The New York City skyline stretched out as far as Uso could see. Here, in his personal escape on a Harlem roof, he watched people skitter about like insects on the ground below. No matter how long he watched, or how styles changed, people always did the same things. They fought, they fell in love, and they failed to recognize how quickly life betrayed them. Every day, Uso watched this dance from his personal paradise with a smug face. Life moved on and faces changed, but people never did. He watched generation after generation repeat the same mistakes. He also watched them find happiness in the end, even if it was him that caused such happiness. He had decided long ago that if he people could find him, he would give them brief moments of happiness to carry with them. Unfortunately, people almost never found him. His roof top paradise tended to move on its own accord. It would move from Harlem rooftops to warehouses in Brooklyn to the open air of Central Park. It also couldn’t be seen from the outside. People would hear faint notes of music in the air, but they could never find the source. They could only look around in confusion.

There were only two ways to get into the Rose Club: an invitation or through a door marked with the Rose Club seal - Uso almost never gave out invitations. People came on their own. Sometimes they stumbled upon it, sometimes they sought it out, and sometimes the door would appear to them in their time of need. He didn’t really care how or why people entered the club. He only cared that it was never empty. The Rose Club was always filled with people singing, dancing, smoking, and drinking. That was how he liked it. Just full enough and fun enough to never be alone. As much as he sometimes despised humans for their humanity, he loved how strongly they felt emotions like love and joy. He ate it up. Their humor, their joy, their admiration. Uso didn’t think that he could live without it. So, he never let the party die. There were some people in the Rose Club that had been there for years, decades even. They were the ones that had embraced the endless party. Willing to stay and never able to leave. They looked as the did the day they arrived. Others only stayed minutes, leaving with an understanding that while the party was a nice reprieve it wasn’t for them.

Uso sighed, lost in thought. He listened to a trumpeter croon as he looked over the Harlem nightlife. The brassy notes of a trumpet were one of Uso’s favorite things. Ever since he had heard Louis Armstrong play one night at the Cotton Club he’d been hooked. Nearly one hundred years later, he still insisted that all Jazz performances at his club included a trumpet. That rule was his ode to Louis. His old friend had long since passed on, but his music would be there forever. That rule was a decision that he had never once regretted. In his long life he come to regret many things, but seemingly asinine decisions like the trumpet-rule could never be one.

Uso turned from the roof’s railing and put up three fingers, gaining the attention of one of his waiters. The man acknowledged him with a nod before weaving through the tables of the jazz club. Uso watched him go from his special lounge at the back of the club before looking at the people milling about. He had to admit that it was an interesting mix. He saw flappers, poodle skirt wearers, dapper men in suits, afros and bell bottoms, mini-skirts, and skinny jeans. Some of these people had been with him since the club had opened. So many different eras were packed onto one place. Somehow it just worked. Everyone seemed to understand that in this palace, Uso’s place, people could be from any place or time and it didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter was the party. Live music, flowing drinks, dancing, and general debauchery. Everything went at the Rose Club.

He noticed a fetching blonde in a long red dress making eyes at him from across the room. He smirked. Patricia had first arrived in 1959, looking as fetching as she did now. At one time he and Patricia had gone steady, right after she had chosen to join his endless party. Now though, her sea glass eyes and beautiful figure held nothing for him. Uso felt only friendship for her. Patricia felt the same way. They were closer now as friends than they ever were as lovers. Uso nodded in her direction before picking up a cigarette and striking a match. As he lit it, Patricia sauntered over to the stage and climbed up taking her place in front of the microphone. His girl was a crooner through and through. It was one of the reasons he had briefly fallen for her.

The lights dimmed for a moment before Patricia launched into a rendition of Hattie Hudson’s “Doggone My Good Luck Soul” along with James, the Rose Club’s pianist. Her smooth alto voice carried over the rooftop and drew the crowd’s singular attention. Even Silas, the bartender, momentarily stopped making drinks so that he could listen. He bobbed his head along to Patricia’s tune. Couples made their way to the dance floor and started dancing to the fast beat. Uso just closed his eyes and listened. He wasn't much of a dancer without his partner and she was currently singing. The waiter he’d flagged earlier stopped by just as the song was ending, dropping off an old fashion with extra bitters. Uso hummed happily before taking a sip. It was perfect, like always. It was never not perfect. He raised the drink to Silas and saluted his thanks. The kid was a true wizard.

Patricia sang a few more songs before finishing her set. She weaved through the crowd smiling and accepting praise as she went. She was without a doubt the Rose Club’s top songbird. By the time she arrived at his table, Patricia had spoken to nearly all the club’s inhabitants. She sat down next to him and removed her tall black heels, careful to not damage the straps as she did.

“Great job, as always, Hell Cat,” Uso praised her. He was rewarded with a small smile.

“Thank you.” Patricia leaned back against his lounge and placed her feet in his lap. Some of the women nearest Uso’s table let out jealous sighs. Patricia rolled her eyes and shooed them away with a glare. Uso just laughed.

“What’s cooking Hell Cat?” Uso questioned, picking up one foot and massaging it gently. While the Rose Club was his, it was Patricia who managed most of the club’s day to day operations.

‘The usual. The girls are fighting, we’re almost out of hooch again, the band wants three more modern music nights a month, and your father called you.”

Uso frowned at the band’s request. He wasn’t really a fan of anything past 1960 or so, but as more modern patrons started to arrive he had to accommodate them. “You can deal with the girls in the morning, I’ll make more beer and liquor tomorrow, and the band can have two more nights a month, they already have five. As for my dad…I’ll call him later.”

Patricia raised an eyebrow. “You said that last week.”

“I know.”

“And the week before.”

“I know.”

“And the week before that.”

“I get it.”

Patricia rubbed Uso’s shoulder. “He just wants to talk to you. He hasn’t heard from you in two years.’

Uso waved her off before pointing his index finger her way. “Remember that my mother is in some glittering castle in the sky thousands of miles away. You are not her.”

“Don’t get tiffy with me,” Patricia chided, “You were the one that bought one of those silly cellphones. You might as well use it.”

Uso rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

Patricia stared at him. It was a tense moment.

“Fine, I’ll do it tomorrow,” Uso conceded. “Be a doll and get us some drinks.”

Patricia stood up, flinging her mid-length hair over a shoulder. She walked to the bar barefoot. As she did Uso was graced with a view of her back through the straps of her gown. A tattoo of large feathers graced her back. It was his gift to her and his protection. When she returned she had two drinks in her hand, an old fashion for him and a G&T for her. She passed him his before sitting down next to him. Together they watched the next act, a trumpet and saxophone playing duo. Patricia rested her head on Uso’s shoulder.

“The incubi are back again,” she said pointing to the bar, “Three of them this time.”

Uso looked at them over the rim of his glass. Two women and a man sat at the far corner of the bar talking amongst themselves. They were all extremely alluring and beautiful. Most of all, they were dangerous. Incubi were demons that used seduction to steal away bits and pieces of life force. Fortunately, these three were regulars that came back to the Rose Club every few years or so. “You know we have an understanding.”

The incubi were allowed into the club if they didn’t use their gifts on himself or the staff. They could take tiny amounts from patrons who would not even realize what happened. Uso wished that he could say that he’d put the rule in to protect the staff, but it was really for himself. Incubi had a nasty habit of changing into the person a target loves or lusts after during their seduction. He didn’t want to see ghosts from the past, especially if they weren’t real. Patricia turned in his direction until she was nearly on top of him and slid an arm around his waist.

“Just keep them away from me. The blonde likes to play games with me when she thinks you’re not paying attention.”

“Of course, Hell Cat.”

The two spent the rest of the evening, far into the early hours of the morning, watching the people in the club and listening to the smooth sounds of old jazz standards.