Janice would not have been pleased: Ray was moving up in the world of violin performance and, in her view, he had to make his mark in the classical realm, not dabble in jazz. Doing both would mean that Ray had too many irons in the fire.
Nonetheless, in New York City, he always made time for the legendary Birdland Jazz Club, sitting in on the jazz combos—when they’d let him. The first few times were a bit rough—he’d played a jazzy, bluesy minor Dorian mode instead of a major Mixolydian mode—but he hadn’t cared, and the other musicians hadn’t, either. Each session improved, and soon he was jamming with several regular standards under his belt.
New York City, Ray found, had many drawbacks: crowds; an often-confusing and daunting subway system; high prices for food, lodging, travel. But all the drawbacks were worth it, Ray decided as he looked out at Birdland’s audience, glowing in the red candleholders’ dim light: New York City women were, without question, beautiful. Check out the left wall—the tawny-haired woman with the tight dress running her fingers suggestively around her wineglass, or the high-cheekboned Black woman sitting with a pimply faced guy at a table two back from the stage. And those were just the people who leaped out at him—there were dozens more, here and out on the street.
Pity that none of them seemed to want to get to know him beyond buying him a drink between sets, or asking for his autograph outside the stage door, or having a conversation that started with anything other than “How long have you been playing?” The attractive women who seemed to take an interest in him were mostly in the look-but-don’t-touch category, and things almost always stopped at looking: Was it them? Was it him? It was probably him.
He looked the part, but had zero game.
He’d been a loner all his life, with few close friends, and that hadn’t changed much. He’d imagined the musician’s life would be filled with gorgeous women. This might have been the case for huge rock-and-roll stars, but thus far, in Ray’s classical and limited jazz experience, he was more likely to trip over a microphone cord than to have an admiring fan invite him for a drink and slip him her room key.
So after the Birdland performance, when a tall slender woman with an extravagant hairdo approached him, he thought he’d struck gold. She wasn’t really his type: Her hair, curled elaborately, was clipped with barrettes and dazzled with glitter. Her makeup, too, overwhelmed. It looked like someone had loaded a box of crayons into a gun and fired it onto her face. And oh, her outfit! Her white pants looked spray-painted onto her very long, slender legs, and her crop top—about a size and a half too small—was the brightest shade of electric blue that had ever been manufactured. In her yellow-and-white high heels, she towered over him.
But she was smiling at him—really smiling. He could see her back molars. She was seriously into him.
He didn’t even register what she was saying until she touched his arm. “Hey, Ray Ray! You look so good! You look just like your uncle.”
Uncle? Now he was totally confused. “Um, hey. Whattup. How you doing?” It took him a minute to realize that she wasn’t into him, after all—she was into his uncle. Figured.
“Oh, I’m all right. I was visiting my cousin in Newark and I just caught the train over to see you.” She cradled her oversize suede handbag, rocking it back and forth. It was big enough to hold a small rottweiler. “Your uncle said you was playing here tonight. Did I miss it?”
Finally it clicked: this was Uncle Thurston’s girlfriend, LeShawnah. He’d only met her once in person, although she’d been equally resplendent then. “Oh, that’s nice,” he said. “Sorry you missed the show. How’s Uncle Thurston?”
“He’s good,” she said. “You want to grab a drink, catch up?”
He eyed the door. “That would be awesome but I’ve got to get back to the hotel. Early flight tomorrow.”
“Oh,” she said, clearly disappointed. “The thing is, Thurston had told me to come see you since I was so close. I have a little favor to ask.”
Ray waited.
“Thurston said I should ask you for a small loan.”
Ray bit his lip. “Oh, wow. I really don’t have any money to spare. I’m pretty much tapped out. Did he tell you that most of my money goes to him and my other aunts and uncles? And my mom, of course.”
“Yeah, he said you was gonna say something like that. Ray Ray, we know you got money. You know I’m just like your auntie. You gonna hook me up?”