood walls, dark brown carpet, an old

oak bar and friends. The most important part was the friends. My four

best friends' lives were as empty as mine. Tonight, on the first Christmas

Eve since I bought the bar, I was going to give them a chance to change

that. That was my present to them. It was going to be an interesting night.

"All right, Stout," Carl said, twisting his huge frame around on his bar

stool so that he could face me as I wound my way back across the room

between the empty tables and chairs. "Just what's such a big secret that

you kick out that young couple and lock the door at seven o'clock on

Christmas Eve?"

I laughed. Carl always got right to the point. With big Carl you always

knew exactly where you stood.

"Yeah," Jess said from his usual place at the oak bar beside the waitress

station, "what's so damned important you don't want the four of us to

even get off our stools?" Jess was the short one of the crowd. When he

stood next to Carl the top of Jess's head barely reached Carl's neck. Jess

loved to play practical jokes on Carl. Carl hated it.

"This," I said as I pulled the custom-made felt cover off the old

Wurlitzer jukebox and, with a flourish, dropped the cloth over the planter

and into the empty front booth. My stomach did a tap dance from nerves

as all four of my best customers whistled and applauded, the sound

echoing in the furniture and plant-filled room.

David, my closest friend in the entire world, downed the last of his

scotch-rocks and swirled the ice around in the glass with a tinkling sound.

Then, with his paralyzed right hand, he pushed the glass, napkin and all,

to the inside edge of the bar. "So, after hiding that jukebox in the storage

room for the last ten months, you're finally going to let us hear it play?"

"You guessed it." I ran my shaking fingers over the cold smoothness of

the chrome and polished glass. I had carefully typed onto labels the names

of over sixty Christmas songs, then taped them next to the red buttons.

Somewhere in this jukebox I hoped there would be a special song for each

man. A song that would trigger a memory and a ride into the past. My

Christmas present to each of them.

I took a deep breath and headed behind the bar. "I hope," I said,

keeping my voice upbeat, "that it will be a little more than just a song. You

see, that jukebox is all that I have left from the first time I owned a bar.

Since I've owned the Garden Lounge, it has never been played."

Jess, his dress shirt open to the third button and his tie hanging loose

around his neck, spun his bar napkin on top of his glass. "So why

tonight?"

"Because a year ago on Christmas Eve I made the decision to buy

another bar -- the Garden. Lounge -- and try again."

"And I'm glad you did," David said, lifting his drink in his good left

hand in a toast.

"Here, here," Fred said, raising his drink high above his head and

spilling part of it into his red hair. "Where else could we enjoy a few hours

of Christmas Eve before going home to be bored?"

All four men raised their glasses in agreement as I laughed and joined

them with a sip of the sweet eggnog I always drank on Christmas Eve. No

booze, just eggnog.

"It's been a good year," I said, "especially with friends like you. That's

why I've decided to give each of you a really special present."

"Oh, to hell with the present," Jess said. "How about another drink? I've

got a wife to face and knowing her, she ain't going to be happy that I'm

not home yet."

"Is she ever happy?" David asked.

Jess nodded slowly. "And I wonder why I drink." He slid his glass down

the bar at me as he always did at least once a night. I caught it and tipped

it upside down in the dirty glass rack.

"I'll fix everyone a last Christmas drink as you open the first part of your

presents." I reached into the drawer under the cash register and pulled out

four small packages. Each was the size of a ring box wrapped in red paper

and tied with a green ribbon.

"Awful little," Fred said as I slid one in front of each man and then put

four special Christmas glasses up on the mat over the ice. I'd had the

name of each man embossed on the glass.

"You know what they say about small packages," Jess said, twisting the

package first one way, then the other while inspecting it. "But knowing

Radley, the size will be a good indication."

"You just wait," I said.

"Great glasses," David said, noticing them for the first time. "They part

of the present?"

"Part of the evening," I said. I let each man inspect his own empty glass

before I filled it. The names were etched in gold leaf over the logo of the

Garden Lounge. I'd had them done to remember the night. I hoped I

would have more than a few glasses left when it was all over.

Carl was the first to get his present unwrapped. "You were right, Jess.

It's a quarter." He held it up for everyone to see. "Looks like old Radley

here is giving us a clue that we should tip more."

I laughed as I filled his glass with ice. "No. It's a trip, not a tip." I

finished his drink and slid it in front of him. "Since you unwrapped yours

so fast, you get to go first." I nodded at the jukebox. "But there are rules."

"There seem to be a lot of rules around here tonight," Fred said.

Everyone laughed.

I held up a hand for them to stop. "Trust me. This will be a special

night."

"So give me the rules," Carl said.

I leaned on the dishwasher behind the bar so no one could see that I

was shaking. "On that jukebox is every damn Christmas song I could find.

Pick one that reminds you of a major point in your life -- some thing or

time or event that changed your life. After you punch the button and

before the music starts, tell us what the song reminds you of."

Carl shook his head. "You know, Stout. You've gone and flipped out."

"Sometimes I think so too," I said. I wasn't kidding him. Sometimes I

really did think so.

"Tonight seems to be ample proof," David said, holding up the quarter.

"Just trust me, that is a very special jukebox. Try it and I think you'll

discover what I mean."

Carl shrugged, took a large gulp out of his special glass and set it

carefully back on the napkin. "What the hell. I've played stranger games."

"So have I," Jess said. "I remember once with a girl named Donna. She

loved to --" David hit him on the shoulder to make him stop as Carl

twisted off his stool and moved over to the jukebox to study the songs.

I watched as he bent over the machine to read the list. At six-two, two

hundred and fifty pounds, Carl was all muscle, with hands that looked like

he was going to crush a glass at any moment. A carpenter in the real world

outside the walls of the Garden Lounge, he sometimes employed four or

five workers at his small business. Mostly he built houses, although his big

project this year had been Doc Harris's new office. That had taken him

seven months and helped him on the financial side. He had never married

and no one could get much information about his past out of him. He had

no hobbies that I knew of and winter or summer I had never seen him

dressed in anything other than work pants and plaid shirts. He kept his

graying black hair cropped short and never wore a hat, no matter how

hard it was mining.

After he bent over the jukebox for a moment, Carl's large shoulders

slumped, almost as if someone had put a heavy weight square in the

middle of his back. With effort he stood, turned around, and faced the bar.

His face was pale, his dark eyes a little glazed. "Found one. Now what?"

I took a deep breath. It was too late to back out now. These were my

"Put the quarter in and pick the song." My voice was shaking and David

looked at me. He knew me better than anyone and he could tell something

was bothering me.

I took a deep breath and went on. "Before the song starts tell us the

memory the song brings back."

Carl shrugged and dropped the quarter into the slot. The quiet in the

Garden seemed to almost ring as he slowly punched the buttons for his

song. "Anything else?" he asked as the jukebox clicked and the mechanism

moved to find the record.

"Just state what the song reminds you of. And remember, you only have

the length of the song -- usually about two and a half minutes. Okay?"

Carl shrugged. "Why?"

"You'll know why in a moment. But remember that. It might be

Dean Wesley Smith - Jukebox Gifts.pdf

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