THE TOM JONES CLUB

On the next to last day scheduled for Orlando, Mona relaxed out on her hotel balcony and noticed the woman she had been watching, Copper, head for the resort swimming pool. The pool seemed to be one of her favorite places to take a break from her concierge duties. There was a semi-secluded table off to the side of the pool bar, behind some oleanders, and that’s where she was when Mona spoke to her.

“I know who he is,” Mona said.

The woman turned her head, seemingly searching the sky to attach a body to the voice.

“Over here,” Mona said louder, waving her hand toward herself.

“Over where?” Copper asked.

“Stay there, I’ll be right down.” Mona watched Copper spin her head around, eyes searching, until she noticed her balcony of one of the luxury suites. In two minutes flat, Mona approached Copper and placed her beach bag with towel, sunscreen, a copy of a novel, and a water bottle down the table next to her.

“My name is Mona.” She held out her hand to Copper.

“Oh, so you’re the woman I’ve heard so much about. What can I do for you?” Copper declined her outstretched hand, and started applying sunscreen to her sun-starved body. Obviously, she wasn’t going to let anyone or anything get in the way of working on her tan. Mona recalled the days when she had done the same. She could also tell this woman was hoping she’d be brief and leave her alone.

“Oh, well, I don’t need you to do anything for me.” It was no surprise that the concierge might think Mona wanted her to do something for her.

“Oh, okay, well, nice to meet you.” Copper continued her preparations for what looked like an all-day stretch out by the pool.

“No, no. But I do think there’s something I can do for you.”

“Would you like to sit down?”

“No, this isn’t about the resort. Actually, it’s personal. I’m inviting a small group to join me for cocktails in the lobby bar at six tonight. Would you please join me?”

“Oh, I really wouldn’t be interested. I have other plans for tonight.”

“Okay, but I do know who your Mr. Unobtrusive is—weren’t you trying to track him down—have a bet riding on identifying him?” Mona watched Copper’s brain ticking away, gauging her next words.

“Oh, that guy. How do you know about him?”

Instead of answering, Mona handed Copper a business card, turned away, stopped to wave, and then walked away.

Mona returned to her room, made a few phone calls, relaxed for awhile, and then changed into a polka dot sundress—turquoise and black with a matching jacket—and slid into a pair of dress sandals. She walked the path leading directly to the main lobby and turned left away from the registration desk to the Rat Pack Lounge,” the hotel’s answer to the retro 50s/60s bar where one expected the Rat Pack to walk in at any moment. No one would never know this was Orlando, the family vacation capital of the world, and not Las Vegas, which loved to revel in its “sin city” moniker.

Mona seated herself at a table in the center room with a silver ice bucket holding a bottle of Dom Perignon. It wasn’t long before Copper appeared, and when Mona invited her to join her, she accepted. The cocktail waitress opened the bottle, poured two glasses in the crystal stemware, and set the bottle in the silver ice bucket.

Mona sipped her champagne, put down the glass on the neighboring table and said, “He services me here and in Las Vegas.”

Copper almost choked on the sip she was attempting to drink ever so gracefully. “He what?”

Without explaining anything at all Mona added, “Come to Las Vegas with me for the annual Tom Jones Convention.”

“Tom Jones, is he still around?”

“Yes, dear, he certainly is. And your generation could learn a thing or two from him, from all of us who know how to appreciate a man and be treated like a lady.”

“Does this have anything to do with being serviced?”

“Touché.”

Who said that anymore? Mona was feeling old. But, somehow, it seemed appropriate sitting there in the Rat Pack Lounge. Mona glanced around the room, so appropriately decorated in mid-50s modern with long, low-lying couches surrounded by a baby grand piano and pictures of the Rat Pack on the wall. While many people came to Orlando for the theme parks, business travel, especially convention business, was huge. Las Vegas was its biggest competitor, and they obviously tried to encourage some who might otherwise hold their convention in Vegas to come here instead.

That young man, Johnny, dressed in solid black with a black and white vest complete with bowler hat, played a saxophone as another sat down at the baby grand and the two of them began playing Bryan Ferry-style tunes from the 30s to the early 60s, from “Casablanca” to “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.”

Mona sat there sipping her champagne, feeling at home and completely relaxed while Copper tried to nonchalantly study her. Mona could always tell when a younger woman did that, but it was only her life experience that gave her those insights into other women. They usually admired Mona’s hair—a bold, Rita Hayworth auburn—and her demeanor…what was the word? Her pizzazz? That would do. That was the kind of older women many younger women longed to be when they entered their thirties. But if this woman wanted what Mona had, she’d have to start changing her life now. But that could all change for her if she came to Vegas and worked with Mona and the Tom Jones Club.

Besides, Copper may be asking about her Mr. Unobtrusive, but Mona thought Johnny would be a better match for her.

“So, who is he?”

“Tom Jones?” Mona preferred to keep her cards close to her vest, and not give anything more away than she had to.

“Mona is an interesting name. What did you say your last name was?”

Mona, her hand with her long, slender, ivory white fingers standing out against her bright red manicure, reached for the bottle of champagne resting in the bucket and poured them each a refill.

“Never mind that for now. I know who your ‘Mr. Unobtrusive’ is. Isn’t that what you were dying to know?

So much so you were in a bet with the musician”—she nodded in Johnny’s direction—“over who would go to Vegas?”

“Well, he was the valet at that moment.” Copper must have felt some need to clarify. “And it really wasn’t much of a bet. Besides, what does any of this have to do with me taking a job in Las Vegas?” She sipped more champagne.

“Let me cut to the chase. I find you very intriguing. It’s the old cliché of how much you remind me of me when I was your age. You know, the daughter I never had. I’d like to invite you to come to Vegas with me.”

“Oh, but I’m a working woman.”

“And I want you to work for me in a new hotel just opening up that I’m a part of. I’ve been watching all of you since I arrived, and I like your style. You’re hard working, intelligent, knowledgeable, and older than your years—not unlike me at your age, as I said. You’re wasting yourself here.”

“You can tell all of that?”

Ignoring her question, Mona continued. “I’d like you to start right away. The Tom Jones Convention is due to begin in a week, and I need to throw you into some of the preparation already underway. You’d be the perfect person for it.”

Copper seemed intrigued but cautious. “What does this have to do with ‘Mr. Unobtrusive?’”

“Oh you’ll find that out later.” She laughed a deep, throaty laugh of a woman who has lived life to the full and knew all the secrets.

Mona excused herself and strategically and moved over to a table over by the window, seemingly out of ear shot, and fiddled with her cell phone, giving the illusion of making business calls.

But she was well aware that Copper continued to sit there in the comfy chair, glued to the seat as her mind seemed to be considering the possibilities. She didn’t even notice when Johnny sat down in Mona’s chair.

“You should do it, you know.” Johnny said.

Mona peered out of the corner of her eye to see Johnny fiddling with a cigarette—unlit, of course—as if he felt he should look the part of a musician as well as be one. He placed his bowler hat on the table, attempting to block Mona’s view. That was Johnny for you. He had been reluctant to get involved, but she’d eventually persuaded him. Mona knew his sweet spot.

Copper looked startled. “But to leave this opportunity here? For what, I’m not even sure, except a weak promise for some sort of position in Vegas—the land of ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ I’m not sure that would be wise.”

“I’m going.”

“What? Going where? To Vegas?” Copper sounded as if she could barely bring herself to spit out the word Vegas, as if it would somehow tarnish her for admitting she’d ever heard of it.

“Yep. Mona’s offered me a fantastic opportunity to play in the band for the opening acts in the main showroom.”

“Is that what you want, Johnny?”

“It’s a fantastic opportunity.” Johnny sounded genuinely excited by that, and Mona vowed to make sure he didn’t regret it.

“But I thought you wanted to be a solo performer? Isn’t that why you went to New York for two years?”

Mona winced at her comment, thinking it probably wasn’t the most sensitive thing she could have said. Johnny had taken off to prove himself as a soloist in New York and had recently returned to the hotel, and that was partly her fault, leading him to believe his father was in New York.

“Yeah, but what better place to be noticed than in the showroom of a major hotel?”

“Why us, Johnny? Have you asked yourself that?”

Mona could tell Johnny was nervous because he played with the unlit cigarette even more vigorously until she thought it would crumble underneath his fingers. Easy now, Johnny. Don’t give her a reason to become suspicious and pull back.

“Okay, Johnny. You’ve got your demons and I’ve got mine. But I trust you, even though I vowed to never travel west of the Mississippi.”

So, it was only a matter of time before Mona, Johnny, and Copper found themselves zooming over the bright lights of the big city one hot, August night.