The year was 1941, and you were a bartender at a local nightclub.

You were doing your normal night shift: serving customers, having conversations with the goods and bads, and making sure men didn’t drug women’s drinks.

You were just finishing a conversation with a nice woman when she stopped to stared at the stage, almost impatiently. More people started to crowd around the stage, everything catching your attention.

Then a red-haired man had come out on stage. His suit was pristine and sleek, his dark sunglasses giving him an almost mysterious look. And his hat only added to his charm. As he sang, his voice was like honey; almost magical. And it drew everyone in, even you slightly; But you had a job to do and it wasn’t him.