Tannehill and Vera arrived reached The Tritone at the very jazz-reasonable hour of midnight. They descended to the entrance ten steps below street level in an alley dotted with numerous broken cobblestones. Tannehill wore the same suit he'd been wearing for the last two days. Vera's pencil was replaced with a modest hairpin. She wore short-heeled monk straps with a slender black dress. The shoes were mildly scuffed and there was no noticeable wear on the heels, while the dress had been rehemmed. In the darkness of a jazz club, though, neither would draw attention. The puffiness under her eyes disappeared with the excitement of a new adventure and her eyes shone radiantly even in the late evening, further pulling potential gazes away from her second-hand ensemble.
The pair were simultaneously assaulted by flat notes from the brass section and a waitress slinging gin-heavy martinis upon arrival. They accepted the waitress's proposal and sat shoulder to shoulder with other patrons at a table for two identical to every other set up in the room.
15 minutes after their arrival, mumble, mumble "...we're going to take a short break." The crowd clapped enthusiastically with a few loud, high-pitched whistles scattered among the room. In front of the stage, a solitary figure stood up, clapping enthusiastically, her eyes following the band off stage.
Vera nudged Tannehill in the ribs "silhouette look familiar?" Tannehill nodded. The klieg lights at the front of the stage illuminated enough of the figure that both of them could make out a statuesque blonde with shoulder-length hair curling gently at the ends. She was dressed in a form-fitting emerald taffeta dress and her head continued to follow the arc of the band as they headed for the bar. Once they alighted, she headed stage right along with numerous other women in the room.
"I'm going to powder my nose." Vera followed the woman into the ladies' room.
She jostled her way to a sink adjacent to the blonde and began poking at the remnants of the puffiness under her eyes. "Some set, huh?"
The blonde responded. "Yes, certainly. I like the group quite a bit. I'm happy they're playing more extravagant parts for a guitar than just a simple four-to-the-beat rhythm progression." Her accent had a clipped pronunciation Vera couldn't place.
"Have you heard of Django Reinhardt? What he can do with a guitar is simply amazing."
"I've actually seen Django play in Paris." She smiled warmly, "he's not bad for a two-fingered gypsy." She winked at this last phrase and extended a hand. "Most of the people I meet around here are casual fans out for a fun evening, but you seem to be a bit more involved, Miss...?"
"Oh,Vera. You can just call me Vera" Vera returned a hand and the two shook. "It's no mystery. I had access to a piano when I was younger and I loved working through ragtime pieces. I've been hooked ever since."
"Yes, the music and the people who make it have such a..." the blonde paused for a searching second, "...passion. Don't you think?"
"Certainly. The history of the music is amazing too. It helps color the backstory of the pieces."
"Yes," the blonde winked again, "color. Exactly." Vera was beginning to wonder if her counterpart had a facial twitch.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name and I don't want to let an opportunity to make the acquaintance of a fellow aficionado pass by."
The blonde put a hand to her breast. "No, I'm sorry, the fault is all mine. Where are my manners? I'm Emily. Emily Brunner."
"Nice to meet you. Hope to see you again soon" Vera turned to walk away.
Emily placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, "if you don't mind me asking, where are you sitting?"
"At the back with a friend of mine who has no clue about anything going on here."
"I'd be delighted if you and your friend would sit upfront with me. I'm by myself and can easily find another chair for a third."
Vera shrugged nonchalantly, keenly aware that her plans for the evening had gone from soaking her feet in Epsom salts to sitting stage-side at one of the most popular clubs in the city. "Certainly. We'll meet you in a few minutes."
She walked back to a waiting Tannehill. "I'm pretty sure the dame in the ladies' is your girl. What's her name?"
"Emi--"
"It's her. She invited us up to her table for the rest of the show." She extended the crook of her elbow. "Shall we?" Tannehill threaded his arm through hers and pushed his way into the crowd. Two minutes later they were facing a seated, smiling Emily Brunner. Tannehill noticed her eyes widen a bit when his face appeared in the klieg lights.
"Welcome, Vera and friend." She patted the seated nearest to her and motioned for Vera to sit. Tannehill followed after and sat next to Vera.
"So, I hear from Vera that you don't know much about modern music?"
"Modern, ancient, I don't know much about either genre."
"Well then, this will be a treat to guide you through. Jazz is quite a complex form."
"Huh," Tannehill leaned back a bit. He gazed at her quizzically. "You're not originally from Capital City, are you?"
"Quite perceptive even in this," she circled a bored hand around the room, "commotion. But, no, I'm not. My mother is English and my father is German. I've spent significant time in both locations before settling in the US."
English and German. Emily and Brunner. It fit. "Well, pleasure to meet such an eclectic world traveler. I look forward to learning a bit more about at least one mode of music." At this Vera patted his arm playfully and shushed him as the musicians took the stage again.
For the next hour, Emily graciously and enthusiastically explained the broader points of jazz - the use of syncopation, the role each of the players in the ensemble had, the spirit of innovation that captured the genre. At 1:30 AM, with the band still showing no sign of slowing down, Vera leaned between the two of them.
"My apologies, but I need to work an early shift in the morning and it's a loooong way back home."
Tannehill leaned in to respond, "I suppose it would be impolite of me to allow the lady to travel home unaccompanied."
"Certainly. I understand. Thank you both for being gracious guests at my table. If it's not too forward, please accept cab fare from me for keeping you past your appointed hour."
"Thanks very much," Vera extended her hand to receive the gift, "it will make the ride home much easier."
"Well, then, I certainly do hope to see you both again soon. Goodnight Vera. Goodnight CH." Emily turned toward the band again, smiled, and nodded in time to the music.
Vera grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him through the still-packed room, annoyed at his glances back toward Emily that impeded their egress. "What?"
"I never told her my name."
[Author's Note: Today's edition is 1182 words for a running total of 12155. I laid off some of the finer points of jazz in order to overwhelm the reader too much. And if you're interested in how I had any idea about what type of footwear Vera would be likely to don, check out this article. I originally wanted her to wear flats, but, at least according to article, that would be anachronistic.]
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