Page 53 of Partner Pursuit
“No, but I’m up for anything. I’m not exactly dressed for it.”
“Well, neither am I, but it’s a casual place. We’ll be fine. Let’s go to Bob’s—it’s a classic. Bob’s started as a speakeasy in 1920. That whole area was known as swing street because of the number of speakeasys there.”
“That’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to go to a speakeasy. Do you cover jazzartists?”
“No, I prefer not to work on my weekends, if I can help it, especially since I worked last night. I just like jazz. I’ll call to make sure we can get in.”
“What music do you cover?”
“Alternative pop.” He called Bob’s as Audrey unlockedherbike.
Their headlights shone straight ahead as they cycled down the bike path in silence in the deepening dark. Pools of luminescence from the street lamps punctuated the murkiness. Across the Hudson River, they could see the lights of New Jersey. The air was cooler, butnotcold.
At 145thStreet, they headed east and left the park, riding single file down thebrownstone-linedstreets until they reached Bob’s Place.
They locked up their bikes. A man wearing a jaunty fedora was sitting on the stoop in front of thelamppost.
Jake said, “Lenny here is like the neighborhood watchman. Can you look after our bikes, Lenny?” He handed afive-dollarbill to the man onthe stoop.
Lenny nodded. “You got it.”
“I’ve left my bike here before, so it’llbeokay.”
“I’m not too worried someone’s going to want my bike,”shesaid.
Swinging their bike helmets, they walked towards the door of Bob’s Place, which had only a small sign announcing its presence, befitting its history as a former speakeasy. In the entry hall, Jake chatted briefly with the woman who was taking the money, introducing Audrey and asking after a friend in common. Bob’s Place seemed to be a ground floor railroad apartment, and the jazz set was performed in an elongated living room. The “stage” was a slightly elevated platform taking up most of the living room, with space for only one row of chairs in front of it. Those were already filled, but Jake guided her to the back, his hand lightly touching the small of her back. They passed through an open archway into the adjoining room where he grabbed two seats with a view oftheband.
“Or we can sit out in the garden, but this is better for seeing the band,” hesaid.
“This is perfect.” And she meant it. She couldn’t believe that she was out with Jake in a formerspeakeasy.
She held the seats while he made his way to the bar, saying hello to several people. He started talking with one person, gesturing towards her. Glasses clinked, and the general buzz of conversation and rustling as guests settled in heightened the vibe of expectation. The crowd seemed to be a mix of locals andout-of-towners, and the atmosphere was friendly, as if she were at a party at a friend’s house. Three Scandinavians sat in front of her, speaking Swedish. Several musicians came out and started warming up, chatting comfortably with the people sitting right in front of them. She inadvertently made eye contact with the drummer, and he winked at her and she smiled back. Then the lights dimmed, and Jake slipped back into his seat. As he handed her a soda, the music filled the room without even an introduction. The band began with one of her favorites, “Begin the Beguine,” and the clear clarinet notes seemed to pierce the hushed crowd.
When the song finished, the band leader, Bill, introduced the players and shared some history. The pianist then played the opening notes of “Just One of Those Things” while Bill sang, the trumpet joining in. The venue was so intimate that she could see the musicians communicate with each other as each played off the other. She could not stop herself from moving to the rhythm. She looked at Jake, who was also nodding his head to the music and tapping his foot, and their glances caught and he smiled. He moved to hold her hand. She squeezed his hand back. The last line of “Just One of Those Things” was apt for the day—today had been like “a trip tothemoon.”
She had entered another New York world—completely different from the one that she lived in. It wasn’t as if she had not been to jazz clubs in New York City—she had been to some downtown clubs—but this was different. It was like being a part of the whole jazz scene rather than just watching ashow.
“And we’ve got our very own emerging star in our midst. Where’s Emmeline?” Bill asked. “I know I saw her. Emmeline, come up and sing a setwith us.”
From the back of the room emerged a young Black woman in a flowing green dress. She walked up and took the mic from Bill. After some whispered conferring, Bill snapped his fingers, the drummer picked up the tempo, and Emmeline’s clear soprano rang out over the room: “It don’t mean a thing…”
She then sang scat, her voice flipping up and down the scales. The abilities of scat singers to improvise vocally and imitate a physical instrument always amazed Audrey. The whole club roared its approval when Emmeline finished and gave her a standing ovation.
Bill asked for any requests, and someone yelled out “Stardust” from the back of the room. Bill took a few more requests, and then the band continued with some songs that Audrey had never heard before with lots of improvisation and solos, leading up to a crescendo finish. The audience gave another standing ovation, and then the band retreated from the stage, taking their time to talk to some of the audience members. A warm glow seemed to pervade both Audrey and the club atmosphere.
“That was magical,” she said, and Jake nodded. Their gazes caught. He understood, and she didn’t need tosaymore.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As Audrey and Jake waited to pick up their bike helmets from the coat check in the narrow hallway, she moved closer to Jake to make room for passersby. It was like stepping closer to a fire. He was studying her. She returned his gaze. His look was intense.
She swallowed.Don’t say anything.She could inadvertently say something to ruin the mood, or even worse, put them in the friend zone. A crowded hallway waiting in line for coats was even worse for making conversation than being alone in an elevator witha partner.
His phone beeped. Then it rang. Checking the number, he answered it.
“Fiona,” hesaid.
“Are you serious?” he asked. “No, I’m not home. I’m at Bob’s Place in Harlem—the jazz club.” He listened to his sister. “No, I’m not alone. I’m with Audrey.” He ruffled his hair distractedly. “We’re on bikes. I guess I can be there in about thirty minutes. What do you want me to do?” After a brief pause, he said, “Sure.” He hung up. “Great.” He looked ruefully at Audrey. “My sister and Luna have some stomach bug. They’re both throwing up, so she asked me to come help. Luna woke up and threw up in her bed. Fiona took her to her bed, and then Luna threw up in that, although mostly on the towel. Fiona then puked too—and not just from cleaning up the vomit. So now both of them are hugging the toilet in the bathroom. Thomas luckily is still sleeping and seems okay. She wants me to come over and sleep on the couch in case Thomas wakes up, because if she’s still sick, she doesn’t want to infect him. And I should put the sheets inthewash.”
