Chapter 48

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

FEB 9/1940

MRS. SAM ELLIOTT

MR. HARLAN ELLIOTT

17 E. 133RD STREET

NEW YORK CITY

 

Word has reached me here in Paris that the Harlem World Band is a treasure that should be shared with the French. I would like to extend an invitation for your band to come to Paris, specifically to my establishment L’Escadrille in Montmartre. I am proposing a two-month engagement beginning in late March. In exchange, I will provide passage to Paris, hotel accommodations, and a salary that will not make you rich, but will keep you in food and libations for the entirety of your engagement. Of course, there are ample opportunities here to make money, and I would certainly encourage you to take advantage of those prospects. I look forward to your favorable response.

 

Eugene James Bullard

rue Fontaine, 5

Paris, France

 

Harlan was out and Sam was at work, so the only other person who could appreciate Emma’s excitement was Lucille.

“Hello—” Lucille barely got her greeting out before Emma was off and running, chattering excitedly about Paris and Harlan and the band.

“Whoa, whoa, Emma,” Lucille laughed, as she lifted the black phone into the crook of her arm and carried it over to the sofa. “I heard Paris,” she said, reaching for her silver cigarette case.

Emma began again, slower this time.

Lucille lit her cigarette and inhaled, her eyes moving from the window to the snaking telephone cord.

Emma ended her ramblings with a shuddering sigh.

Lucille said, “Well, it took him long enough.”

“W-what?” Emma stammered.

“Eugene . . . Gene, well, he asked if I would bring the band to Paris, to his club for a month-long run, but I told him I was all done with that.” Lucille knocked a long ash into the ashtray.

“Oh?” Emma responded from East Harlem.

“So I suggested Harlan and his band.”

“You did?”

“Anyway,” Lucille continued, “I told him that the Harlem World Band would be just as good as having me and mine.”

Emma giggled, “So you lied? The musicians are one thing, but the girl—”

“Oh please, she can’t touch me with a ten-foot pole—”

“Though she tries—”

“Every. Single. Time!”

They laughed.

“So what does Harlan have to say about all this?”

“He ain’t home, so he don’t know yet.”

In Lucille’s kitchen, the kettle on the stove began to screech.

“Well, I thought I was calling to give you good news, but I guess I need to thank you.”

Lucille stubbed out her cigarette and stood. “No need for that.”

“I-I just want you to know that Harlan has grown,” Emma babbled nervously. “He’s matured a lot. That Lizard, well, he’s been a real good influence on him and—”

“Emma, Harlan has the job. You don’t have to sell him. I was sold when I saw him at the Bamboo, and besides, the talk in the streets is all positive. That’s why I recommended him to Gene.”

“Well, thank you anyway.”

“Like I said, Harlan earned it.”