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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Art / Music / Theater / Dance
- Published: 12/25/2021
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It was late when I arrived at the Society Cafe, well after midnight. I walked down the infernal stairs and found myself immersed in that very particular atmosphere: fumes, faint reflections of light from the tables, gloom and motionless faces, absorbed by the queen of the room who emerged from the ray of light thrown at her by a spotlight: Lady Day revealed, with her warm vocal phrasing, a story of broken loves, in her unique, unrepeatable style.
Outside, the darkness battled with the intense cold, trying unsuccessfully to make way for the dawn of a new day, which was still far away. The club was a kind of pleasant oasis in the middle of the hard journey through that winter of 1940 in New York.
I approached the bar, ordered a whiskey and sat with my back to the bar to get a better look at my favorite singer's performance. The welcoming voice put an end to "Fine and Mellow", one of her most famous songs at the time, which she had written herself. The audience applauded the performance with enthusiasm and the singer thanked them with her characteristic gesture of raising her arms, as if she were toasting with everyone to music, life, love... The members of the group immediately began to play the long introduction of a quick song that I did not know. Billie took advantage of those few instrumental minutes to go discreetly behind the stage, taking a little break, possibly drinking something. She returned in time to face the lyrics of the piece, which had very little vocal input and narrated what a little moonbeam could do to fix the problems of some lovers. Again the applause and again the return to swing, tearing up a new song, redistributing pauses and sensitivity, wasting expressive tenderness and emotion in every accent, in every word. The audience was carried away by her vocal candor and the monotonous rhythm imposed by the drums, in the midst of alcohol, tobacco and fleeting kisses. In the half-light of the room, life was something pleasant, half lived, half dreamed, with bits and pieces of a beautiful and unrecoverable past and a few drops of hope for the difficult tomorrow of that remote winter. Pete Ferguson's sad saxophone, "Ronky," underlined, from time to time, with solos full of poetry, the magic of early morning jazz, in a difficult time when the only paradise in Greenwich Village was this club, called to be the place of confirmation of the greatest swing singer in all history. I was there, relaxed, letting myself be carried away, as on other nights, by that invisible fluid provided by the six musicians and her, my passion. The minutes slowly drifted by, sip by sip, into a timeless experience of harmony and inner peace.
So enraptured was I with what was happening on stage, that I hadn't noticed a kind of discussion taking place a few meters away from where I was, at the same bar. I turned my head and immediately recognized Barney, the owner of the Café Society, who was trying to get a guy away from that place. The man was reluctant to leave and I noticed that he was drunk. Barney was trying to throw him out in the most discreet way, without raising a fuss, whispering a few words to him, and without requiring the help of any of the guards he had for this purpose. In spite of his precautions, the subject, broken by the alcohol all kind of inhibition, began to raise his voice and to show the problem that was being generated. Many people noticed the incident and turned their heads in the direction of the place. Some hissed to restore the silence of before, but this, more than stopping the beodo, gave him wings to raise his voice further. What Barney wanted to avoid happened: Billie realized, from the stage, what was happening. At the end of the song, she left in a hurry, while the audience applauded and the orchestra attacked a new instrumental theme with a frenetic rhythm, which I recognized instantly. The guards had appeared to help the owner of the premises, but he told them that nothing was wrong and ordered them to leave. He did not want them to take the subject out by force. He put one arm around him as a sign of friendship and tried to get him away from the bar. The guy was initially carried away to Barney's office upstairs on the ground floor, but he soon got away from the owner, changed direction and headed to the stage where Billie's musicians were still playing "Roses into your eyes," the legendary Bud Dearie song that I loved so much. He staggered down the center aisle, between tables, dragging Barney with him and pointing to the stage. All eyes were on the couple. Some tables were whispering, since they had recognized in the drunkard the saxophonist Mel Hartman, Billie's old love, with whom she had broken up a few months ago, after several years of artistic and sentimental rapport.
A fellow barman took it upon himself to break the news to those who, like me, did not know the man's identity. Besides (there are always smart guys anywhere, even in an obscure New York jazz club), he added the motive for this Hartman's behaviour:
-He intends to accompany Billie on a theme, just like in the old days.
-But he's drunk and she doesn't even want to see him again," he added.
Then I remembered the extensive report that I read about a month ago in the "Herald Tribune". It told of the two years of romance between Billie and Mel, since they met in a blues club in Memphis, their professional and sentimental union, the songs they wrote together and the painful separation of a few months ago. The magazine speculated about the reasons for this, the musician's growing fondness for alcohol, the abuse he was supposed to have inflicted on the singer, financial problems... I didn't remember well everything I read, but some images of the couple remained in my mind, which the magazine included, but which had not been clear enough in my memory for me to recognize Hartman before.
Barney Josephson waited for the musicians to finish the song and gestured for them to disappear. Then, taking Mel by the arm, he went on stage, left the wobbly musician and found him a chair from behind the backdrop, sat him down, and then handed him the saxophone that "Ronky" Ferguson had played minutes earlier. Mel Hartman was in a deplorable state, crying silently, watching the instrument, not daring to touch it. Barney addressed the audience:
-And now, ladies and gentlemen, something that was not foreseen and that will serve as an intermission of the great Billie Holiday's performance! The also great saxophonist Mel Hartman, although tonight we don't know if he will be great," he whispered in a low voice, "will play a piece for us!"
Mel ignored the presentation and mumbled:
-Let her come out...
-Come on, Mel, you promised me you only wanted to play one song and then go home. You're not in very good shape tonight.
-But... I wanted to do it with her! Get her out!
-You know that's not possible. If you don't want to play, leave now. Don't force me to use force against you.
Mel was silent with his head down and holding his saxophone. Little by little, he calmed down. Barney was still by his side. Finally, he took the instrument to his mouth and began to throw some isolated notes, which gradually became harmonized and traced a melody. Then the owner of the place left the stage and left him alone. Mel, despite his drunkenness, played with precision, although he stopped several times to hold back tears. Spectators, some because they had recognized Billie's former love, others out of charity, even applauded the interruptions to the song. Without pausing, Mel began with the notes of "This Can Be Love," the most popular song the couple wrote when they were together. It was a serene and beautiful love ballad. The audience immediately recognized the melody and applauded the beginning.
And then it happened. No one expected it. Billie showed up with the microphone in her hand singing the theme song. Mel turned his head to look at her, and even though he was still playing, you could feel a special emotion on his face at the appearance of the artist, whom he still loved fervently. Billie gave him a tender look, but she immediately went to the edge of the stage and walked around while her voice continued to develop the lyrics of the beautiful song. The conjunction between the musician and the singer was total; there was a deep silence in the room, the audience sensed the uniqueness and importance of the moment. I noticed that Barney, in front of where I was, at the back of the right side, was looking pleased with the scene. The love affair between the couple had been very strong, I found out later, and Billie had always refused, until that night, to talk to Mel, let alone share the stage.
When the central part of the song came, the sax solo, Mel attacked it hard, unleashing an arpeggio of high sounds that gave me goose bumps, then he lowered the tone, recreating the main melody. Mel would improvise, prolonging those unique moments for him, avoiding offering the entrance for Billie to sing the last part. She moved slightly, with that elegance and sensuality that she radiated on stage; she looked at inconcrete points of the space, listening fervently to the musical discourse of her former lover, without showing any sign of impatience with the evident lengthening of the musical improvisation. At last, Mel stopped his vigor, tempering the notes and announcing to the connoisseurs that the instrumental part was over. He brought the singer back in, and she continued until the end, displaying her best melodic nuances with her legendary and inimitable vocalization. At the end, the ovation of the audience broke the restful atmosphere of before, detonating among the mists of the place.
Billie approached Mel, kissed him on the cheeks and left the stage without paying attention to what he was trying to say. The musician had taken a rose out of his jacket pocket, but the singer was no longer there to receive it. He kept the flower in one hand, the saxophone in the other, looking at the backdrop, where his love had disappeared, in a somewhat comical pose.
Barney appeared again.
-Fabulous! -Billie Holiday and Mel Hartman! Reunited on this unique occasion at the Society Cafe! Let's hear it for both of them!
He took advantage of the noise of the ovation to approach Mel, remove his saxophone and whisper to him, surely, that he must leave the stage. The musician was talking in his ear and the owner of the place was shaking his head, inviting him to leave the stage with gentle tugs of his arm. At last he must have told him something more convincing, because they both went down to the tables. Barney remembered something and went back upstairs:
-Half an hour of intermission and she'll be with you again, ladies and gentlemen, the great Billie Holiday, with her fabulous band! Take time to replenish your drinks and whisper beautiful words of love to your partner!
He's back with Mel, trying to get him to the exit. The musician continued to resist and Barney waved to two of his guards, who discreetly and outside the table area, took him out of the room.
Little by little the usual atmosphere of the Café Society was resumed. The murmur and noise of a nightclub began to grow, and people came to listen to the great names of jazz, to have fun, to excite their senses, to drink... Barney came back and started talking to the customers at the tables, as he usually did during the intermissions; he asked them how everything was going, if they were having fun, what they needed..., although that night, I assumed, he would have the extra work of commenting on the incident.
I kept thinking about what had happened moments before. I had been impressed by the tenderness shown by Billie, her aesthetic communication with a person she had broken off with emotionally (quite virulently, I remembered reading), with a person she categorically refused to continue to relate to on a personal level. However, the power of a song had broken that ice and for a few minutes they were back to the couple of yesteryear, when they were triumphant in their tours of the great American cities.
I never saw Mel Hartman again. I watched the second part of Billie's performance, which was also her second and last of the night, and I went home very late, around three in the morning.
The next day, in the evening edition of the "Herald", I learned the outcome of the previous night: A man had been found dead, with clear signs of frostbite, in an alleyway near the artists' exit from the Café. At first he was not recognized, because he was undocumented. The judge raised the body. The police asked around to try to establish the identity of the deceased. One of the last waiters to leave the club, around six in the morning, two hours after closing time, gave the definitive clue when he recognized the worn rose worn by one of the police officers, broken as it was torn from between the once magical, now emaciated fingers of musician Mel Hartman.
BILLIE'S BLUES(Antonio Gómez Hueso)
It was late when I arrived at the Society Cafe, well after midnight. I walked down the infernal stairs and found myself immersed in that very particular atmosphere: fumes, faint reflections of light from the tables, gloom and motionless faces, absorbed by the queen of the room who emerged from the ray of light thrown at her by a spotlight: Lady Day revealed, with her warm vocal phrasing, a story of broken loves, in her unique, unrepeatable style.
Outside, the darkness battled with the intense cold, trying unsuccessfully to make way for the dawn of a new day, which was still far away. The club was a kind of pleasant oasis in the middle of the hard journey through that winter of 1940 in New York.
I approached the bar, ordered a whiskey and sat with my back to the bar to get a better look at my favorite singer's performance. The welcoming voice put an end to "Fine and Mellow", one of her most famous songs at the time, which she had written herself. The audience applauded the performance with enthusiasm and the singer thanked them with her characteristic gesture of raising her arms, as if she were toasting with everyone to music, life, love... The members of the group immediately began to play the long introduction of a quick song that I did not know. Billie took advantage of those few instrumental minutes to go discreetly behind the stage, taking a little break, possibly drinking something. She returned in time to face the lyrics of the piece, which had very little vocal input and narrated what a little moonbeam could do to fix the problems of some lovers. Again the applause and again the return to swing, tearing up a new song, redistributing pauses and sensitivity, wasting expressive tenderness and emotion in every accent, in every word. The audience was carried away by her vocal candor and the monotonous rhythm imposed by the drums, in the midst of alcohol, tobacco and fleeting kisses. In the half-light of the room, life was something pleasant, half lived, half dreamed, with bits and pieces of a beautiful and unrecoverable past and a few drops of hope for the difficult tomorrow of that remote winter. Pete Ferguson's sad saxophone, "Ronky," underlined, from time to time, with solos full of poetry, the magic of early morning jazz, in a difficult time when the only paradise in Greenwich Village was this club, called to be the place of confirmation of the greatest swing singer in all history. I was there, relaxed, letting myself be carried away, as on other nights, by that invisible fluid provided by the six musicians and her, my passion. The minutes slowly drifted by, sip by sip, into a timeless experience of harmony and inner peace.
So enraptured was I with what was happening on stage, that I hadn't noticed a kind of discussion taking place a few meters away from where I was, at the same bar. I turned my head and immediately recognized Barney, the owner of the Café Society, who was trying to get a guy away from that place. The man was reluctant to leave and I noticed that he was drunk. Barney was trying to throw him out in the most discreet way, without raising a fuss, whispering a few words to him, and without requiring the help of any of the guards he had for this purpose. In spite of his precautions, the subject, broken by the alcohol all kind of inhibition, began to raise his voice and to show the problem that was being generated. Many people noticed the incident and turned their heads in the direction of the place. Some hissed to restore the silence of before, but this, more than stopping the beodo, gave him wings to raise his voice further. What Barney wanted to avoid happened: Billie realized, from the stage, what was happening. At the end of the song, she left in a hurry, while the audience applauded and the orchestra attacked a new instrumental theme with a frenetic rhythm, which I recognized instantly. The guards had appeared to help the owner of the premises, but he told them that nothing was wrong and ordered them to leave. He did not want them to take the subject out by force. He put one arm around him as a sign of friendship and tried to get him away from the bar. The guy was initially carried away to Barney's office upstairs on the ground floor, but he soon got away from the owner, changed direction and headed to the stage where Billie's musicians were still playing "Roses into your eyes," the legendary Bud Dearie song that I loved so much. He staggered down the center aisle, between tables, dragging Barney with him and pointing to the stage. All eyes were on the couple. Some tables were whispering, since they had recognized in the drunkard the saxophonist Mel Hartman, Billie's old love, with whom she had broken up a few months ago, after several years of artistic and sentimental rapport.
A fellow barman took it upon himself to break the news to those who, like me, did not know the man's identity. Besides (there are always smart guys anywhere, even in an obscure New York jazz club), he added the motive for this Hartman's behaviour:
-He intends to accompany Billie on a theme, just like in the old days.
-But he's drunk and she doesn't even want to see him again," he added.
Then I remembered the extensive report that I read about a month ago in the "Herald Tribune". It told of the two years of romance between Billie and Mel, since they met in a blues club in Memphis, their professional and sentimental union, the songs they wrote together and the painful separation of a few months ago. The magazine speculated about the reasons for this, the musician's growing fondness for alcohol, the abuse he was supposed to have inflicted on the singer, financial problems... I didn't remember well everything I read, but some images of the couple remained in my mind, which the magazine included, but which had not been clear enough in my memory for me to recognize Hartman before.
Barney Josephson waited for the musicians to finish the song and gestured for them to disappear. Then, taking Mel by the arm, he went on stage, left the wobbly musician and found him a chair from behind the backdrop, sat him down, and then handed him the saxophone that "Ronky" Ferguson had played minutes earlier. Mel Hartman was in a deplorable state, crying silently, watching the instrument, not daring to touch it. Barney addressed the audience:
-And now, ladies and gentlemen, something that was not foreseen and that will serve as an intermission of the great Billie Holiday's performance! The also great saxophonist Mel Hartman, although tonight we don't know if he will be great," he whispered in a low voice, "will play a piece for us!"
Mel ignored the presentation and mumbled:
-Let her come out...
-Come on, Mel, you promised me you only wanted to play one song and then go home. You're not in very good shape tonight.
-But... I wanted to do it with her! Get her out!
-You know that's not possible. If you don't want to play, leave now. Don't force me to use force against you.
Mel was silent with his head down and holding his saxophone. Little by little, he calmed down. Barney was still by his side. Finally, he took the instrument to his mouth and began to throw some isolated notes, which gradually became harmonized and traced a melody. Then the owner of the place left the stage and left him alone. Mel, despite his drunkenness, played with precision, although he stopped several times to hold back tears. Spectators, some because they had recognized Billie's former love, others out of charity, even applauded the interruptions to the song. Without pausing, Mel began with the notes of "This Can Be Love," the most popular song the couple wrote when they were together. It was a serene and beautiful love ballad. The audience immediately recognized the melody and applauded the beginning.
And then it happened. No one expected it. Billie showed up with the microphone in her hand singing the theme song. Mel turned his head to look at her, and even though he was still playing, you could feel a special emotion on his face at the appearance of the artist, whom he still loved fervently. Billie gave him a tender look, but she immediately went to the edge of the stage and walked around while her voice continued to develop the lyrics of the beautiful song. The conjunction between the musician and the singer was total; there was a deep silence in the room, the audience sensed the uniqueness and importance of the moment. I noticed that Barney, in front of where I was, at the back of the right side, was looking pleased with the scene. The love affair between the couple had been very strong, I found out later, and Billie had always refused, until that night, to talk to Mel, let alone share the stage.
When the central part of the song came, the sax solo, Mel attacked it hard, unleashing an arpeggio of high sounds that gave me goose bumps, then he lowered the tone, recreating the main melody. Mel would improvise, prolonging those unique moments for him, avoiding offering the entrance for Billie to sing the last part. She moved slightly, with that elegance and sensuality that she radiated on stage; she looked at inconcrete points of the space, listening fervently to the musical discourse of her former lover, without showing any sign of impatience with the evident lengthening of the musical improvisation. At last, Mel stopped his vigor, tempering the notes and announcing to the connoisseurs that the instrumental part was over. He brought the singer back in, and she continued until the end, displaying her best melodic nuances with her legendary and inimitable vocalization. At the end, the ovation of the audience broke the restful atmosphere of before, detonating among the mists of the place.
Billie approached Mel, kissed him on the cheeks and left the stage without paying attention to what he was trying to say. The musician had taken a rose out of his jacket pocket, but the singer was no longer there to receive it. He kept the flower in one hand, the saxophone in the other, looking at the backdrop, where his love had disappeared, in a somewhat comical pose.
Barney appeared again.
-Fabulous! -Billie Holiday and Mel Hartman! Reunited on this unique occasion at the Society Cafe! Let's hear it for both of them!
He took advantage of the noise of the ovation to approach Mel, remove his saxophone and whisper to him, surely, that he must leave the stage. The musician was talking in his ear and the owner of the place was shaking his head, inviting him to leave the stage with gentle tugs of his arm. At last he must have told him something more convincing, because they both went down to the tables. Barney remembered something and went back upstairs:
-Half an hour of intermission and she'll be with you again, ladies and gentlemen, the great Billie Holiday, with her fabulous band! Take time to replenish your drinks and whisper beautiful words of love to your partner!
He's back with Mel, trying to get him to the exit. The musician continued to resist and Barney waved to two of his guards, who discreetly and outside the table area, took him out of the room.
Little by little the usual atmosphere of the Café Society was resumed. The murmur and noise of a nightclub began to grow, and people came to listen to the great names of jazz, to have fun, to excite their senses, to drink... Barney came back and started talking to the customers at the tables, as he usually did during the intermissions; he asked them how everything was going, if they were having fun, what they needed..., although that night, I assumed, he would have the extra work of commenting on the incident.
I kept thinking about what had happened moments before. I had been impressed by the tenderness shown by Billie, her aesthetic communication with a person she had broken off with emotionally (quite virulently, I remembered reading), with a person she categorically refused to continue to relate to on a personal level. However, the power of a song had broken that ice and for a few minutes they were back to the couple of yesteryear, when they were triumphant in their tours of the great American cities.
I never saw Mel Hartman again. I watched the second part of Billie's performance, which was also her second and last of the night, and I went home very late, around three in the morning.
The next day, in the evening edition of the "Herald", I learned the outcome of the previous night: A man had been found dead, with clear signs of frostbite, in an alleyway near the artists' exit from the Café. At first he was not recognized, because he was undocumented. The judge raised the body. The police asked around to try to establish the identity of the deceased. One of the last waiters to leave the club, around six in the morning, two hours after closing time, gave the definitive clue when he recognized the worn rose worn by one of the police officers, broken as it was torn from between the once magical, now emaciated fingers of musician Mel Hartman.
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Lillian Kazmierczak
01/04/2022What a great story about Biliie Holiday and Mel Hartman. I am a big fan of Billie and I love her sultry sound. I didn’t realize his life ended so tragically. Thank you for sharing that amazing piece of history. Congratulations on story star of the day. That story was a perfect example if great writing!
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Antonio Gómez Hueso
03/09/2022Thank you, Liliam, for your words. They are a great encouragement for me. I like Billie's art very much, as you do. The story is fictional but it has important historical elements.
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Gerald R Gioglio
01/04/2022Congrats on your Story Star day. Loved the story. Love Lady Day too. I once ran into a young fellow selling chocolate at a shop in Sicily. Billie Holiday playing in the background. Take care, Jerry
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Antonio Gómez Hueso
03/09/2022Thank you, Gerald, for your words. Beautiful memories of Sicily.
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Shirley Smothers
01/04/2022A great and tragic story. Well written. I felt as if I were there. Thank you for sharing
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Antonio Gómez Hueso
03/09/2022Thanks to you, Shirley, for reading me and for your favorable opinion.
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Kevin Hughes
01/04/2022I have a friend who used to play boogie-woogie music in Malaga named Kyle Esplin from Scotland. Apparently that little place just draws musicians from all over the world. Hi myself I'm not a musician but I've listened to enough music to get most of this story.
It captured what musicians really love to make music with people that really love music and know how to bring soul to it. Billie Holiday was a genius. And so is this little piece of writing.
Smiles Kevin
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Antonio Gómez Hueso
03/09/2022This small place has a very pleasant climate and is a beautiful land. The musician Kyle knew how to choose. Thank you, Kevin, por your encouraging words. I hope someday you will come to Malaga. Health, peace and love for you.
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JD
12/26/2021Absolutely outstanding work of 'fiction' about the incomparable Billy Holiday. Thanks so much for sharing this engrossing short story on Storystar, Antonio. Happy Holidays and 2022 to you.
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Antonio Gómez Hueso
03/09/2022Belatedly, I thank you, JD, for the favorable opinión you express about my story. I will read you.
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COMMENTS (5)