Sarah had a passion for music. As a designer of vinyl record label covers and a musician and artist, she was delighted when she could finally afford a record store in Black Bottom. As she climbed up the wooden ladder wearing her apron and carrying a bucket of paint, she worked on brighting the large wooden sign:

🎵 Black Bottom Records  🎵

We Buy, Sell, &Trade Records!

💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡

Afterwards, a truck came with crates and crates of vinyls which she unloaded into wooden bins that were in rows inside. She set up a Victor Victrola listening station in the center and brass cash register up at the counter. Hundreds of album cover art and posters adorned the walls. She was in paradise.

Ainsley leans in, against the window pane, and exhales. Despite it still in September, the evenings where growing cold. Cold enough to allow a trace of frost to form on windows that have been sitting in shadow all day. Drawing a little face on it, she spies the proprietor looking her way with what appeared to be minor annoyance.

Oops, buy something? Skip off? No, the boys would love some music with their new gramophone. Wonder of wonders, that it's now easily portable. The minor debate in her head over, she wiggles a finger in farewell to the fast disappearing frost-face and enters the store.

The sound of Johnny Hamp and his band filled the room, neither too loud or too quiet, and Ainsley let the music distract her from the original purpose but for a moment. It was a nice enough looking place, she decides after a brief look around, the large number of records on display indicating either great business or true passion. Something to appreciate, at least. Hearing Hal White's voice calling out, she softly starts singing along with him as her fingers riffle through records.

"There it goes again, what a haunting refrain..."

Rose was enjoying Detroit's refreshing chill. In Las Vegas, the desert air still simmered around them even long after the sun had set, but here an autumnal wind blew off Lake St. Clair, reminding her of her birthplace. She sighed and glanced into the shop window to her left. Boxes of records were arranged in neat rows, and a woman browsed them. She was attractive in a rough-around-the-edges sort of way. There was a hard line to her mouth that intrigued Rose. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she had opened the door to the shop and stepped inside. The gramophone was crooning in the center of the room.

"Melody divine, every heart beats in time..."

She tore her eyes away from the woman browsing through the records and turned instead to a row of records that were decidedly more jazzy than what was playing in the shop. She thumbed through them, pausing at a Gene Austin single--Bye Bye Blackbird. There was a violin tune in it that she had been meaning to get the hang of. She slipped it under her arm and, as her eyes raised from the records, met the gaze of the red-haired woman, who had made her way to the other side of the row. Rose's pale cheeks glowed with a faint blush, and she stammered out a greeting.

"Oh, um, hello. Do...you come here often?"

Ainsley blinks, finding the way to the counter blocked by by a blonde. She was saying something but it was lost in the moment, as she couldn't believe the color of the eyes looking back at her. Purple. A purple that reminded her of a sunset, back when she was learning the ropes on her first ship. Something about the air that night had created a most wonderful example of color, left unmatched aside from various hints found occasionally.

Nothing but those eyes had her attention, so she missed both the blush and the attention grabbing cough from ahead of them. Bonnie Barker was playing now but even her sweet voice was being forgotten.

"Uh...what?"

"Did...uh, I wanted to know if you're a fan of..." She glanced down at the record in Ainsley's hands. "Ruth Etting? Oh, she's pretty good. I mean...um. Clearly, you wouldn't be getting her music if...um." Rose sighed, wishing she could reach into her purse for her flask, before straightening her shoulders and pulling her lips into a somewhat sheepish smile. "I suppose I mean to say that...I see that you are interested in Ruth Etting's music. I am also...musical."

Nevermind. Retreat. You've messed it all up, Rose. She could hardly believe that she had messed up talking to a woman in a record store like that. Maybe it was something in the way that the redhead was looking at her that had really set her off balance.

Ainsley blinks twice, mentally composing herself with a quick recount of navigational coordinates she had memorized just prior to this careless jaunt into the town. The numbers were comforting, familiar. More composed, she notes the other woman's crumpling expression. While she only half heard the sputtering, she found it quite amusing. Despite being still a little unnerved by those eyes, she breaks into a practiced easy smile and loops an arm around the woman's shoulders.

You got that right. Sorta! Wheeling around to face the checkout desk, she marches them over. The boys absolutely loooove this woman. I suppose she's got something nice going on with them pipes. Hope it shuts them up on the job.

Releasing her, Ainsley places the record down on the desk and fishes out a few gold dollars from a pouch cleverly hidden inside her coat.

Should do it, ya? I don't want any of that stinkin' cheap copper change back, you can keep it.

Rose's mouth dropped slightly as she watched Ainsley pull out gold to pay for her record. They even looked as though they had been stamped with some old insignia. Were those doubloons? She quickly shook her head and handed over a few dollars, waving away her own change. She turned to Ainsley, leaning casually against the counter. 

"Oh, yes. That's probably a good idea. So...you're a manager of some sort?"

Wandering in off the street she looked around as the store caught her eye.  She had recently had a gramophones placed in the crew bar and one in her office as she knew people had their favorites even if using the radios.  The breaks in music for commercials annoyed her as she rubbed her chin looking through the window.

Opening the door, she let out a simple

"good morning"

as she went to peruse the store, before grabbing a Paul Whiteman and a Bing Crosby record as she milled round the store.  Looking round, she smiled

"do you happen to have any Fats Waller or Al Jolson records at present"

as she rubbed her chin almost confused by what else to buy

Ainsley's eyes flick back to watch the third customer milling around, shooting questions across the store to the clerk. She recognized who it was immediately and casually bumps her sudden record store companion out of the way, further down the counter. Wouldn't do to be in the way.

Manager? Could say that 'spose. Smiles faintly as her fingers run across the worn edge of the counter. The boys would just get themselves in trouble without someone with a little sense leading the way.

Pulls her attention away from the counter to focus back on those unnerving eyes. So, name? Never did introductions.