A Fine Romance, Circa 1945- With Billie Holiday In Mind    

 

 

 

 

Over in the darken corner a couple, she a very bleached blonde, naturally so or not only she and God know (perhaps the hairdresser as well but what with the war shortages with the chemicals necessary for artificially very bleached blonde hair going into Europe rather than say frisky brunettes probably just God), mascaraed blue eyes and a fair dusting of powders and whatnots that make a gal alluring to the opposite sex, long slinky gown although not of recent purchase since like the hair ingredients the materials for such glamour-enhancement long ago went ashore at Normandy), and silver dancing slippers of recent purchase since she had a friend  who had a friend who worked on Seventh Avenue and that was that was talking to her companion of the evening. His description was ease itself beyond the short high side walls haircut that meant he was still in one or another branches of the military service, just then clean-shaven although he was one of those men bedeviled by the need to shave twice daily, regulation cologne which made a guy alluring to the opposite sex, regulation brown eyes, and a fairly-well beribboned Army uniform to take the mystery out of which branch he belonged to and which made clear that he had seen action in some theater in Europe.      

 

In front of the young couple who from a quick glance and the manner of their gestures had not known each other long but on the other hand these gestures did not exhibit the tell-tale symptoms of a first date, the timid talk, the off-hand laughter and the occasional blush when in the newness of the situation one party makes a social blunder had well-used glasses of red wine accompanied by some wine correct meat dishes. Probably the Beef Alsace for which the Club Martin up in high 49^th Street  New York City was famous for far and wide but in the darkness which they craved just those tender moments nondescript from afar. Beside the menu of the day was far removed from what they were talking about, what interested them that evening.

 

See our soldier boy, let’s call him Adam Jordan which is actually his name so there need be nothing mysterious or nefarious about it, and his date, let’s call her Brenda Dubois for that is her name although she would not like that information broadcast widely since she is under-age, under-age for nightclubbing if not for other activities had just a few minutes before stepped outside into a back room of the Club, the band’s dressing area, and shared a joint, marijuana, with Nick Janeway, the famous trumpeter, who was working at the Club now that he had been discharged from the Army, discharged with a fairly be-ribboned uniform which meant that he too had seen serious action in one of the European theaters of combat although this evening he was wearing the standard tuxedo of the house band at the Club Martin. As anyone may have guessed Nick and Adam had served together in Europe and this night Nick had gotten Adam and Brenda in as his guests for the evening’s entertainment.            

 

This was hardly the first time that Nick and Adam had “flamed” up (their personal term so the hick other soldiers who were still drinking sodas or Army beer would not catch on) for they had endured the travails of the slugfest battles of Europe by being well-doped up when the action cooled off (and not when in battle as those medals on their respective uniforms can attest too). This night however was Brenda’s first time and while she was thrilled and afraid at the same time when Adam had broached the question she wanted to be a good sport so inhaled deeply, too deeply, the mandatory few drags, had the equally mandatory fits of coughing which accompany the smoke for the beginner and was just beginning to get a decent buzz off of the stuff.

 

She thought to herself, beside the million flashing silly thoughts,   that Adam was a cool guy, knew some cool guys and maybe they would get along after all. She had not been sure the first few dates after Adam had picked her up at a USO dance over in Times Square when she had gone with a girlfriend in order to support the guys who were coming off the transport ships by the thousands now that the war in Europe was over that they would get along since he was so worldly and she was just a very bleached blonde from Brooklyn. He had laughed during dinner at that remark and asked her if she wanted to go back to Nick’s hangout and blow another joint. Loosened up she agreed and they sat with Nick until it was time for him to perform.        

 

Brenda and Adam navigated their way back to their darkened corner and were talking loosely with spurts of giggles on Brenda’s part when Nick and his fellow band members mounted the small elevated stage several tables away and began their intros. While Brenda and Adam were lighting each other’s cigarettes (tobacco of course) the house lights dimmed even further and a black woman, maybe thirty or so with a big flower, some kind of orchid in her pulled back black hair, and a gown with matching slippers that certainly had been recently purchased as Brenda had seen a copy in one like it in one of the recent issues of a women’s magazine and began singing A Fine Romance in a sultry, sexy, sassy, voice that would make the angels weep for their inadequacies. Brenda thus fortified looked over at Adam who was watching and nodding to Nick as he played and thought, a fine romance, a fine romance indeed.