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Jazz

Date: 12/9/2015, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: Sisyphus, Rating: 5, Source: LushStories

looked like a gypsy, especially with the dangling earrings. Gabe picked me up in his VW bus right at eight and we headed for his house. His dad was reading the paper when we arrived. “Gabe says you’re a pretty good jazz singer,” he said, a nice smile on his face. He looked like an older version of Gabe except he had a mustache and goatee with flecks of gray. He shook my hand and told me his name was Peter. He asked if I wanted a coke or something, which I didn’t, and then we went into the living room. He had a baby grand piano and said, “Okay, Ginger, let me hear your chops.” “Chops,” I asked, feeling stupid. “Yes, chops,” he said, smiling. “That’s jazz slang for show me what you can do, you know, your sound.” He sat down at the piano, ran his fingers over the keyboard, played a few chords. “What do you want to sing?” he asked. “Do you know Blue Skies?” “Cool,” he said, “Not too many singers do that Berlin tune. Let’s try it in C.” “Play it real slow,” I snapped my fingers to give him the tempo. “Then the second time we’ll pick it up.” Gabe sat on the couch and his father smiled up at me while I sang. I closed my eyes and sang the words, “ Blue skies, smiling at me. Nothin’ but blue skies, do I see .” I sang it real slow and smooth, emphasizing each word, like Mom did. When I finished the first time, I looked over at him, t hen the second time, we picked up the tempo. I was snapping my fingers and moving my hips, swaying back and forth, almost dancing. I felt like I was ... melting into the words, saying them so each word was important, like I was telling a story about how the sky was smiling and I was happy, “ Blue skies, nothing but blue skies from now on. ” I really thought about the words, trying to say I just got through a hard time, but things were better now. I saw my mom’s face and how she used to look when she sang and now how she could hardly get out of the chair, but here I was singing about blue skies and things getting better. When I finished and opened my eyes, I saw Gabe looking at me with his mouth open and his dad staring at me like he was dazed or stunned. No one said a word, then they both clapped. “Hey, you’re really good. That was amazing. Where’d you learn to sing like that?” Gabe’s father asked. “From my mom,” I said. “She loved jazz and that’s all we ever listened to.” He said he had a gig Saturday and asked if I would like to sing with his trio. “I gotta work Saturday,” I said, “But maybe I can get off early.” “You’ve got to. You’re damn good. Wait until the guys I play with hear you.” “Cool, I can’t wait,” I said looking at him then at Gabe. I was excited and scared. “The place we’re playing is pretty much of a dive and we play to a lot of drunks but it’s a gig and the owner, Ed, appreciates good music. So, come and do a few tunes. It’ll be good experience.” Gabe drove me home in his beat up yellow VW bus and we sat in front of the apartment house where I lived, just talking. It was dark except for a streetlight and I liked ...