So I hadn't had the time to ponder what just happen. So after a while I'm sitting at the table an out of nowhere she walks past me a whisper something...but I couldn't hear her over the festivities so I shouted huh an she kept walking as if she didn't hear me now. So I took it as maybe she wasn't talking to me, but a few minutes later she comes by again but this time I hear her loud in clear whisper "meet me outside ". At this time I can tell that somethings up an I can see shes trying to come on. One of these younger reporters moonlighted periodically for The Beat magazine, probably just using the side-job as an excuse to hang out with jazz musicians downtown. Pete Elliot, writer and jazz enthusiast became my best friend at the paper, and often dragged me to smoky clubs, where stereotypical skinny men with goatees and berets hung out with statuesque brunettes with long long cigarette holders. Everyone dressed in black turtlenecks. I didn't get it.Neither did the real musicians.Pete and. More

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