Page 4 of My Favorite Mistake

The small space had shit for acoustics, and the atmosphere was a deafening cacophony, but one that made it impossible to sit still. Next to their table, a mid-fifties woman in a billowing, emerald green tent-dress hopped off her stool and stomped her foot as she clapped her hands in perfect rhythm.“Yes, honey!”

“Jimmy!” Connor turned to catch the eye of Jimmy Hall, Connor’s boss and the founder-slash-owner of Frenchman Street Records. He slapped Jimmy’s chest with the back of his hand. “Whaddya think, brother?”

Jimmy was the only person in the room not shake-rattle-and-rolling to the upbeat staccato, and he pulled his brow low as he sipped his rum and coke, eyeing the spindly kid manning the conga drums. Jimmy didn’t reply, but he also hadn’t taken his eyes off the kid since his set began, and Connor knew that was as good as if Jimmy’d slapped his shoulder and said,Well, shit. You’ve done it again.

Connor had uncovered more than half of the hidden gems on Frenchmen Street’s lineup over the past six years, and this kid was a bona fide diamond in the rough. His name was Oscar Quinn Washington, he was only twenty-one, and fluent in not only drumming, but horns as well. Oscar was like a one-man brass band, despite having three people to back him up. Steeped in the deep roots of the New Orleans jazz culture, he always dressed like a million bucks in spite of the heat and humidity, a move he’d learned from growing up on the likes of Uncle Lionel Batiste and Kermit Ruffins. Tonight, he wore a three-piece, pinstripe suit of royal purple and a dapper white derby hat.

Oscar lifted his hat and wiped his brow as he picked up a trumpet, pressed it to his mouth, and made it moan like a woman at the peak of ecstasy. The room hollered and hooted, and Connor’s cheeks ached with a grin that wouldn’t quit.

“Holy hell!”shouted Scott Latimer, Connor’s neighbor-slash-friend. He turned to Connor with a slackened jaw and creased forehead. “And nobody’s signed him yet?”

“Nah, he’s totally unknown! Hasn’t been approached by anyone yet!”Connor shouted back. He lifted his New Orleans Saints ball cap and wiped his brow. Vaughn’s Lounge was hot as mid-day in Mosul that night, but the heat never bothered Connor. Not in Iraq and not in New Orleans, because Connor was all focus, and the elements never got to him.

Oscar trilled the trumpet, drawing the song to a climactic close, and then waved the horn and his hat in the air. “Thank y’all!” He wiped his brow again and laughed into the mic. “Man, you’d think it was summer already. It’s hot!”

The crowd laughed, and Oscar waved again. “Y’all stick around. I’m gonna grab a cold drink, and we’ll swang it again in fifteen.”

“Hotdamn,” Brennan mumbled, shaking his head slightly and giving a low whistle. “That wasincredible.”

“I know, right?” Connor watched Oscar meander to the bar, shaking hands, and bumping fists, and slapping backs as the crowd closed in around him.

Brennan took a seat on a stool at the table and then kicked out the one next to it for Connor.

Connor sat and sipped his beer as he eyed Jimmy. “Go ‘head.” He tilted the bottleneck toward Jimmy. “Go ‘head and say it, ‘cuz I already know you’re thinking it.”

Jimmy pulled his lips between his teeth as he gave a single nod. “I don’t need to say it and stroke your friggin’ ego. Damn thing’s big enough as it is.”

Connor laughed loudly as he slapped the table. “But my big-ass ego is making you rich.”

“I’m not rich.” Jimmy took a pull from his drink and then tilted the glass in a salute at Brennan. “Thatguy’s rich, and he’s the only thing keeping us afloat while you work on makingmerich.”

“Yep.” Brennan slid his eyes in a coy sideways glance between Connor and Jimmy, then cocked an eyebrow. “And that’s why y’all love me.”

“Nah, I still hate you, Riley.” Connor picked up a bottle cap and flicked it through the air toward Brennan’s face.

Brennan snatched the cap mid-air and then thumped it back. “That’s good, ‘cuz I hate you more, Sarge.” He wagged his finger at Connor. “At the moment, mostly because you only just now told me about this kid, and I’m sure you’ve been tracking him for weeks.”

Connor hitched a shoulder and sipped from his beer. “I didn’t want to jinx it or anything.”

Brennan gestured at himself as though grossly offended. “As if inviting your best fuckin’ friend out for a drink where this kidhappenedto be playing would jinxanything. How fuckin’ superstitious are you, Sarge?”

“Where else does he play?” Scott cut in, undoubtedly asking for an article he planned to write about Oscar. Scott was a local music reporter for the New Orleans paper and typically wrote about all of the label’s artists from time to time. “He’s unbelievable.”

“He is, right?” Connor pulled his hat off and tossed it on the opposite side of the table. “I saw him at the Old Point a few weeks back, so I asked Missy where she found him. She was like, ‘He normally plays at Vaughn’s,’ so I came here. Andbam!There he was.”

Brennan swirled his scotch while eyeing a pretty, petite blonde wearing short denim shorts and leaning against the bar. “He reminds me of Trombone Shorty way back in the day.”

“Yeah, he totally has that vibe about him.” Connor took a long sip from his beer, giving a compulsory glance at the woman, and then one at Brennan. Smirking, Connor started his mental stopwatch to time just how long it would take Brennan, the self-professedgentleman rake,to go chat her up.

Scott picked up his phone and checked the time. “Are you guys going to stay for the second set? I was thinking about heading out.”

“Is your old lady nagging you to get home and do the dishes?” Connor gave him a snarky glance, and Scott swiped Connor’s hat off the table to swat it against the back of his head.

“Watch your mouth, son.”

Connor chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head. “I’m just fucking with you. You know I love Ophelia.” He drew from his beer, and hedidlove Ophelia. He loved Scott. He loved his gazillionaire, manwhore best friend, Brennan Riley. The three of them had been there at Connor’s lowest moments after returning home from the sandbox, and there were few people in the world he loved more. “She would’a laughed, you know.”

Scott gave a quick chuckle as he scrolled on his phone. “Yeah, she would’ve.”

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