Hanging On (Jessica Brodie Diaries #2)(25)

“Well, happy days,” I said dryly.

The outside was like a landing strip for aliens—it was that bright. Vegas didn’t have nothing on the giant sign and lit entry way. More red carpet. A Ferrari was being valeted. Snooty people were escorted in.

All I could do was shake my head.

“There you are!” Trudy exclaimed. We thought you’d gotten lost!”

Denise’s stare found, then settled, on me again as we met them in front of the sparkling jazz club.

“I had to fix my shoe,” I said easily, feeling William’s hand interlace with mine.

Tom looked at William closely, then shook his head. The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “C’mon you two, let’s go in.”

Denise and Trudy led the way, followed closely by Tom. Dennis hung back a fraction, checking his watch, holding us up. When he was ready, he fell in beside William and quietly said, “You might wash the lipstick from your face and pull your zipper up, son, before you get too far.”

Oops.

William immediately looked down. His face turned red as his gaze slid to me.

I was a quick study with pants, what could I say?

Dennis clapped him on the back, and, snickering, walked in front of us into the club.

Entering the club was magnificent. It was like a modern version of a 1920's jazz joint. The decor was rich and decadent. There was a jazz band on a large stage. In front was a shiny wooden dance floor, currently with a few dancers making their rounds. There were booths all around made from the finest materials. Even the carpet was so plush I literally sank down into it was I walked. The parts that weren’t carpet was wood paneling made from real wood slates—not that cheap faux wood looking stuff made out of some type of hard plastic or other. The whole place was immaculate and well kept, all colors vibrant and inviting. The place spared no expense, and the patrons probably paid a fortune for the treatment.

Our booth was in the corner on the third level, of which there were four levels and all, separated by only one or two steps. We were able to see the dance floor, but were out of the way of staff and guests on their way up or down. We were handed drink menus, but before I could look at it William ordered us all Champagne and winked at me. Who was I to argue? I smiled inwardly, and probably outwardly now I think of it, at his playful gesture.

"Do you like Jazz?" I heard from beside me.

Of course Denise chose to sit next to me.

“I do, yes.”

"Really? I wouldn't think a young girl such as you would have much experience with jazz. Especially in L.A. I would have thought you'd be more familiar with Pop and Rock music."

You would have thought wrong. So suck it! "I certainly love Pop and Rock. I tend to like a little of everything. I admit that I didn't like jazz for the longest time. But now I have a real appreciation for it. I wouldn’t listen to it in my car or anything, but when I hear masters of their trade playing on stage, I will settle in and listen for as long as they’ll let me.”

“What changed your mind?” she fired back. And while she was probably trying to trap me somehow, everyone else was interested.

“Well, actually, it was one night when I followed a few of my friends into a place called ‘Close Up 2’ in Chicago. I was the only one that didn’t want to go, and so I was ignored. It was kind of small, crowded, loud and a tiny bit dingy, and I was slightly bitter as we sat in a booth, but when the music started up…” I smiled with the memory.

“What?” Trudy asked, leaning in.

“Oh my God, it was out of this world! Four guys walked on stage, laughing and joking, sat around for a minute discussing what they wanted to play, and then just kind of…played. They were just playing off the cuff. I think they were playing for themselves more than the audience, but it was out of this world. Truly the best experience! Ever since that night I’ve sought out great jazz. You don’t find it often, but when you do, it is worth all the hassle of the hunt.”

Trudy was nodding with me. I had a feeling she would start a hunt of her own. For a woman that liked to experience all the good things in life, she surprisingly hadn’t. She probably didn’t have friends like mine that pushed and tricked her into things. Her loss! Except, now she had me. I’d fix her right up.

“And what do you think of this jazz?” Denise continued, a bite to her voice.

William put his hand on my leg, sweat-free. I figured that was a good sign. Hopefully he was finally noticing the scrutiny I had been getting all night.

“Um,” I winced. Trudy laughed at me. “It…ah, it’s…”

“Not an establishment that would employ those which you’ve previously described?” Tom, my savior, helped.

I laughed in relief. “Exactly, Tom. Hit the nail on the head. First of all, your jazz players, the guys on the stage now, all have very nice uniforms. Orderly uniforms. They are all reading sheet music pretty feverishly. They probably are excellent at their instruments, but not so much at playing together, and going one more step, not so much at playing jazz. They don’t show the passion. That is what I always notice most in hard core jazz and blues joints—the musicians feel the music. They create it as they live it—I don’t know. I can’t describe it. I know it when I see it—not even so much when I hear it. But when you see the magic happen, it is really neat.”