Chapter 47
They called themselves the Harlem World Band, played small venues—house parties and dinner clubs located in and around the city.
Emma appointed herself as booking agent; after all, she knew everyone Lucille knew—which was anyone who was anyone in the music business. Within a few months, the Harlem World Band was playing coveted venues in the Hamptons and Martha’s Vineyard.
The money was garbage, but they were having too much fun to notice. Eventually, Emma managed to secure a twelve-week spot at the Bamboo Inn.
Upon hearing the news, Harlan swept Emma into his arms and twirled her through the air. “That’s great, Mama! What night?”
“Tuesdays.”
“Tuesday night?” Disappointed, Harlan set her down and stepped away. “It’s deader than dead on Tuesdays.”
“Well, you gotta start somewhere,” Emma said.
Wednesdays through Saturdays, the Bamboo Inn on Seventh Avenue catered to the High Harlem crowd of professional black men, their stylish female companions, wealthy white college kids, Park Avenue snobs, and curious Europeans on holiday.
On Tuesday evenings, the Bamboo Inn was frequented by porters, janitors, and doormen, accompanied by their wives who made their living as maids, washerwomen, and hairdressers. And while the High Harlem crowd threw paper money at the band, the Tuesday-night crowd could only afford to toss coins.
The only night of the week that bread was placed on the tables was Tuesday. This because the Chinese waiters knew that the common colored folk were partial to sopping up the tangy brown sauces that accompanied the egg foo yong that was so popular with that crowd.
Every evening, excluding Tuesdays, the blue-black behemoth of a bouncer wore a monkey suit, top hat, and tails. On Tuesdays, however, he was attired in simple black slacks and a gray or navy-blue dress coat.
The only dazzle on Tuesday nights came from the colored spotlights bouncing off the rotating mirrored ball that hung from the ceiling. That and the occasional well-known musician who stopped in for a Singapore sling before heading someplace livelier.
Lucille Hegamin and her husband were occasional Tuesday-night patrons.
* * *
The thing between Harlan and Lucille had left Emma salty toward her childhood friend. For months, Emma had refused to take Lucille’s phone calls and would stealthily ignore her if they happened upon each other at a house party or nightclub. Eventually, though, Emma’s ruffled feathers smoothed, and she and Lucille mended their relationship. Albeit, at the beginning the stitching was loose and sloppy. So for a time, the friends badgered each other with insults camouflaged as compliments.
“Girl, that gray hair suits you!”
“Don’t you worry about those few extra pounds; you carry them well!”
* * *
When Lucille looked up from her plate of egg foo yong and spotted Emma and Sam coming through the door, she waved them over to her table.
Emma nodded at the bottle in the center of the table. “Champagne?”
“We celebrating!” Lucille chirped.
Emma’s eyebrows arched. “Oh?”
Bill wrapped his arm around Lucille’s shoulders and proudly announced that Lucille had finished her first full year of nursing school.
“Well, that is cause for celebration,” Sam said. “Congrats, Lucille!”
“Thank you, Sam.”
Emma picked up a pair of chopsticks from the table and twirled them between her fingers like batons. “Has it been a year already?”
“Yep.”
“Where does the time go?” Emma wondered aloud.
“I ask that question every goddamn day,” Lucille laughed.
The friends looked at each other and smiled.
Bill caught the cuff of a passing waiter. “Two more champagne glasses here, please.”
“It went quick,” Emma muttered, shaking her head.
“Maybe for you, but it was an eternity for me.”
“All them books and reading. I couldn’t have done it,” Emma conceded. “You were always smart.”
Lucille gushed at the compliment.
Emma raised her champagne flute. “To Lucille!”
“To Lucille!” the men cheered.
“To time!” Emma added jubilantly.
“The bitch!” Lucille chuckled.
* * *
When the Harlem World Band took the stage, Lucille leaned over the table and whispered, “Harlan looks good.”
“Sound good too,” Sam said.
The band serenaded the audience with “Strange Fruit,” “Moonlight Serenade,” “If I Didn’t Care,” and “Body and Soul.”
Lucille was so impressed with their renditions, with Harlan’s professionalism and showmanship, that she braved the shower of nickels and dimes so that she could lay a crisp ten-dollar bill at his feet.