Serenaded by this music to my ears, I sat down next to her and brushed Taplin to the other side of the room with a stare.

“Hi,” said Gail. “After you left me, I thought, you know, just because we spent the afternoon together doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get to see you play at night. You sound great.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s a lot of heft in your tone that you can’t pick up from a record.” She stretched. “Hope you like my outfit, and if you don’t, would you lie and say you do, because it’s the only formal number I own.” She removed first the sleeveless bolero and then her gloves as artfully as Sherry Britton. I could hear the creaking of chairs as most of the lounge’s male patrons strained to get a better view of her. At least, I assume it was their chairs that were creaking.

I ordered a Scotch mist from the bartender and asked, “Is that Arpège you’re wearing?”

“Yes, how’d you know?”

“Because it’s French for arpeggio,” I said. “Figured it was the one perfume a musician ought to be informed about.” I didn’t tell her that I also knew this because Nancy had worn the scent (her only extravagance, a single bottle that she’d stretched out over the course of a decade) and because Linney had loved the picture of a mother and daughter on the bottle.

Vera walked into the bar and made a point of greeting everyone from the band except me. At last she walked over and said, “Hi, Ray. Buy you a Shirley Temple or have you already bought one?” Gail dealt with this in the most interesting way. She just continued to have a conversation with me as if Vera simply didn’t exist. Vera stood around for a moment, not knowing how to respond, and finally left the lounge.

My drink arrived. I picked up Gail’s as well and walked us over to a table for two by a window overlooking the bay. A small lamp with an amber shade bathed us in a pool of warm light while, alongside us, the island where we’d met glistened cool blue and icy pink. Every man in the lounge wished he were me, which was amusing, since most of the time I wished I were anyone but.

But Gail was making me remember when I had wished for other things.

Chapter 15

15

Prelude and Fugue

I got the impression that Gail might have been illegitimate. She clearly had no inclination to discuss her father, if she knew who he was, and politely told me as much the moment I raised the topic. But on the subject of her uncle Joe, she came to life.