Eronel

I’m busy as a bus. Ten hours on the telephone, research resources, school staff, counsel clients. Some sleep. Then invite Lorraine downtown, the lovely loyal secretary, to hear jammin jazz crew. By taxi tonight, sans subway. I’ve never been to this joint before but admire the women in their dresses and makeup. In New York, they smell wild. Elsewhere women are ranchers and gardeners. We find a small table in the crowd, order drinks. The band is four young black men. Lorraine is black too, by the by. We get up to dance and I leave my cowboy boots under the table. I’ve always enjoyed the way Lorraine puts her arms around me. I’m the oldest cat in the club which is frightening since just fifteen years ago I was the youngest. I wink at the trumpet player with my fairly abandoned mien who comes over to our table between sets. He likes Lorraine. They jukebox it. She falls in love.