records, smoking a piece of hash now and then, eating the red beans and rice, the fish, ribs, and chicken that Jackie cooked. The most comfortable place in the small room was the bed, and after a while the three of them were usually lying or half reclining across it, except when one of them would get up to put on more records, get a drink, or go to the bathroom, everything very relaxed, not much talk, occasionally someone saying something funny or relating a strange thing they had seen or heard, and frequently, too, just dozing off.
Once Murray bought a pheasant, had it cooked, and brought it up to their room, along with a couple of bottles of chilled Liebfraumilch, some wild rice, asparagus, and strawberries and cream.
Jackie was quite excited, opening the packages. “You’re too much, baby,” she said, giving Murray a kiss on the cheek.
“What’s the grand occasion, man?” asked Buddy, beaming at him.
Murray shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to dream one up,” he said.
“I guess we will,” said Buddy smiling, and he started slicing up a piece of hash.
Afterward they lay across the bed, smoking and listening to music.
“It’s funny, isn’t it,” said Murray, while they were listening to Billie, “that there aren’t any great ofay singers.”
The others seemed to consider it.
“Anita O’Day is all right,” said Jackie.
“Yeah, but I mean you wouldn’t compare her with Billie, would you,” said Murray.
“Some of the French chicks swing,” said Buddy absently, “. . . Piaf . . . and what’s that other chick’s name. . . .”
“Yeah, but I mean like that’s something else, isn’t it,” said Murray.
Buddy shrugged, passing the cigarette, “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, sounding half asleep; but his eyes were open, and for several minutes he lay simply staring at Murray with an expression of mild curiosity on his face.
“Murray,” he asked finally, “did you want to learn piano . . . or what?” Then he laughed, as though he might not have meant it to sound exactly like that, and he got up to get some wine.
Jackie laughed too. “Maybe he just likes you, baby—ever think of that?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Buddy, making a joke of it now, pouring the wine, “that ought to be considered.” He was still smiling, almost sheepishly. “Well, here’s to friendship then,” he said, taking a sip.
“You’re making me cry,” said Murray in his flat, weary voice, and they all laughed.
Then it was time for Buddy to go to the club.
“I’ll make it over with you, man,” said Murray, slowly raising himself up on the bed.
“Stick around,” said Buddy, putting on his tie. “Nothing’s happening there yet—you can come over later with Jackie.”
“That seems like a good idea,” said Jackie.
Murray sat there, staring at nothing.
“It’s cool, man,” said Buddy smiling and giving Murray an elaborate wink of conspiracy, “it’s cool. I mean, you know—make it.”
“Solid,” said Murray, after a minute, and he lay back across the bed again.
“See you cats,” said Buddy, opening the door to leave.
“Later,” said Murray.
“Later, baby,” said Jackie, getting up and going to the door and locking it. Then she went over to the basin and began brushing her teeth.
“That was a funny thing for him to say, wasn’t it,” said Murray after a minute, “I mean about did I want ‘to learn piano, or what?’ ”
Jackie moved the brush in a slow, languorous motion, looking at Murray in the mirror. “Well, it’s very simple really. . . . I mean, he digs you, you know—and I guess he would like to do something for you, that sort of thing.” She rinsed her mouth and held the brush under the water. “I thought he made that part of it pretty clear,” she said, then looking directly at him. She crossed over to the dressing table and stood in front of it, straightening her dress; it was a cream-colored jersey which clung without tightness to all of her. She
Once Murray bought a pheasant, had it cooked, and brought it up to their room, along with a couple of bottles of chilled Liebfraumilch, some wild rice, asparagus, and strawberries and cream.
Jackie was quite excited, opening the packages. “You’re too much, baby,” she said, giving Murray a kiss on the cheek.
“What’s the grand occasion, man?” asked Buddy, beaming at him.
Murray shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to dream one up,” he said.
“I guess we will,” said Buddy smiling, and he started slicing up a piece of hash.
Afterward they lay across the bed, smoking and listening to music.
“It’s funny, isn’t it,” said Murray, while they were listening to Billie, “that there aren’t any great ofay singers.”
The others seemed to consider it.
“Anita O’Day is all right,” said Jackie.
“Yeah, but I mean you wouldn’t compare her with Billie, would you,” said Murray.
“Some of the French chicks swing,” said Buddy absently, “. . . Piaf . . . and what’s that other chick’s name. . . .”
“Yeah, but I mean like that’s something else, isn’t it,” said Murray.
Buddy shrugged, passing the cigarette, “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, sounding half asleep; but his eyes were open, and for several minutes he lay simply staring at Murray with an expression of mild curiosity on his face.
“Murray,” he asked finally, “did you want to learn piano . . . or what?” Then he laughed, as though he might not have meant it to sound exactly like that, and he got up to get some wine.
Jackie laughed too. “Maybe he just likes you, baby—ever think of that?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Buddy, making a joke of it now, pouring the wine, “that ought to be considered.” He was still smiling, almost sheepishly. “Well, here’s to friendship then,” he said, taking a sip.
“You’re making me cry,” said Murray in his flat, weary voice, and they all laughed.
Then it was time for Buddy to go to the club.
“I’ll make it over with you, man,” said Murray, slowly raising himself up on the bed.
“Stick around,” said Buddy, putting on his tie. “Nothing’s happening there yet—you can come over later with Jackie.”
“That seems like a good idea,” said Jackie.
Murray sat there, staring at nothing.
“It’s cool, man,” said Buddy smiling and giving Murray an elaborate wink of conspiracy, “it’s cool. I mean, you know—make it.”
“Solid,” said Murray, after a minute, and he lay back across the bed again.
“See you cats,” said Buddy, opening the door to leave.
“Later,” said Murray.
“Later, baby,” said Jackie, getting up and going to the door and locking it. Then she went over to the basin and began brushing her teeth.
“That was a funny thing for him to say, wasn’t it,” said Murray after a minute, “I mean about did I want ‘to learn piano, or what?’ ”
Jackie moved the brush in a slow, languorous motion, looking at Murray in the mirror. “Well, it’s very simple really. . . . I mean, he digs you, you know—and I guess he would like to do something for you, that sort of thing.” She rinsed her mouth and held the brush under the water. “I thought he made that part of it pretty clear,” she said, then looking directly at him. She crossed over to the dressing table and stood in front of it, straightening her dress; it was a cream-colored jersey which clung without tightness to all of her. She
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