Chapter 121

Apart from the sex The French House is as boring as a seven hour sermon. So I thank Madame Amie for her welcoming hand, and head for the excitement across the street. Something catches my eye in the dusty window of the pawn shop. It is a silver plated engraved Derringer with a pearl handle. A ladies gun. Or precisely a small gun with up and over barrels holding just one shot each. A gun that can be hidden about ones person without a give away bulge, and a snip at $20. Rod Steiger sells me a box of shells for a C note. He tries to sell me a colt spinning the magazine, and flipping it in and out of position, and squinting down the barrel. But I have my heart set on the Derringer, he grunts in disapproval and slams the grill shut.

With the gun tucked into my boot and the shells in my cardboard suitcase, I enter the Diner, and do a double take. One of my all time heroes of the piano sits with his brother Eddie and Oscar More in a booth with Art Tatum. Even if I couldn't see him I would know he was in the room. He talks like he sings. But man can he play the piano. The smell of Menthol Cools hangs around the booth. Nat is a three pack a day man. This is fucking unreal. Nat King Cole in a booth in the Diner. I have to talk to him, shake his hand and hope some piano magic rubs off on me. I've met Art before so this is my in. Can you believe it. Me a piano player from Mars in a booth with two piano greats. Nat is a gentleman and pretends to have heard of me. He's still a young man before his fame and I have to be careful that I don't acknowledge his future success. The fact that he was/is the first black man to have his own TV show an all.

'I heard about you Limey, Art here say's you play like one of us. He was only saying I should visit the Cat House to hear you.'

There is general laughter in the booth, who visits a Cat House to hear the piano player?

Nat is one of darkest black man I have ever seen. Big mouth and big teeth shining out and that dark chocolate voice. I am literally melting.

'What we need is place with three pianos', says Art. 'The we can have a jam.'

'I know where there is two.' I say. I hold my breath. Where did that come from? The place with two pianos is run by Hoodlums. Then I relax. What isn't?

'Sorry I can't go.' says Nat. He points to his brother and Oscar, we have a gig at the Stork Club.'

'How about that for coinceidence.' I say.

**************

The waitress with the long legs dressed as a stork, and a pill box hat, serves our drinks, then walks back to her station, waggling her tail feathers.

To say Nat has an eye for the ladies is an under estimation of his lay rate. He downs his whiskey in one and calls the waitress back. She bends over straight legged her tush in my face.

'You rang, Sir.'

'What time you finish, Honey?'

'Bout four.'

'Need a ride?'

'You talking Limo or horizontal.'

Nat turns to me. 'Aint she a blip.'

'Just keep 'em coming.' Says Nat. ' And get the floor man to set up the other piano, me and Art need one each, the Limey here can take notes.' Great pun if he meant it.

Anyhow it shows the confidence of Nat Cole at this early stage in his career that he puts himself at the same level as Art Tatum. A piano genius. Does it get any better Nat “The King” Cole and Art Tatum on the same stage. I would have paid good money to be here right now. Eddie and Oscar are already on the stage tuning up by way of jamming on 'Groove Juice Special' one of Slim Gaillard's “Rooty” tunes.

Art as, you know, is classed as legally blind, so he asks me if I wouldn't mind leading him to the piano. Would I mind? I would have carried him on my back if he'd have wanted, and he is one stout mother.

They start with 'Tea for Two'. The tune that made Art into a star. In the second chorus Nat breaks into song. Tatum grins and nods in approval. Now you know where Anita O'Day got it from.

When something good is going down in the Apple, news travels fast. It only took a couple of hours for the bush telegraph to have the Stork Club bursting at the seams. This is an event. Hookers, Pimps, East side hoods, Show girls, Wall Street shysters, all want in. Fights break out at the door, Cops are called, noses broken, night sticks wealded. People have to be reminded that this is a social event, in a Classy Joint, not a Fish Fry in Harlem. Finally the Fire Dept step in and say it is a Fire risk, so would we mind clearing the joint before it goes up. Some hope. Order is finally restored when The Man arrives.

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, a path opens up to his table, at which I am sitting.

' Take liberties, why don't you.' pointing at me.

One of his Gorillas lifts me out of the chair and makes to punch out my lights. The fist is raised, the elbow high. I can see a heavy silver ring on his middle finger. I close my eyes and wait for the pain. Then a familiar voice stops the action.

'Hold it right there Buster, he's with me.'

I open one eye then two. The Gorilla lets me down and I am looking straight into a set of violet eyes. It's The Man's ex old lady. Babs. Gone is the Ginger Rodgers look-a-like, it's once again, Babs the Veronica Lake look-a-like, and she's got everthing, the nose, the eyes, the hair, except the voice. You can take the Bronx out of the girl, but not the Bronx out of her voice.

'Beat it.' Says The Man to the Gorilla, then to me.

'What ya doin here Limey. I thought you were holding hands with Saul. You're persona no grata in my club, unless you have some information for me like I requested.'

He did request that I spied for him, as I remember, but what with being Fats and dealing with Brian and his Scrapshipsrus business, it slipped my mind.

'I'm not on any side. I am strictly neutral, like Switzerland, and I'm Tatum's eyes for the night.'

Babs tries to calm the situation

'Leave him be Honey, he's just a muso, look at those hands. They couldn't hurt a fly.'

'Ah what the hell, get us some bubbly, I'm in the mood to celebrate.'

Relieved I sit down.

'Not you Limey, you can take a hike.'

The waitress with the long legs meets me halfway to the bar.

'Message from Tatum, says to tell you to come over.' I look to the stage and see that he is alone at the piano.

'I finish at four.' says the waitress.'

'So you said.'

Tatum sits with that upright head cocked look that blind men have. His ears are his eyes. I don't know if he hears me or senses me.

'Sit down Limey let's have a four hand.'

'You want me to play at the same keyboard as you?' I ask with incredulity in my voice.

'Sure, why not, I heard you had a bit of Waller in your style. I'll take the top two octaves you can have the rest.'

This will be something to tell my grandchildren about, supposing the IGBI don't wipe my memory banks.

******************

Jeeze I'm whacked. Keeping up with those two piano geniuses has sapped all my energy. I can feel the sweat cooling under my arms. It's around four in the morning. Nat and Art have left for a clambake someplace, and the waitress with the long legs has changed into her day clothes. Pleated grey pants, white shirt and fitted jacket. A floppy red Breton beret is set at a slant over her bangs. I need a Zoomer to pick me up if I'm to get it up so to speak.

'You look all in,' says the waitress, 'I hope you are not going to be a disappointment.'

'Not if I don't have to do all the work.'

'Got a Name?'

'Yeh, Joe'

'That ordinary Huh?'

*******************

The disappointment is hers. I take a cab back to the Cat house, and fall instantly asleep in the lounge. It takes a few seconds for the Madame to wake me.

'A Bull from the 5^th has been nosing around after you. Says to call him or else. Had a red headed bozo in tow. I recognise him, used to be in vice.' She hands me a card.

'Doil and Getz. Bleedin plods.I'll call them in the morning'

'Got news for you Joe, it is morning.' She sees my look of weariness.

'Okay, shack up with Big Sal, I'll call you at noon.'

As I fall asleep a thought crosses my mind. Doil has all the power of the IGBI behind him. Why did he not know where I was. I dream of rusty starships.