Chapter 2: Blues Set Break #3
I am standing by the service bar eating maraschino cherries when the bartender turns his back.
Set #3 is almost over, or is over, or not, who can tell with this music.
This Mr. Jackson guy eyes me over the crowd sitting at the tables, he puts his saxophone in some sort of stand, wipes his chin and steps off the stage, walks through the crowd, shakes a few hands, kisses a few pretty cheeks, gets to Manny’s table, says something to Manny and then turns my way and points his finger at me and then his hand makes a round swoop as he points down toward my empty chair.
I’m being summoned.
I turn, grab another cherry by its stem, tip it his way as if it is a hat and then stick it in my mouth and take a bite.
I never take my eyes off him.
Nor him of me.
Your move sax-man.
Your move…
The Jackson dude turns and walks toward me, I smile inside and outside, and reach for another cherry. Saxman, he done blinked first.
“So, how’s them cherries huh.”
I’m still chewing one and I’m taking my time doing it.
“Seven & Seven on the rocks Betty please,” he says, I just watch him, don’t need to turn my head none to know that “Betty” is looking at me too.
Soon his drink comes, Betty asks if he wants to “put the kids cherries on your tab,” to which he looks at me and just nods his head, “Ok about 75¢ then.”
Dude just nods, “So kid, er, what’s your name again.”
Ain’t no “again” since I’ve never told him my name in the first place.
I drop the cherry stem on the floor in between us, closer to his shinny shoes than my sneakers, “Bones” is all I say.
“Excuse me kid, what did you say.”
“Bones.”
“Bones, what’s that, Bones...”
“That’s my name.”
“Your parents named you Bones.”
“My club did.”
“Club?”
“Gang.”
“Hmmm.”
Cool, dude got some street in him. I move my left hand closer to my left pocket, follow his eyes as he stiffens some, he looks up at me, back down to my left hand/pocket, his neck muscles tense, I just look at him, and smile.
“So, Bones come with me, sit back down with Manny at your table, I wanna talk some with you.”
Over his shoulder I see Manny is standing and watching and violently shaking his head back and forth in the universal sign of, “Please Bones, Please Bones...don’t do it...DON’T DO IT.”
“Talk here,” is all I say.
“Can’t do that kid.”
My left hand moves an inch or two closer to my left pocket.
“Why can’t you.”
“Why, why,” he says in between a laugh, “...why because you know what there Mr. Bones, you know what, it’s always best that a person, even a punk like you, always better you be sitting when your life is about to change, why Oh Lord why...”
he turns around, back to me, and walks over to the table where Manny is saying something, he says something, they both laugh and then sit down.
Laughing…at me.
…when I spin completely around I come face to face with Betty the cocktail waitress who in her left hand is holding a tray of drinks, in her right hand…a sawed-off baseball bat…
…a bat that looks like it has been used…plenty.
“You been there long.”
“Yep”
“You ever use that thing.”
“Yep, and you was about to be next.”
“Hey glad you joined us Skeleton.”
“Bones,” is all Manny says.
“Oh, right Bones...take a seat young man.”
And so, I pull back the chair and as I’m about to bend and sit down in it I pause for a moment, look at this Mr. Jackson guy, and slowly, as he watches, I pull a long black stiletto knife, with a very fancy inlaid dragon on the handle, out of my pocket and lay it on the table.
My eyes all the time on this Mr. Jackson Sax-man as his mouth opens in wide surprise.
Manny has his head in his hands.
Mr. Jackson just looks at me and then back down at my pocket where the knife came from.
My Right Pocket.
Old man been had.
Old waitress been had.
You see, me, I street, I know this…a right-handed man ain’t going to pull a blade on you with his left hand.
He faking with his left hand, you go for that hand, right hand going slice you.
Left pocket my money pocket.
Right pocket my war pocket.
Suddenly shouts…
“Last Call….Last Call…Last Call…”
“Gots to go,” and with that Mr. Jackson got up from the table, whisperes something in Betty’s ear, grabs his Sax off the stand and walks into the spotlight and says…
And as I open the door and step outside, I stop for a minute, and listen..listen to the last song of the night, the one dedicated to me by this Mr. Jackson guy, the only song I’ve recognized all night…
…on Saxophone…
…Mack The Knife.
““Music should always be an adventure.””