Chapter Text
The Bernie Wolfe Five had a problem, and he was standing in front of Bernie right now, explaining that they are about to become the Bernie Wolfe Four.
“You're quitting because wife - number, what? - five? six? - thinks you're too old for late night gigs? Jesus Ric, it’s barely worth even having the argument, she’ll be replaced within the year if your current streak’s anything to go by. Why have you married someone who thinks you’re ready for your pipe and slippers? Haven’t you convinced her how vigorous you are yet?”
Ric didn’t miss the malicious little barb, but gestured helplessly. “You’ve seen her, haven’t you? You know I can't resist a leggy blonde.”
Bernie snorted. “You’ve managed to resist me all these years, Ric. What’s she got that I haven’t?” He couldn't help himself, his eyes drifting to the neckline of her shirt, open to the third button. “Ah, the pneumatics. I see. I’m losing my front man for the sake of a pair of tits - which, by the way, are not all her own work. Why don’t you just pay someone by the hour? It's probably cheaper than your annual divorce.” She knew she was being harsh, coarse, but she was pissed off. It had taken them a long time and a lot of hard work to get where they were now, and Ric had been almost as big a part of that as she had herself.
Before Ric had joined them, the band was doing ok, had a respectable following on the local jazz scene and had even had the occasional invitation to play at the Duke of Wyvern - though never at the weekend, when the bigger names took centre stage. But Bernie had higher hopes for them, and she had known that what they were missing was a strong vocal lead. She liked the dynamic they had, where each of them would take a few songs, but she knew that none of them were really good enough to carry the band further, and it was time to bring things together with a front man. Ric Griffin, with his handsome features and silvering hair had brought gravitas and sophistication to their little lineup, and his voice had range, and an emotional depth that belied his appalling record with relationships. He was a great interpreter of the standards, and they had gradually raised their standing in the pecking order until they had a regular slot at the Shakespeare on a Saturday night, the Sunday afternoon Lazy Lounge session at Harper's once a month, and they had recently played their second Friday nighter at the Duke this year. It really felt as though they were on the verge of taking a step up, so Ric’s news was a big blow.
“I’m sorry Bernie, really, I am, but - well, maybe she’s right. It does take me longer these days to recover from a gig, even now I’ve gone part time at the day job. When we do the double at the weekends, I don’t really get back on my feet properly until the Tuesday or even Wednesday, and as much as I’d love to break the Duke, I think it's time for me to start winding down, not ramping up.”
Bernie sighed. “Well, I can see you’ve made up your mind and I won’t try and change it - but we’ll miss you, old man. Can you at least tide us over until we find someone else to work with?”
“Of course. Can we say the end of the summer? That gives you two or three months to get someone settled in, and you can start the season with your new lineup. I want next week to be my last Sunday, though - you can manage those between you, hmm?”
Her shoulders slumped in resignation. “Sure. We’ll manage. The guys would probably like a chance to sing again, and Lazy Lounge is the right place for it. We'd better break it to them tonight.”