Mood Indigo

1948. “Are you sitting down?” Violet’s agent sounded as if he was going to burst.

“By the sound of your voice, I’d better be!” Violet laughed into the receiver.

Her agent went on. “I’ve just been asked to ask you if you’d appear at the Old Port Jazz Festival.”

Violet sat down.

“Everybody who’s anybody will be t here: Louis, Ella, Joe, Dizzy, Sarah, Dinal, Stan, the Duke, the Count and all the other royalty. And here’s the cheese spread on the cracker: they’re recording it for a two SP set.”

By now, Violet was trembling with excitement. “Oh, you told them right away that I’d do it, I hope! Heck, I’ll even fold up the chairs afterwards, if they’d like...”

“No need for that, doll—because you ARE a hot commodity in the jazz world. So get those pipes ship-shape and I’ll mail you your ticket. Look good for the photographers when you get off the plane—’cause there’ll be plenty.”

Soon the big day arrived. As Violet and the others stepped off the plane in Old Port, there was indeed a plethora  of reporters and photographers, in addition to a crowd of jazz aficionados. As she joined the group of her fellow artists for pictures, Violet suddenly felt and arm go around her shoulders. Looking to her left, she realized the arm was attached to one of the great ladies of jazz, a woman Violet had admired for years. And at that moment, Violet knew that she belonged.

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