Requiem for a Small Town Dance Band

Chapter 1

We sounded pretty good tonight, Mac said. He wiped his brass mouthpiece down with a handkerchief of uncertain provenance.

Yeah, we were swinging, Ernie said. He squeezed his accordion closed with a discordant wheeze and snapped the straps in place. "In the Mood always puts me in the mood."

I got to get home. Roxie wants me to get the gravensteins picked before church tomorrow. She’s going to spend the afternoon canning her apple butter. There’s no rest for the weary.

Ernie shook his head. Glad I never got hitched to the old ball and chain. He looked around, and then said, sotto voce, I heard something when I was driving my cab the other day.

Yeah? Mac was tired, but there was no stopping Ernie from telling what he had to tell.

Honey B is coming back to Edenport.

Mac blinked himself awake. What? You mean for a visit?

No. To live. Old Helen and Dick Foster were talking about it when I was driving them over to Doc Johnson’s office. Dick’s got plumbing problems and he doesn’t see well enough to drive any more. It’s hell to get old. So now they got to take my cab everywhere. It’s all money in my pocket, though and I’m saving up for a new Ford. Smiley’s got a fifty-five on the lot. It’s last year’s model so he’ll sell it for–

What about Honey? Mac said. If he didn’t interrupt Ernie once in a while, he’d keep rambling about until dawn and never finish saying what he started.

Honey? Oh, yeah. Honey. So you know that old Missy Bradshaw died in her sleep last week. Well, she was in tight with the Fosters. Helen and her went way back, just about to grade school, I think. Dick Foster helped Buster Bradshaw build his first house. It was a pretty ugly shack but it kept the rain out. You can still see it on Stump Road, halfway to–

Honey, Mac said.

I’m getting to that, Ernie replied, annoyed at the interruption. So, like I was saying, Missy left her house to Honey and Honey told Jack Foster...You know Jack, right? Has the gas station out on Highway 52 at the junction. I get all my mechanicals done by him. Hell of a mechanic, that Jack. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with the Ford. It’s got almost eighty thousand miles on it and that engine still spins like a top. Transmission taps a little in reverse because it lost a tooth that time–

What about Honey? Mac said.

I’m telling you about that if you’d just stop interrupting me. He shook his head like a bear coming out of hibernation. So, where was I?

Honey’s getting her grandmother’s house.

Yeah. That’s what I was saying. So everyone figured that she’d sell it. That’s only logical, right? It’s a nice house. Got to be worth at least ten thousand. Maybe fifteen. A gal can live for quite a while on that much dough, even in Los Angeles. But she told Jack who told his mom that Honey said that she was going to come back here and live in it. At least for a while. What’s Edenport got for a gal like Honey, anyway? When she married that fancy man and moved out to California, I never thought to see her again except on the movie screen over at the Palace. And now she’s moving back here? And no husband in sight. There’s a story there, I tell you. Of course, she’s got stories here, too. I’ve heard plenty of stories about Honey B while I was driving my cab. Believe you me. The things I could tell you would make your hair curl. I don’t know why anyone thinks the cabbie turns deaf when he puts it in drive, but folks sit on the bench in back and start telling each other the darnedest things. Especially when they start bickering back there. Why I heard this salesman telling this other guy about–

I got to get some sleep, Mac said, picking up his trumpet case. I’ll see you at the Kinsman Harvest Dance next week.

Yeah. Sure thing. I’ll tell you about what that salesman was saying. It’ll curl your hair.

Sure. Mac’s hair was already curly enough. He didn’t need to hear anything else tonight.

As he drove home, he wondered if he should break the news about Honey B to Roxie tonight or wait until she heard about it from someone else and then try to calm her down.

Maybe it wasn’t true. Ernie was no Edward R. Murrow. He never let the facts gum up a good story. Maybe Honey Bradshaw was never coming back to town.

He would let time tell the story. Tonight, he was going straight to bed.

Chapter 2

That’s what I heard, Janet whispered, pulling a hank of her hair out of Esther’s hands when she leaned toward Roxie.

I don’t believe it, Roxie said. I mean, I believe the divorce part. She’s that kind of girl.

The other women shook their heads in dismay at the thought of a woman who would leave her husband. Or get herself kicked out.

Roxie continued, But why would she come back here? There’s nothing for her in Edenport. Nothing but a lot of people who wouldn’t give her the time of day.

I don’t know about that. Esther said, pulling Janet’s head back toward her. Bill Peters still speaks pretty highly of her. She wound another curler into Roxie’s hair.

Half the men in town speak highly of her, Janet said.

Not my Mac, Roxie said. He doesn’t speak of her at all. Her voice sounded brittle.

He was the pitcher, wasn’t he? Esther said. I remember him pitching that game against the Grizzlies.

That story isn’t true, Roxie said. Mac told me himself that it never happened.

Janet shrugged. Everyone knows that she put out for the whole team when they won the county pennant. Her eyes shone at the thought. It’s common knowledge.

That shows how much everyone knows, Roxie said. The Wolverines never won the pennant. Not in the whole history of Edenport. Look it up.

Janet pouted. Maybe not, but they got close. That year that Mac was pitching, they almost made it. I remember that for sure.

Close but no cigar. They got eliminated in the semi-quarter finals. That isn’t very close. They didn’t make it into the top eight.

I don’t care. Honey B said that she’d do it. So, even if they didn’t win, she was still the kind of girl that said that she would. The whole team. That’s what? A dozen guys? Whatever they wanted from her? Even thinking about it is disgusting.

Mac says that she never said it. He doesn’t know how the rumor started.

Hick said that he heard her say it. He says that he was at the practice where she told the guys that she’d put out for all of them if they brought home the pennant. He said that the guys on the team practically killed themselves trying to get to the finals that year.

Roxie curled her lip when she said, I guess Mac missed that practice.

I guess he did.

The two women stared at each other for a minute.

Anyway, Esther said, even if that was just hot air, I know for a fact that she went climbing up Coppertop Mountain with both Mark Voortman and Donald Easley and brought them back down happy. Both of them. That’s a fact.

At the same time? Janet asked.

I’m not sure. Different times, I think, but I don’t know. It might have been the same time. Sue Betraski didn’t say exactly, but it sounded like the same time to me.

Art White’s the one that bothers me, Roxie said. She didn’t get all those A’s by studying hard. I could have got a lot of A’s, too, if I’d done for my teachers what she did for him.

Esther and Janet both looked at Roxie in shocked silence for a minute. Then Esther said, You mean Mr. White? The principal?

You didn’t know?

They looked at each other and shook their heads.

I guess people didn’t talk about it with us, being that we were still in school back then and they didn’t want us to get any ideas, but it was a big deal for Mom and Dad. I thought you would have heard all about it. Honey was carrying on with Mr. White since she was a sophomore. All through her junior and senior years. She was barely fifteen when she first started going around to his house when he was alone.

No.

I don’t believe it.

It’s true, Roxie said. Even his wife knew about them. I heard that she almost divorced him. He told her to go ahead if she wanted, but he wasn’t going to stop seeing Honey. He bought his wife that little English car and she stayed with him. But she was awfully glad to see Honey move out of town, let me tell you.

How do you know that?

I finally got the whole story from Mom a couple of years ago. It was common knowledge ten years ago.

Janet looked at her for a minute, and then said, Not that common.

Roxie shrugged. As common as Honey B.

Chapter 3

Arthur White raised his chin and snugged the knot of his tie against his collar. When his tie was perfect, he girded his body with Harris Tweed and made ready to face another day in the arena.

I have band practice this afternoon, he told Barbara, so I’m going to be late.

Is six okay for dinner? she asked.

Super. Just super. He pecked her on the lips and grabbed his briefcase.

Beef casserole isn’t so good if it gets cold, so don’t be late.

I won’t.

Before he shut the door, he saw her light up her second cigarette since getting up. All the smoking was making her teeth yellow. He wished that she’d quit, but he’d given up nagging her about it. It didn’t do any good.

It wasn’t right for only one person in a marriage to smoke. Being married was supposed to be about doing things together.

It would be easier for him to take it up than to get Barbara to quit, but he didn’t want to become a smoker. He was afraid that it’d make him hoarse. He never liked the sound of a smoke damaged voice. Sinatra was the same age as him and Sinatra’s vocal cords had started bleeding when he was only thirty-five.

Art hadn’t seen a new Sinatra record in five years. He was acting now. He won an Oscar for his supporting role in From Here to Eternity. But acting was what singers did when their career tanked. Art doubted that Sinatra would ever master another record.

As he drove to school, he wondered if it was time to visit Smiley Benoit down at Paradise Motors and trade in his Studebaker Champion for a Ford Crestline. The five-year old Stude ran well and had less than sixty thousand miles on it but he’d been talking to Smiley between sets last Saturday night and Smiley had mentioned that prices were great for the fifty-six Fords. He could get a lot of automobile for an easy monthly payment if he upgraded to the Crestline.

Smiley wanted to earn a commission, of course, but it was worth thinking about. The Stude wasn’t going to last forever and the principal of the high school couldn’t be seen driving a junker. He needed a car to go with the tie and Harris Tweed.

He decided to drop by Paradise on the weekend and see what Smiley could give him.

The morning went about as smoothly as a morning could go in Edenport’s only high school.

He had to put Karl Svensen’s kid, Erik, on the bench for the lunch hour because Sandy Gusset came crying to him that he’d kissed her out behind the gym after third period. She hadn’t said he could. She said that a dozen times while she was crying in his office. I didn’t say that he could kiss me. I didn’t Mr. White. Honest I didn’t.

Of course she didn’t say he could. Because he didn’t ask her. What did she expect was going to happen? Did she think that Erik was going to walk up to her and give a little bow and say, Hello, Sandy. Can I kiss you today?

The girl had to open her eyes and take a good, hard look in the mirror. She was no Marilyn Monroe. Erik might be a little rough around the edges but he was solid stock. In a couple of years, he’d get a steady job at the mill like his father and look to settle down and raise a family. A plain little thing like Sandy would be lucky to land a man who had a decent job and could support her.

Boys like Erik didn’t grow on trees and Sandy wasn’t going to have the pick of the crop. That was the way of the world.

But he couldn’t have his charges running wild around the school grounds, either. The kids had to save that for their own back yards. So he sat Erik down, gave him a quick lesson on how to court a girl, and then sent him to the bench to think about it while the rest of the school was enjoying lunch.

After that, Gregory Coulomb dropped by to express his concern about the school’s racial situation.

He had no appointment, just told Georgette that he was going to talk to the principal and barged right into Art’s office over her objections.

I heard that you’ve got a Jap going to this school, now, Greg said.

Art nodded. You heard right. Lacey Nakajima enrolled at the start of the year.

That ain’t right. We fought a war against them Japs.

The war ended ten years ago, Greg. It’s high time to forgive and forget.

I ain’t never forgetting Pearl Harbor. Or forgiving them sneaky Japs for stabbing us in our sleep like that, either. Never.

They surrendered. They’re our friends now. When the war ended, the government closed the camps. We have no reason not to want the Nakajima family back in Edenport. Besides, Lacey and both her parents were born in the U S of A. They got as much right to be American as anyone. I’d say more than a lot of Americans whose parents were born in Europe. The Italians were on the wrong side, you know.

That don’t matter. We’re talking about the Japs. No matter what you say, they’re still Japs. Just look at them. They don’t look nothing like Americans.

"It doesn’t matter what they look like, just what their birth certificates say. And they say American so Lacey’s got the right to come to school. In fact, the law says that she has to come until she’s at least sixteen."

It ain’t right. I lost a cousin at Pearl Harbor.

Art knew the story. Everyone in town had been hearing it for more than ten years. He was your second cousin.

Don’t matter. We was close until he went all the way out there to Hawaii and put his life on the line facing down the Japs.

He didn’t join the army. He was a civilian.

He was still a real American and he died at Pearl Harbor.

He didn’t die until New Year’s Eve, almost a month after the attack.

Not everyone died right away.

He died in a traffic accident.

On the road, right by Pearl Harbor.

After he drank the best part of a fifth of bourbon.

He wouldn’t have drunk that much if he hadn’t been all torn up about the Japs bombing him.

He wasn’t too torn up to go to a New Year’s Eve party and stay until three in the morning.

Don’t matter. That’s how he handled his pain. By going to parties and drinking until all hours and then driving his car around the island. They drove him crazy, those Japs, and that’s what killed him. I can’t forgive that.

Well, you’re going to have to forgive the Nakajimas because the war is over and Lacey is going to be attending high school for the next four years.

I don’t have to ever forgive any Jap. He stood up. I’ve half a mind to take both Terry and Jessie out of this school.

You can do that if you want, Art said. Losing Greg’s kids would be no tragedy. Terry was failing most of his courses and would probably drop out before the year was over. His little sister, Jesse, had been here for only a month but was already following in her big brother’s footsteps.

You wait and see if I do, Greg said over his shoulder as he stomped out of Art’s office.

It was just another day in the life of Edenport’s high school principal.

Until two o’clock, when a melodic voice floated through the door from the outer office. I’d like to see Mr. White.

Art would recognize that voice until the day he died. His hands began to shake.

I’ll see if he’s in, Georgette replied.

Don’t disturb yourself, Honey said. We both know that he is. I’ll just pop my head in and say, ‘Hello’ to the big man.

But you can’t just–

Honey’s figure appeared in the doorway, fuller now than when she’d been eighteen, but still familiar. He no longer felt the same desire as he had. Too much water had passed under that bridge.

Hello, Mr. White, she said in her sultriest tone. Remember me? She smiled sweetly. I’m one of your former students. Hanna Bradshaw.

Hello, Honey.

You do remember me. That’s so sweet.

What are you doing here?

Can I sit down? She sat without waiting for him to extend an invitation. I came back to settle my grandmother’s affairs. I thought that I’d only stay a couple of weeks but once I got here, I remembered how wonderful life is in paradise. I’d been away in California for so long, I’d almost forgotten. I’ve decided to settle in for a while. A year. Two. Maybe the rest of my life. Isn’t that wonderful?

I mean, what are you doing at my school? In my office?

I had to stop by and see my old friend and mentor, didn’t I? It simply wouldn’t do to move back home without getting back in touch with you. We were so close, you and I. So close. It’s such a pity that we lost touch with each other after I moved away. I guess it didn’t feel the same for you any more. I mean, you knowing that I was married to someone else.

Where’s your husband? Is he moving here with you?

Sadly, no. I’m a free woman, again. But I get fifty dollars a week in alimony, regular as clockwork. He’s afraid to miss a payment. She laughed brightly. He’s afraid that I’ll come back if he doesn’t pay me to stay divorced.

Art stared at her for a minute.

She smiled happily.

Finally, he said, I don’t want you here. You almost broke up my marriage.

Me? she said innocently. Just me? Or do you think that maybe, just maybe, you had something to do with it, too?

You know exactly how much each of us had to do with it.

So do you. She wasn’t smiling now.

So what do you want? Really?

Not much. She paused. Just one thing.

What’s that?

I want to be in your band. You still have your band, right? I want to play with you and your guys.

He looked at her for a long moment, and then said, You can’t be serious.

I’ve never been more serious. And you know how serious I can be when I get serious.

He knew. You can’t be in the band. The band is all guys. We don’t have any girls in the band.

You do now. You’ve got a female lead vocalist and soprano sax sitting right here. I’m sure that I don’t need to audition for you. You know how I play. When’s the next rehearsal?

He shook his head mutely.

Don’t worry about it. I can ask one of the guys. Or one of their wives. But then they’d wonder why you didn’t tell me, yourself. We wouldn’t want it to look like you’re nervous about playing with me again, would we? People might get to thinking that you feel guilty about something.

He made a strangled sound as he said, We don’t rehearse. We’re playing at the Kinsmen’s Harvest Dance on Saturday.

I think you better schedule a rehearsal before then. The guys need to know what to expect from me. I’m free any time. I’ll call you tomorrow and get the details.

She grabbed a business card from a holder on his desk and sauntered out of the room.

Chapter 4

The high school had a nicer music room than most in the district because the first thing that Art had done when he had been promoted to principal was to lobby the board for funds to build a new one. The old room had been given to the visual arts teacher to use as studio space. He was still grateful about that.

Though the dance band was not affiliated with the high school, Art, as principal, had no reservations about allowing his band free use of the space after hours.

Hick Miller, the drummer, was often the first to arrive, so Art had given him his own key to the exterior door.

Hey, Hick. What’s up? Mac said.

Hick looked up from his drum kit and grinned. You’re early.

No earlier than you.

I’m always early. I have to get the drums set up. It only takes a minute for you to pull your horn out of the case. He paused to fasten the high hat on its post. But it takes me a while to get this stuff put together.

Mac snapped open his case and took his trumpet out. He blew a quick riff.

What’s with this rehearsal stuff, anyway? Hick asked. We don’t need to rehearse. We get plenty of practice playing at the dances.

All Art said was that we’re going to play a couple of new arrangements on Saturday so we had to get together tonight.

Yeah, Hick said. That’s all he told me, too. Very mysterious. He shook his head. I don’t like mysteries.

Mac nodded. I know what you mean. I got the feeling that Art was afraid that we wouldn’t come tonight if we knew too much.

Well, I almost didn’t come because I didn’t know enough. I’m going out to the lake Sunday evening and wanted to spend tonight tying some new flies. I can’t do it tomorrow because Janet invited Wayne and Anita over to play cards.

Where’s the fire? a voice boomed from the back of the room.

Hey, Smiley, Hick said and tapped a brisk tattoo on his snare.

"I’m missing The Song of Bernadette for this, he said as he walked across the room. Ann Blyth. It better be worth it."

I don’t know, Mac said. I’d rather hear Ann Blyth talking on the radio than listen to Art telling me how to blow my horn any day of the week.

So why are we here? Smiley asked. He tell you what the big emergency is?

Not a word, Hick said. Very mysterious. I don’t like it.

Maybe someone quit the band. If we lost Bill’s bass, it would leave a pretty big hole in our sound.

Not to worry, Bill’s voice said as he wheeled his double bass into the room. I got my hole plugger right here.

Ernie, Karl, and Wayne followed on Bill’s heels. They’d probably all come in Ernie’s cab. After they’d unpacked their instruments and set up a few music stands, they had nothing to do but wait.

So where’s Art? Wayne asked impatiently, checking his wristwatch. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. We got to get this show on the road.

I’m right here, Art said, as he came into the room.

He said something else but nobody was listening. The full attention of every man in the room was focused on the woman following him.

The room fell as quiet as a tomb.

Finally Mac broke the silence. What’s she doing here?

I guess most of you know Honey Bradshaw, Art said. She’s going to join the band.

Hi, guys, Honey said with a small smile. I’m looking forward to playing with you.

After a beat, Hick said, I’d like to play with you too, baby, and gave himself a rim shot.

Nervous laughter from the other men did nothing to dispel the tension in the room.

I bet you love beating your... she paused for quarter rest before adding, ...drums.

Hick blushed and the other men laughed in shock.

About as much as you love blowing... quarter rest, ...your horn. Rim shot.

Art’s high school teacher reflexes kicked in. Let’s get down to business, he said, wanting to interrupt the repartee before things got any cruder. Honey plays soprano sax. He pointed to the instrument case in her hand, and then added, and sings, as an afterthought.

I figure you guys could use a soprano, she said.

You bet I can think of ways to use a soprano, Hick said and gave himself another rim shot.

So let’s get some music going, here, Art said before the guys could laugh again.

Honey didn’t wait for an invitation but stepped to the front of the band and took her sax from the case. She put a reed between her lips to wet it.

Is that a pink clarinet? Smiley asked.

It’s a soprano sax, she replied, speaking around the reed. It’s straight because the body doesn’t have to be so long.

It’s pink, Karl said.

Hot pink she replied. For hot jazz.

The men watched intently as she assembled the instrument, fit the reed to the mouthpiece, tightened the ligature, and then blew a clear, sweet B flat.

What do you want to play? she asked.

Art handed her a typed sheet. This is our play list.

She glanced at the nineteen titles on the list. This is it?

Yes. Can you play any of them? I’ve got the music if you want it. Art waved a sheaf of pages at her.

You make nineteen songs last all night?

Art looked offended. We play them more than once, he said. As long as people have something to dance to, they don’t mind.

People like these songs, Smiley said. They like hearing them.

She shrugged. I better look at your arrangements. She took the scores from Art’s hand and studied them for a minute. They were standard arrangements, edited down for a small band. Ernie played the piano part on his accordion and Art had done a fair job transposing the first tenor sax so that Smiley could play it on his clarinet. With no tenor horns, it would sound a little thin but would be danceable. Okay, she said. I get it. Which one do you want to try first?

Lady’s choice, Art said.

"In the Mood should put us in the mood, she said and looked around. You got a spare music stand?"

Karl and Wayne both pushed their stands toward her.

I don’t want to take yours, she said to them.

It’s okay, Karl said. I don’t use one.

Me, either, Wayne said.

There was no music on their stands. Honey wasn’t surprised. It was a small repertoire and they played the same couple of dozen pieces a couple of dozen times a year. Actually, several dozen times a year if you included all the times they had to repeat the same songs to fill an entire evening of dancing.

She put Karl’s stand in front of her and shuffled the music to put In the Mood to the top.

Art pulled a small baton from his pocket, tapped it for attention, and waved the downbeat at the band. The men began to play.

Honey listened to the first few bars, letting Wayne take the lead on his alto sax, and then, when she had a feel for how he played, hit the accent at the sixth bar, and starting in the ninth, transposed the second alto part into the soprano range for the remainder of the piece.

It sounded okay. The melody was recognizable and the harmonization worked better than she would have expected.

When the last note faded into the walls, Art said, Great job, guys.

Hick hooted and Smiley clapped Wayne on the back.

They all beamed at Honey, waiting for her acclaim. She smiled back. I hope Edenport appreciates the heart that you guys put into your music.

I bet you didn’t expect to hear a sound like that this far from Los Angeles, did you? Ernie said.

I didn’t expect to hear a sound like that in Edenport. That’s for certain. She glanced down the playlist. "You want to try a little Boogie Woogie?"

That’s always a crowd pleaser, Art said.

Yeah, Ernie grinned. We could play that one all night.

Once would be good enough, she said with a smile and shuffled the arrangement to the top of the pile.

Art waved his baton and the band played.

Honey played through the first part with them as before, but, this time, before the repeat, she took a solo and blew a little improvisation. All the players but Hick dropped out and fell silent, one by one. He, on the drums, soldiered bravely on, keeping the beat.

She segued into a few bars of Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy before returning to Dorsey’s Boogie Woogie. Now she was truly soloing. Even Hick’s drums fell silent.

She pulled the horn from her lips and looked at Art. What?

Ernie spoke up behind her. You played the wrong song.

She turned to look at him. It was just a little improv.

"We were playing Boogie Woogie. You started playing something else."

"I know. Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. Andrews Sisters. You know. She sang, He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way. He had a boogie style that no one else could play." She had a voice that carried well, even when singing a capella.

We know the song, Ernie said, "but that’s a different song than Boogie Woogie. We were playing Boogie Woogie not Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. They’re different songs."

I was just mixing it up a little.

"We don’t