The Doorman’s Diary: 2.17-18.12

The club received a steady stream of pleasant-looking couples all night. They all looked happy and made for each other. We could have filled a casting call for attractive-looking couples to fill the background of a prime-time TV show. I don’t know if any of them could dance, but if we were in Philadelphia, then Hollywood between 1952 and 1989, they could all be on American Bandstand lip-syncing the latest singles while popping dance poses. We did have a trio of celebrities, of sorts. The two women and the man fit the spiffy-looking people theme that the couples had established. I learned that they are a two news anchors and a reporter from the local CBS TV affiliate. I apologized for not recognizing them (I don’t watch TV news since it became tabloid news, although I didn’t tell them that). In good nature they said, “We get that response all of the time… probably explains why our ratings are so low.”  About that time, another trio walked in, which included the singer who had a new CD release party at the club the night before, his cute girlfriend, and a trumpet player who performed in the group backing him up. The trumpet player was called up to join the quartet in a version of Miles Davis’ All Blues. A couple songs later, the singer was invited up to sing a few songs and he sounded as good, if not better, as the night before. I was enjoying the music when a man entered the club, looking a little frazzled. “Can I just come in and hear a song or two and have a quick drink? My dog is in the car recuperating from surgery he had yesterday—a tumor removed—and doesn’t want to be left home.” Sure, I said, he’s OK out there? “Yeah, the pain killer won’t wear off for another 20 minutes.” I settled into my post at the door and listened to the alto in a blistering solo while the trumpet player waited his turn, and I set my internal timer at 19 minutes and counting.