A lazy feel to the night. The Doorman fought the urge to wear an oversize wool cardigan and Acorn walnut-brown sheepskin slippers and sip Irish coffee all night. Instead—as expected—I assumed my post and greeted jazz lovers as they entered the club while collecting their cover charges. A chatty Cathy and her boyfriend were already seated at the bar when I arrived. Unbeknownst, I seated a very special guest within chatty’s range. The lopsided exchange only lasted the length of a root canal before chatty and friend left. The club was sparse all night. The jazz band played well all night, even when the crowd dwindled to a handful. To honor their professional tenacity I imagined the club filled with jazz lovers such as wild-hair Albrecht and Lavinia, the twin Brazilian models Trina and Seraphima, Nicholas and his kept lover Jasper, the bohemian concept artists--Jannie and Tomoko, and the ever cool, quiet observer in the corner wearing polarized Pit Boss Oakley sunglasses, named Bob. The band deserved a stronger showing. I just filled in the seats with an imagined, more memorable audience.
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