“I’d feel happier if—”
“Now, come down, Carol, come down. You’re beginning to sound like Mama Silvera. No, doll, I’m going to sell it. Now, let’s go upstairs and get some food. I could eat an elephant.”
He seemed quite happy. He whistled as they went up the steps, and when they came into the apartment, he said, “Somebody forgot to turn off the phonograph.” He walked to the record player and lifted the arm. “Sorry, Stan,” he said to the machine, and then he put the trumpet case down on the sofa and opened it, pulling out the books. He reached into his pocket for his mouthpiece, took the horn from the velvet bed, and put the mouthpiece on it. He put the horn to his lips, puffing them out against the mouthpiece.
“Man, does this feel strange,” he said.
“I’ll get the eggs going,” Bud said.
“I can do it,” Carol said.
“You can help if you want to.”
“I wonder if I should start from scratch,” Andy said. “Here, man, dig this garbage. ‘Studies on Syncopation.’ Tu, tu, tu, tu, tu.” He turned some pages and then stopped. “Oh, man, look at this. Tu, tutututu, tu, tutututu, tu... I wonder if I can blow it.” He turned more pages. “Ah, ‘Studies on the Slur,’ hey, dig this, the date is here, the date I first had the lesson, July twelfth, now how’s that for something? Look here, in pencil. ‘Use diaphram.’ Sounds like advice to newlyweds, doesn’t it?” He laughed aloud, and said, “Forgive me, Carol,” and then he laughed again. “All half notes. Say, I can play this standing on my head.” He began singing the notes. “Eff-ay, gee-bee, ay-cee, bee-dee, cee-eee, dee-eff, eee-gee, efffffff. Oh, simple, man, simple. Where’s all the hard stuff? This is Andy Silvera, man.”
“Come on,” Carol said. “Let’s get those eggs.” They went into the kitchen together, and they could hear Andy leafing through pages in the living room.
“We had a close call,” Bud whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Carol said. “I honestly didn’t think he needed watching. I’ll stay today.”
“No, it’s all right. You get back to work. I can keep an eye on him. I’ll be in all day, anyway. But I’ve got a test tomorrow. Maybe you’d better come stay with him, then.”
“All right, that’ll be best. I appreciate this, Bud.”
“Ah, now, here’s the stuff,” Andy called. “‘Triple Tonguing.’ Ah, that’s for me. That’s what a shmaltz outfit like Fredericks goes in for. Tu tu ku, tu tu ku, tu tu ku — ah, that’s the stuff, man. Man, I can’t wait to start blowing.”
“Go ahead,” Bud said. “Everybody’s awake by now, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Andy said. “Yessir. Ah, here they are, all the old ones I used to practice. ‘Robin Adair,’ and ‘Loving, I Think of Thee,’ and, oh, here’s a sweet one, ‘Bluebells of Scotland,’ dahhh, dee-dee, ahhh, dah, ee-ah, dah-dah-dee-dah, dahh... oh, man, do I remember these.”
“Let’s hear one of them,” Bud called from the kitchen.
“Here comes the tricky stuff,” Andy answered. “‘Ernani’ and ‘Traviata’ and ‘Il Crociato,’ ah, and here’s the one, man, here it is, right here at the end of the book, ‘Fantaisie and Variations on the Carnival of Venice.’ Man, you know I could play this one from top to bottom at one time? And, man, does this get crazy! Just take a look at this. He’s got thirty-second notes here, and flipping up and down a full octave. You can bust your lip with this one, man! Man, I can’t wait to tie into it.”
“Well, the eggs are almost ready,” Bud said. “It’ll have to wait.”
“Oh, sure, lots of time. This is real crazy, you know that? Here’s ‘Caprice and Variations,’ that’s another one I liked. This Arban gets the wildest arrangements, you know? He can really twist these tunes. Here comes Silvera, man, make way!” He started laughing again, and then he came into the kitchen with his horn hooked over his arm. He put one hand on his hip, and he tilted his nose ceilingward, and he said, “Dig this pose. ‘Andy Silvera, bandleader of distinction, prefers BVDs because they fit so snug and allow his diaphragm to breathe easily.’” He laughed hilariously, and Bud laughed with him, amazed at the transformation that had come over Andy with the acquisition of his horn.
“Oh, man, I tell you I’m going to get with it again. I’m going to blow down the goddamn walls, believe me. Man, it’s going to be like the old days again. Carol, I could kiss you for bringing this sweet little baby to me.” He picked up the horn suddenly and kissed the bell. “Honey, why’d you want to stay away so long, huh? Honey, now don’t you ever do that again, hear?” He scolded the horn with an extended forefinger, and then he began laughing again. “Right after breakfast I’m going to knock the windows out of this joint, you wait and see. The cops’ll think it’s a riot. Man, the cats’ll come stampedin’ down the avenue when I cut loose with this mother-loving ax of mine.”
“Meanwhile,” Bud said, “here’re the eggs.”
They brought the eggs and coffee to the table, and they sat down to eat, just as if it were old times, just as if nothing had happened to any of them during the past two years. They were three friends sitting down to a late breakfast, and the warmth of the situation touched Bud immensely. Andy sat with the horn in his lap, and he talked of what he was going to do with that horn, and listening to him, there was no doubt in Bud’s mind. By Christ, he would do it this time. This time he’d break the habit, and he’d really blow that horn, and people would sit up and take notice when they heard the name Andy Silvera, and that’s the way it ought to have been always. They enjoyed their breakfast, and when Carol got up to phone her office, Bud was a little sorry it was over. She made her call, and then kissed them both on their cheeks, and when she was gone he and Andy turned to the task of clearing up the dishes.
Andy would not calm down. He talked enthusiastically, the words bubbling up out of his mouth. He talked of what he was going to do with that horn of his, and Bud nodded and listened, and after a while he began to lose interest. And as abruptly as he had lost interest, Andy changed the subject, changed it so subtly that Bud didn’t realize for a moment what was going on. And when he did realize, he was a little disappointed because Andy was going back again, back into the past, back on the one-tracked mind of his, almost as if he still lived in the past, almost as if the present were an unreal thing.
“Man,” he said, “I really could blow in those days, now admit it, couldn’t I? I could blow the end, the very end, that was me. And you guys did a lot for me, whether you realize it or not. Oh, you probably didn’t even know what the hell you were doing, I mean you did but the others didn’t consciously set out to help me, I know that now. Like I don’t think the guys even knew what I was doing, or at least what I thought I was doing. For me, it was a kind of an invasion, you know? My getting into the clique, I mean. For example, when I asked you to come along and help me pick out a new sports jacket, why, man, I thought I was putting something over on you. For all I know, you may have had nothing else to do that afternoon. Or Frank helping me buy some slotted-collar shirts. Hell, that son-of-a-bitch just loved to shop, but did I know that? No, I thought I was being tricky. It doesn’t really make any difference because I did get the clothes, one way or another, and that’s what counts, I mean you guys really taught me how to dress.
“And the dancing, well, without the boys I’d have been lost. And without knowing how to dance, I wouldn’t have stood a chance with Carol. For that matter, even my meeting Carol came about through the boys. Oh, not directly, I suppose. I mean, what the hell, it wasn’t the boys’ fault that the electricity got turned off in Club Stardust and we had to get another rehearsal hall. Mike’s uncle always struck me as a jerk, anyway, but imagine a club without enough money to pay their electric bill. Jesus! But what I mean, you know, it was Tony’s suggestion that we try some of the teen-age cellar clubs off Eastern Parkway, and if we hadn’t stumbled into Club Beguine, and if Carol hadn’t been there, and if I hadn’t known how to dance.”