I
take a cab up to the Speakeasy, freshly done up in my Tux, hair
slicked back and smelling of French perfume. The Hulk on the door
lets me in and I head for the bar. I need a stiffener after the
Madame had finished with me. Her name is Amie for future reference.
The midnight girl is this side of the bar, her place taken by a
Latino in a white jacket and black shirt, open at the neck showing
lots of mascho chest hair. Midnight asks for a scotch on the rocks
for me and says she’ll bring it over if want to take up my
position.
‘Drinks
on the house from now on’
The
other guys are not here yet so I play a few standards in my own
style, similar to Oscar Peterson, who is alive but only ten years
old. Time travel gets complicated sometimes. Hey maybe I’m the one
who he based his style on. The other guys are very late, so I have to
keep the room happy on my own. Midnight brings over more Scotch and
my first tips. I ask her to look after them for me.
‘For
ten per cent honey, they’ll be as safe as Fort Knox.’ I should
worry, ten percent of $50 is only $5, a small price for peace of
mind. The clock is creeping around to midnight and the room is
filling up. At last the other guys turn up. Their eyes show signs of
recent drug intake. It doesn’t affect their playing though. Boy
these cats are hot. Soon the room is jumping to the beat, and it
takes all my concentration and skill to keep up. At about 3a.m. we
take a break. The saxo seems to be the leader as the others hang back
when he takes my arm.
‘Want
some smack, I have a bag of it in my case.’
‘Sorry
man I’m strictly a booze man.’ Unless you count Zoomers, I think.
‘Okay
each to his own poison, come in the back if you change your mind.’
They
go off together leaving me to hang out at the bar. Midnight comes
over and shows me the wad of notes in her cleavage. ‘These are for
you man, mine is tucked where the sun don’t shine. Where you from?’
‘Liverpool.’
“Is
that in Limeyland?’
‘It’s
as far west as you can get without being Irish.’
“ I
don’t care one ways or another, I just like you to talk, it’s
sort of sexy.’
‘Not
tonight,’ I think, not after the bathtime incident. Midnight is a
big girl, and too much for a whiteman.’
The
clientele that are left are the cats that are into our music. One
comes over to me, a big man in a Tux sallow looking and deep black
eyes. He shakes my hand and I swear his fingers come up to my elbow.
‘You
new in Town buster,’
‘Yeh
fresh of the boat.’
‘I
like your playing, it’s sort of way in front of anyone around.’
‘Thanks,
it’s why I left England, no one could keep up with me.’ There I
go lying again, making out I’m a big cheese.’
‘Is
that so?’ he says. ‘No goddam person in the whole of England. So
how come you got it and no other fucker aint?’
Am
I digging a hole for myself? ‘I put it down to one percent talent
and ninety nine percent practice. I played ‘till my fingers bled.’
He
seems satisfied with this and hands me a card.
MIKE
SWARTZ
MUSIC
PUBLISING
121
E 42nd
St.
AMB
494
‘Call
me tomorrow.’ I put the card into my top pocket. Midnight comes
over with a fresh drink.
‘Better
do as he says, he calls the shots around here.’
‘Are
you saying he had the last key man shot?’
‘No
it wasn’t his playing Honey, he owed The Man for some dope. The
next thing you know he’s face down in the alley with a bullet in
his head.’
‘You
mean The Man who owns The Stork Club.’
‘The
very same.’
‘With
a Veronica Lake look-a-like on his arm.’
‘You
got it Honey.’
‘What’s
the connection to Mr Swartz?’
‘Seen
‘em together a few times. They seem very pally wally.’ She shrugs
her jet black shoulders. So black they reflect the lights from the
bar. ‘Sall I’m saying.’
The
other band members started taking their positions and I go up and
join them. It may be coincidence but the trumpet player reminds me of
a young Dizzy Gillespie. He would be about eighteen or nineteen in
1935 so it could be possible. We start off with a slow ballade, April
Showers, but it soon hots up.
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