in thought, Hamish heard the chords and, recognizing the tune, turned with others to clap in approval as the talented pianist commenced his solo. He listened, his thoughts delightfully wandering as the entertainer hit his own version of the chorus:
‘..You might be one-legged Pianola Man,
But you can sure play well when your tight,
Remind us how young we all used to be,
Never scared of a challenge nor a fight.’
Immediately, the bar burst in unison, singing the only words those in attendance could remember, and Hamish, the alcohol working, could not resist joining in:
‘…Tra la la, diddee da, tra la la diddee da, La da, ……..’
By now, the bar was pumping, everyone present singing the original words, some swaying where they sat while others, already too drunk to notice, splashed their drinks over those standing nearby as the mood lifted, erasing from their minds, what might be taking place outside.
As Hamish swallowed the remainder of his single malt whisky he observed Harold Goldstein enter at the far end of the bar, and raised his arm in acknowledgment. The IMF officer spotted Hamish and strolled over, nodding to several other guests as he did so.
‘Sorry, goddamn Jakarta traffic gets worse with every visit,’ Goldstein apologized, accepting the other man’s hand. ‘Give us two more of whatever he’s drinking,’ he instructed the hovering barman.
‘How much time do we have?’ Hamish asked, his head a little hazy from the whisky, but nevertheless pleased to catch up with his former associate. They had worked together in Washington at the Nineteenth Street IMF offices, before Hamish’s life had undergone drastic change.
‘Plenty. In fact, we’re having dinner together with a charming young woman, you might just find attractive.’ McLoughlin raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
‘Business?’
‘More or less, Hamish. I had a call from Mary Jo Hunter to see if the IMF would give her an update. We’ve met before on a number of occasions and, as the choice was to bail out on you or have her tag along I thought, what the hell, and invited her to join us.’ Goldstein explained.
‘Here she comes now,’ he added.
‘Fine by me,’ Hamish shrugged, turning to meet the journalist, immediately taken aback by the physically arresting appearance of the woman.
‘Hello, Harry,’ she said, stepping forward as Goldstein bent to kiss her cheek. She turned and offered her hand. ‘Hello, I’m Mary Jo Hunter. Please call me Jo. And you’re Hamish McLoughlin?’ she announced, surprising both men. Laughing softly, she explained. ‘Your exploits are well known to the media, Mister McLoughlin. In fact, this is a most fortuitous opportunity for me. You see,’ she continued, her smile captivating those present, ‘I have you on my list for an interview as well.’ With this, she withdrew her hand from Hamish’s and placed her handbag on the barstool.
At that moment, a group in the far corner started clapping as one of their number finished swigging a half-yard of ale, most of which being spilt over his tie and shirt during an attempt to chugalug the beer. Mary Jo turned her attention back to the two men just as the pianist reluctantly sang a request for another group, the guests failing to understand how offensive some might consider ‘Hava Nagila,’ to be, in a predominantly Moslem country. The entertainer played the first few bars, threw his hands in the air, feigning loss of memory and fell back on Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’ again, seeing it had been so popular when he had played it before.
Hamish found himself tapping to the chorus, again, embarrassed when his eyes came into contact with the delightfully attractive woman who had joined them.
‘It’s always been one of my favorites,’ he explained, smiling at Mary Jo, who pounced on the opportunity.
‘What about that interview, then, Mr. McLoughlin?’ and he laughed, the mix of music and the beautiful woman added to alcohol, lifting his spirits.
‘Well, you may have your time cut out for you Jo,’ he explained, with practiced charm, ‘I plan to leave tomorrow.’ Jo pretended to sulk and both men laughed.
‘What about a breakfast interview?’ she suggested. Hamish considered this for a moment before replying.
‘Only if you can make it by six,’ he offered, turning to applaud the pianist as he skipped from one song to another, his audience obviously enjoying the medley as he moved from Billy Joel to Elton John, and across a range of distinctive, popular tunes.
‘Never happen,’ Goldstein interrupted good-naturedly, ‘you’d never get him out of bed.’ There was a sudden, embarrassed silence, then Mary Jo laughed softly.
‘You know what I mean,’ he chuckled, gulping the whisky and ushering the others before him. He raised his hand and scribbled in the air, calling for the check. ‘Come on, let’s get something into our stomachs. I’m as hungry as hell.’ The staff hurried to present the bill, and within minutes they were on their way, Hamish waving towards the preoccupied pianist, as if they were old friends.
They walked casually out into the magnificent foyer, pausing and moving discreetly to one side whenever Goldstein stopped briefly to chat with familiar faces.
‘He’s very popular,’ Mary Jo whispered. She stood alongside Hamish patiently waiting for their friend to rejoin them.
‘Who wouldn’t be? His presence here represents more than forty billion dollars to this economy,’ he replied, almost matter-of-factly. She examined his expressionless face, and decided there was no envy in the response. If anything, he seemed a little drunk.
‘Will he give it to them?’ she asked, with a slight tilt of her head.
Hamish McLoughlin admired the combination diamond and blue sap-phire earring exposed, as her soft, blonde hair drifted away from her cheek with the gesture. For the first time, he became conscious of her perfume as the delicate fragrance of Nina Ricci’s L’Air du Temps touched his senses.
‘I wouldn’t,’ was all he said, his thoughts uncomfortably elsewhere.
‘Do you think….’ she began, but Hamish shook his head, then smiled.
‘Leave it for Harry, Jo,’ he advised, then wishing he had not been so abrupt. They were rejoined by the IMF representative, who continued to smile at everyone they passed as they exited the hotel.
‘Not eating in?’ Hamish asked, surprised, as the hotel’s restaurants were all five star.
‘I doubt we would be left alone,’ Harry replied. ‘Besides, I know just the place if you still enjoy a good combination Indonesian and Chinese. It’s a bit down market, but the food’s okay. What do you say, Jo?’
‘Sounds okay to me. Where are we going?’
‘Down near Chinatown,’ he laughed, winking at the other man in conspiratorial manner. ‘There’s a place I was taken last time I was in town.
Food was great and I’m sure they’ll remember me.’
‘You’ve got
