A Twisted Tale:

Thank you for that thoughtful introduction. Okay, I admit that this story involves my devilish mind at work but one of our waiters from back around the turn of the century put me up to it. The Piano Bar and Malcolm were a match made in show tune heaven. We featured Broadway and West End tunes and Malcolm loved the shows.

The Piano Bar is the creation of Nikos Hristodulakis and Jody Duncan, and they’re behind the bar every night, but this story comes straight off the piano stool. David Dyer, pianist extraordinaire of Aspen and Mykonos fame, is truly a caring guy though you might not think so from this story. Nor may it put you in the mood for a cocktail, but as a new “tail” is promised with every Piano Bar old tale, in honor of St. Patrick’s day there is a suitably green Grasshopper chaser for the story.

Speaking of green…as seems to be more and more the case with Piano Bar tales a word of caution is in order. If you’re of the squeamish sort, not given to thoughts of the purpose for that little bag in the pocket of the airplane seat in front of you, then perhaps you should skip the story and go straight to the booze. Then again this story is all about booze. And music. Play on, David.

Piano Man David Dyer

But then there are those nights when everything goes so uncontrollably haywire you simply don’t know what’s going to happen next.

Kathy “Babe” Robinson

I smiled and said, “Everyone’s a critic.”

Kathy laughs at the pop of a cork, so it was a miracle she held it to a giggle as she struggled to finish her song, now a duet of sorts with a bent over and retching lady. Frankly, I was surprised the entire room didn’t lose it to laughter. It was one of those helpless, beyond schadenfreude moments where no matter how sympathetic you may be to the sufferer (albeit self-induced), you just can’t keep it together.

Now, I take great pride in my warped sense of humor, but this was beyond the pale/pail. I said, “’Green,’ as in puke? Are you nuts? That’s just too tacky and obvious. We can’t do that.”

And since I wouldn’t go along with her, she had to sing a different number. Or rather Kathy and the still retching lady sang another.

I looked around the room. Everyone, including the waiters, was fighting not to laugh, except for Jody and Nikos who had given in completely and were rolling on the floor out of sight behind the bar. The only ones in the place not showing the slightest bit of giddiness were the retching lady and her friends. They kept handing her napkins as if nothing were wrong. The scene was so surreal I could hardly concentrate on the keys.

When Kathy finished her song I said, “What the hell, let’s do it, we’ve lost the audience anyway.”

A word about the audience: the Piano Bar is where Broadway and West End performers hang out on the island with others into show tunes. So, when I started to play the lead-in to “Somewhere That’s Green,” there was a sudden hush followed by a fit of laughter from those who knew what was coming.

Call it coincidence, but at that precise moment the woman’s friends decided the time had come to leave the bar. Two men helped her up. I’d only seen her bowed over at the table and when she stood, or rather was lifted, she was not as I had imagined. She was in her late sixties, elegantly dressed, and sophisticated in appearance—except for the wobbliest pair of legs I’d ever seen. The men desperately tried to keep her from falling as they steered her toward the door.

I lost it, Kathy lost it, the whole place lost it. But that was not the woman’s exit line. That moment came at the front door where she’d paused again, waiting for Kathy to laugh her way into the big finish, final lyric, “A picture out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine far from Skid Row…”

At that instant the “far from skid row” lady punctuated her farewell with a broad wave to a now utterly hysterical crowd and disappeared into the night. Dead drunk or not, the lady hadn’t lost her timing. As for who she was…