My open Mac windows quickly swipe to the left and a quick sense of comfort awakens me. I’ve been sparked by the writing energy, and I know my blank document is coming to provide my active mind relief. The cheesy Jazz refrains scoring a sweetening and budding relationship between two is on my television screen. The Fabulous Baker Boys, a movie I’ve never seen and have only been slightly intrigued by is an unexpected muse. Jeff Bridges is classic cool and Michelle Pfeiffer, a train wreck with potential.  I learn that a hysterical, profanity-laced leading lady can be a character of affability, while a man with little-to-no spoken moments can be equally likable. She’s a gum-smacking crude bitch.  But he sees something in her to come out of his flattering shell.

 “It’s happening,” my father warns.  And I know what he means.  I’ve read about this movie. Its sexual legend precedes it. My eyes and ears are baited. Fortunately, so are my fingers—I’m using them for typing. “These two are going to be left alone. For at least a night.” Beau doesn’t matter; he’s only a wallflower, as he so drunkenly declared during an earlier scene.

 Ms. Susie Diamond, taking a bath, draped in red thereafter.  Preparing everyone for the seduction that is her rendition of “Makin’ Whoopee.” Mr. Bridges pays attention to his piano keys, his fingers do the playing and her voice does their swaying.  The moment has taken place, on a white Grand piano with more than music to get lost to.