“Well,” he said. “I got some real nice ones.” The club suddenly seemed very silent. Reen and Ox abruptly ended their discussion and walked over to the piano. Tony, as if realizing his judgment was about to be put on trial, busied himself with the leather strap around his neck, toying with the hook where it joined the saxophone.
“What’d you get?” Frank asked again, suspiciously this time.
“‘I Dreamt I Dwelt in Harlem,’” Tony answered. Belatedly, he added, “A nice number.”
“I never heard of it,” Frank said. He turned from Tony and began tightening the nuts on his cymbals. Vic, apparently drawn by the talk of the new arrangements, put down his chamois and walked over to the piano, his trumpet hooked over his arm like a shotgun.
“You’ll recognize it when you hear it,” Tony said uneasily. He paused and wiped his hand across his mouth, more unsure of himself now. “I also picked up ‘Stardust.’ I figured we should start buying some standards. We got almost all pops and—”
“That’s good,” Bud said, nodding in agreement.
“What else?” Frank asked.
“‘Trumpet Blues.’”
“Harry James’s?” Reen asked.
“Yeah.”
“We’ll never play that,” Frank said sourly. Maybe he didn’t know that Vic had silently walked over to the piano and was standing there now, thin-lipped, solemn-eyed. Maybe he didn’t know, but Bud suspected he just didn’t give a damn. Bud looked up and caught the quick spark in Vic’s eyes almost the instant it was kindled.
“Why not?” Vic asked quietly. “Why won’t we play it?”
Frank looked up from his cymbals, and he didn’t seem surprised to see Vic there at all. “We’ve only got one trumpet,” he said. “James has six.”
Vic wouldn’t let it go. “So what?” he said.
Frank shrugged. “So that.”
“One trumpet can carry the melody,” Vic said doggedly. “The first trumpet sheet—”
“Are you comparing yourself to James?” Frank said suddenly. Bud felt the shocked silence that greeted Frank’s outburst. He glanced to Vic uneasily, saw Vic bite his lip for a moment.
“No,” Vic said, “I know I’m not James, but—”
“Then what the hell are you talking about?” Frank said, flaring into anger. “You think ‘Trumpet Blues’ is one of your damn C scales?”
“Oh, knock it off, Frank,” Reen said.
“I can play it,” Vic said to no one in particular.
“Play with this a while,” Frank said nastily.
“If you can play the drum part, I can play the trumpet part.”
“I can play the drum part, all right,” Frank said, straightening up from his cymbals. “Don’t worry about that, boy. I can play the drum part fine. There hasn’t been a drum part yet I couldn’t play.”
“Well, I can play the trumpet part,” Vic persisted.
“We’ll see,” Frank said, unwilling to continue with what seemed a pointless argument to him.
Tony Banner, a boy who hated awkward situations of any sort, a boy who’d walk a mile to avoid a scene, listened to the completeness of the silence all around him. He wiped his hand over his mouth again, glanced toward the door hurriedly, and almost thanked the Virgin Mary when he saw Mike entering the room.
“Here’s Mike now,” he said, sighing thankfully. “We can start as soon as you tune us up, Bud.”
“Sure,” Bud said. He watched Vic slouch over to his metal stand and sit in the chair behind it. Vic had thin lips, and he blew from the side of his mouth, and all the boys in the band knew he wasn’t so hot, which was why they were looking for an additional trumpet player. But Bud’s sense of right and wrong could not eliminate the fact that the idea for a band had originated with Vic, and that he’d done the initial legwork, getting hold of Ox and Mike, and later Bud and Frank. It was funny they’d chosen Tony as leader, because he’d actually been the last one to join the band. It was funny to everyone but Vic, Bud knew, and he couldn’t help feeling sorry for the trumpet player. Vic, despite his show of bravado, sensed he was not a very good musician, and Frank shouldn’t have hopped on him like that, especially for no apparent good reason.
Mike Daley came over, his red face even redder from the cold outside, and stamped around and got everyone wet when he shook off his coat. He kept rubbing his hands together while Bud gave Tony and Ox the A. Vic came over to the piano and tuned up, taking longer than the other fellows because his ear wasn’t as good and he was unable to tell whether he was flat or sharp unless Bud prompted him. Frank sat behind his drums, up high on the special box he’d built with the cushion on it. He played a few rolls with his brushes, and Vic put in a cup mute and blew a few scales softly, while Ox and Tony ran up some chromatics together. When Mike came over to the piano with his alto sax, Bud yelled for everyone to shut up and then gave him the A. Mike blew a note, pulled his mouthpiece out a little, and then hit it again, right on the button this time. He warmed up a little, joining Tony and Ox in the chromatics. Reen walked to one of the tables on the other side of the — room, sat down, and then as an afterthought propped his legs up on the table.
“Let’s take ‘Elk’s Parade,’” Tony said, and Bud smiled a little. He’d known what was coming because Tony always chose that number for the warm-up. The band played it better than any of their other arrangements, and it also gave each of the boys an opportunity to solo. It was a jump tune, too, and jumps were always better for warm-ups than something slow and draggy.
Tony called off the beat, standing up to do it, the way he’d seen big-timers do it, Bud surmised. He sat down as soon as the band started playing, and they ran through the number without a hitch, playing it competently if without any particular distinction. When they were finished, Reen applauded, and Tony hammed it up the way he always did, standing up and bowing and smiling and saying, “Thank you, thank you,” as if he were addressing an adulating audience at the Paramount. Frank said, “Come on, let’s get this damn rehearsal over with,” and Tony turned all business, going over to the piano and taking the new arrangements from its top where he’d left them.
He gave out all the parts, saving the trombone sheets, and the guitar sheet, and the second and third trumpet sheets, and the fourth tenor sheet, and the bass sheet for when the band was bigger and needed them. Bud glanced through the stuff Tony handed him, and he had to admit it looked pretty good, with some nice chords in the “Harlem” number. Frank looked over his simple drum parts and then said, “Let’s try ‘Trumpet Blues’ first, Tony.”