Chapter 113

When I get back to the cat house, I am dragging my knuckles on the floor with tiredness. I've been on the go for twenty hours, first the fish fry, then the debrief in the precinct house and finally the Stork Club. I am greeted by Saul Brown, looking fresh and sparkling. The Cat lounge is quiet with just the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
Saul pours a whiskey and hands it to me.
'Hear you've been with The Man.'
'Can you smell him on me?'
He laughs. 'The barkeep, with the latin looks, he's my eyes down there.'
I flop down into a chair and take a good pull on the shot.
'Relax, it suits me, if he's taking money it stops him hankering after my business. I like him to stick to his own territory. You made a good deal, maybe now you start paying rent. I think maybe half of your percentage is fair. Like an agents fee so to speak. You can keep the tips.'
Easy come easy go, I end up with seven and half per. Better than nothing and I still have all my fingers.
***************
I'm in bed with Big Sal. I can see my suit hanging over the chair with my loud broad tie around the collar and my Derby hat on the seat. My shoes are tucked neatly under it, laces still tied. The chair is a Lois XIVth copy. I have on my socks, under vest and pants. Sal is naked. She is sitting astride me combing my hair. As she moves the comb backwards through my hair, her breasts slap into my face. I am not complaining. When she has finished she shows me the result by holding a silver hand mirror up to my face. I have a side parting as straight as the highway across the desert, but my moustache needs a trim and my chin has a five o clock shadow. Five p.m. That is.
'Time to go to work Fats, I have clients waiting.'
This is the signal for me to rise and get my shit together. Sal runs me a bath and I shave in the tub. Then take my leave. The Diner awaits. I am almost salivating at the thought of ham and eggs and all the trimmings. In the lounge is Saul Brown and the Madame.
'Hey Fats give us a tune before we die of boredom. Business is so slow, I could chew my own fingers down.'
'I need some grease first, give me an hour and I'll do a set before I go to the Stork Club.'
'Sal looking after you?'
'No complaints, this house could do more like her.'
'You test 'em I'll hire 'em.' Says Saul. 'And give The Man my regards, tell him to keep out of my patch.'
I don't answer as I have no intention of upsetting The Man. He has a vicious nature and I like counting to ten.
The Diner is half empty and those seated are mostly muso's. I greet my side men in turn. Slick Jones on skins, Al Casey Git box, Cedric Wallace on doghouse. Me and Slick go way back, he knows my music and how to keep up the tempo, and what is more to the point he is pleased with the green backs coming his way. So I am the pay dirt kid for now. My grease, is served up fast and gratis, thanks to Slick. The ham goes down a treat, with the eggs and fries. Three cups of coffee and I am a new man. Ready for the Stork Club and hopefully a full house. We grab a cab down town, paying extra for the bull fiddle, as the driver says, 'It's bigger than my misses, she takes up two seats.' We pay the extra and stop outside the club. In neon, in ten foot letters is my name.
EXCLUSIVE FOR 4 WEEKS
FATS WALLER.
GRAND OPENING TONITE
9 O CLOCK
The queue is around the block. If I need any justification for being on Earth in 1935, this is it. My side men dig it too. This is going to put bread on the table. We have the usual hassle of using the main entrance, 'cos we is black', until I point out that it is my name in lights and unless we go in there will be no show. The slime ball on the door steps aside and we go in past the hat check, through the bar across the dance floor and onto the stage. Slick's drums are set up and he sets about tuning them. Cedric unwraps his fiddle and plays a slow walk as a warm up. Al picks up the groove then Slick. I like this they are in love with the music, and it bodes well for the set. It's too early for The Man, but some of his soldiers are in attendance. They eyeball us, but we ignore them as little more than roach's. The waitress comes over with drinks, she's a looker with a bit of class. Slick has an eye for the ladies and gives a low whistle. She rewards him with a smile, a wink, and flick of the hips. Slick rolls the snare and ends it with a kick on the bass drum. Corny but effective. Babs is by the bar, with a highball in her hand, I walk over and kiss her hand.
'My arn't we the Gentleman?'
I schmooze her after all she is The Mans barbecue. She looks in good nick too. No bruises showing, red nails, sleek hair and rocks on her fingers. If it wasn't for the Bronx accent she could pass for Veronica.
'A Lady needs to be treated like a Lady.'
Her hair drops over one eye, as she nods appreciation and I ask how it is that she has slipped the leash. Her reply astounds me. She is no longer The Mans squeeze. He has swopped his fetish for Veronica Lake to Ginger Rodgers, but as Babs owns half the club, she needs to keep an eye on her assets.
'I may let him buy me out at the end of your run. I should get a good price.' She laughs. 'Or he may slug me and drop me in the Hudson.'
The house is filling up and there is a nice buzz in the joint.
I start with “Don't let it bother you” to cheer Babs up, then go into 'Moppin and Boppin” which starts with a drum solo by Slick. In the future Fats will record this with Slam Stuart on bass, but Cedric does it justice.
Halfway through the set The Man enters and sits at his table. With him is a Ginger Rodgers look-a-like, then I take a second look and see that a Fred Astaire clone is with her. Maybe it's a dance act? I look over at Slick and he raises his eyebrows and nods towards the table. It's etiquette in these clubs to give a heads up to any celebrities that make an appearance, if they are not the real thing, then it will be embarrassing and possibly dangerous. But what the fuck. I stand up and point to The Mans table.
'Ladies and Gentlemen, we are privileged to have a famous dance partnership in our midst. Miss Ginger Rodgers and Mr Fred Astaire.' The other tables give them a standing ovation. Fred Astaire stands up and bows graciously and comes over to me.
'Play me a quickstep, 'Let's face the music and dance,' know it?
Know it I fucking wrote it, another tune that was ripped off from me, but then he's not to know that Irvin Berlin was stuck for a show stopper, so he took one of my melodies and stuck some words to it. Fred sings. 'There may be trouble ahead.' Glides over to The Man's table and takes Ginger's hand. They give us the full routine. As Ginger famously said 'I do everything Fred does, but backwards.' I have to admit it was good, backwards or forwards they could really lay some iron. They are some very cool dudes. Neither seems to break sweat, or breathe heavy. No ersatz copies could do it like that, so I must conclude that they are the real thing. Follow that! I don't think we can so I announce a short break and head for the bar. I'm chewing the fat with the Latino Barkeep, Saul's eyes and ears, when Astaire taps me on the arm and leans in close. Oh ho, I think, here comes the put down, upperty Nigger playing the MC. But no he wants to congratulate me on my playing, and buy me a drink. A heavy tip would be welcome too, I live in hope. Fred and Ginger, make an early exit. No lingering goodbyes, but a tip of the hat and a so long. Are they missed? Not by the drinkers, as they have come to see me, Fats Waller, it's my name up in lights not Fred and Ginger.
Come 3 'o clock, only the band and The Man are left. He has drunk heavily on champaign and whisky, not a match made in heaven. Fortunately Babs is on hand to wheel him away, then it is just me and the band. Or so I think. Doil and six uniforms burst in and look around with looks of. 'Where is everybody?' Doil tells the uniforms to leave and leans on the bar, pushes his hat back and says. 'Mine's a Jack on the rocks.' I play some Bach and look serious. The last thing I want is another Fish Fry, especially as I have a high paying gig for a month. But that is me thinking like Fats. Thinking like Joe Coolz, I don't need the bread as I have a thriving scrap spaceship business.
'Having fun here playing for The Man?' says Doil.
'It's a living.'
'Well we need you back at headquarters.'
'Where exactly is headquarters?'
Doil answers by cuffing me.
'Nothing to worry about fellas', I shout to Slick. 'The precinct want me for a charity do. Their idea of a surprise.' I feel the chip in my neck give a little buzz.