Minor Complex,â âG Minor Complexââbop meets Bach. After that, she clearly felt relaxed enough to talk, and played her way through two sets of standards and originals that held the crowdâsâand Resnickâsâattention fast.
By the time he walked back out into the London night some hours later, he knew he had been in the presence of somethingâsomeoneâspecial.
I should care , the words came to him, I should let it upset me . When he dialed Hannahâs number from the callbox on the corner, the answerphone had been switched off and it rang and rang and rang till he broke the connection with his thumb.
Fourteen
Resnick had been sitting there no longer than it took to prize the top off his first cup of coffee, when he saw Jackie Ferris approaching from the opposite corner of the square. This morning she was wearing a tan raincoat, open over a rust-red cotton sweater and blue jeans. Black and white Nikes on her feet.
It was a well-kept space surrounded by railings, flourishing shrubs, and trees; flower beds marked the perimeters of close-cut grass. The cafeteria was a low prefabricated building in the northeast corner, a paved crescent in front of it dotted with tables and chairs. On all sides, red or green buses trailed one another through the heavy morning traffic and the pavements were busy with people on their way to work.
âYou found it okay, then?â
âNo problem.â Russell Square was less than a ten-minute stroll from Resnickâs hotel.
Jackie nodded toward his cup. âReady for another?â
âNot yet.â
Resnick leaned back against the metal chair and waited; the coffee was slightly bitter but at least it was strong. Jackie re-emerged with a polystyrene cup of her own and two slices of toast on a paper plate. Before trying either toast or coffee, she lit a cigarette.
âSo how was last night?â
âFine.â
âEnjoy the jazz?â
âVery much.â
Watching Jackie Ferris take her first bite, Resnick wished he had ordered himself some toast.
âYou know, I read something about her. Jessica Williams, right? One of those magazines. Took herâwhat?âtwenty years before she could get any sort of proper recognition. Sheâd play around these bars, California somewhereâSacramento, I think thatâs what it saidâjust waiting for a break. Anyway, according to what I read, it wasnât just the fact that she was a woman held her back. More that she was gay.â She looked across the table at Resnick, squinting a little behind her glasses. âDid she make anything of that, last night?â
Resnick shook his head.
âAnd you wouldnât have known, you couldnât tell from the way she played?â
âI donât see how.â
âNo.â
Jackie stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette. âItâs easy to get fooled sometimes, you know? You look at someone like k.d. lang filling Wembley Arena umpteen times over and you think things have changed, but really itâs not true. I donât know, but how many jazz players are there, women whoâve really made it, got through to the top? Not singers, but musicians.â
Barbara Thompson, Kathy Stobart, Marian McPartlandâMary Lou Williams, of course, Melba Listonâthat Japanese pianist whose name he could never remember. âNot many,â Resnick said.
âManâs world, eh, Charlie? Even now.â
âMaybe.â
âLike the police.â
âI thought things were getting better.â
Jackie Ferris laughed. âHow many women, what percentage, inspector and above?â
âThereâs you for one.â
âAnd donât think it didnât cost me, Charlie. What, you donât want to know.â
Resnick finished his coffee and held up his empty cup. âTime for another?â
âPlenty.â
This time, he remembered the toast.
âIâve talked to my
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