Chapter 21

My day begins when most others end. I sleep well, ass cheek to ass cheek with big Sal. She snores, but it is the gentle snore of a contented soul. I have become very fond of her over the past few weeks. Yes it has been weeks. Still no word from Doil or a sign from Veronica. Tonight as a change of routine I, as Fats, am booked into a club downtown. It is the opening night and I am the attraction. When I say downtown I mean downtown from Harlem. It is somewhere on 64^th Street by Lexington. Big Sal has done my laundry and I put on a clean shirt and vest and my tailored suit. Sal bends over to shine my shoes, her breasts touching my knees. Then I’m ready.

The taxi drops me on the corner of Lexington  and 65^th and I walk a block to the club. The guy on the door gives me a look.

‘Musicians round the back’.

I ignore him and walk in. He grabs me by the elbow and gives me a tug.

‘Listen bub. I said round the back.’

Just then a big blond with class written all over her tells him it is OK. She has an accent. German maybe or Swedish. She makes me welcome with a large scotch and kiss on the cheek. She tells me the money has been put up by her husband a banker, and all her titled friends are invited tonight. Prince this, and Lord that. The place is plush, a bar at the back, round tables a small dance floor and the stage. It smells of money. The piano is a white grand with small mirror squares stuck onto the body. She takes me over to it and asks for ‘Aint misbehavin’ I oblige rolling my eyes and giving her the full Fats treatment. She laughs in pleasure, tossing her curls.

When I’ve finished she clicks her fingers and a leggy bus girl walks over with another scotch. This is going to be a hell of a night.

A couple of hours later the place is full. Man, I have not seen so may rocks in one place. Tiaras, rings, necklaces. They are all trying to outdo one another in the wealth stakes. The hostess is Swedish and married to a minor Van de Bilt. Not so minor that he hasn’t a few million C’s in the bank. They have the table directly in front of the stage. Mr and Mrs Van de Bilt and two other couples. All in Tux’s and long gowns. I feel under dressed. The bus girl keeps placing drinks on the piano accompanied by a note with a request. I can usually oblige, or if not I make it up.

I need a pee break and announce an interlude. As I am leaving the stage Mrs Van de Bilt takes my arm and steers me into a lounge at the back of the bar.

‘Use the John in here.’ She points to a door with a small silver logo on it. Up close I notice this logo is a dog with its leg cocked over a dollar sign. On the counter by the sink is a line of coke. Now I’m a booze man. Powder in any form is not part of my indulgencies. OK, as me, I pop the odd zoomer. But shooting up and sniffing is not my bag. I wash my hands, being careful not to disturb the line, and exit. Mrs Van de Bilt is smiling, and she has a telltale rim of powder on her right nostril. I offer her my silk handkerchief.

‘Doil tells me you are out on bail’

I do a double take. What the fuck? Where did that come from. I take another good look.

‘Veronica is that you?’

‘My name is Elsa.’

‘Well Elsa, you know more than I do’