A much larger covey hails from the stalwart states that begin with the letter I-like Iowa and Indiana and Illinois. In New York it becomes so easy to assume that the city's most alluring women have flown in from Paris or Milan.
Though under her little number, I noted that Eve was wearing the best of her stolen lingerie.Įve was one of those surprising beauties from the American Midwest. It was just enough of an excuse to get us out of our room and we treated it accordingly, both of us wearing comfortable flats and a simple black dress. It had a semblance of rhythm and a surfeit of sincerity. It wasn't going to raise our hopes or spoil them. We didn't really understand what we were listening to, but we could tell that it had its advantages. In another twenty years all the world would be sitting in basement clubs like this one, listening to antisocial soloists explore their inner malaise but on the last night of 1937, if you were watching a quartet it was because you couldn't afford to see the whole ensemble, or because you had no good reason to ring in the new year. Anyone in love or money was around the corner at Café Society dancing to swing. There were a few couples here and there, but no romance. The spare clientele were almost as downbeat as the band. Boom, boom, boom, he went, at half the pace of a heartbeat. While the bass player, a coffee-and-cream mulatto with a small deferential mustache, was being careful not to hurry him. The saxophonist, a mournful giant with skin as black as motor oil, had apparently lost his way in the labyrinth of one of his long, lonely solos. At the back of the club, looming over a small empty dance floor, a jazz quartet was playing loved-me-and-left-me standards without a vocalist. There were no hats or streamers no paper trumpets.
With no better plans or prospects, my roommate Eve had dragged me back to The Hotspot, a wishfully named nightclub in Greenwich Village that was four feet underground.įrom a look around the club, you couldn't tell that it was New Year's Eve. It won't hit bookstores until July 26, 2011, but you can get a sneak peek right here. The editors at O magazine fell in love with this striking debut novel by Amor Towles.
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