I'm With the Singer

This was 1977. We met for the first time in a bar called "Tramps".   She was the singer. I had known her manager since high school. His name was Karl. Her name was Anne.  She was a mini-star on the cabaret circuit and she was drop dead gorgeous.  She sang popular songs.  Her best were the torch songs.  What made her unusual were the things she said between the songs and the way she said them.  There was a reason or explanation for every song.  Something that had gone on in her life or therapy or imagination.

The talk between the songs was often more interesting than the songs themselves.  "Song for My Father" was George Shearing's song for his father.  But when Anne sang it, it was for her father, Joe, a jazz piano player in DC, whom she was learning, in therapy, to separate from.  It was, at first, more than you wanted to know.  But as the sets developed you found yourself waiting for the songs to end to find out why.

Between sets that night, Anne came over to the table and we had a brief conversation I can't remember.  When it was over, I coasted home on a wave of happy feeling and Anne had a new fan.

The following week, an amazing thing happened.  In the mail came a postcard from Anne.  She said she had loved seeing me - LOVED SEEING ME - at Tramps and could I come see her at The Tin Palace next weekend.  I had a visceral reaction and marveled about what a strong impression I'd made.  After all, we'd only talked for a minute.  But of course I'd go and see her again.  Romance was in the air.

I arrived at The Tin Palace just a few minutes before Anne would start the first set.  I had decided I would stay for all three sets.  I went backstage to find Anne.  I found her right away, locking lips with the saxophone player,  a kiss that seemed to last for twenty minutes.  I stood there watching for some reason and when it was over, she saw me and waved cheerfully. What a floozie, I thought.

What I didn't know, but found out later, was that Anne had sent out almost three hundred hand written postcards, all of which said exactly the same thing - how much she'd loved seeing the people and would they please come to the next gig.