Robin WIlliams and Jim Carrey chez Andrew
Jim Carrey walked in off one of the brain ways and down a short flight of grey, stone matter steps, before going through a sturdy door to a downstairs bar to meet Robin Williams. They arranged to meet there seeing as they were always in and around the place, but Robin knew it better as he often popped in and sat at the counter for a little tipple and some thinking time, along with a joke or ten with the bartender.
It was dimly lit like a Buenos Aires Tango tavern, a homely feeling with its solid wood tables and chairs throughout as if ready to be pushed back to leave space for the show of dance. Booths of polished grey concrete with the same colour cushions worked their way around one wall, curving towards the back end and the kitchen. Along the opposite wall a counter as grey as the rest was elegantly lit, giving life and a cool side to its cosy. Behind it, shimmers of glass bottles and colours of spirits wallowed while a sole Bartender worked on his mixology.
In one of the booths sat Robin in a short-sleeved shirt. His hairy arms propped on the table already cradling a small glass of beer. He perched up with his big grin when he saw Jim walk in. Jim's equally big teethy smile bounced back and he strut his way over Ace Ventura-style, making Robin laugh. To keep in line with the comedy act, Robin greeted him in his Mrs.Doubtfire voice.
"Hey laddie, ya still got the swagger there I see!"
"Allll-righty then Robin!"
More laughs followed by a big hug and Jim slid in the booth across the table from his comical colleague. The French waitress recognised Jim immediatly and came straight over, they had spoken before on a previous visit. Before she could speak, Jim greeted her in his finest French accent.
" 'Allo ma cherie, we meet again...is it fate? Is it meant to be? Is it written in the stars that we are destined to frrrataniiiize?"
The slightest of giggles was dying to purse her lips as she felt like Cameron Diaz in that park scene. Her genuine accent was milder than Jim's comedy effort, eloquent and friendly when she greeted him back and asked for his order.
"A glass of of your finest malted brew me-lady, and one more for Monsieur Williams".
"Très bien, but do not reveal your croissant..." She winked at him as if getting the equaliser and beating him to it to which Jim gave his toothest Ace Ventura laugh. This time she did giggle before turning with allegro and the elegance of a ballerina on her heel to the bar with the order.
"So Robin, you maybe know this place better than me, do you know what tonight's gonna be like here?"
Robin couldn't resist, Roosevelt E. Roosevelt took him over in his Good Morning Vietnam best.
"It's gonna be hot, daaaaamn hot, real hot, as hot as in my shorts that you can cook something in there!"
Another laugh. Jim liked a place with a cool vibe and Robin knew Mrs.Doubfire did too as his accent went Scottish again.
"Yes, exactly, any one can come here, even a hip ol'Granny who can hip hop, bebop and dance 'til yoo drop and yo-yo make a wicked cup of cocoa!"
Then his voice went back to normal. "It changes from night to night, I think tonight is a more of a chill one, but as the Spanish say it's got movida. There are some nights when the beat is banging and the bass throbs off the plasticity of these walls, then there are other nights, where the music lingers softly in the background, always accompanying. Sometimes I come in and I feel like jumping up on a table again and reciting my Professor Keating lines again..."
"...and you constantly look at things from a different way..." finished off Jim in a more serious Truman-esque voice yet with the grin.
Robin winked and Aladdin's Genie replied. "You got it Al, or can we call you just 'Din?"
"Call me Cuban Pete...I'm the king of the rumba beat, when I shake my maracas I go chik-chiky-boom, chik-chiky-boom."
And so the evening went ahead, playing off each other, bouncing ideas between them, talking about how they first came here and agreeing it was both their kind of place. They agreed the beer was good, but the cocktails could spark up the night with flavour. The toe-tapping beats kept a profile just high enough to be heard and felt. The conversation flowed.
But then they both realised they didn't know what the place was called. Seeing as the bartender was looking idle and the French waitress was serving some food on another table, they called him over and asked him.
"Well, I suppose for me in English it is known as 'Andrew's', but for our French waitress it is 'Chez Andrew'. Then in the kitchen we have the Italian chef who says 'Da Andrew' but the Spanish Chef trys to correct him and says it is called 'De Andrew'...but hey they always argue, don't get them started on who's food is better...Anyway, he is sometimes in here in person when a live music night is on, he plays the drums a bit, funk-soul groove is his thing. But saying that he is always here, if you know what I mean."
Jim sat back content in his chair. "Well I'll tell you Max, I don't know why I ever leave this place, I've got aaaall the company I need right here."
Robin grinned, "Ay laddie." For a moment The English bartender thought he was going to do the how the Scots invented golf stand-up sketch, or that Jim was going to go all Grinch on him, but one of of his regular cocktail couple customers had just come in and propped themselves at the bar so had to get back to work, a Singapore Sling and a Ding-a-Ling wouldn't make themselves.
And then, as they sipped their beers, a comfortable silence desecnded on them for a moment, where they could just sit in each other's company and take it all in. Just let things be. nothing more than presence was needed.
Of all the gin joints in all of the towns in all the world, these two have to walk in to mine. Either one of them could have said it as convincingly as Rick Blaine. Sam should have been on the piano. Robin maybe should have been in the DJ booth, Jim on the dance floor complete with green mask and tango-ing with Tina on his arm. Tom Cruise could be the bartender's name, just waiting For Coughlin to come behind the counter to do their hippy-hippy shake bottle-flaring routine. There could be so much going on in here, while at the same time there was so little and you could sit with your drink and just people watch contently on your own. There was always a bass line, sometimes all funked up and other times solemn. There was always an element of left field. It was just a (grey) matter of perspective.
How did they get to this place? Maybe they just followed their gut feeling, or they just stumbled upon it. Maybe they were subconsciously invited. It is always a journey, no matter how close or how far. To navigate through a geography of thought, grey surface gyrus and sulcus grooves. It wasn't on the main stretch but through corridors of mind and backstreets to open in to a small square of being, deep in this district, or lobe as it was better known around here.
After a couple of beers they ordered some food and the French waitress brought over some small Spanish tapas of thought to share, along with an Italian pasta plate of mind provocation each, as different and as the same as they were, full of colour and things to digest and talk further about.
And then as the music trickled down, their bellies full of beer, food and chortles, it was time to call it a night. They made their way over to the till at the bar counter to pay.
The French waitress brought back a tray full of empty glasses and readied to give a new order to the English Bartender. They both said see you soon to Jim and Robin.
Jim turned back to them. "In case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening and goodnight!"
Robin reached up to his ear lobes."Nanu,nanu."
They both walked out through the door and straight into the motorways of the mind together, laughing and knowing that they would be back very soon.
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