Chapter 59

509 E.118th St. is down by the East River where the Harlem River joins it. The C subway stops at 116th st. so I"m a bit pooped when I arrive at the rehearsal room. I drop down into the basement and follow my ears to the door. I knock loudly. A panel slides sideways and a black face peers out.

"You the cops"

"No way man."

"Musician?" he says this with incredulity.

"Ivories."

The panel slides shut. After a few moments there is the sound of locks being undone and the door swings inward to reveal a small speakeasy, a few tables, a bar, and a bandstand. Behind the bar is a cocktail waitress, her skin so black, that if it wasn"t for her costume of short skirt and basque she would be invisible in the gloom. I ask if I can run up a tab.

'show me a Dime note." I hand her a ten. "Okay hon. tabs running."
On stage are two horns a bull fiddle, a guit. box, and a set of skins. Plus a baby grand. I order a scotch on the rocks and go over and introduce myself.

"Room for a piano player?"

"Hey you the Limey cat?" says the man with the tenor horn. I say I am and he shakes me by the hand. "If youse any good you could get us off the hook. Our regular got himself shot last night. Dead as a lump o hickry. Some big cheese didn"t like his attitude."
He gives me a wink and a broad smile. "Know Kansas City Blues."

'sure", I say. "What style?"

"We"ll take it as a slow walk, then up it." I sit at the piano and play a few runs ala Errol garner. It's in tune with a good round sound. I can see the other cats are impressed and start to relax.

"A onea twoa threea fo…."
When my eyes become used to the gloom, I take note of my fellow musos. They are young, maybe late teens, but boy can they can play. The front line of sax and trumpet are virtuoso exponents. No other words for it. Their timing is spot on as you would expect, but the notes they hit and the way they hit them are genius. It takes all my skill to hold my own. The rhythm section are just as good. The bass holds a solid line, the skin man rides a solid beat, with runs and infills, and the cat on the gitbox is Charlie Christian in another suit. When we break I get the nod.

"The gigs yours be back 10 p.m. $10 an hour, plus tips, on a good night with some high rollers in we can clear 50 maybe a 100 each.