The Illusionist

The night has that New Orleans summer humidity, the kind that makes you sweat as soon as you step out of the air-conditioning of your car, the kind that you can almost take a bite out of, the kind that has that residual feeling where the air seems to congeal and stick to your skin long after your out of it.
I’d been living in the U.S.A for about a year, I’d been born and had grown up in Melbourne but one thing that made the New Orleans famous dragged me towards it since i was sixteen, I’d played piano since i was fourteen. The music scene. Have you ever noticed that almost every branch of music has a New Orleans sub-genre? There’s New Orleans Jazz, New Orleans Funk, Blues, Ska, Big Band, Rockabilly and Metal. The list goes on. That’s all unimportant really, but instantly I was intoxicated by the idea of a culture that was almost founded on music, as so as i had enough money for the flight and all the paper work to live and work in the U.S, I came over with the money from selling my apartment and it’s contents and a suitcase as big as I could get that still counted as carry on packed with as many clothes as I could manage.

Touching down many hours later I found myself in way over my head and loving it… There is one more thing i should add, it wasn’t entirely the music scene that made me move over to The New Orleans, you see, the New Orleans is one of six states in America that recognizes ‘Supernatural beings’ as legal citizens, not menaces to be killed on sight.

Day three of my trip is the most important day of my stay so far, A large sign outside a jazz bar saying “waiters/waitresses wanted” made me approach the smokey, grungy cliche, inside the smell of stale cigarette and new cigarette smoke attacks me, the air is thick with the taste of vodka, sweat and marijuana. The sweet drawlings of lounge piano runs around the inside my head feeling silky and calming, behind the bartop stood the barman, a young waitress with vibrant green eyes and a man sitting in front of a well loved piano playing the lounge music.

“What can I do for you honey?” The waitress asked, I didn’t hear her come up to me, I jump making her laugh. “Your not from around here are yah?” she asks, she was the first woman I’d seen who didn’t have the bayou drawl, the first other Australian I’d seen on my trip, I’d expected it to take much longer.
“No I’m from back home.” I say with a grin, her eyes look me up and down then lock on mine lock on mine.
“I’m Rose” she said it as a greeting, I felt instantly drawn to her, I noticed for the first time she was wearing lipstick so read and glossy it looked the colour of a perfect cherry. She smells like slightly sour green apples, breathing near her made my heart accelerate.
“I’m Chase” I manage to squeeze out “I’m here for the job” I manage to say also only slipping over my tongue once.
“Let me Maurice’s attention” she says turning but locking her eyes on mine for as long as she could, smiling cherubically as soon as she left i felt strangely empty, her skirt swished blowing her scent back to me, i steadied myself against a table, love it wasn’t, this was pure, un-tainted lust.

The Pianist made an extreme bung chord i looked over to him and he had passed out, his forehead hitting the keys. Maurice, the bartender stood up angrily and started to yell at the man, who woke groggily.
“Enoughs enough! we don’t get busy for another hour and your already totally trashed! It’s three in the fucking after noon ferchrisake.” I instantly began to fear the man, from a distance he had looked fat, upon closer inspection it was the kind of fat that was once muscle, I shuffled back as much as i could without drawing attention to myself. The man stumbles out almost being run down by a passing taxi.

“No chance you know a pianist is there?” Maurice asked rose.

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Tags:

fantsasy, jazz, music, new, orleans, pianist and urban