The Cove
Page 85
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“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?”
“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.
“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?”
“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.
