It was Date Night. Mister and I headed downtown for some French food and some Jazz. It wasn’t the first Date Night, and it won’t be the last.
But something was different. It didn’t feel ordinary. It was as if the air was charged with magic and joy. The nightmare of L.A. traffic couldn’t diffuse it. We didn’t talk about it or anything. We just parked and went to the restaurant. I was wearing new shoes and they were treating my feet just right, so that added to my happiness.
Sitting across from each other wasn’t new, but it was energized in a way I can’t explain. Maybe it was the table next to us, where a dad dined with his teenage daughter. That girl was talking to her father non-stop. And he was so engaged, listening and responding. Only when his kid went to the loo did he check his cell phone. And when she returned to the table, the phone went back into his pocket. After they left, Mister said he wished he’d said something to the dad about how awesome it was to see a father like that with a kid. So much respect for a child and what she had to say.
After our cocktails and beautiful dinner were finished, we walked down the street for the show. It was trumpeter Tom Harrell, performing his “Colors of a Dream” with 5 fantastic musicians. The sextet was a little different, in that there were no keys. Just trumpet (Harrell), alto sax (Jaleel Shaw), tenor sax (Wayne Escoffery), bass (Ugonna Okegwo), bass/vocals (Esperanza Spalding) and drums (Johnathan Blake). And it was about the grooviest show I’ve seen in a long, long time. I was In. It. After their first number, I whispered to Mister that I felt as if I were watching the grown-up, living version of all the music I’d ever heard by Vince Guaraldi on the Charlie Brown specials.
I love jazz. I tried to get into it as a kid, because my surrogate TV dad – Bill Cosby as “Heathcliff Huxtable” – was such a jazz fan. I say I tried, but it just didn’t take. It was the ’80’s and I was a kid. I was so into The Cosby Show back then. Most of my friends tuned in to see what “Denise” was wearing. I tuned in for the entire family, though “Denise’s” wardrobe was a big draw. I remember at that time, my friend Whitecotton had these bangin’ wingtip lace-ups. They had cut-outs on the sides, so your foot or colored trouser socks showed through. They were definitely something “Denise” would have worn. I coveted those shoes and wanted them as much as air. Whitecotton told me where she’d gotten them, so I went to a shoe shop in St. Louis’ Central West End, ready to get my own pair. Alas, they had sold out. It wasn’t to be. For some reason, I’ve never forgotten those shoes. That’s how much I adored them.
Anyhoo, back at the sold-out Tom Harrell show, I was in such a fine mood and digging that jazz like nobody’s business. At some point I realized I was bopping in my seat, scrunching up my face and contorting my body – just like The Cos. I guess Bill Cosby’s enthusiasm finally took, because I didn’t stop myself from being In. It. For the entire show, I felt the flow and was absorbed by the ministry of the music. And make no mistake, those musicians took us to church!
When the show ended and the monstrous, happy crowd had filed out into the warm L.A. night, Mister and I moseyed back to our car. That’s when he looked down and noticed my new shoes. He said they were crazy cool and I thanked him. I also agreed. Bangin’ wingtip lace-ups. With cut-outs on the sides.
Sometimes we grow up. Sometimes we hold on to the child inside. This night reminded me that jazz has been a part of my life since I was a wee lass, and it has patiently waited for me to come around. Now that I’m a fan, I’m starting to understand the dichotomy of jazz. I get to be grown. I also get to be a kid. I get to be In. It. And damn! Don’t I have some bangin’ shoes for the stroll…