By the door stood a man with what might’ve been a fuzzy stalactite growing from the tip of his chin and a mighty pair of sideburns. He was wearing a dress shirt and casual slacks, which made him look like Abe Lincoln halfway to getting undressed for bed. Juno found his appearance astonishing, but not half as astonishing as Abe found hers. She didn’t have to put a hand in her Magic pocket, so to speak, as the guy practically carried her over the threshold. She sure wasn’t gonna force the buck for her membership on him.
Inside it turned out to be even less romantic than the stairway had forewarned. The cigarette smoke was more solid than the tables and chairs, which weren’t at all what Juno’d expected from a private members’ club. But after the smarter of the two college-age guys who’d rowed over whose chair she would be offered had worked out that by backing off he’d get to sit beside her, she settled down with her coke and faced the low stage. Time to see what all the fuss was about.
A few of the males in the two-hundred-strong crowd even turned their attention towards the stage when Abe stumbled onto it. ‘Ahm… Welcome all of you,’ he said and seemed to be addressing different parts of Juno. ‘Well… it’s, ahm… it’s… yeah, it’s a Sunday night hoot, I guess. Yeah. And I give you… ahm… The Tripala Duo!’ Applause and baffled whispers rippled through the crowd while two dapper guys with guitars and a petite blonde not much older than Juno grouped around the mike. ‘As some of you might be aware we’re actually called The Kopala Trio,’ said one of the guitarists. Juno could tell right away that he was somehow less affected by her than all the other guys. And although the hairs on the back of her neck weren’t as erect as they’d been the moment she’d first heard the words ‘folk club’, they were definitely stirring.