Joe looked inside his empty glass and smiled .
“ Naw nigga , no ? You didn ’ t fuck-up the best gig in town !”
Joe extended his glass and Drummer Man poured some gin .
“ Why ’ d his bitch have to be so damn fine ?” Joe admitted .
“ You lying ! Sinatra ’ s crazy ‘ bout Ava !”
“ I know . I fucked up . Sinatra kicked me off the tour .”
“ Kicked you off ! You ’ re lucky the hood didn ’ t cut yo throat ! Maybe we ’ re looking at this fool ’ s last gig ,” Drummer Man nudged Piano Player ’ s rib .
“ One monkey don ’ t stop no show ,” Piano Player said , taking a swig .
“ I have to admit ,” Joe licked his finger . “ Ava was great in the sack , oh my goodness ! You know she ’ s black .”
“ Ava Gardner ’ s not colored !”
Making the Sign of The Cross , Joe said , “ Swear on my Daddy ’ s grave . She told me she ’ s Melungeon , man .”
“ Me-long-what ?”
“ We got busted inside the studio . Ava fixing up her hair . He didn ’ t see us , but man , I could tell from his glare . ‘ I could shoot you ,” Sinatra told me , ‘ but I like you , okay , but you ’ ll never work for me again .’”
“ Shit , man , when you ever gonna learn ?”
“ I know ,” Joe said wiping a lock of hair from his head . “ But the shit keeps coming my way .”
Everyone stopped talking when a gleaming limousine pulled up in the alley . The club opened and the sound of laughter filled the dark alley . Mattie wearing a dazzling evening gown exited the club ’ s back door . Her dress , the color of snow , set off her tan skin . All the musicians turned their heads her way . A famous director was clutching her arm .
“ Is that Otto Preminger with yo chick ?” Drummer Man asked .
Guiding Mattie down the steps , Preminger headed toward the long black car .
“ Mattie ,” Joe said , holding his hat in his hand .
Mattie stopped but Preminger mildly tugged her arm .
“ Joe ,” she mouthed to herself , as Otto and she drove away .
A cop walked out of the club too . He eyed the musicians with unhidden disgust . “ Break it up , Sambos . Hurry up , go home !”
Carrying his bass fiddle close to his chest , Joe walked to his car . Flicking his cigarette in the direction of Otto ’ s departed car , Joe got inside his own car and slammed the door .
“ One monkey don ’ t stop no show ,” Joe said . n
“ The Last Gig ,” is excerpted from Pam Ward ’ s 4th novel , “ I ’ ll Get You My Pretty ,” the true 1947 story of Mattie , married to Nat King Cole ’ s bassist and also dating a notorious doctor , a prime suspect in the Black Dahlia murder , the most vicious unsolved crime in Los Angeles history .
“ Melungeons . A mixture of free niggas , whites and Indians . They lived together in the Appalachian mountains .”
“ So what happened with Ava , man ?” Piano Player wanted to know .
“ Come along , darlink ,” Preminger said , escorting her in the car . “ Ve don ’ t vant to be late .”
Mattie caught Joe ’ s eyes while driving away . Softer than ice cream melting away in the LA sun , the pain inside tugged her heart .
9 BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE