Chapter 117

I have the occasional nightmare that all my girlfriends, hookers, and casual partners are in the same room and I have to choose between them. I wake up in a cold sweat, and with a feeling of unease. That is how I feel after Jenny Wizz has jumped on her skateboard and flung herself from my balcony into the Mars night. I pick up the Conn and improvise on a melody that has been touring my head. I would have a swim but the Dolphins have taken more than a liking to my pool and moved in. The melody reminds me of my childhood. Ah, that is it. Three blind mice, I am not the first musician to improvise on this theme, John Dankworth, Coltrain, Biggy Whett, from the colonies. Now me.
Brian interrupts. 'Miss Lake in the lounge, Sir, and Zeno, has paid me a visit.'
Is my nightmare coming true?
The contrast couldn't be greater. Veronica all in white shimmering with her own aura, and Zeno dressed in a bib and brace, work boots and nothing else. They are discussing women's things like the best foundation cream, 'is it the one made from the mud lakes of Gamma III or the one produced by the Nuns on Italia?' They ignore me. Brian puts a Manhattan on the Bechstein, so I sit at the keyboard and play songs from My Fair Lady. Halfway through “Wouldn't it be luverly” Zeno departs, with the words, 'Evening class in dismantling techniques.' Taking with her a red toolbox. Veronica walks over, real slow, and leans on the piano, sticking out a hip. I expect a smile, but she gets serious and asks why I have gone over to the enemy.
'You mean the IGIA.'
'I don't mean the Girl Scouts.'
'They said you were all friends now and we have to pull together to sort the problem. Sounds a sane philosophy to me.'
'If only that were true.'
'What about the Finks and the 4 dimension stuff.'
'You are a bigger fool than I took you for if you think the Finks can come up with a solution. They are geniuses , no doubt about that, but as to resolving where we have failed, I think not. And the IGIA are being conned into bankrolling it.'
'Where does that leave me.'
'You enjoy being Fats and you enjoy his lifestyle, so be him and save the Universe.'
'And the IGIA.'
'Fuck em.'
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To complete the circle, Big Sal is sitting on my crown jewels. I'll say one thing for being Fats' he's not short of a few inches. Sal has her eyes closed and is rocking back and forth. The rhythm reminds me of a melody that will be a big hit in the near future. I'm in no hurry and wait for her to finish, which she does with a slight shiver. She steps of the bed and goes to the bathroom to wash. I look down at my body, it's big and dark. Fats' trouser size is twice my girth as Joe. My suits made by Mr Golberg in the Heights hang in the open closet and my shoes lovingly polished by Big Sal are set in a row along the bottom. This is becoming my second home. The fact that I am surrounded by Gangsters of both colour, affects me not. Wasn't I once kidnapped by Al Capone himself and made to play at gunpoint. He had some good whiskey though, and filled my pockets with greenbacks when he dropped me off, so I'm not complaining.
Down in the salon, the Madame is waiting for customers. Business is slow. The fleet has sailed and money is tight.
I tell her to open the door to the street and I'll play some numbers, if that doesn't fill the joint nothing will. Soon the place is rocking, say one thing about Harlem they like a good clambake. I'm joined by Buck Clayton and Milt Hinton. I don't have to ham it up with these cats, they is serious. The Hawk pops in for a blow, but has to scoot as he booked elsewhere.
Now the party's flying I have to beat it myself as the IGBI need my services.
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