Tune for a zoot-suit

"Tune for a guy in a Zoot Suit"

What I'm going to do tonight is going to break the clarinet-player's
heart. Odd how I still think of Robbie in those terms after all this
time. I guess that's what has been rotten in the centre of our
relationship. I can't respect a boyfriend who plays in a crummy
orchestra.

As usual, I've got nothing much to do, but I like that. I like sitting
here, with my silver hairslide clipped into my hair just so, watching
everyone else sweat and flick pages. I have my music sheet on the final
page, just waiting for my moment.

I'm in love with the tuba, but not the clarinet-player. He's not a real
man, he's some sort of imitation, some finger-puppet of a man.

He asked me for money today. What sort of man would do that ? Ask his
girl for money. "I'm in a tight place, " he said, "It would really help
me, " he said.

I turned him down flat and I'm gonna turn him down even flatter tonight
after the show. We're all through.

The one mercy is that he's a good few chairs along from me, so I don't
have to look at his slicked-down hair and his rabbit face. He's such a
poor excuse for a human, I don't even think he'll make it awkward by
staying in the orchestra. He'll move on, find somewhere else.

My big kick is smells. I want to open some kind of smell museum. If I
get the money, that's what I'd do. Some place where people can go and
sniff crayons and leather and cream soda. Bacon frying in a pan.

Robbie just smells of cheap soap. Dimestore soap. It does nothing for
me at all. I'd prefer it if he smelled of sweat, at least that is real.
My favourite smell is one I wouldn't put in a museum. It is the smell
of metal. That's why I play the tuba, that's why I spend an hour
polishing it every day, to get that smell good and soaked into my
hands, like daddy when he used to work at the bank and be counting
dimes and nickels into plastic bags to make up a dollar. That smell
just clings, the sweetest perfume I ever smelled.

While I wait, my eye catches a guy in the audience. Well, more at the
side. He isn't sitting in his chair, he looks to me like he's too big
for it, he'd look like a grizzly in a wheelbarrow. He's a huge fellow,
looks like he's been carved out of something - not stone. Bronze.

Someone who isn't beside me drags a finger down my spine, right over
those little bumps.

This guy is wearing a suit, its either green or gray, hard to tell
which. On most anyone else it'd be baggy, that's how it is cut, but on
him it doesn't look baggy. It is a zoot suit, but I've never seen
anyone fill one out like that before.

He's mighty cute, got himself a little break in the nose too. He
certainly works with his hands, but he seems sensitive too. He's
enjoying the music. I can tell that he's really appreciating it.

Something in me wants to play just for him, to clear all these other
jerks off the stage and play this huge man a solo for the tuba. Why,
the tuba can produce things you wouldn't believe, subtle music that you
would think could never come out of something so clumsy and
bulky.

The way I can play it, not here, with fools; but when I'm on my own,
the tuba can be damn sexy. I've never played sexy for a man, but I
would for this one.

Any doubts I had about finishing things off with Robbie are gone, how
can I settle for someone weak when there are men like this around, a
man who could pick me up and carry me over his shoulder.

I watch him more and more, but I do it quiet. I'm not like the other
girls in the orchestra, cheap and obvious. I want to watch him so that
he doesn't know, so that he won't notice me at all.

He'll be oblivious to me, right up until he hears me play my tuba, and
I'll just put in a hint, a glimpse of what it is I can really do with
this golden beast.

It's nearly time, I'd better pay attention. I throw Robbie a glance,
but he's gone. I don't even care, I hope he breaks his damn neck.

But I look back for my zoot suit and he's gone. And I play those notes
like I've never played them before, not even when I'm on my own and
I've fixed myself a couple of martinis. Nobody ever put that loss, that
sass into a tuba the way I did tonight.