![]() ![]() 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. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |