A crisp autumn night. Hard to tell what the traffic will be at the jazz club but the bartender, trumpet player, and I wagered our guesses. I went with the accurate but noncommittal: Hard to tell...could go either way — dead or swamped...or in-between. I collected my starter wedge and positioned myself at the door for what ended up being an in-between traffic night. The band was well into Thelonious Monk’s “In Walked Bud,” when in walked a memorable couple. A tall, lanky dude with a hint of attitude and his kewpie doll lady. She was wearing a contraption that lifted and pushed her breasts together creating cleavage with enough depth to hide a fair-sized collection of Cracker Jack prizes. Even though the unseen blinking midway lights and pointing arrows directed me to look, I didn’t. I had also been advised to watch for a guest bass player who would join the quartet for a couple of songs. Well into the night, she showed up. She took over the regular bassist’s stand-up and ably played with the band. They were well into Duke Ellington’s “Satin Doll,” when it dawned on me how male dominated traditional jazz is. Sure, there are incredible female vocalists, but the musicians are almost always male. It was nice to see an accomplished woman playing jazz bass. Listening to her play, I celebrated women of all kind from the jazz bass player to the kewpie doll — and those in-between.