“Kenton,” Josh said. “Stan the Man. Terrific stuff. Very far advanced for this day and age.”
“Like our students,” Rick said.
“Everything gets back to our students,” Josh said, almost sadly. “You want to know something, Rick?”
“What?”
“I am disappointed. I am goddamn disappointed. I didn’t think it would be like this at all.” He paused and listened, his brown eyes sparkling with sudden life behind their spectacles. “Here, listen to this passage.” He swung his knees out toward the juke. “My God, what those trumpets are doing!”
“I like Kenton,” Rick said.
“Mmm, yes. What a sound. God, what a sound!”
The fresh martinis came, and they listened to the record and sipped at their drinks. Rick hadn’t eaten since the fourth period, and the first two drinks had already attacked his blood. He felt them working inside him, and he listened to the almost-ca-cophony of Kenton’s music, feeling it pulse inside him, sensing the drive behind the band, a drive that was almost a physical thing. The alcohol felt warm within him, and he was aware of a vague hazy feeling in his head, but he did not give a damn.
“I’ve got no right to complain, I guess,” Josh said. “I suppose I’m luckier than most.” Josh had already finished his third drink, and he stared at Rick curiously, blinking his eyes as if he were trying to focus him properly.
“How so?” Rick asked.
“Well, this isn’t really a bad school. Oh, it’s no picnic, but there are some that are a lot worse.”
“Name one,” Rick said perversely. He lifted the martini, sipped at it once, and then drank it all down. He took the olive from the glass, popped it in his mouth, and waited for Josh to answer.
“Name one?” Josh repeated. He watched Rick chewing on his olive, seemed to be possessed of a sudden appetite, and reached into his own glass, popping the olive into his mouth. Around the olive, he said, “Hell, I can name a dozen.”
“All right, name one.”
“A worse school than North Manual Trades?” he asked, chewing.
“Yes. Go ahead, name it.”
Josh chewed thoughtfully for a few moments, and then delicately removed the olive pit from his mouth and placed it in the glass. “You name it,” he said. “I want another drink.”
Rick laughed aloud, feeling better than he had all week, feeling free and light, and almost able to float. He looked up at the ceiling and wondered if he could float up there. He did not see or hear Josh order, but when he looked down a fresh drink was waiting for him.
“I wonder if there is a large percentage of alcoholics among trade school teachers,” Josh said.
“Why?” Rick asked. “What makes you ask?”
“Seems like the most sensible thing to do every Friday is go out and get drunk. Don’t you think so?”
“Possibly,” Rick said, and the word twisted around his tongue, and he thought it sounded like “poss-iss-oss-ibly.” He stared at the fresh martini dubiously for a moment, wondering if he should drink it. Josh had already lifted his glass and tilted it to his mouth. Oh, what the hell, Rick thought. He brought the drink to his lips.
“I tell you, Rick,” Josh said a little thickly, “I feel kind of cheated. You know what I mean?”
“The martinis?” Rick asked innocently. “Not enough gin?”
“No, no, martinis is fine,” Josh said, tasting what was in his glass, just to make sure. “No, not the martinis. The school.”
“Oh, yes,” Rick said. He intended to nod his head slightly in agreement, but it emerged as an exaggerated, slow-motion lifting and dropping of his chin and head.
“They shouldn’t give us schools like this one, don’t you think?”
“No.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No, I meant no, they shouldn’t give us schools like...”
“Yes, that’s what I said. It’s not fair, you know? I mean, Rick, I want to teach. I really do. Do you want to teach?”
“I do indeed,” Rick said firmly, finishing the drink and holding up two fingers to the bartender. The bartender was standing close to them now, apparently having realized these two boys were going to be drinking in earnest. Rick watched him mix the drinks, and then said to Josh, “These are really good, you know? I must have had three already.”
“You had four,” Josh said thickly, “but who’s counting?”
Rick slapped the bar top in an outburst of laughter, and Josh laughed along with him. They were still laughing when the next round came, and the bartender eyed them curiously, shrugged, and wiped the bar top with a wet rag even though it was absolutely clean.
Josh stopped laughing abruptly, and he stared at Rick seriously. “I really want to teach, Rick, like you. So why won’t they let me teach? That’s what I do not understand. I get up there, and I try to teach, and they won’t let me. A man who wants to teach should be allowed to teach.”
“You’re positively right,” Rick said emphatically.
“Didn’t the people allow Christ to teach?” Josh wanted to know, his indignation mounting as he started his drink. “Didn’t they?”
“You are not Christ,” Rick said with the air of a man who has made a remarkable discovery.
“In this school, even Christ would have a tough time being heard,” Josh said. He raised his eyebrows. “Hey now, listen to this one. You like Sarah Vaughan?” He cocked his head at the juke box.
“I love Sarah Vaughan,” Rick said.
“She does things,” Josh agreed. “She certainly does things. Did I tell you I’m going to bring my record collection to class someday?”
“Yes, you did,” Rick said thickly.
“Well, I am. I got a good collection, started it when I was in high school. All the old Miller stuff, and the early James records. Charlie Barnet, the Duke when he was really laying them down. You remember ‘Concerto for Cootie’?”
“I remember,” Rick said.
“Do nothin’ till you hear from me,” Josh sang in a horrible voice. “Pay no attention to wha’s said...”
“Tha’s pretty,” Rick told him.
“Yeah, nice tune. I got all those old records, all of them, the old records. Remember ‘Trumpet Blues’? I got that one. ‘Trumpet Blues,’ I mean.”
“Tha’s a good one,” Rick said.
“Fine,” Josh said thickly. “An’ ‘Tuxedo Junction,’ remember that? An’ Shaw’s ‘Backbay Shuffle.’ All of them.”
“Hey,” Rick said, “how ’bout ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’?”
“Oh, why sure!” Josh said, spreading his hands wide. “Certainly. Of course. Sinsinsin, naturally.”
“I used to go to the Paramount every time Miller came to it,” Rick said. “I liked Miller.”
“He was good,” Josh agreed. “A clarinet on top of four saxes, you know. Tha’s how he got that sweet sax section sound, that nice high reedy sound. Shame he died. He was really good.”
“Bet the kids today don’t even know who Glenn Miller is,” Rick said sadly.
“They’re missing out,” Josh said, just as sadly.
“Remember ‘The Make Believe Ballroom’?” Rick asked.
“Tha’s still on the air,” Josh reminded him.
“Yeah, sure, but didn’t you used to listen to it always?”
“Oh, sure. Every night.”
“Jus’ close your eyes
“An’ visualize
“In your solitude
“Your fav’rite bands
“Are on the stand
“An’