by Ames Sheldon
“Lucky you! You must get to hear fabulous bands there.”
“It’s a great perk. Of course, the hotel doesn’t pay much, and they can get away with that because staff like me just want to hear the music while earning a few bucks.”
He looks away when she straightens the shoulder of her dress so it covers the strap of her brassiere.
After she’s done adjusting her attire, he says, “What about you? Have you been singing all your life?”
“I started singing solos in the church choir when I was a girl. But I’ve got to go powder my nose now. Let’s talk after the show.”
When she returns, she moves sinuously among the music stands and chairs on the stage to take her place in front. They have a super set. The band gets even tighter, tossing the melody back and forth like a ball, improvising inventively, fingers flying, thrilling the audience. At the second break, he finds the restroom, and then he is still so excited that he paces up and down the hall. When he gets back to the stage, he sees Dorie sitting cross-legged on her stool, gazing into the distance, energetically jiggling her foot back and forth. He wonders what she’s thinking about.
The last set is even better. When the band finally stops playing, he’s drenched in sweat. He pulls out a handkerchief to wipe off his face. Then he notices that her face is shiny too, so he hands her his hanky. Once she has finished using it, she tucks it away in her purse. After everyone has packed up their gear, the guys leave while Nat and Dorie move to a table.
She fiddles with a lock of curled platinum blonde hair near her temple. “Aren’t you a little old to go to school?”
“I started late, and I’ve had to work to pay my way, so it’s taken a while, but the end’s in sight. I’ll get my bachelor’s degree in December.”
“What’s the point of school when you’ve got so much talent for music?”
“I wanted to study music theory and music history, and then I got interested in biology. One of my professors wants me to apply to medical school.”
“That’s fascinating,” she says pensively. “You want to become a doctor?”
“No, I want to make my living as a musician, but I realize that might not be easy.”
“You can say that again! It’s taken me three years of singing in bars around here to land a gig like this. But I have plans.”
“You have such a fine voice, you could sing anywhere.”
“You’re nice, Nathaniel.” She pauses. “Nathaniel’s too formal. I’m going to call you Nate.”
“Whatever you like.” He’s pleased that she has her own name for him.
She asks, “Where do you live?”
“I have a little efficiency in Dinkytown. Isn’t that the silliest name?”
“Of course, you live near the university.”
“I really like the way your dress cups your hips.” He blushes again.
Leaning forward to place her hand on his arm, she says, “You’re cute, Nate.”
“Ah … no one’s ever said that to me before.”
“You are. You’ve got a good haircut and that’s a class suit you’re wearing.”
“It’s the only one I own.”
Shaking her head with what appears to be wonder, she says, “I’ve never met anyone who talks like you.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that. “Tell me about your plans.”
She looks at the dainty wristwatch on her arm. “Some other time. I should be getting home. I need my beauty sleep, don’t cha know.”
He’s startled, remembering that Emma, the one girlfriend he had for a couple of months, used to say “Don’t you know.” Is this an auspicious sign? Taking a deep breath, he asks, “May I see you home?”
“That would be swell.”
“I’ll get us a cab.”
It turns out that she lives only five minutes away. When they reach her apartment building, he gets out behind her and walks her to the front door. Grabbing her hand, he says, “I’ll be thinking about you.” He can’t possibly kiss her so soon, especially not with the cabbie sitting there. As he releases her hand, he exclaims, “I don’t even know your last name!”
She smiles. “It’s Larson. Good night, Nate.”
The next night near the end of the first set, Dorie asks the group to play “The Way You Look Tonight.” She moves over to the side of the stage, holding the microphone to her lips, and as she sings, she watches Nat with such a beseeching look and her voice reveals such longing that when the song ends, there’s a hush. It takes several seconds for the audience to pull themselves together before they explode with applause.
At the end of the show, he offers to walk her home. His heart is beating fast. “I hope you don’t mind walking. I can’t afford a cab every night, and you live close by.”
“That’s fine,” she says.
Outside, she takes his arm. He can’t think of anything to say because he’s thinking about kissing her. When they reach her door and turn to each other, he leans forward and gives her a quick peck on the mouth. This isn’t the first time he has kissed a girl, but it’s the first time he’s kissed a woman.
She doesn’t seem offended, but she does look a little surprised—at being kissed or because it was such a quick one?
Awkwardly, he says, “Well, good night.”
She smiles. “See you soon.”
Two weeks later Nat is startled one evening when Dorie appears at the Flame Room while he’s working. Wearing a sparkly dress and heels, she takes a seat at one of the small tables in the corner. He hurries over to her.
He grins. “What would you like to order, ma’am?”
She puts her gloved hands on the table and adopts a demure air. “I’d like a gin and tonic, please, kind sir.”
When he returns with her drink, she says, “Can you sit down a minute?”
“The maître d’ would frown if I did.”
She shoves out her lower lip. “How long can we go on like this?” She sighs.
“What do you mean?” He’s having a wonderful time making music with her and the Aces, dreaming about her at night.
“We never spend any time alone together. This is hard on me.” She blinks rapidly.
Is she going to cry? He doesn’t want her to cry—not here—not while he’s working, because he wouldn’t be able to do anything to comfort her.
“I just need to be with you, Nate.”
What is she asking for? He’s happy the way things are. He walks her home every night after their gigs, and their good night kisses are getting longer and deeper. “I don’t have a lot of free time right now. We do our job with the Aces on the weekends, and I work here every night during the week. I’m at school all day.”
“Can’t you take some afternoon off? I get done waitressing at Peter’s Grill at three.”
“The afternoons I’m not in class, I work as a lab assistant for Dr. Schmitt.”
“What about Sunday? You aren’t at school on Sundays, are you?”
“That’s the one day I have for studying and doing my laundry and buying groceries and taking care of things.”
“I could help you do laundry and get groceries, and I’m a good cook.”
“Okay, how about you come over to my place around three on Sunday?”
“It’s a date,” she replies, upending her glass.
Bowing, he retreats.
When Dorie arrives at his door Sunday afternoon, she has a package in her hand, which she thrusts at him. He pulls out a bag of peanuts and a bottle of Four Roses whiskey. Putting them down on a nearby table, he draws her into his arms. She is so petite that he feels quite manly as he envelops her. It feels so good to hold a girl again. This reminds him how much he enjoyed dancing with Emma. He should write a song about the dances at the girls’ school. He could call it “Friday Night at Abbot.”
He removes her coat. She’s wearing a yellow dress with white buttons down the front. He puts his arms back around her.
“Your hair is like the color of gold.”
“Thanks.” She leans back as if to see him more fully. “I don’t know what kind of whiskey you like.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He kisses her hard, and as the kiss continues, he eases up a little.
She sags against him. “So sweet,” she moans.
When he pulls away, he’s breathing like a racehorse that’s just finished the course. “You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you,” she replies, running her finger down his cheek.
“I think about you a lot,” he admits.
“You’re always on my mind,” she says.
“Shall we sit down?”
“I’d like a drink,” she says.
She follows him into his tiny kitchen area and watches him put ice in two short glasses he’d bought at the five and dime store. As he pours a couple of fingers of Four Roses into each glass, she says, “Just a splash of water in mine.”
When she sits on the bed, which is covered with a piece of fabric to make it seem more like a couch, he moves over to his record player. Taking a record out of its cover and sleeve, he places the disc on the turntable; then he delicately drops the tone arm down. The sound of stringed instruments fills the room.
“Nice sound,” she says.
He sits next to her. After the first cut, he asks, “What did you think?”
“I thought the solo went on a little too long.”
“Really? I thought the sax solo was the best part.”
“Actually, Nate, I prefer ballads.”
“I thought you’d like this album because most of the tunes originally included vocals, so they’re songs you must be familiar with.”
“What is this album?”
“It’s Parker with Strings. You know Charlie Parker’s music?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Charlie Parker is the most amazing musician I’ve ever heard. He’s created a whole new kind of jazz, improvising over the chord changes around the melody. His flatted fifths and his speed and his ideas—he has such great ideas, he knocks me out!”
“The tune you just played was too speedy. It made me nervous.” She kicks off her high heels.
“My sister says bebop is too fast for her too. You prefer swing?”
“Of course.”
“Who are some of your favorite singers?”
“Billie Holliday and Bessie Smith. But enough chatter.”
She moves her hand to the back of his neck and starts massaging the muscles there. He strokes the top of her thigh as they listen to the Charlie Parker album for a few more minutes. When Parker plays “April in Paris,” she hums along. “I love that tune,” she says. “Have you ever heard Billie Holiday sing ‘April in Paris’?”
“Sure, but I’d like to hear you sing it.”
She stands up. “Why don’t you play too?”
He opens his case and pulls out his alto sax. He wets his reed, inserts it into the mouthpiece, and readjusts it. They start playing together. When she sings the line “What have you done to my heart,” she reaches her arm out to him invitingly. He fumbles the next few notes but then recovers. They sound pretty darn good.
Suddenly he can see himself leading his own band with her alongside. This is my dream—it’s coming true at last! He says, “We should work that up for the Aces.”
“Yes, let’s,” she agrees. “A little later.” She takes his saxophone away from him and places it back in its case. As she hums “I’m in the Mood for Love,” she draws him back to the sofa bed. Sliding her arms around his shoulders, she kisses him softly and then with greater and greater intensity. Eventually, she pulls him over so they are lying next to each other. And after a while she repositions herself in such a way that he is lying on top of her. Mr. Snake is fully aroused, pressing down on her.
“Whoa,” he says, scared he’s going to lose control. He’s never gone this far with a girl before. He rolls off her and sits up. He’d better buy some rubbers before next Sunday. He reaches for the package of Kent cigarettes in his breast pocket, places it on the table holding their drinks, and lights up.
Resuming her seat, she pulls her skirt down to cover her knees. “Boy, that was nice!”
Exhaling, he says, “I almost got carried away there.” He crosses one leg over the other.
“That would be all right with me.”
He clears his throat. “Would you like a cigarette? I’ve got this new brand.”
“No thanks. The only time I tried a cigarette it hurt my throat and made me cough. My voice is the best thing I have going for me—I don’t want to wreck it.”
“You have a lot going for you, Dorie.”
“Not really. My mother always told me that looks don’t last.”
“You haven’t mentioned your mother before. Where does she live?”
“In Glendale, out in western Minnesota.”
“Do you see her often?”
“I take the bus out sometimes when I’m between gigs. I send her money every week, though.”
“Good for you.”
“I have to. Mom’s sick. She needs whatever I can do for her.”
Touched by what a loving daughter she is, he crushes out his cigarette and turns to put his arms around her. “You’re wonderful,” he says, hugging her. “I’m so glad the Aces decided to add a vocalist. We’ve had to expand our repertoire, and that’s been a little tough, but it’s paying off. Our crowds get larger every week.”
“Audiences like vocal music. It’s easier to follow. Unlike your Charlie Parker.”
From then on they spend every Sunday afternoon alone at his place together.
By early December, Nat asks Dorie to come east with him to meet his family. They’ll leave on December 21, the day after his commencement ceremony.
“I’d love to see New York! But what should I wear?” she cries.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re so beautiful that’s all they’ll see.”
“I don’t want to embarrass myself by showing up in the wrong clothes. Please come to Dayton’s with me.”
“I don’t know anything about women’s clothing.”
“I bet you do.”
When she emerges from the dressing room in one outfit after another, he’s surprised to discover that he does have a pretty good idea which ensemble his sister would wear and which she wouldn’t. He helps her pay for a few new things, using some of the money his mother sent him to fund his travel home.
The next Sunday afternoon as they sit on his couch, she plies him with questions about his family. She seems nervous but excited by the prospect of meeting them.
“Usually I get along with older men, but your father sounds scary.”
He takes her hand. “Don’t worry about him. I’m sure you’ll charm everyone. Abba will love you—she’s my musical grandmother. And I really want you to meet Peter, my best friend. He lives in New York City now. I hope we can see him while we’re there.”
When Nat and Dorie enter the Café de la Paix at St. Moritz on the Park in Manhattan, the restaurant where Peter suggested they meet for dinner, he feels proud to have her on his arm. She’s wearing a new black suit and a perky yellow hat that’s perched on top of her head. He noticed all sorts of men giving her a second look as they walked along Sixth Avenue on their way here.
Scanning the room, he spots Peter waving from a table in the corner. Peter stands as they approach. He looks very snappy in a navy blue pinstripe suit, and he’s taller and thinner than he was at Andover.
The men shake hands and then Nat turns to her. “Dorie, this is Peter Chase, my roommate at Andover. Peter, this is Dorie Larson, the greatest jazz singer in the Twin Cities.”
“Nice to meet you, Peter,” she purrs. “Nate never mentioned how handsome you are.” She bats her eyelashes at Peter. His eyes are on Nat.
Nat pulls out a chair for her, and then he takes the place between them.
Turning to his former roommate, Nat grins. “You look awfully spiffy, Peter! It’s been way too long since we’ve se
en each other. You must have grown six inches since June ’46.”
Peter’s thick brown hair is longer than most men wear, and he’s sporting a surprisingly colorful tie with his white shirt and sober suit. He says, “You’re skin and bones, Nat, but I can see you’re happy now that you have a regular job playing jazz.”
“I am happy. We’re making hot music these days.” He glances over at Dorie, who has picked up the menu on the plate in front of her. He turns back to his friend. “Your letters over the years have meant the world to me, Peter. You know me so well.” So well that after he made it clear at Andover that he wasn’t interested in anything physical with Peter, they actually grew even closer.
“We went through a lot together at school. There’s nothing quite like that bond.”
“We amuse each other,” Nat says. He tells Dorie, “Peter’s the cartoonist I told you about. He’s the one who came up with a cartoon character named Sammy Phillips, a typical Andover student except that he wore a necktie for a belt.”
Peter laughs. “Using a necktie for a belt was actually your idea, Nat.”
“Really? I don’t remember that.”
Peter looks over to her. “Sammy Phillips was a slob, Dorie. He was a way for me to comment on the pretensions of Andover students.”
She gazes at Peter with a blank look on her face.
Nat asks, “Are you still creating cartoons?”
“Not anymore. I took classes in figure construction and painting and composition at Cornell, and I really enjoyed learning more about drawing figures but found I have no aptitude for captions. Once I figured that out, I decided I’d better get serious about something that would land me a job.”
“You were really talented!” Nat says. “I thought you’d be famous someday.”
“I wasn’t good enough,” Peter replies.
“You would be if you kept at it.”
“I don’t think so. It was fun to draw cartoons when I was a kid, but I have to make a living now.”
A waiter in a white shirt and black trousers appears to take their drink orders. Peter orders a Manhattan. Nat and Dorie ask for the same.
“When in Rome …” Nat remarks.