A SIMPLE TALE
                The REAL Tale of the City-- Chicago, that is.

The Cuban had one bad eye and was dressed in a gruesome, garish green suit
the like of which no one at the Talk of the Town had seen since the last
time Willie the Pimp took his girls to Vegas and bought some seersucker
piece of s**t that hurt the eyes just to look at it. But, in keeping with
house rules, the Talk of the Town had never turned musician aside who wanted
to play, regardless of race, creed terrible clothing.

Miles was already up on the bandstand, warming up with the troops, doing
what he called "getting the crowd tuned up" for another all-night session.
When the stranger stepped up on the stage, and started setting up a set of
badly-worn vibraphones, Miles started nervously moistening the brass
mouthpiece on his trumpet, which was his habit whenever he was unsure what
to do next. Miles was certain that the whitebread dude sitting at the organ
knew his stuff, after just a few licks. But frankly, this guy was strictly
from outer space. Nobody, but nobody had ever played a vibraphone at the
Talk before. Hell, this was a JAZZ joint, not some chintzy dance hall.

With reservations, he started counting the time for Sexie Sadie to the
drummer, who picked up the cadence, passed it on to the other new guy, Chick
Something or other, and as they began the jaunty, bawdy piece, Miles kept an
eye on the Beaner with the vibes in the corner. Never missed a lick. Neither
did the Chick guy.

Fact was, the band sounded better than it had in a long time.

I could do this in my sleep, the stranger playing the vibes thought to
himself. If these guys all stay in tune, that is. Despite the bravado in his
innermost thoughts, it was, at least, partially true. Veteran of many of the
big Latino dance halls on the east coast, Xavier knew music better than
most. He sighed, closed his eyes against the smoke and bright lights, nearly
muffing a chord change in the process, incurring a sharp look from the big
dude playing the horn.

Before the night was over, there were eight, then ten players on the stage
of the Talk of the Town, and they played until just before the dawn started
breaking outside.

The Cuban, the Mexican, two Puerto Ricans, three honkies and four black
dudes had played straight through a session that none of them would forget
for years thereafter, even though they essentially played for free.

Chick Correa, Miles Davis, Xavier Cugat, Henry Blackbone and Hubie Walker
never had another chance to make music together like that again. Six years
later, the Talk of the Town closed its doors forever.