Tender Deception: A Novel of Romance (9 page)

Lilly felt a shiver run down her spine, but she nodded. “I think I know what you mean. I have a feeling kind of like that, walking down the narrow street of the old French Quarter. You feel so close to the past, you can almost reach out and touch it.”

Then, as if suddenly embarrassed at the direction their conversation was taking them, Jimmy said, “Well, tell me, kid, what are your plans now that you’ve seen New Orleans?”

“I—I really don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t guess I have any. I suppose I’ll spend a few more days here until my money starts running out. Then I’ll have to go somewhere and find a job. I have several teaching possibilities—”

“Teaching? That sounds like a drag. You’re too good to waste your time teaching, kid.” He fell silent, a slight frown shadowing his brow as if he was wrestling with an idea. Finally he said in a slow, thoughtful manner, “Hey, would you be interested in a temporary job playing in a jazz band?”

Her heart turned a sudden flip. “What do you mean?”

“I guess you know my regular piano player, Tiny Smith, died suddenly this week. The substitute I hired for tonight is a dog. You heard how badly he plays. The guy’s all thumbs. I was just thinking that putting you on the band might spark things up. Tiny’s death has got all of us down. The band’s in a slump. You’re young and full of fresh ideas. You’ve got a good style and a solid left hand. Some women are terrific jazz pianists—Norma Teagarden, Lil Hardin, Hazel Scott....”

Lilly’s heart was racing furiously.

“How about it, kid? Think you’d be interested?”

Lilly couldn’t trust her voice. She could only nod.

“The job only pays scale and it’s kinda rough, from ten at night till four in the morning.”

“That’s all right,” she said breathlessly.

“I think I can work it out okay with the union. But I want you to understand it’s just a temporary job. Y’see, I’m not completely my own boss here.” He hesitated, then asked, “Did I ever tell you I have an older brother?”

She nodded. “I think you talked about him one time.”

“His name’s Kirk. Kirk Remington.”

“Remington?”

“Yes. He’s my half brother. We have the same mother. Kirk kept his real father’s name. That’s why our last names are different. Anyway, to make a long story short, Kirk is involved in this place. He’d have to approve of anyone I put on the band. Right now, he’s out of the country. I can only promise you a place on the band until he gets back in a couple of weeks. Then we’ll have to see how he feels about it.”

“Well, that’s all right, Jimmy. I’m just happy to have the opportunity to play with you for a while. Maybe your brother will like the way I play, too.”

“Maybe,” Jimmy said doubtfully. “You never can tell about Kirk.”

“What’s he like? Is he like you?”

Jimmy laughed. “Not at all.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Tell you what, Lilly. I’m starved. Let’s go get a real New Orleans breakfast of eggs and
café au lait.
We can talk some more there.”

They left the club and strolled arm in arm down the narrow streets of the old city. Streaks of dawn were touching the Mississippi as they crossed Jackson Square.

In the small, crowded café, Lilly sipped her mug of coffee and milk while Jimmy devoured a hearty breakfast. Then he pushed his empty plate back, lit a cigarette, and began telling Lilly about his brother.

“You wouldn’t remember Kirk, of course. He left our home town when I was six years old. You were still in rompers. He and my father didn’t get along at all. Kirk went to work in the oil fields as a roughneck. He’s a hard-working son of a gun and smart as a whip. A lot smarter than me where business is concerned,” Jimmy said with a laugh. “Kirk learned the oil business from the bottom up. Then he invented some kind of improved drilling tool. I don’t understand exactly what it does. But what it did do for him was make him rich. Now he’s got his own business and flies all over the world on big oil deals.”

“When Kirk found out I’d left home and was in New Orleans pursuing a musical career, he became very interested. He flew down, heard me play, said I had a lot of talent, and offered to lease a club here on Bourbon Street so I could have my own place.”

“Y’see, Kirk is very interested in music. He’s actually a frustrated musician, himself. That’s one reason he and my old man couldn’t get along. Kirk pestered him for guitar lessons when he was a kid and the old man said it was a waste of money. It would have been the same for me, but I got some lucky breaks. The school band director took me under his wing and got me my first horn through the school. I think in spite of all his money, Kirk envies me. He’d give about anything to be able to get up in front of a band and blow a horn the way I do. Since that isn’t possible, he does the next best thing by promoting my music and having a hand in running my band.”

“How do you feel about that, Jimmy?” Lilly asked.

Jimmy shrugged. “It’s a big break for me and the band, I guess, but you know how relatives and business don’t mix very well. We get into some pretty big arguments. Kirk is supposed to be a silent partner, but he thinks I don’t know anything about business. He’s probably right about that. The trouble is, he also thinks he knows a lot about music, and that’s where we get into some fights. I admire old Kirk in a lot of ways, but he has an infuriating way of ordering people around that sometimes burns me up.”

“And you’re not really sure he’d approve of your hiring me for the band,” she concluded.

Jimmy nodded. “Yes. It makes me sore, Lilly, but that’s the way it is.”

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Don’t feel bad, Jimmy. I understand. I don’t want to cause trouble between you and your brother. We’ll just see how things work out. I’ll play the best I can and maybe he’ll like my style.”

“Well, he’s bound to like your playing. It’s having a woman on the band that may not sit too well with Kirk. Right now he’s kind of soured on females. He just got his heart broken by one. Have you ever heard of Marie Algretto?”

“The opera singer? Of course I have. She’s one of the world’s most beautiful women. To say nothing of her magnificent voice.” Suddenly Lilly’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me your brother was involved with her!”

Jimmy nodded.

“But she’s an international celebrity!” Lilly gasped.

“That’s the kind of people old brother Kirk runs around with. When I said he’s rich, I meant jet-set rich. The kind of rich that plays roulette in Monte Carlo and has dates with movie stars and countesses. Kirk chased Marie Algretto around Europe for a year. They had a torrid romance going. Kirk was all set to marry her. Then she broke it off, and broke his heart. I really felt sorry for Kirk,” Jimmy admitted. “He took it hard. I don’t think he’s gotten over her yet.”

“I can see why,” Lilly agreed. “I heard her sing Carmen once at a performance in the city where I went to college. She’s the most gorgeous redhead I’ve ever laid eyes on. And she has a magnificent voice.”

Jimmy nodded. “It was the perfect combination for Kirk: style, beauty and musical talent. Kirk seems to fall for women with talent. Before Marie Algretto, he was involved with a lady concert violinist, though not as desperately as he was with Marie.”

“Sounds like he’s quite a lady’s man.” Then she teased, “It must run in the family. I seem to remember a certain young trumpet player back home riding up and down Main Street with a convertible full of cheer leaders.”

Jimmy chuckled. “There’s a difference. I’m just out to have a good time. Kirk is very intense.”

Lilly searched Jimmy’s eyes for a deeper understanding of his words. Was he warning her when he said, “I’m just out to have a good time”? Or would there be a difference now that he was older and she was a grown woman? Whatever chance she might be taking, she intended to play the game, win or lose, even if it meant heartbreak for her, too. She had carried her dream of Jimmy LaCross in her heart for too many years to turn coward now.

* * * * * * *

The next night, she arrived at the club early. She had shopped that afternoon, investing a sizable portion of her limited funds on a black cocktail dress. It was form-fitting enough to underscore her femininity, but not too revealing. Jimmy whistled with approval. She warmed all over at his gaze. “You sure have filled out in all the right places from the skinny kid I remember back in school,” he grinned.

She remembered the time he had stared at her bare legs when they went wading in the brook and felt again the same undercurrent of sensual excitement.

As the other members of the band assembled for the evening, Jimmy introduced them to Lilly. The drummer was Cemetery Wilson, a good-natured, ruddy faced individual. The banjo was played by Skinny Lang, a tall, emaciated fellow with a chronic, hacking cough. The front line, besides Jimmy, included the clarinet player, Charlie Neal, a slender, intense individual who kept a bottle of Maalox on the band stand to comfort his ulcer. The third member of the front line was the trombonist, a happy, rotund, hard-drinking Irishman named Ted Riley. Riley bounced around the stand as he played, a bundle of exuberant energy.

The musicians were polite to Lilly, but reserved. It was obvious they missed Tiny Smith and resented a newcomer trying to take his place. Besides, they were all tough pros and no doubt viewed her as an inexperienced amateur who was going to foul up the band. They were noticeably cool to Jimmy, probably wondering what had possessed him to hire a naïve girl from the sticks to play in a New Orleans jazz band.

They took their places grimly. Nothing could ruin a band like a bad pianist. Lilly sensed they were bracing themselves against an evening of musical disaster. Charlie Neal took an extra large gulp of Maalox.

Jimmy called the first tune,
Jazz Me Blues
, raised his horn, and tapped off the beat. An electric charge raced through Lilly. All her life, she’d dreamed of playing with a bunch like this. The group was tight and sure. They played with a fierce drive.

Cemetery’s drumbeat was a solid rock. His snare rolls were crisp and clean. Jimmy’s golden horn punched out the lead with hot, smoking notes as Charlie Neal’s clarinet hemstitched a counter melody around it. Ted Riley bounced around, working his slide in a swinging tailgate style.

Lilly knew what a band like this expected from its pianist—a good, solid pattern of rhythmic chords and not too much butterflying around when she wasn’t taking a solo. She gave them what they wanted. When the soloists improvised, she backed them with a clear line of chord progressions, occasionally punctuating one of their licks with an answer from her right hand. When Jimmy nodded toward her, she took her own solo chorus, more inspired than she’d ever been before in her life. She was in a state of euphoria, an ecstatic high. Creative ideas raced to her fingertips, electrifying them.

The number ended with a drum break and a wild, eight-bar tag. She realized all the members of the band were staring at her. She turned numb. Had she done something terribly wrong?

But Cemetery Wilson put his sticks down and said, with a note of awe, “Hot damn!” Ted Riley did a happy little shuffle. Charlie Neal scowled at her and said, “What is the chick trying to do—get on steady?”

Jimmy grinned at her proudly. He winked and nodded. “Kid you’re really bad,” which in musician lingo meant she was terrific.

Lilly’s spirits soared. Before the first break, the band had fallen in love with her, and she was in love with every one of them. They played
King Porter Stomp
,
Back o’ Town Blues
,
That’s-a-Plenty
, and
High Society.

Jimmy tried Lilly on a vocal. She belted out one of her Bessie Smith blues numbers and the audience applauded wildly. From then on, Jimmy featured her songs several times each evening.

During the next two weeks, Lilly threw herself into the job with every ounce of her being. She slept until noon, then spent her afternoons writing arrangements. Timidly, she showed them to Jimmy one night.

He leafed through the sheets of music manuscript paper with muttered exclamations. “
Chime Blues
,
Mabel’s Dream
,
Snake Rag....
Hey, these are some terrific old King Oliver tunes. Where on earth did you get them, kid?”

“Off old records. That’s the only way you can find some of those classic jazz tunes. You know I have perfect pitch. I can hear a record and write it down the way most people write a letter.”

“I know, but these aren’t just melody lines. They’re great arrangements. How did you learn to score a band like this?”

“I studied arranging and orchestration when I was getting my music degree. I earned some of my tuition arranging for groups around the area where I was going to school.”

Jimmy shook his head. “You’re something else, kid. You play knocked-out jazz piano, sing a mean blues, and then come up with these terrific arrangements. It was a lucky night for the band when you came walking in here!”

Lilly devoured his words of praise. But she longed for much more—some sign that he was beginning to think of her in other ways than as a competent musician and a valuable addition to his band. Each night, she prayed for a different look in his eyes, a sudden contact in his touch. But, much to her despair, he continued to treat her with a kind of amused affection, like an older brother, just as he had when they were in school together.