129

Red is beside me in bed. Her perfect body stretched out alongside mine, arms above her head and crossed at the wrists, like a high board diver ready to take the plunge. I can't help comparing her to Mo. They are both red heads with the slightly translucent skin that shows the delicate blue veins on the underside of their arms. Red's freckles are a lighter brown than Mo's, giving her a slightly out of focus look. I casually mention my planet, and get her opinion on plans for it's being.

'Are you going to populate it with real people?' she asks.

'I haven't go that far, this is all very new to me. Brian bought the planet on my behalf or I should say bought it without my knowledge. I don't even have a name for it.'

'You can call it after him.'

'What call my planet Brian?'

'Why not? It is as good a name as anything. It may even sound exotic to someone who speaks Galitian.'

'Brian, I know you are listening, I am not calling the planet after you.'

'It has a name, Sir. I had to give it a name to register it.' I wait for it, fearing the worst. I have been on the end of Brian's mishaps before.

At last he say's. 'Brianus.'

'Aaaagh!'

**************

I now own a fleet of starships, a scrap spaceship business and an artificial planet called Brianus, and do you know what? I would rather be playing piano on Earth in the 1930's than playing tycoons. The women are as beautiful as in the present year and you don't have to worry if they are cyborgs or not. We have perfected cyborgs. Their skin is as smooth as a healthy eighteen year old's. The internal organs function as humans do. Heart liver kidneys all in place, the things missing are the wombs in females and semen in males. There is an incubating unit on the factory planet that turns them out to order. I don't know why Brian doesn't order one for himself and wear it when I am not around. It's not the same as having a brain and body as one unit. His brain would still be a box of circuits connected by bluetooth to the cyborg, and he would have to keep it safely somewhere to hand. But he has proved himself to be handy at all sorts of enterprises, so that shouldn't be a problem for him. However I digress. The one problem with New York in the 1930's is the street noise. Everyone and everything makes it, at high decibells. The El. The honking cars, the police whistles, at junctions. It is difficult to hear yourself speak. But everyone tries, at the tops of their voices. The cobbled streets, hawkers and blaring radios from open windows. I dive down into the Club Hot-Cha on 104^th St., to catch up with the song writing with Mo. She is at the piano, another surprise, working through a number sung by a Chicago meat packers wife, an imigrant from Ireland.

Your breath is cold
and freezes my heart
Your eyes have lost their fire
And cooled your desire
But until hell freezes over, I’ll burn with your love.

Cold wind, from Chicago blows through my life
Legs of a dancer and a heart of ice,
Cold wind, that cold wind, that oh so cold wind.

With icebergs in her eyes
And snow in her heart
The temperature drops
Its where ice-flows start
But until hell freezes over, I’ll burn with your love.

Cold wind, from Chicago blows through my life
Legs of a dancer and a heart of ice,
Cold wind, that cold wind, that oh so cold wind.

I listen intently and when she has finished I clap and ask what it is called. Mo looks up in surprise and a big smile lights up her face.

'Where have you been stranger. I began to wonder if the little people hadn't stolen you.'

'I've been around, I had some things to take care of.'

'Well I'm glad you're back, I've missed your dick.' She pauses, 'And the rest of you of course. It's called “Cold Wind.” Needs some work but it has potential.'

I can't help comparing her to Red back on Mars. They are very similar. Red might be a distant relative. I am so interested in her that I fail to spot Saul sitting over by the bar in shadow. If it wasn't for his white shirt he would be invisible.

'She's almost good enough to be black.' He says. His comment is coming from the premise that all blacks, have rhythm, and whites have two left feet.

'Hang around,' he says with a grin,'I'm expecting a visit from The Man. My spy in his camp tells me he is plotting to shoot this place up.'

I try to see into his eyes. Is he trying to frighten the shit out of me, or is it on the level?' I take a good look around. The joint seems deserted . No bodyguards or massed defenders. Just us three.

I give a nervous laugh and go over to shake his hand. His grip is warm and firm.

'I get it, a piano player, a Lawyer and a Colleen from the bogs are going to hold off the massed hoods of The Man.

'Why not, like that Greek cat, Horatius on the bridge holding off a whole army, with just a sword and a shield.'

'I suppose that Jason and his mob are waiting in the wings, and a wooden horse in the shape of a Paddy wagon full of goons is parked in the Alley.'

Saul is beaming now, banter with classical references makes a change from low life's and heavies speaking nothing but Dames and dimes. Mo drops the piano lid and comes over to join us. She wears her body with an easy grace, and both Saul and me watch her with appreciation. When she has pulled up a chair, Saul asks her if she knows any Greek Myths.

'Only that they are good lovers,' she says. Mo has wit as well as beauty. She will go far in this town where wisecracking is an art form. I can see Saul is impressed.

'Do you have an education?' he asks.

Mo is silent for a while, she is troubled by this question. At last she says, 'Will it make a difference.'

'Just asking,' says Saul. 'No ulterior motive.'

'I went to University to study musical composition. Before that I was taught by Nuns.' She sighs. 'Sure isn't everyone in Ireland. Then me and Mick decided to seek our fortune in America. And here I am.' She gets up from the table. “I'll give you some Mozart.'

'The hell you will.' says Saul. 'I hate that shit. It reminds me of all that is wrong with New York's elite. Play that Chicago number. Now there's a town.'

'You sing I'll play.' I say. Mo looks offended. 'Typical man. Always ready to take over.' Mo gives me a dig in the ribs. You stay here buster, I'll do both.' Saul laughs. 'That's telling you, man.'

Saul gives us ride back to 116^th St. in his Caddy drops us off at the French House. Saul has a date with with the district court in has capacity of an attorney, and says hell be back around seven chimes.

I leave Mo to get on with her evening bath and swing into the Diner, avoiding the pile of instruments by the door and being hit by the hubbub of musos talking shop. Prez is seated with his brother Lee by the window.

'Over here, man.' Lee calls patting the only vacant seat in the whole joint, I sit opposite Prez and Little Jazz. I couldn't have better company to kill time with.

'We have a paying gig over the water, and need a key man, and hey, you walk in.'

'When you say over the water where is that exactly, England?' I ask. Lee laughs, 'Yeh England New Jersey. The Italians have a wedding planned, two families joining forces in matrimony. The Bishop of St. Pats. Doing the tying. All we need now is a bull fiddle and a canary. Bam's out of town, and all the Canary's are tied up with the big bands.'

'I can't do it,' I say 'I'm on at at the Club Hot Cha. I got me a new canary all the way from Ireland, she is gonna be a big star, but.' I shrug my shoulders in a hopeless gesture.

'Don't let your bread fall butter side down, man.' say's Prez. 'This gig's a Dime factory.'

'Saul will be back around 7 chimes, I'll ask for leave.' I say.

'Now you're cooking.' says Lee.

*************

Saul says he has musicians lining up to play his club, so I can have the night off. Lee drives us onto the ferry, Prez next to him, me and Mo in the back with Jimmy Blanton, his bull fiddle strapped to the roof and Lee's drum kit in the trunk. We go from pier 39 to Hoboken then drive south to Atlantic City. It's about a 3 hour drive and a bit cramped in the back. We stop off at Toms River for gas and a welcome leg stretch. The locals in the area are somewhat funny about mixed race travellers, but a bit of name dropping, like Capone and Luciano, has the gas hop, dancing in attendance. He gives us a pack of Bud, on the house, and we continue our journey sipping the beer.

We arrive at the Blenhiem Hotel with a few hours to kill. The receptionist, a bottle blond wearing too much make up, assignes us rooms on the 4^th floor. Prez and Lee in one, me and Jimmy in another and Mo a double on her own. This arrangement is soon changed, as I move in with Mo and leave Jimmy with a double, a bed for him and one for his bass.

I go through some show songs with Mo. The wise guys will wan't us to play most of the current hits from Broadway. We have to be on our toes as they will want blood, literally, if we fail to please, and it is usually the piano player that takes the bullet. It is soon show time and we go down and meet up with the rest of the band in the lobby. I spot someone I know, at first glance I think it is the real Veronica, but a second look tells me it is Babs, The Mans Squeeze. And where she is The Man is not far away. She comes over and I introduce her to Mo. Mo is dressed to kill, long shimmering green gown. Bare shoulders and back and silk gloves up above her elbows.

'Who's the Canary?' asks Babs.

'I can speak for myself.' says Mo.'No need to ask the hired hand.'

'Hey sweetie, with that attitude, you'll go far or killed. Come with me I have someone who would love to meet you.' Mo looks at me for some guidance.

'You are in safe hands with Babs here,' I lean in and give Babs a peck on the cheek. 'Nobody better to show you around.'

'Thanks, lover boy', says Babs. 'Pitty we never got it together.'

'In another life, on another planet.' I say. She leads Mo off and leaves me nursing a scotch on the rocks, eyed suspiciously, maybe with recollection of our last meeting, by The Man's goons.

Prez and the rest of the band are setting up on the stage behind a thick velvet curtain, I shake the goons off and join them.

'Where's The Canary?' asks Prez.

'Gone off with Babs , The Man's barbecue, 'Swopping bed time stories by now.'

'Okay we start slow without her, lets just ease into this gig. Soon we're as tight as a choirboys tush, and the curtain opens.