Rags to Riches. Nancy Carson

      ‘I’m looking forward to hearing you. Brent says I’ll be pleasantly surprised. I don’t come out to hear him and his jazz very often. Actually, you’re the only reason I’ve come tonight. He said how…how appealing you are – to look at – that people will come to hear the band just to get a peek at you.’ Maxine perceived that Eleanor spoke grudgingly. ‘I was curious to see for myself.’

      Maxine smiled, gratified none-the-less to learn that Brent found her looks interesting.

      ‘He really wants to succeed in jazz, Maxine,’ she continued. ‘I hope that, with your help, he will.’

      ‘I suppose we all want to succeed, Eleanor – at whatever we do,’ Maxine said, slighted at the implication that she should be merely a tool by which Brent’s aspirations should turn to reality. ‘Everything I do, I put my heart and soul into. Trouble is, we’ve not had much time to practise together yet, so I hope you’ll make allowances. In a few months, though, we’ll be really slick, so judge us then and not now.’ She smiled pleasantly. ‘Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Eleanor…If you’ll excuse me. They’re getting up on stage now, look.’

      Maxine joined the lads on stage and took her seat at the piano. With no introductions they went straight into a King Oliver number – ‘Rhythm Club Stomp’. It did not take long for the audience to realise there was something different about the Second City Hot Six. Almost at once they had everyone’s attention and a spontaneous round of applause at the end of the first number. Without waiting for the applause to die down Brent counted them in for ‘Royal Garden Blues’, Bix Beiderbecke style, followed at once by ‘Tiger Rag’. It was then that Brent introduced Maxine to the audience as the band’s new pianist, at which she smiled coquettishly and waved, to a roar of approval and a barrage of wolf whistles.

      Maxine kept looking to see whether Howard Quaintance had turned up. But there was no sign of him. Doubtless, without Randolf, his piano playing organist pal, he had no reason to be there. Pity. From time to time, she tried to catch Pansy’s expressions to gauge whether she was enjoying the music and approving of it all. Pansy was sitting listening intently on one side of Stephen. Eleanor was on Stephen’s other side, listening intently to him.

      Just before the break Arthur split the reed of his clarinet. Evidently, he hadn’t got a spare, so he sat out what remained of the session. This was exactly the chance Maxine had hoped for. During the break she grabbed Pansy and they both followed Brent to the bar, waiting patiently while he got served and took the compliments of one or two club members.

      ‘Brent, can I introduce you to Pansy Hemming?’ she said, giving him no chance to move further.

      He was carrying three pints of beer and inevitably spilling some. ‘Hello, Pansy. Forgive me if I don’t shake your hand.’

      ‘Pansy’s a clarinettist,’ Maxine said. ‘I think I’ve mentioned her before.’

      ‘A clarinettist? Hey, that would be convenient,’ Brent said, flashing her a knowing look. ‘So what are you suggesting, Maxine?’

      ‘That maybe you could let Arthur go home to his dear wife and let Pansy fill in for a few numbers,’ she said. ‘Fancy not having a spare reed, Brent. I can’t believe it. His lack of any professionalism at all makes him a liability. Not to mention his awful playing.’

      Brent chuckled. ‘Oh, I know what he’s like…But could you do it, Pansy? Could you fill in at such short notice?’

      ‘Course,’ she replied as if such an activity were an everyday occurrence. ‘I can play jazz – this sort of stuff. My clarinet’s in Stephen’s car. It wouldn’t take a minute to get it.’

      ‘Go on, then, get it, Pansy. I’ll just take these pints over and have a chat to Arthur. I’ll have to tell him what we’re doing. I don’t suppose he’ll be that bothered, though. Then we’ll have a chat as to what you can do.’ As Pansy went in search of Stephen and her clarinet Brent flashed Maxine a perceptive look. ‘If I didn’t know you better I’d say you’d got this planned, Maxine.’

      ‘Planned? Me? Listen, I know a good clarinettist when I hear one.’ Maxine tagged close to Brent as he delivered the glasses of beer, talking to him all the time. ‘She’s brilliant, Brent. Wait till you hear her. She’s stacks better than that Arthur.’

      ‘That shouldn’t be difficult. But she’ll have had no rehearsal. Don’t you think it’s a bit risky letting her loose with no rehearsal?’

      ‘Not half as risky as having Arthur in the band. She can improvise like nobody else I’ve ever heard. She can make that thing talk.’

      He put the beer on the table where the other band members were in conversation. ‘Lads, we’ve got a new clarinettist coming to have a blow with us next half.’ He shrugged, as if to suggest he’d been railroaded into accepting it.

      ‘Who?’ Kenny Wheeler asked after supping the froth from his beer.

      ‘Another girl, can you believe? A friend of Maxine’s called Pansy. She’s just gone to get her clarinet…Look, I’ll be back in a minute.’

      ‘Christ, we’ll be an all-tarts band at this rate,’ Toots commented, and nudged Ginger Tolley. ‘Me an’ you am the wrong sex for this outfit, Ginger.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know, Toots. I think I’d look quite nice in a frock.’

      ‘Not as nice as that Pansy,’ Kenny assured him. ‘She’s a beaut. Beautiful shock of red hair, nice legs, nice arse, nice tits. Bags I have first go.’

      ‘Sod off, Kenny, you’re married.’

      Within a minute or two Brent returned and took the vacant seat next to Eleanor. ‘Maxine reckons this Pansy’s good,’ he said, ‘and I trust her judgement.’ He took out his cigarettes and offered one to Eleanor.

      ‘Pansy’s not just a good clarinettist,’ Maxine plugged, ‘she’s good on the piano and she sings as well. Don’t you see? It means we could double up on things – make things more interesting to watch. It means we’d also have two girl singers in the band, as well as Toots and yourself, Brent.’

      ‘Useful,’ Toots agreed.

      ‘It also means we’ll have to change the name to the Second City Hot Seven,’ Ginger said.

      ‘Er…I’ve been thinking about the name,’ Maxine said, looking at Brent apprehensively. ‘I think we should change it to something more stylish. I mean, are we going to want to play this New Orleans stuff forever? Everything’s changing…going to Swing. Maybe we should consider doing some Swing. It’s more sophisticated, more modern.’

      ‘But that’s big band stuff, Maxine,’ Kenny said.

      ‘Not necessarily. We could play it with our line-up. Jazz is evolving. All I’m saying is that we should evolve with it.’

      ‘It’s something we should think about,’ Brent concurred. ‘Look, Pansy’s back…’

      When the introductions were over they compared repertoires and it seemed Pansy was familiar with most of the pieces the band was to play.

      ‘And if I don’t know it well, I’ll improvise,’ she said.

      As they sat talking companionably, all drinking, some smoking, it was evident that each member of the band was fired with enthusiasm for the promise of what was to come. The rapid changes would be for the better. They were at a watershed, and Maxine, a classically trained musician, had a clear vision of what was needed to make their jazz outfit really succeed. She had shown them, in the very short time she had been involved, that she had an unerring musical ear, a talent that was undeniable. Maybe she also possessed the enviable gift of being able to predict musical trends. Certainly, she had a knack of getting her own way since Brent Shackleton, their undisputed leader, allowed her to manipulate him. Maybe he recognised that Maxine had something he himself needed to be successful in jazz. Anyway, something fresh was stirring in the wind. Everything