an orphan (one in a sporadic series)

From time to time, ideas come to me...lines, snippets of dialogue, even whole scenes...that have nothing to do with whatever I'm working on at the time. Sometimes these random writings are incorporated into full-blown pieces...and sometimes they remain as orphans, tantalizing teasers from the fickle muse that have no home.This then is one of the orphans which has been languishing in a file since it was born.   This one was an early draft of the beginning of a story that would, in another form, come to be called "The Blue Room".
 
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"Good night, Mr. Worthington," they chorused with varying degrees of sincerity as their employer strode down the hall towards the executive elevator.
 
John Worthington, his gray hair neatly combed, his expensive three-piece suit still meticulous despite a long, productive day holding court in the law firm that bore his name, felt no need to respond with more than the vaguest of nods. They were, after all, less than sheep, they were just his employees and the fear they felt in his presence pleased him no end. For all of his 55 years, he's made the world bend to his will and he accepted their trepidation as a sign that this state of affairs continued as indeed it should.

Within a few moments, he was behind the wheel of his Mercedes and roaring down the road. With nothing a big empty house waiting him, he felt no need to rush home. He turned towards downtown and all the posh, expensive, comfortable places he liked so much to unwind in after a long day's work.
 
Worthington cruised down the boulevard for a while but there was nothing  that caught his fancy enough to stop. He made a turn down an unfamiliar side street and found himself passing a dark, quiet bar..."The Blue Room", as its discreet azure neon sign identified it...he had never noticed before.   Something about the nondescript building  intrigued him.
 
He circled the block and pulled into the driveway next to the bar and back to the parking lot behind it.
As he stepped out of his car, a tall muscular blond, his movements fluid and graceful underneath his tuxedo, appeared in the back entrance.
 
Worthington strode over the door. "Is this a public establishment?" he asked coolly.
 
"Yes, sir," the doorman replied, his gaze lingering only briefly on Worthington's impassive face before he opened wide the door and stood aside. "Welcome to the Blue Room, sir."
 
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