Jazz Epoch

Short scene to illustrate my passing fascination with jazz, and mood of the era that contained it.

“Sleeping on those steamships gives you suuuch a crick in the neck!” The last word echoed above the din of conversation and the music through the entire ballroom, and the dancers glanced nervously at the entrance, where the man stood. This produced an odd silence which the man did not back away from, and instead placed his shiny black shoes down the stairs in perfect timing to the saxophone encore.

“Heh, it’s grrreat to be back in New York! All around the world and back to - oh hi, where you from?” He was immediately swept into the crowd, greeting, shaking hands, and people moved to let him pass. His voice resembled that of a jazz singer, it had the same depth and substance and color and richness that made people respect the man owning it. Not too low, not squeaky high, but that of a car salesman or radio talker. Yes, he could've been on the radio twenty four seven and not run out of lines to say and jokes to crack, always in that rich voice.

“Can I call you Al? Or maybe Bert. I met an Bert recently in California, you know? Man just like you.” He was moving closer, already patting a newly-made friend on the back on his way through the crowd. I pulled my dress down, fixed my hair, trying not to get jostled around too much by the crowd. The people were pulsating like waves in his wake.

“Tell you, this place has everything! Go ask the barlady, she’ll tell ya’ll bout it,” he said, every word seeming to rise above the music and float on it. Already a little crowd of people was following around him, asking questions and laughing even though most have only met him moments before. 

I smiled, pushing myself in his path.

“Who do we have here, Suzy! You look a lot smaller than the last time I saw you,” he said, grinning. I didn't even get to smile back before he spoke. “Either that or I’m getting bigger. Look at me from the side, do I look different to you?”

“What?”

“Ah, don't mind. Just my nerves talking, too much a’walkin round the city with no good place to sit and have a chat. Two drinks please!” he shouted, and one of the waiters gave him a thumbs up from across the room.

“There’s no free tables,” I said, giggling.

“Then let’s not sit,” he said, pushing the crowd away to form a little circle around himself. Then, in the wildest and most flamboyant way, he bowed, took my hand and kissed it before asking, “How about a dance instead?”

“Tired, eh? I can help you with that.”

Reviews

[Archos]

Short, yet very complex. Great atmosphere, too. Nice job!

[Sir Drift & Mr. Pulse]

Short and booming. Just my type of story. Please read my work. Thank you

[richieb]

You wrote this story well capturing the excitement, noise and personality of the jazz era. Your characters are vibrant and interesting. You created a jazz scene without relying on the actual music. Nice work. Richie.

[Tsubaki Kuro]

Great short story. Nice details too.