And All That Jazz Episode 03
Don poked his head around the door that led to the bar.
“Thank the lord you’re here, Charlie!” he cried. “They’re like a pride of ravening lions tonight. Come and give us a hand.”
Charlie tugged his apron from the hook on the back of the door and wrapped the ties around his waist.
He wasn’t supposed to start for another 20 minutes, but Don was a good sort and always slipped Charlie a few extra shillings for starting early or staying late.
Charlie had been working at Texas Tommy’s for six months now, but he still felt a rush of excitement every time he stepped behind the bar.
The bar was vast, the first floor bounded by black-lacquered tracery balconies.
Chinese paper lanterns of all colours were hanging from decorated beams above their heads.
The bands played in a corner of the dance floor opposite the bar, but once the night got going Charlie could hardly see them through the crowd.
He could only feel the bass drum vibrating through his feet and hear the rattling of the glasses.
Charlie stepped through the door to find the bar already surrounded by customers.
He smiled and called to the ring of eager faces.
“What can I get you?”
The next few hours were a haze of music and heat.
He trotted back and forth, taking orders, delivering drinks and dodging dancing couples.
There was something magical about the place that fizzed through him.
“I’m too old for this game,” Don remarked during a lull in customers.
He mopped his forehead with his handkerchief, then pressed it to his damp top lip.
Don was in his mid-forties, though he looked older, but didn’t they all?
Each morning Charlie was surprised at the man that looked back at him in the mirror, the lines scoring his forehead.
There was something old and sad in his eyes, but he saw the same look in Don and half the men he passed on the city’s streets.
Don had fought at Mons and Amiens, and had two missing fingers on his left hand.
He’d never asked Charlie where he’d served during the war, and for that Charlie liked him more than he could say.
Charlie smiled, shaking his head.
“You’re doing all right,” he assured him.
“I can’t keep up with you,” Don stated. “No-one keeps up with you, eh, Charlie?
“You nip around that floor like you’re on ice.”
He seemed to think for a moment.
“Look, I need to talk to you about something –” he added hurriedly.
“Service, please!” A blond man beckoned from a table near the bar.
“Yes, sir,” Charlie answered, before turning his attention back to Don. “What is it?”
Don shook his head.
“You’d better go and serve that chap. I know his type – a pocket full of money and he thinks he owns the world.”
“After closing, then?” Charlie insisted.
Don nodded and Charlie hurried to take the customer’s order.
The man was one of the wealthier types, children of local businessmen who didn’t really come for the music but to be seen.
They saw visiting a jazz club as a perfect way to upset the folks back home without risking their inheritance.
“About time, too,” the man muttered, tapping a cigarette on a gold case. “We’re almost dying of thirst here, aren’t we, Lizzy?”
Charlie hadn’t noticed the woman at first, partly hidden as she was behind the man.
She was gazing out on to the dance floor, her toe tapping along with the band, fingertips drumming the table.
The couple were regulars, though she was the dancer, and clearly that was what she was itching to do now.
She looked up at Charlie, her expression one of surprise as if she hadn’t expected him to be there.
The man huffed and crossed his legs impatiently.
“Just tell the boy what you want to drink,” he ordered.
Lizzy shot the blond man a brief, irritated look, which gave Charlie a little pop of pleasure.
“I’d like a gin rickey, please,” she ordered, smiling.
She had the most beautiful eyes.
“And if you’ve stopped ogling my lady friend, I’ll have an old-fashioned.” The blond man rapped the table.
The woman sighed then turned to Charlie, leaning forwards slightly, as if taking him into her confidence.
“Can I apologise for Freddie?” she began. “They clearly never taught manners at the expensive school his parents abandoned him to.”
“Perhaps he played hooky from that class,” Charlie found himself joking.
Her smile widened, showing perfect white teeth.
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“If you’ve quite finished batting your lashes at the staff, Lizzy.” Freddie scowled at them both. “I’d like my drink now.”
She pulled a face at him and shot one last, dazzling smile at Charlie before he went to fetch their drinks.
When he returned from the bar she was gone, presumably lured on to the dance floor by the music.
The only sign of her was a stole draped over the back of her chair, tassels trailing on the floor.
Freddie was still seated at the table, wearing a fresh scowl.
“Did you put two dashes of bitters in this?” he asked Charlie.
“Yes, sir.”
Don’s orders were to only put one in an old-fashioned, as customers couldn’t tell either way.
Freddie sipped the drink and nodded. Charlie couldn’t help but smile.
“That’ll do,” Freddie mumbled, waving him away.
Charlie only caught glimpses of Lizzy for the rest of the night.
She spent most of it amid the throng of dancers, occasionally taking her seat beside Freddie before going to dance again.
It grew late and the band began to pack up for the night.
“I couldn’t have a glass of water, could I?” a voice asked.
It was Lizzy, that glorious smile turned on him again.
It was the kind of smile that made your heart bang like a jazz drummer was trapped in your chest.
“Yes, of course.”
He filled a glass from the jug and she drank it in one long gulp.
“You were thirsty,” he remarked.
“It’s the dancing, but I just can’t stop myself,” she explained. “Once the music starts, the rhythm just tells you to move.”
She closed her eyes and began to drum the counter as if the band were still playing.
Her eyes blinked open.
“Don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do,” Charlie replied.
He fought for some way to continue the conversation, to keep her at the bar just a little longer.
“The Original Dixieland Jazz Band are playing next Saturday,” he suddenly blurted out.
“They are?” she asked.
“Yes. All the way from Chicago, Illinois. Will you come?”
Why did he say it like that? As if he was asking her to go with him.
Her eyes glittered.
“I think I shall.”
A surge of happiness filled him, though he tried to push it away.
She was coming for the band, after all, not for him.
“Lizzy!” Freddie was waiting for her.
“Sorry, I must go. But I shall see you next Saturday,” she told Charlie, and he nodded in response.
Freddie draped the stole over her shoulders, leaving a proprietorial hand resting on her arm.
“Shouldn’t bother, son.” Don was next to Charlie, watching the couple leave. “That sort always sticks to their own.
“Now, what I was trying to tell you earlier . . .”
The tone in Don’s voice grabbed Charlie’s attention.
“Yes, of course. Everything all right?” Charlie prompted.
Don waved the concern away.
“I’m all right, but I’ve taken another job.”
“What?” Charlie was surprised.
“Tenancy of the Old Bull near me. You know it?”
Charlie struggled to think of something positive to say. Don had been such a good friend and had given him a chance when so many wouldn’t have done.
“I do. Nice little pub, that,” he said finally.
He felt sadness for himself battled with pleasure at seeing the happiness on Don’s face.
“I’ll be sorry to see you go.” Charlie shook his hand.
“Thanks, son. Thing is, they’re going to need a new manager here.”
Charlie’s heart sank. Would the owners bring in a stranger, a new broom?
“Oh, yeah? You think Sid will go for it?” he asked.
“I had a different candidate in mind.” Don looked at Charlie meaningfully.
To be continued…