Jazz Club Excerpt
By Adam Gentry
I reached for water, and as I lifted it to my lips I could
feel the top shake,
as the Jazz men played. Whether it was piano, sax, or
strings, it was always jazz.
It was a
nice place. Fast upbeat music in the morning, slow in the evening. The bands
played so slowly you could dance between notes. First timers had to pay a cover
charge. If you tipped well the owner invited you to become a member, waive the
fee. What most didn’t realize was if you got stingy, membership could be
revoked. If it wasn’t beer, it was a shot, and then if you spent more than one
gulp getting it down there was a ten dollar sipping fee. Water was free;
pitchers were scattered everywhere. If you drank a hearty glass now and then
the bartender wouldn’t cut you off so soon.
There was a
mirror high on the wall behind the bar, reflecting the various bottles under
the counter. Beneath each bottle was a picture of a shot of it and the price
painted right over the grains of the wood. The rest of the wall was dedicated
to glasses. Shot glasses, scotch glasses, beer mugs, they had it all. The
proprietor prided himself on never using the same glass twice in one night. He
had a massive dishwasher in back, big enough to wash a motorcycle. We know
because one night an idiot tried. His bike was clean as a whistle when it came
out, but he never could get all the soap out. To this day he’s known as Bubbles
because that’s all that’ll come out of his exhaust pipe.
During the
day the wall comes down to form a back counter, and you can peer back into the
kitchen and see the chief frying up eggs and bacon. He’s a foul mouthed bastard
and he’s always got five o’clock shadow. Some of us think he shaves it back to
the bristles every morning before work. They don’t serve a healthy breakfast,
but they give you a good one. In the afternoon the sounds that drift out of the
kitchen walls are the clap clap claps of knives cutting meat and tomatoes for a
sandwich. The fat man is joined by two of the nicest older ladies. But when the
sun sets the wall comes up, and the room goes dark. The only lights are small
pole bulbs running across the underside of the bar, and three harsh spotlights
on the stage, creating even harsher shadows on the sides of the band members’
faces.
