Welcome to 1926 Seattle, where the blues are hot and the gin is served up cold Lena It’s taken time but I’m slowly crawling my way up the entertainment industry ladder. I could get a lot farther, faster, if I were willing to play the old slap and tickle. Yeah…that’s never gonna happen. But my newest move is a step in the right direction and it’s my voice that earned me this gig. I feel on top of the world—right up until I discover who owns the joint. Booker Of all the speakeasies, in all the world, my manager had to give Lena Bjornstad a contract with the Twilight Room. Back in our hometown, before I signed up to fight the war to end all wars, I loved her with everything I had. She claimed she loved me, too. Look how goddamn swell that turned out. Amidst saxophone players and cigarette girls, Lena and Booker try clinging to their old anger as a shield against future pain—even as ancient chemistry still weaves its magic. And in a town where the hems are rising and morals are lowering, banked embers from the past just might ignite a bright new tomorrow.
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I grew up in a household with two brothers, a daddy, and my grandfather. Too many men, in other words. They diluted M'ma's influence by diverting my attention to things like the danger of answering nature's call in the dead of the night. I've got a hint for those of you raised in a less spit-and-scratch world: check before you sit, because chances are that seat is gonna be up. And they don't even have the grace to be embarrassed about it. According to my sweet baby boy, if you're the minority sex in the household, you oughtta be putting it up for them. Sigh. Having brothers was a mixed bag. When anybody messed with me they were always quick with an offer to beat them up. That was sorta nice, although I personally believe it had more to do with the fact that guys just like to fight than with any towering concern for my welfare. You might think that's cynical but guess who the target was if no one else was around and they were tired of fighting each other? I must've spent half my childhood locked in the bathroom, screaming, "Dad's gonna get you when he gets home." I know, I know, nobody likes a stoolie. But it was either that or have my block knocked off on a regular basis, and trust me, Daddy was the best deterrent going. A smart woman probably would've gone away to an all-girl school or moved in with some girlfriends at the first opportunity. Me, I got married to my high school sweetie. And the tradition continues. Our only kid (who hasn't been a kid for quite some time now) is the aforementioned sweet baby boy, and except for an Irish setter we had for eleven years a long time ago, even our pets have all been male. I just try to stay afloat whenever I find myself in the deep end of the testosterone pool, and if you don't think that isn't a trial sometimes, I'm here to tell you- it can be hell. Then again, it can also be heaven. In fact, it mostly is. But listen, don't tell my guys I 'fessed up to that, okay? Trust me, it's difficult enough already, just trying to stay one step ahead of the game.
