They certainly understand your desire to see the place. There are streetcars (horse-drawn still) running out and back that way every hour of the day, although they stop around the time the lamps get lit and don't start again until dawn, but since this is an afternoon audition there shouldn't be any problem getting you out and back again.
"Massa Young" is welcome to play at their club any time he likes, but they can't afford to pay him regular what he gets downtown here, so he probably won't want to come. Still, he's a known innovator, quite respected for a white boy, and he knows how to make everyone else sound good too. Any time he wants to play out there and can get the night off from his regular spot, they'd be glad to have him.
If you take the job as drummer, it's with the understanding that you get to stay as long as everyone can play well together--in both senses of the words. If some kind of personality conflict develops, the other members will have to decide how to resolve it. You're free to leave whenever you want, but they hope you'll give them notice so they can try to find another drummer. If you just don't show for a few nights and they don't get any word of what's happening, they'll have to replace you, and if they do replace you they can't just toss out the other guy. On the other hand, if you need a few days for something once in a while, and you let them know in advance, they'll bring in someone to cover for you and have your job waiting for you when you come back. You don't get paid vacations, though--your money goes to the other guy.
The club owner pays the band to be there. The band leader has an arrangement with him, but nothing on paper. You're getting the same pay as the other members, but there's a little extra in the budget to cover expenses like sheet music and stuff when Buddy thinks it's needed. Buddy is the clarinet player and band leader; he couldn't very well be replaced by Mark, but he could sit out a set here and there to give the sax man a guest slot.
And the band does hope to get a downtown job eventually. They would of course want their parting to be amicable, particularly in case they have to come back to the sticks eventually.
Mark offers to cover the expense of a drum kit. He says it will take a couple days, but if you'll go out with him tomorrow afternoon he'll get the ball rolling on that.
It's an hour by trolley; Mark doesn't go along because he doesn't want to risk not being back in time. Buddy moves to the rear when he boards, but there are only a few white folk up front and plenty of seats--no clear line dividing where anyone needs to be.
At first the look of the club, from the outside, is not promising. You're in a neighborhood of three-story row homes, but the entrance is down a flight of stairs--a basement door half below street level. It has a peep door in it around eye level, but Buddy has a key--so that the band can practice in the afternoons. He gave them the day off today, because he knew he was going to the audition. Stepping through the door, he tells you to watch your step; it's dark, the windows boarded up, and smells of stale tobacco and alcohol, but also of fried and spicy food.
In a moment the lights come on; Buddy has found the switch. It is still dark, but in a warm cozy sort of way. Wire tables with matching chairs for two or four are scattered on throw rugs on the cement floor, candles unlit on each table, a few electric lights scattered around on the walls. It appears that the basements of three or four consecutive houses have been connected, the stairs removed and floored over. The stage is raised at the far end, the only staircase leading up near it to a closed door. Buddy comments that that's the emergency exit through the kitchen. There is a dance floor, wooden flooring overlaying the cement, inlaid patterns of lighter and darker boards sanded and polished, in front of the stage, but the sense of the place is more of a relaxed dining room for couples and double-dates. The beams of the overhead flooring are visible, and you have to duck to avoid hitting your head particularly when you're standing on the stage, but since you'll be sitting to play that shouldn't be so much of a problem for you.
--M. J. Young
"So," Buddy says, "what do you think of the place? You in?"
--M. J. Young
"I like the look of the joint. It has a real "jazz" feel to it. Not like some of those snooty, pseudo-jazz places in the east or even in Chicago for that matter. I have a strong feeling that some really great music is going to be made here. Yeah, I'm in."
I'm standing in the dim light cautiously eying what I have been told is an "emergency exit." I'm hoping that no one notices where my attention is fixated but I can't help wondering what kind of an emergency would necessitate having its own exit. Perhaps the same kind as might necessitate this as I find my hand patting my waistband where I have my .357 Mag. hidden from view. I hope not. Just being paranoid I suppose. After all, I'm just a drummer. If I mind my own business and play well I won't need either a gun or an emergency exit.
Speaking of drums I ask if there are any pawn shops in the area. I don't have any money just yet but I do have the gun. Perhaps I can barter an exchange for a good set of used traps and then at a later time buy back the gun. Something tells me that in this city guns are plentiful and not hard to get a hold of.
"Ok Buddy. When do I start?"
Note: Hope I'm not increasing your workload by re-entering the game. It seems to me as if you could use a nice, quite and respectful player to manage.
(Insert appropriate emoticon here. Welcome back; I'm pleased to see you.)
"I gave the guys off this affanoon, but said we'd do double day affa tomorrow. You can watch tonight or tomorra night if you lahk, and I can put in a word with the management that you're our new drummer so they'll feed you, but there's no trolley downtown 'til six in the morning and the club starts throwing people out 'round four. I'll want you at rehearsal tomorrow afternoon, early, one o'clock, and we'll rehearse until five with a couple of breaks so you get the feel of everything, and then you'll start tomorrow night at seven. We play sets until three, and there's a closet in which you can keep your traps if you want. Don't worry about a set for tomorrow; I trust Massa Young, an' if he says he'll cover a trap set for you, he got it covered. Ah think he's really some rich white boy, as he allus has money when he need it; but he neveh ax like a rich brat an' he neveh even really ax white--no offense to yehself--so no one eveh says nothin' 'bout his money."
He shows you up the stairs. They lead from alongside the stage up behind them through a trap door which apparently is kept open during the night (providing ventilation to some degree) into a large but crowded kitchen that smells of Creole cooking. There is an adjoining room stripped down at the moment which apparently is where they mix the drinks; he doesn't mention where they store the alcohol during the day. From the kitchen, there are three exits, one to the front, one to the rear, and one out into the alley at the end of the block.
If you're satisfied, you can catch the trolley back downtown before dark.
--M. J. Young
The spicy Creole smells remind me that I haven't eaten since morning. I make a mental note to be friendly to the kitchen staff as this could be useful. I make another note that yes, I haven't seen any liquor in the establishment. Very unusual for a place whose clientele demand more then just hot music. I won't inquire about it now. None of my business but I will keep an eye on how the place operates.
I'm also eyeing the three exits. Emergency exit? Three exits off the kitchen? No booze in sight? Instinct tells me something is not quite right but hey! The place I'm sure operated well long before I got here and will probably continue to do so long after I'm gone. Besides, it's a job doing something I like and I'm damn good at. No brag, just fact.
I tell Buddy if it's all right I'd kinda like to hang out for awhile. Get a feel for the place and catch the show tonight. I also ask if maybe I could be locked in after closing time. Catch a few Z's and be ready for rehearsal at 1. If this is fine maybe I'll push my luck and ask where I can wash up after rehearsal and before the show tomorrow night. I also have concerns about clothing for tomorrow night. I want to look spiffy and make an impression. That and getting the drums that I'm being covered for down to this location.
Many questions still. Things are happening fast but I'm sure they'll be answered. I feel confident about things and I'm looking forward to getting down with it.
I hope you like spicy food, because the jumbalaya could cut paint. So, indeed, could the whiskey that almost magically appears once the place starts hopping. The bass player recommends you stick with the rum, as that comes in on boats from the islands, and the whiskey is generally brewed somewhere out in the bayou, and you don't want to ask about the gin. All of it is strong and bad-tasting, but they have a variety of juices with which to cut it. "They call these 'cocktails'," one of the others says. "It's a way to get the foul-tasting alcohol past the tastebuds where it can do its job. They use code names--'Bloody Mary', 'Tom Collins', so that if they're overheard they won't be ordering alcohol. What's your pleasure?"
Buddy says it's not up to him, but he'll ask the owner. He introduces you to a young white man in a pin-striped suit who says you should call him 'Manny'. When he hears what it is you want, he draws Buddy off to the side and converses in stage whispers that are too loud.
"What do you really know about this guy, Buddy? I mean, how do I know he's not with the revenours, spying out the place for a bust?"
"Josephs vouched for him, Manny. You know Josephs; he's got a solid rep."
"Yeah, I know about Josephs, but I'm not sure I trust him, either. I mean, the man is tee-total, but doesn't even drink tea. I know the players all like him, but I don't know that he's not working for the revenours himself."
"Never thought of that, Manny. But then, there's a sense in which Josephs is just too honest to be a government agent, you know? I think if he was, he'd'a told someone by now."
"Yeah, maybe. Well, he'll have to sleep in the restaurant. I don't want him upstairs when my people aren't watching, at least not before I get to know him better. Good?"
"I'm sure that's all he wants, Manny. Thanks."
Buddy then comes to you and motions for you to follow him out of this upstairs office back through the kitchen. "It's good. Don't wander upstairs until they reopen the kitchen. There's an outhouse out back, and I'll make sure you've got a pitcher of fresh water for the night."
Incidentally, that room off the kitchen has been transformed into the bar--no counter service, but plenty of bottles and a few casks and kegs that seem to have come from nowhere, and three guys mixing the drinks to send out to the customers at the tables.
--M. J. Young