After facing the grim reality of completing her last will and testament earlier, she felt like she owed Mama the courtesy of one last visit before she left the country. It wasn’t like she had any real excuse not to. She didn’t know Orangeburg, New York, or the rest of Rockland County that well, but she’d heard the locals mention that the New Jersey line was just down the road. That meant that they weren’t that far up the Hudson River from Manhattan. “Home” was so close, even if the apartment on West 120th Street hadn’t felt like home in a very long time.
Grace grabbed her overcoat and ran out the door. One thing was for sure: she would definitely miss the bus if she stayed here another moment trying to decide whether she would actually go home. She would just play it by ear once she was back in Harlem.
Chapter 18
Harlem, New York
Later that day
THE SUN WAS just starting to sink between the apartment buildings up the street when Grace arrived at Henry Minton’s place in Harlem. It was much too early for anything to be jumping off in the main room of the club. She went in anyway. Pops the bartender was checking the liquor inventory when she came in.
“Grace Steele! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He put the whiskey bottle in his hand down into the well. “I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays.”
He stepped out from behind the bar with his arms outstretched. Grace put down her overnight bag and hugged him. The apron that hung loosely around his neck reeked of whiskey and scotch. The old Grace would have recoiled from it. But the scent now took her back to nights gone by. She squeezed him tighter.
“The WAC has kept me pretty busy over the last, what, three years.”
Pops stepped back to get a better look at her. “Well, look at you. I see you with your officer’s stripes. Let me guess. A major?”
Grace laughed. “Don’t I wish. No, I’m a captain.”
“Well, ain’t that something. Baby girl came home with some rank. I hope that Army isn’t working those magic fingers too hard. Nobody’s here yet if you want to mess around on the piano.”
“Oh gosh no. I haven’t really had time to practice lately. I was hoping to say hi to the guys and maybe listen in on a jam session later tonight.”
“Oh no, it’s too early for anyone to show up yet. You know those guys won’t get here until it’s good and dark outside. I guarantee most of them haven’t even made it out of bed yet.”
“That’s what I figured. I guess I’ll just head upstairs to the hotel and check in, drop off my stuff. Maybe someone will show up by the time I come back later.”
“You do that. Most of the old gang still work upstairs at the Cecil. Walter. Eugene. Wallace. All of those jokers are too old and broken down for Uncle Sam to draft. Make sure you find them and say hello.”
She nodded her head at the familiar names. “Thanks, Pops. I will.”
Neither Walter nor Eugene was in the lobby. Wallace was at the reception desk, but an irate woman with a fluffy fur cowl around her neck was demanding all his attention. Grace waited a few minutes. But the woman would not let up on her complaints about her cold room and the inferior thread count of her sheets.
Grace picked up her overnight bag with the intent of going back downstairs to wait it out with Pops. That’s when Jonathan Philips came through the door. The sight of him filled her with both a sense of dread and a flicker of mischief. She had wanted to spend tonight not thinking about work or her responsibilities as a military officer, or having to worry about propriety when one’s superiors were in the room. But she was also relieved that it was him and not some other member of the WAC or War Department brass. Jonathan seemed to understand the more impulsive part of her nature, the side of her that needed to cut loose in a jazz bar sometimes to maintain her sanity.
She walked up to him and offered her hand. “Mr. Philips, I’m surprised to find you here. I would have thought the Hotel Theresa would be more your speed.”
“Ah, Captain Steele.” He took her hand with a smile and shook it. “You’re actually acknowledging my presence. In public.”
“I couldn’t find a place to hide fast enough without making a fuss. So I figured I might as well say hi.”
“Has hell frozen over?”
“No, but it looks like Manhattan has,” she quipped.
He chuckled. “Clever.”
She inclined her head. “I prefer to think of my wit as more brilliant than clever. But thank you just the same.”
“Touché. May I?” He reached out for her bag.
“If you must.” She handed it over.
He pumped his arm to test the bag’s weight. “This feels like nothing.”
Her overnight bag wasn’t as heavy as it was cumbersome to hold for more than a few minutes. Army life had quickly taught her the necessity of packing light and efficiently.
“I’m only staying in town for the night. I don’t need much for that.” She shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
“The same as you, I imagine. I was hoping to run into some of the guys at the club before they head south for the night. But it’s obviously too early for that.”
“What do you mean ‘before they head south’?”
“It has been a while since you’ve been home, hasn’t it?”
“Only because someone kept me so busy down in Washington that I could never get a weekend away.” She missed this, the easy banter they had shared. She was glad to see that he wasn’t holding any grudges against her for what she had to do, what he made her do, by going over his head to be here right now.
Jonathan smiled at her, amused. “Yeah, most of the guys you’re used to seeing around here at Minton’s have moved down to Midtown. I’m afraid the more innovative cats are starting to spend less time in Harlem. The better-paying gigs are downtown.”
“Where downtown?”
“Down on East Fifty-Second Street.”
“Where all the songwriter offices are?”
“You mean where they used to be. Now it’s becoming the new hotbed for the bebop sound.”
“Wow. I guess it has been a while since I’ve been home. I had no idea.”
“Well, if you haven’t been down to East Fifty-Second Street before, now is the perfect time to remedy that.”
“I appreciate the offer, but . . .”
“You have other plans. My apologies. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“No, actually, I’m still waiting to check in.” She nodded toward the front desk, where the lady was still giving Wallace an earful. “My bag is clunky enough. Dragging it through some high-end club seems like a bit much.”
“I’m already checked in here at the Cecil. I can take your bag up to my room if you’d like.”
“That sounds like quite the imposition.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Not really. I was going to grab a bite to eat then head downtown anyway.”
Grace still hesitated. “It almost sounds like a date.”
“But it’s not. I’m inviting you to tag along. We are still friends, aren’t we?” He said the last part slowly. A crease formed between his brows.
The question left Grace at a loss for words. “Friends” felt like too small a word for whatever the relationship between them had become. Jonathan had been her annoying knight in shining armor at the beginning. They had become colleagues during their time in D.C. together. So maybe “former coworkers” would be more accurate. That is, if she could completely forget about the one kiss they had shared.
The problem was Grace hadn’t. However, never at any point could she honestly say that Jonathan had been her boyfriend or even her beau.
“Friends,” Grace said finally.
His eyes flashed with understanding. Then he broke out into a wide grin. “Good. I know a guy down on East Fifty-Second who said I’m welcome to bring ‘friends’ to tag along anytime.” He held up his fingers in air quotes.
Grace felt trapped. But it was a trap of her own making. She scrunched her mouth into a scowl. She kn
ew she still had the power to decline his invitation and wait for the furry lady to finish having her say. She could even tuck her tail and try her luck at home with Mama, though she was less than enthusiastic about the confrontation that was sure to await her.
“Fine. I’ll tag along then, ‘friend.’” She held up her own finger quotes, mocking him.
“That’s the spirit. Let me take your bag up to my room. It won’t take but a moment.”
An hour later, Grace found herself enjoying coffee and a plate of macaroni and cheese at the Horn & Hardart on Fifty-Seventh Street and Sixth Avenue.
“Dinner at the automat is the least date-like meal I could think of around here,” Jonathan told her with a smile. “That is, unless you let me splurge another nickel to buy you a slice of pie.”
“Funny. But the last thing I need after all of this is pie.” Grace gestured at her half-eaten meal.
“Let me guess, because you’re watching your figure?”
“Heavens no. With all the marching, running, and crawling around on the ground we’ve been doing in training, my figure is fine. I probably need the extra calories. The truth is that I’m tired of pie. The new pie shop on base at Camp Shanks has been exquisite. But I’ve been eating my fill every day at every meal since we arrived last week.”
Grace took a sip of her coffee. It was more bitter than she preferred, given that sugar was not as accessible to civilian establishments as it was within the Army mess, but still delicious. She had read once that the H&H automats served a type of coffee that was more common in New Orleans than in New York. She welcomed the strong taste after blurting out a mouthful about pie.
“Is that so? Looks like I’ll have to try some myself the next time I’m up there.” Jonathan checked his watch. “It’s still a little early to hit the clubs. I was hoping to kill a little more time by tempting you with pie. Since that didn’t work, might I interest you in a movie instead?”
Grace lifted an eyebrow. “A movie sounds like we’re treading pretty close to ‘on a date’ territory. I insist on paying for my own ticket.”
“Letting you do that would go against all of the good breeding my mother drilled into me as a boy.” Grace began to protest but Jonathan held up his hand. “But in this case, I’ll allow it.”
Grace leaned back in her seat. “Why do I think you’re toying with me?”
“Oh, I’m not. It’s just that I plan on splurging for the cab that we’ll be taking to the theater.”
“Splurging for a cab is definitely ‘on a date’ behavior.”
“Not when the theater is seven blocks away and there’s three or four inches of snow on the ground, it isn’t. In this case, taking a cab is just good sense.”
Remembering the frigid tunnel breeze that had assaulted them as they had waited for the subway to go downtown, Grace pulled the edges of her jacket around her and mock shivered. “I can’t argue with your logic. But I’ll have you know that I have my eye on you, Mr. Philips. Don’t think I forgot how slick you can be.”
“Duly noted.” Jonathan pushed his chair back from the table. “And on that note, I’m going to get myself, and myself only, a slice of pie.”
“Just a movie” wound up being a picture show at Radio City Music Hall. A Song to Remember was the feature presentation of the night. She would have been justified in putting up a protest about this particular outing being too extravagant, but the storied theater soon had her enchanted with its luxurious lobby and plush seating. And all of her “not a date” concerns faded away once the motion picture started. It turned out that the story was about the famed pianist Frédéric Chopin’s life as a child prodigy and his role in the Polish resistance. It might as well have been her life playing out up on the screen, aside from the European setting. The scene where Chopin played Moonlight Sonata at a concert hit her right in the gut. Her brother, Tony, had often asked her to play it for him.
Grace was in tears alongside the protagonist on the screen.
Jonathan took her hand and squeezed it. “Are you all right?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” She was anything but fine. Without another word, Jonathan fished a cloth handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. Embarrassed, she accepted it.
“We can get out of here if you like.”
“No. I’d like to see the rest of the film.”
After the film ended, Jonathan took Grace to a nearby coffee shop. Grace fiddled with her cup at first. She didn’t have much to say because she was so embarrassed by her emotional display back in the theater.
“I apologize for suggesting the movies. You said you didn’t want to go, but I made you go anyway. I thought a story about a famous pianist would be a safe bet.”
“There was no way either one of us could have known that a story about Chopin would leave me in tears. I’m the one who should be apologizing. You were trying to show me a nice time on my last night in the city. And what do I do? Start blubbering all over the place. And then your handkerchief . . . I’m so embarrassed. Forgive me?”
“Only if you forgive me.”
She smiled at him. “There’s nothing to be forgiven for.”
“Well, there you have it.” He held out his hand to her. “Friends again?”
She took his hand into her own and shook it. “Friends. And I’ll mail the handkerchief back to you after I wash it.”
Jonathan waved his hand. “Keep it. Consider it as a memento of this night.”
Grace swallowed a sip of her coffee. “Ha! I think tonight is the last thing I’d like to remember.”
Jonathan leaned back, palming his chest. “You wound me, Grace.”
“No, that’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Grace thought about it for a moment. “I did enjoy the movie. It was just . . . that song. It was my brother’s favorite.”
“Was?” Jonathan asked the question carefully. He looked up from his own coffee cup.
Grace bit her lip, then sighed. “He was killed early in the war. The Philippines.”
“Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry.” Jonathan’s eyes softened with understanding. He opened his mouth as if to say more, then shut it just as quickly. Thankfully, he was one of the few people she didn’t have to explain the horrors of the Philippines campaign to.
“Tony was my biggest fan. With him gone . . . it’s why I don’t play anymore.”
“Damn. That was the last movie I should have taken you to.”
She waved her hand at him. “It’s all right. I’ve come to realize that the longer I’m in the military, the more that it fulfills my desire for the structure and order I used to enjoy while I was playing. But all without the pressures and heartbreak.”
“That night I first met you, when you had the panic attack . . . is that the reason you stopped performing?”
“They had notified us about Tony the night before. My Juilliard audition was that morning. I blew it, obviously.” She huffed a laugh to herself. “Mama had her heart set on my going to Juilliard. All so I could become a big-time concert pianist. But for me, that wasn’t necessarily my dream. Tony was the one who introduced me to jazz. That night you met me, let’s just say I realized that jazz was my musical heart, not classical. And the person who had given me jazz was gone.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what was your dream?”
She held up her coffee cup as if about to sip from it. She smiled at him mysteriously from behind it. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ve moved on to other things, more realistic things like the WAC.”
“You forget that I’ve seen you play. That night at Minton’s, I saw the look on your face once you dropped all your pretenses, when you really let go. Now that I think about it, you were making it up as you went along, weren’t you? You looked like you were in another world. I’ve never seen you look so . . . ecstatic.”
Grace smiled at Jonathan’s description of her. She wished he didn’t know her so well. “Fine, you win. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life until Tony introduced me to
the guys at Minton’s. The music they were creating blew my mind. They were making up a new sound in those after-hours jam sessions. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to make music like that too. But Mama had a fit whenever I started to play in a style other than classical or hymns. That’s when Tony started sneaking me out of the house after our parents were asleep to go down to the old Rhythm Club.”
Grace finished the rest of her cup. By the time she put it back down on the table, she felt lighter. Finally sharing her story with Jonathan was liberating.
“Ready to go?”
“Yes.”
Jonathan pushed back from the table and stood, walking around it to help Grace to her feet, then with her coat. When they emerged back outside, ol’ Jack Frost was there to greet them. Grace shivered. She pulled her lapels closer around her neck.
“The Rhythm Club?” Jonathan started, returning to where their conversation had left off. “I’ve heard of it. That’s over by the Lafayette Theatre.”
Grace nodded. “That’s the one. Down there, I soaked up anything they were willing to teach me. Henry Minton was the house manager there. When he opened up his own place back in ’38, all the guys started hanging out down there instead.”
“I heard the musicians union didn’t hassle them as much at Minton’s. That’s why they all flocked there. With old Henry being a union rep and all.”
“Yeah, the union . . .” Grace became quiet for a moment. She looked off into the distance up Seventh Avenue.
“What about the union?”
“I could’ve gotten a union card, but Mama wouldn’t allow it. I was still too young then to join on my own. She didn’t trust the unions after the Pullman porters organized. She had been a Pullman maid, but they fired her on the spot once they found out she had been passing union messages before they were recognized. That’s why she took up sewing, to help pay the bills and for my music lessons. All that sewing is why her hands”—she held up her hands, her fingers rounded like claws—“are starting to look like this. They aren’t as nimble as they used to be. And she continues to pretend that they are, despite the pain it causes her. Tony joined the Army to pick up the slack when money got tighter.”
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