Ten

Chandra went to Prescott's alone on Thursday. She thought it would be better if she could talk to Zade by herself. She would have gone on Wednesday, but she didn't want to seem anxious. She didn't go straight after work because she knew that the band didn't start until eight. She went home first and fixed dinner for her father. They ate together as always, then she changed into a black wrap dress and sling back flats and went out.

When Chandra arrived she went straight to the bar and got a cranberry juice. She worried that she was the only person in the whole place that had come alone. Everyone else seemed to have someone to talk to. Chandra sat at the same table she'd sat at the previous week with Craig and Renee. The band had already started playing. The club was nowhere near as busy as it had been the last time she was there. Most people were at the bar, except for a couple that sat at a table to the right of the stage.

Chandra felt uncomfortable sitting in there alone. She placed her small, black, snakeskin bag on the table and took a sip of her drink. The juice was bitter. She thought it might be bad and considered taking it back to the bar, but decided against it. They wouldn't serve bad juice. She took a second sip and wondered if the bartender had accidentally put alcohol in it, or maybe it was drugged. She'd heard that some men slip drugs into single women's drinks. She sat the glass on the table and decided against drinking anymore of it, just in case.

Zade noticed her between tunes. He'd twisted around to stretch his back and spotted her sitting alone. He smiled brightly at her and waved. This made her happy and embarrassed all at once. She was sure she had blushed.

After the first set, Zade came over and sat in the chair across from Chandra. He no longer had the Elmo Band-Aid above his eyebrow. There was a thin strip of fresh pink skin where the Band-Aid had been. "I was hoping I'd see you again," he said as soon as he sat down. He was wearing a satiny black T-shirt that was a little too tight. The shirt was made worse by the fact that he was wearing the same ill-fitting, pleated pants that he'd worn the previous week.

"Your head's healing up," Chandra said.

"Yeah." He touched the place where the Band-Aid had been.

Chandra took a nervous sip of her cranberry juice and was shocked once again by its bitterness. She fought the desire to pucker her face.

Zade looked towards the bar as if he were looking for someone.

Finally they both tried to speak at once, their words crashing into each other. "You go ahead," Zade offered, shyly.

"How long have you guys been playing here?"

Zade was grateful for such an easy topic. "Roughly five months. It's not the best gig in town, but I'll keep it as long as it lasts." He wondered whether he should have left out the part about it not being the best gig in town.

"Do you always play with this band?"

He smiled. "No. I freelance. I only play with these guys here."

Chandra was poised to ask another question when she thought better of it. She'd read a book once about how to have natural, spontaneous conversations. The book said that you should ask questions about the other person to express interest, but that you should also share things about yourself that show commonality. This way the conversation doesn't become one-sided, like an interrogation. Chandra often considered this when she had conversations with people she didn't know very well. She spent so much energy considering this that she often didn't pay close enough attention to what the other person was saying. "Do you only play jazz?" When she realized that she had just asked another question she spent more time beating herself up than listening to Zade's answer.

"Yeah. I'm pretty much a purest. My father was a jazz musician--piano also." He mimed playing piano on the table. "I grew up with it. It's the only music I really wanted to play."

"I like jazz too." She regretted saying this. Although she enjoyed it when she heard it, her exposure to jazz was limited to the local smooth jazz radio station. Even she realized that the music they played wasn't really jazz.

"Really, who do you like?"

Oh no, Chandra thought. She racked her brain trying to think of an answer. She said the first thing that popped into her head. "Kenny G. or um ..."

"Really . . ." Zade tried to hide his disappointment.

She tried to think of someone else. She remembered her mother listening to Billie Holiday around the house sometimes. "Billie Holiday," she said, feeling like this was probably a better answer. "My mother used to listen to Billie Holiday before she died. Whenever I hear her sing it reminds me of her."

"How old were you when she died?"

"I was thirteen." She bit her lip and looked around the room. She was trying to think of a way to change the topic.

"I lost both of my parents when I was ten."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It happened a long time ago. That's part of the reason I'm the person I am today," he smiled weakly. "I grew up with my grandmother."

"It must've been so hard for you. I still had my dad. I couldn't imagine not having my father around. I guess I'm lucky in a way."

"Yeah, you are. My grandmother has been great to me though. We were always close even before my parents died."

The sincerity in Zade's face as he talked gripped Chandra. She liked the way he spoke so openly about himself. It made her want to be as open and honest. "Kenny G. was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it? I don't really know anything about jazz. I just named the first musician that came into my head."

He laughed. "I have a lot of other interests besides music."

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. That's not the first time someone told me that they liked Kenny G. Lot's of people like him. I just don't."

"I don't either. I just couldn't think of anyone else."

"Don't worry about it."

"Well, I like your band anyway. I think you play really good, especially after almost being knocked unconscious."

Zade laughed again. "I'm not always such a klutz."

"Don't worry. I'm not known for my grace either," Chandra said.

"Will you be here when we finish our next set?"

"I don't know. How long are the sets?"

"About forty minutes or so."

Chandra carefully considered the time, the situation, and how uncomfortable she felt sitting at the table alone. The bar was starting to fill up. Most of the tables were taken now. The room was buzzing with noise. "I think I'm going to go. I need to go to work tomorrow. I'm pretty tired. I mean, I'd like to talk to you some more, but I don't think I could bear sitting in this place alone much longer."

"I don't blame you. I wouldn't come to these places if I didn't have to work here. I'm a bit of a homebody really. Give me your number or something and I'll call you later. You don't have to stick around this place for us to talk."

"Why don't you just give me your number?" Chandra usually answered this way to avoid unwanted phone calls. She liked Zade, but something about him made her think that he might lose her number. Chandra searched her purse for a pen, but pulled out an old eyeliner pencil instead. "I don't have a pen." She handed it to him sheepishly.

Zade wrote his number on a napkin. "Can you read that okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered. She folded the napkin and put it in her purse.

Zade's eyes followed the napkin all the way into her bag.

The bass player wandered in from the parking lot and walked up onto the stage. The others followed after him. "I have to go." Zade stood up from his chair. "Thanks for coming by."

"I really enjoy hearing you play. I'll call you."

Zade joined the others on stage and sat down at the piano.

Chandra left two tunes into the second set. Zade didn't see her go. At the end of the second tune he looked towards her table and she had been replaced by two women in short skirts with overly styled hair.

Chandra navigated the parking lot carefully. Dark parking lots always made her nervous. She walked as quickly as she could to her car, checking over her shoulder.

When she got into her car she locked the door, turned on the car's interior light, opened her purse, and pulled out the napkin. She unfolded it and looked at the number. He hadn't written his name. She liked the roundness of his writing, the way he made his eights by drawing two circles one on top of the other, like she was taught in elementary school.

A thump on the window interrupted Chandra's thoughts about phone numbers and eights. Startled, she looked out to see a leathery faced woman leaning over with her nose nearly touching the glass of her car window. "Got some change?" the woman yelled.

Chandra scrambled to put her keys in the ignition.

The woman thumped the glass again. Her face was ragged, with deep wrinkles and black puffy bags beneath her eyes. "You got any change?" she repeated. "I just need a little money to get by."

"No, I don't have any cash," Chandra yelled through the glass as she started the car.

"What about that?" The woman pointed down. Her fingertip pressed against the glass.

Chandra followed the angle of her finger to the cup holder. There in the bottom of the cup holder were three quarters, two dimes and four nickels. She looked back at the woman.

"What about that?"

Chandra grabbed the change, rolled her window down a couple of inches and nervously handed the coins to the woman. The woman took the change and grabbed Chandra's hand. "You got anymore?"

Chandra didn't answer. She yanked her hand back inside the car window, put the car in reverse and backed quickly out of her space.

"Hey!" the woman yelled, stepping away from the car.

When she pulled out of the parking lot the dome light was still on. The napkin with Zade's number had fallen to the floor beneath her feet.