Sweet And Lowdown Page #5

took on teaching music as a sideline.

Emmet refused.

At that time he was married

to a woman named Blanche."

- What are you doing?

- What?

Nothing.

Nothing.

Excuse me, darling.

You were stealing that box.

- No.

- Oh, yes, you were. I saw you.

Why?

I don't know.

You're a genius, you know?

Eubie Blake thinks I'm the best guitar

player in the whole world, bar none.

- And he knows Django.

- Truly?

I'm Blanche Williams.

- Are you gonna squeal on me?

- "Squeal" on you?

Gosh. Not only are you

vain and egotistical...

but you have genuine crudeness.

I didn't want the goddamn thing.

I won't squeal on you

if you take me for a drive...

in that sublime automobile

of yours.

Drive.

Where?

To the ends of the earth.

Astonish me.

It's fun, isn't it?

Well, it's definitely different.

Make sure you don't pull it.

You squeeze it.

Squeeze the trigger.

- Do you do this often?

- Every chance I get.

Specifically, what's the thrill?

Well, I'm not sure, really.

There's one.

And you got him!

Do you get a bigger kick

doing this or stealing small objects?

You know what?

I could really use a drink.

I stop in here every time

I come through Chicago.

She makes great chili.

You like chili?

What do you think of

when you play?

What goes through your mind?

What are your real feelings?

I don't know.

That I'm underpaid.

I think about that sometimes.

Tell me about the girl

you lived with.

She was nice, but I told her

not to fall in love with me.

It was very one-sided.

She was nice, but I just

cut out one night.

She was asleep, I left 500 cash

by the bed, got my stuff...

and got outta there

at 4:
00 in the morning.

I didn't want a scene.

She must have really loved you.

I didn't say it was

an easy decision, but...

I needed more than Hattie.

- Do you miss her?

- Not a bit.

I did the right thing for me.

Maybe I wouldn't have met you.

Come on, Emmet. Join us, man.

Cut loose with the fellas.

- You know you want to.

- Yeah?

Please.

Come. You'll enjoy this.

I'm great. I really am.

After-hours jam session.

Chicago South Side.

He's like a cat...

feline with the guitar, which is

his only, certainly deepest love.

No, his only. The sound...

the beat, the ideas.

Where do they come from?

Any woman would be second

to his music.

He wouldn't miss me any more

than the woman he abruptly left.

He could only feel pain

for his music.

Such is the ego of genius.

Must get used to it.

I used to have a stable of girls

in this town.

- No.

- Yeah.

I made some money, but...

whores are unpredictable.

- They're nuts.

- Really?

Yeah. But money's money.

I mean, you pimped

and you procured?

I can't stand it.

It's just too perfect.

- I don't like that word.

- Which?

"Pimp." No, I was a manager.

- What's too perfect?

- That whole seamy world.

The girls I came out with were whores

too, only we called them debutantes.

I lived in a whorehouse

when I was 18 for six months.

Didn't have a job and no money.

The madam put me up.

She was a friend of my mother's.

I'm sure you learned a lot there.

I don't know.

It's like being a cook.

- A cook?

- You're in the kitchen all day.

You don't want to look at the food.

I'd love to be a whore for a year.

Just a year.

If you ever want a manager...

Look. That's a beauty.

What is this fascination

with trains?

What do you mean?

Do you have the urge to go off,

to ride to unknown destinations?

For what point?

Are you trying to recapture some

intangible feeling from childhood...

when you dreamt of glamorous cities

just out of reach?

I'm not trying to capture anything

from childhood. It stank.

Then I can only think it must be

the power of the locomotive...

the sheer, potent sexual energy

that arouses your masculinity.

The wheels, the hot furnace,

the pistons pumping.

You sound like you wanna

go to bed with the train.

He's impulsive and hot-tempered...

yet he listens to the recordings

of Django Reinhardt for hours and cries.

He has never met this gypsy guitarist

and never wants to.

I think because he doesn't

want to learn Django's mortal.

He sleeps with the light on

in the room...

and last night he woke up screaming

the name of his old girlfriend Hattie.

Then he asked me to marry him.

Get a load of those legs?

Take your hat off.

She grew up with a butler.

It was very impulsive.

And as soon as they were married,

right from the start...

it was very shaky.

Why did he marry her so suddenly?

I don't know.

You know, they only had one thing

in common:
Clothes.

They were like two peacocks.

But there was always an unreal

quality to the whole thing.

Talk about doomed relationships.

I feel like gettin' out.

Me too, Emmet, but we're broke.

He's gonna give me my job back!

He said so.

If you show up on time,

and then not always drunk.

Somethin' comes over me.

I get cold sweats.

You're not sorry we got married,

are you?

Of course not!

You're a beautiful woman.

- Do you love me?

- What's this all about?

I'm trying to analyze your feelings

so I can write about them.

I'm your husband.

I'm not some goddamn book idea!

Have you ever cried

over the loss of anyone?

- Your mother, your father?

- Not in me.

You let your insides get to you

and you're finished.

If you just let your feelings out,

you might even play better.

Richer.

Someone else said that to me once.

Everybody knows everything.

I've been trying to analyze what

separates your playing from Django's...

and I say it's that

his feelings are richer.

He's not afraid to suffer

in front of anybody.

- He doesn't hold things in check...

- Stop talking about Django!

The guy haunts me. All right?

Enough about Django.

Yeah.

- I want to see Mr. Bedloe.

- Be back in a minute.

Do you mind if I wait?

Got an appointment?

- May I?

- Go ahead.

Nope.

- Who are you?

- I work for him.

I've seen you around.

- You're his strong-arm man.

- He don't need no help.

I saw you beat somebody up

in the alley last week.

- You're the guitar player's wife.

- That's right.

- I noticed you too.

- You did?

Lots of times.

Why does Mr. Bedloe

need a bodyguard?

You come here to ask

for your husband's job back?

Is it true Mr. Bedloe

runs some rackets?

Joe thinks the world of

your husband's guitar playing.

He thinks he's a genius, but...

I mean, let's be honest.

Either he comes in here late...

or he comes in drunk

or he don't come in at all...

and that's no way

to run a nightclub.

I thinkJoe's cooled down.

He was pretty hot the other night.

I hope you don't

mind me asking, but...

you're wearing a gun,

aren't you?

Not me.

Did you ever kill anyone?

Don't tell me that you never

noticed me staring at you.

- No, I...

- You come in here a couple of nights.

I couldn't take my eyes off you.

- Really?

- I love that blue silk dress you wear.

Oh, yes. That... Gee.

It's warm in here.

Morning, Mr. Bedloe.

You're a smart girl.

You come from a good home.

What are you doin' with a drunken

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