(A short story by Irene B.)
The Trio House Presents: THE JAZZ SET
Friday, April 25 – 7 PM
Featuring Lonnie Bassette
Performances by Joel Hicks, Joy Bailey, and The Prise
Ticket: $125 – Limited VIP Seating Available
Mystery Guest: The One… The Only…
Corinne had stared at the flyer, laptop, phone and now back to laptop, for the past three hours. She was half-dressed, hair and makeup done, in her bra and camisole, trying to figure out what to wear.
The flyer hadn’t miraculously changed and still advertised The Jazz Set at The Trio House, on Friday, April 25th: Lonnie Bassette, Joel Hicks, Amber Bailey, The Prise. The Prise, spelled with an S not Z. Special guest revealed the night of the show. Mind-blowing performance. One night only.
Corinne knew the building of The Trio House, had passed by its dark brown doors a number of times, but had never gone in. It was known for hosting more intimate artists with its smaller venue size, nothing like the thousands-deep concerts she’d attend.
But tonight, she would spend at least two hours at this one-of-a-kind jazz session with Len, a director at her new company she’d only known for barely four weeks. And why? Because she’d lied her butt off professing to him her love of jazz in her third, and final, interview. A lie that now loomed over her like an interrogation spotlight.
Two hours into her interview, Corinne had crushed the first two rounds with Charlie and Keith and expected to leave, hopeful she’d return another day for the final stage. Norlex was a construction company, an industry she knew well and would put money on her being the barely 1% female applying for the Regional Construction Director position. Before she wrapped up with Charlie, he had her wait a few minutes then ushered her into another office where she met Len. She was desperate for a drink, but had refused Keith’s offer to make her a coffee, knowing this would add more time to her already long session. She now wished she’d said yes to a latte, water, anything, upon meeting Len and him brushing off the late hour, clearly saying, “No, no, I’ve got some time”.
Len’s office was warm and personal. Full-length windows took up one whole wall, and there were family photos all around with lots of small children. He was either a very old dad or a regular-aged grandfather. Len noticed her staring.
“Oh, those are my grandkids,” Len said. “I’ve got six of them. They keep me busy!”
Corinne smiled, nodding at Len’s genuine pride and adoration, and then added, “They’re beautiful,” and took a seat with him indicating for her to do so. She spent thirty more minutes repeating answers she’d already given, sprinkling in just enough flair to appear confident but not cocky. Len nodded along, raised an eyebrow when she hit the right notes. He leaned back in his chair, seemingly satisfied, but she was quick to clock his expression. The one she also saw in the face of the men in her industry, where they look to try to come up with the hardest, stumping question they can think of for women trying to snag those senior positions.
Among the family photos, Corinne saw many that were of saxophones, a couple of women, but mainly men in hats in dark rooms, with the resonating theme being music, and in particular, jazz.
“Oh, so you’re into jazz! Amazing, isn’t it?” Without thinking, the words fell out of her mouth.
Len’s eyes lit up. “Jazz! You love jazz! That’s incredible. Hard to find anyone… let alone anyone of your age who appreciates it. It’s dying out, we need more young people into it. Its roots, history, culture…amazing.”
Corinne smiled, matching his enthusiasm and trying to crush the panic setting in her stomach at his possible revised question around jazz. She knew nothing about modern jazz. Could name a few old legends—maybe, at least the ones everyone could. But today’s jazz artists? Blank. She knew even modern-day jazz was beautiful, timeless even, and that she should love it—but her ears, stubbornly unsophisticated, had long opted for the ringing thuds of pop, K-pop, and EDM. She could handle a Latin-RnB-country-pop crossblend like a pro, but pure country? No thank you. Why jazz? The times she’d caught it playing in the distance, it felt smooth and relaxing at first. Then, within minutes and out of nowhere, it was as if someone had hit “shuffle” or “random” on a piano and forgotten to leave the instructions.
Why the hell did she mention jazz? Len had a bike propped up in the corner. She already saw it when he entered his office. Why didn’t she mention that? She biked almost every day after work, as long as she didn’t miss her train and have to wait 45 minutes for the next, more full, one. She had two bikes, one mountain, one street terrain and knew everything worth knowing about bikes and cycling. Why the hell didn’t she say that?
There was a poster opposite the wall of windows with a hot air balloon. She’d been twice. Twice! Why didn’t she say that? Hot air ballooning. Always a good choice, good conversational starter. Everyone twists the truth here and there. Throws out a little lie to fit in. But no, she belted out jazz. She might as well have picked goat herding.
“You know, the other guys told me to hire you immediately,” Len said, pulling her from her spiral. “You were by far the strongest candidate we’ve seen in weeks. I can see you’ve got so much depth to you… and not just in your work.”
That was four weeks ago. The official offer from Norlex, and sign-up bonus communication, came the next day.
This morning, Len appeared in her office with two tickets and the biggest grin.
“You’re not gonna believe this. I don’t care what you’ve got on—you’re going, young lady! The one and only is at the Trio House tonight. Four hours from now!”
Corinne’s head tilted. “The…one and only?” She repeated her words, this time with excitement. “The one and only!”
“It has to be him? I mean, who else could it be?!” Len practically bounced saying it.
“It does say that Joel Hicks, Amber Bailey, and The Prise… The actual Prise, will be there. Non one’s seen him perform in… years, maybe a decade! But they’re not saying who the special guest is… but come on who else could it be right?
“Right… exactly!” Corinne didn’t even recognize her own response.
“I’ve got two tickets. Just mention my name at the door when you get there and I’ll see you inside. OK? I’ve got another meeting. See you tonight!”
Corinne nodded, trying to up his excitement, but internally a cold sickness was brewing. Spending an evening with Len didn’t faze her at all. He never once gave off those creepy vibes from numerous ex coworkers, and instead acted as Norlex’s know-all and share-all anchor. The kind that feels like your wise, uncle, mentor. But what would they possible talk about that night when she knew nothing about his passion. So after her last meeting, she’d Googled jazz musicians like her life, worth and honor, depended on it.
Damn it I hate jazz
Her last searches were sending her nowhere, except to discovering more artists with too weird stage names. There weren’t even that many good photos from The Trio House to give her a decent sense of what to wear. If she couldn’t fit in with the music genre the least, she could do was look the part. She didn’t know if ‘The one and only’ was modern jazz, the jazz-festival type, the black fedora hats and sunglasses jazz, the beanie-cap jazz… dear God, how many types of jazz were there? And then her YouTube shuffle, what she’d hoped would be her savior turned out to be her truth teller. Of all the variations of Jazz, and she’d only listened to a few minutes of each, led her to the realization that she absolutely hated it. Them. All of them. And when Len found out, what would happen to her? Would he question or reexamine her credentials for her current role? If she lied about something so dumb, what else would, or had, she lied about?
Now thinking about ways to save her 4-week-old position, Corinne thought about texting Len and letting him know her car had suddenly caught fire. No, her bikes. Then when she returned to the office, strike up a conversation on the devastation of her expensive bikes being burned to a crisp. Maybe that would make him drop the whole jazz thing for good. But the way his eyes lit up; she knew that would never work. That and his razor-sharp memory and relentless kindness meant he’d want to make it all up to her. With a bike ride to a jazz festival two-towns over.
The Trio House attendant led her to a table. Len wasn’t there but his sweating drink glass was. The attendant let her know he’d stepped out briefly but would be back soon. The space gave her one last chance to try and figure out who the hell was ‘The one and only’. Everyone around her was older, chatting, drinking, and laughing in jazz-savvy. She listened as hard as she could for some name drops from the foursome nearest her table, for a single name like Beyonce, Zendaya, Eminem. But it was all phrases like “The one…” and nothing she could search up with her phone at the ready.
“Hey, Corinne, you made it! Sorry I had to take a quick call and then bumped into some friends of mine.” Len finally appeared, flanked by a couple he’d bumped into, Stefan and Marina.
Stefan didn’t say much after his introduction, but Marina was chatty enough and quickly confessed about how she’d been dragged to this event by Stefan, when she didn’t know a lick about jazz. Marina’s ease with honesty was like a refreshing burst around the small but bustling space.
That should’ve been me, Corinne thought to herself. Too late now.
The first acts played. Lonnie Carusa was competent 3 out 5 stars. Joel Hicks wasn’t too bad but far too loud. 2 out of 5 stars. Even she could tell that The Prise was technically impressive, but it being even further from her tastes, she gave him a 1.5 stars. Plus, his set went on too long and for that, she’d renamed him to The Prise to be The however-much-was-spent-on-these-tickets-to-see-him-was-not-worth-this-Prise. But clapped and cheered along with everyone else until he finally took the hint and left.
One more to go, she thought with a deep sigh of relief and sipping her second free drink.
After a forced round of applause from the MC for the so-so starter acts, he took to the Mic announcing. “Well… I know you’ve all been patiently waiting… have any of you guessed who it is yet?”
Laughter amidst more clapping and cheering swelled in the room. Corinne downed her last gulp, rubbing her palms together and shimmying in her seat, excited but still like she’d seen it all before and was a regular at The Trio House, much to Len’s enjoyment.
The MC continued on once the crowd died down. “And now…” The crowd’s whispers became more audible and Corinne caught one name. Gerry Dayes.
Corinne’s heart was racing and she faked prepping her phone to take a sneak photo or video but instead searched the name.
Gerry Dayes.
Text upon text came up after artist flyers, the ones with the outline shape of the jazz saxophone player that she’d seen too many times in the last five hours. And then a headline about Gerry Dayes and all his accomplishments, musical stylings and a ton of hero worship from other musicians.
The lights brightened on stage, Corinne had missed them dimming earlier, and a short man with blonde curls stepped up, head bowed at first then slowly he raised it to the room. Corinne looked over at Len whose eyes were fixed on the stage, eyes wide, and beating him and the room, she leapt, cheering, clapping, whooping “GERRY… WOOOW!!”, frantically, and completely alone.
Len and Stefan threw utter confusion in her direction. Marina covered her mouth, clearly laughing. And now the entire room was looking at her, and not at the stage, with the same confusion.
The man did the motion of tipping a cap to her then, smiling, and then left the stage. Moments later, the applause and cheering surged again as a tall, dark-skinned man with perfect white teeth, a Panama hat and, a gleaming saxophone slung over his shoulder took the mic. He nodded at the crowd chanting his name, beaming, as his instrument gleamed its polished brass under the stage lights—both now ready to let their music speak.
Gerry!
Gerry!
Gerry!
Corinne lowered herself back into her seat, cheeks flushed and her heart racing as if it were about to break free from her chest. Marina nudged Corinne’s arm lightly with her elbow, but she remained frozen, yet sweaty with embarrassment. Len slid his glass across the table toward hers. She looked up at him, finally, as their glasses clinked. He shook his head with amusement, eyes almost dancing, clearly enjoying the whole scene just as much as Marina. Corinne snorted a guilty laugh as a slow smile spread across her face. She sucked in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and was determined to enjoy the real Gerry Dayes.
Practicing out loud
Sharing some of my writing, these fiction bits as part of my creative reps, flaws and all. Keep going with your “thing,” too. Small consistent steps, even imperfect ones, make big moves forward.
