Where was she? The setting was perfect. The stage was set. And the raw, guttural electric bass played her life-music like no other. When the bass opened with the aggressive underlying hook that dominated, and then challenged the trumpet throughout the song, even Miles Davis would arch his brow to the quintet’s version of “So What.” Which is why I expected her to saunter in to the jazz club at that moment. I wouldn’t have charged her a cover, since this was clearly her exacting and perfect soundtrack. Everyone would just say, with heads nodding to the music, “yes, this is so right… it is alright.” I waited… even poked my head out the door expecting her to be exiting a taxi, limo, or Lamborghini. I would urge her to hurry, and try not to be put off by her “so what” expression. She needed to be here… the last piece in the night’s jazz jigsaw puzzle. We were all waiting. I was surprised. Truly surprised. She never showed up… the woman wearing the black slinky dress. Even her cavalier, the man in the angular suit with the narrow face, was a no show.
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