The Blue Velvet Candlelight Club

Written, created, edited by Vicki Lawana Trusselli

This story comes from my heart and soul. At of 28 I was majoring in Journalism and my at that time was to write human interests. I remember those times when I could feel at home in America. So, I wrote the Hollywood Nights in the 1970s. If you did not like the 70s so be it. Then it is my story from human experiences.

Some nights ask for a softer room.

A place where the world loosens its grip, the lights dim, and the heart can breathe without performing. The Blue Velvet Candlelight Club is one of those rooms in my lore a sanctuary stitched from candlelight, jazz, and the warmth of being welcomed without explanation.

This piece is part of a larger series I’m building, a mythic return to the frequency of the 1970s and the quiet intimacy of dim rooms where people actually talked. It’s a doorway into atmosphere, memory, and sovereignty a place to rest your bones for a moment before stepping back into the world.

If you feel tired, tender, or simply curious, the velvet door is open.

The Blue Velvet Candlelight Club

Logged into Outstages Café Lore

Before the door even appeared, the night had a pulse of its own

a soft hum rising from the city,

streetlights glowing like half remembered promises,

the air warm enough to hold a secret

but cool enough to let you breathe again.

Hollywood shimmered in the distance,

but the real glow was waiting behind a door

you could only find when your spirit was tired

and your heart needed a velvet lit room

to gather itself.

There came a night when the world felt too loud,

and the heart too tender to walk its edges alone.

So I slipped sideways not into the past,

but into that dream room that never stopped glowing for me.

The door opened like a hush.

Candlelight flickered against blue velvet walls,

and the jazz soft, brushed, unhurried

rose like a familiar hand saying,

Welcome home, sweetheart. Sit. Rest your bones.

No judgment lived here.

No sharp eyes.

Only warmth, only acceptance,

only the table meant for two

waiting like it always knew I would return.

And I did.

Soft Jazz in the Blue Velvet Candlelight Club

The room breathed slowly, like it had lungs of velvet.

Candle flames swayed in little dances,

casting gold halos on the walls

and blue shadows on the floor.

The jazz was a whispering river

a brushed snare, a lazy bass,

a saxophone leaning its head on my shoulder

like an old friend who never asked for anything

but my presence.

I slid into my seat at the small round table,

the one carved out of quiet,

the one that never asked me to shrink

or translate myself.

A new friend joined me

not with questions,

not with demands,

but with that soft kind of company

that lets the coffee steam

and the silence settle like a warm coat.

The room hummed its old promise:

You are safe here.

The Blue Velvet Candlelight Club whispers one promise:

All are welcome to participate and express their true selves.

Still whole.

Still sovereign.

Still enough for this table that has been waiting on you.

And for a long, slow, blues lit moment,

the world outside dissolved,

and the Blue Velvet Candlelight Club

became a reality again.

Trusselli Art

Outstages Cafe Art Studio Production

California

copyright 2026