"Actually I hadn't even thought about it. I can't believe you just spit out the truth to him."
"Ah, Marvin didn't believe me. He thought I was worried some guy would try to pick you up, that's all."
Sally looked around the dark, smoky interior of the Bonhomie Club. "It's got lots of character, James."
"It gains more by the year. I think it's because of the aging wood. That bar is over a hundred years old.
It's Lilly's pride. She won it in a poker game from a guy up in Boston. She always calls him Mr. Cheers."
"Lots of character."
He grinned down at her. "Tonight's just for fun, all right? You look gorgeous, you know that? I like that sexy little top."
"You're into jet beads, are you?" But she was pleased. He'd insisted on buying it for her at Macy's. She actually smiled. She felt good, light and easy. Tonight, she thought, tonight was for fun. It had been so long. Fun. She'd simply forgotten.
Nightmares could wait for tomorrow. Maybe when James took her home he'd want to kiss her some more, maybe even make love to her. She could still feel the warmth of his fingers on her.
"You want a drink?"
"I'd love a white wine. It's been so long."
He raised an eyebrow. "I don't know if Fuzz the Bartender has ever heard of such a thing. You sit down and let the atmosphere soak into your bones. I'll go see what Fuzz has got back there."
Fuzz the Bartender, she thought. This was a world she'd never imagined. She'd cheated herself.
She looked up to see James gesturing back at her and an immense black man with a bald head shiny as a cue ball grinning at her, waving a dusty wine bottle. She waved back and gave a thumbs-up.
Where did the name Fuzz come from?
There were only about half a dozen whites in the club, four men and two women. But no one seemed to care what color anyone was.
An Asian woman with long, board-straight black hair to her waist was playing the flute on the small wooden stage. The song was haunting and soft.
The conversation was a steady hum, never seeming to rise or to fall. James put a glass of white wine in front of her.
“Fuzz said he got the wine a couple of years ago from this guy who wanted whiskey but was broke. Fuzz got this bottle of wine in trade."
She sipped it and gulped. It was awful and she wouldn't
have traded it for a glass of Kendall-Jackson. "It's wonderful," she called out to Fuzz the Bartender.
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James sat beside her, a beer in his hand. "The wig's not bad, either. A little too red for my taste, a little too curly, but it'll do for tonight."
"It's hot," she said.
"If you can just hold out, I'll try to think of something indecent to do with that thing when we get home."
At nearly nine o'clock, he kissed her mouth, tasted the white wine, and grimaced.
"That's rotgut."
"It's wonderful rotgut. Don't say anything to Mr.
Fuzz."
James laughed, swung his saxophone case off the other chair, and wove his way through the tables to the stage.
She couldn't take her eyes off him. He hugged the flautist, then pulled a lower stool forward to the microphone. He took his saxophone out of the case, polished it a bit with a soft cloth, checked the reed.
Then he began to warm up.
She didn't know what she'd expected, but the sound coming out of his instrument would have made the devil weep. He played scales, bits and pieces of old songs, skipped from high notes to low ones, testing, soft, then
loud.
"So you're the little white girl that's hooked my Quinlan, are you?"
21
"I WON'T BE so little in another six months."
"Why's that?"
"I'm not usually so skinny. I'll fatten up."
"Maybe my Quinlan will even get you pregnant. You just watch out, Sally, all the ladies salivate while he's playing. Poor boy, he tells himself it's because of his beautiful music. And he does look so soulful while he's playing."
She shook her head, her voice mournful. "I don't have the heart to tell him it's his sexy body and gorgeous eyes. Ah, now he's playing Sonny Rollins, my favorite. Well, aren't I forgetful? I'm Lilly," the huge black woman said, grinned wide, and pumped Sally's hand.
"I'm Sally."
"I know. Fuzz told me. Then Marvin told me. They said it looks like my Quinlan has got it real bad. He's never had it even mild before. This should be interesting. Hey, you aren't planning on having your way with him and then kissing him off, are you?"
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"Kiss him off? Kiss off James?"
"What I mean is, you aren't married, are you? You're not just using my Quinlan just to take care of your needs?
I hear he's a treat in bed, so that would make sense, even though I don't like it."
"Actually, no, I'm not going to kiss him off," Sally said. She sipped at Mr. Fuzz's white wine. "I like your dress. It's magnificent."
Ms. Lilly preened and pressed her huge arms against her even more impressive breasts. The resulting cleavage made Sally stare. She'd never seen so much outside of a Playboy magazine.
"You like the white satin? So do I. I hear tell that a woman built along statuesque lines like I am isn't supposed to wear white, but hey, I like it. It makes me feel young and virginal. It makes me feel ready to go out and try a man for the first time.
"Now, you just sit here and listen to my Quinlan. That's Stan Getz he's playing now. He makes old Stan sound like a sinful angel. Quinlan's good. You really listen now, and don't just think about having your way with him."
"I'll listen good."
Ms. Lilly patted her on the back, nearly sending her face into the glass of wine, and moved away like a ship under sail to a booth that was very near the stage.
Quinlan began to play a sexy, weeping, slow blues song. It sounded like John Coltrane, but she couldn't be completely sure. It was still so new to her.
She noticed for the first time that no one was talking. There was total quiet in the club. Everyone was focused on James.
She watched at least four women get up and move closer to the stage. God, he played beautifully. His range was excellent, each note full and sweet, enough to break your heart. She felt a lump in her throat and swallowed. The song he was playing cried torrents, the notes sweeping lazily from a high register to low, deep notes that tore at the soul. His eyes were closed. His body was swaying slightly.
She knew she loved him, but she wasn't about to admit it here and now, knowing that it was his damned music that was making her feel as mushy as the grits Noelle had tried to make for her once. Men in uniforms and men playing soul music-a potent combination.
James spoke into the microphone. He said, "This one's for Sally. It's from John Coltrane's A Love Supreme."
If she'd ever doubted what he felt about her, that damned song put an end to it. She gulped down Mr.
Fuzz's white wine and her tears.
Two more women moved closer to the stage, and Sally smiled.
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When James finished, he waved to her. Then he cleared his throat and called out, "I got a request for Charlie Parker."
She listened, took a last sip of Mr. Fuzz's wine, and realized she had to go to the bathroom.
She slipped out of her chair, looked at Fuzz the Bartender, who was pointing to an open door just beside the bar. She smiled and walked past him, saying, “Can I have another glass when I come out, Mr. Fuzz?''
"You sure can, Sally. I'll have it waiting."
When she came out of the unisex bathroom, she was smiling. She could hear James getting into his next song, one she recognized, a soft, searching song she hadn't realized was blues.
Suddenly she knew she wasn't alone. She felt someone very close to her, just behind her. She heard breathing, a lot of soft breathing.