Jazz Moon Read Online Free Page B

chatting up patrons and laughing garishly at everyone’s jokes, especially her own. The band blasted with an intensity that was almost violent.
    The hostess said they’d have to wait for a table, but someone yelled, “Ben! Ben! Angeline! Over here!”
    Reggie sat at a table in back with a skinny tree limb of a woman wearing long ropes of fake pearls and a slew of bangles.
    â€œWant y’all to meet my main queen,” he said when they were seated.
    Ben cut in. “You must be Lila. Reggie told me about you.”
    Reggie grimaced and, through gritted teeth, said, “No, jack. This is Vivian . You know, my main queen.”
    â€œOh. Uh . . . I’m sorry. Lila is my other friend’s . . . uh . . . girlfriend.”
    Angeline sped to his rescue. “He’s terrible with names. Can’t even remember mine half the time. I’m Angeline. How are you?”
    â€œI’m gangbusters! How are you?” Vivian said, high-pitched and squeaky as a piccolo. The girl seesawed in her seat. Ben detected gin on her breath, and a hiccup confirmed that Reggie’s main queen was drunk.
    â€œWhere y’all coming from?” Reggie asked.
    Ben fluffed up. “The Lincoln. Just saw Florence Mills.”
    â€œFlorence Mills? I bet the audience blew their wigs over her. Copasetic, jack!”
    Vivian hiccupped. “Copasetic.”
    The club was busy, the waitresses harried, but within moments they had a round of teacups. The people in front of them blocked his view of the stage, but Ben could hear a trumpet capering through a song.
    Reggie and Vivian sat close, his arm ringing her.
    â€œYou live in the neighborhood?” Angeline asked her.
    â€œShe sure do,” Reggie said. “On 123rd. Ain’t that right, baby girl?”
    â€œThat’s right, papa.”
    â€œShe calls me papa . Ain’t that cute?”
    Reggie and Vivian kissed, tongues lapping and overlapping. One of Reggie’s hands sneaked under the table. Soon after, Vivian’s eyes rolled back in her head.
    â€œOoh. Ooh. Papa,” she tooted.
    While Reggie toyed with his main queen, the band’s violence segued into a blues. Sorrowful. Beguiling. The crowd had thinned a little, but Ben still couldn’t see the band. The place had gotten quieter, the noise submersing into a drone. Ben heard the trumpet, at times sliding through the blues, other times driving it. And he could just make out the head of a girl singer.

    â€œYou better listen careful,
You ain’t treatin’ me the way you should,
You better listen careful,
You ain’t treatin’ me the way you should.
If you don’t watch it, mister,
I’ll get my daddy’s gun and shoot you good.
    Â 
    You a low-down cheater,
I ain’t gonna take your stuff no more,
You a low-down cheater,
I ain’t gonna take your stuff no more.
I catch you with some floozy,
I’ll bash that bitch’s head into the floor.”

    The trumpet furnished an intricate obbligato that riffed off the singer’s vocal. It punctuated it, added flavor and a bit of play.
    â€œHey, Ben,” Reggie said. “Bought a new record. It’s called—”
    Vivian hunched over the table. “Papa? I don’t feel good.”
    Angeline lurched her chair back. “Girl, don’t you throw up on this table.”
    Reggie popped straight up. “Ha! That means it’s time to take my baby girl home.” He lifted Vivian from her seat, propped her up on wavering legs. “There, there, baby girl,” he said. He petted her backside, his face set in a dark pout. “Let’s go home.” Turning to Ben and Angeline, he brightened like lightning. “It’s been gangbusters! I’ll plant y’all now and dig you later!”
    As Reggie hauled Vivian out of Teddy’s, the band dispensed with the inferno of dance music, ceased the vengeful no-good-man blues, and began something new. Something