**Author's Note: For the full effect, be sure to listen to Billie Holiday's version of Body and Soul before you read**
*****
My days have grown so lonely
For you I cry, for you dear only
Why haven't you seen it?
I'm all for you, body and soul*
Jonathan stepped into the choking cigar smoke of La Petite Evangeline like a man walking to the gallows. Though he had almost no experience of these places, he knew this was a dive, it had a smell you could feel crawling on your skin. The lights were kept dim not for the ambiance but to keep the customers from seeing the filth. Not that anyone present could have seen much thorough their drunkenness This was a speakeasy though from the frequent complaints of the clientele, a raid of the premises might not find any alcohol at all. Jonathan did not drink though he ordered and paid for one anyway. Despite it all, it was the fourth time this week he had come. One thing made up for all these shortcomings: Crystal.
The world dissolved as Crystal glided across the stage with all the grace and beauty of a panther, silencing even the loudest of the drunks. Her skin was as black as her satin dress, her short hair adorned with a single white orchid. She nodded to the the bass player and pianist then looked out over the audience. The instruments set a bouncy rhythm and she smiled. Her voice flowed over Jonathan and he let himself drown. The music spoke of longing, passion, possession. The set ended, the spell broke and for the fourth time in as many days, Jonathan felt the flush of regret and shame wash over him. For the fourth time in as many days he stood up from his table, the drink untouched, and walked back to his room at the boarding house, swearing he would never go back.
I spend my days in longing
I'm wondering why it's me your wronging
I tell you I mean it
I'm all for you, body and soul*
Sleep brought him no peace, tormented by thoughts and dreams of Crystal. How had it come to this? He had come to New Orleans a month ago from a small town in Connecticut. He had certainly not come for the music, he had come to help. The port city of New Orleans was hit hard by the slump in trade that followed the crash. He had come with a church group to help start a soup kitchen in the city, one of many their church had been building across the nation. He had stepped off the steamboat Esmeralda into the largest city he had ever seen. He had come with high hopes of doing God's work, but then he had heard the music.
Music had never figured heavily in his life. The funeral, as it moved languidly down Decatur Street past the newly opened soup kitchen towards Jackson Square, was a revelation. The music spoke to him then, seemed to call him by name. It reached into his body and shook his soul. It was a music of loss, of deep sorrow. The men in the line turned and removed their hats as the procession passed. Jonathan, a tear running down his face, turned to one of the men in line and asked whose funeral this was.
"That all be for Betty Johnson, missah."
The man's voice was filled with deep respect and the echo of a great loss.
"Who was she?"
He had not heard of anyone of import dying recently, though as this was his third day in the city he was not entirely surprised that he had not.
"She was a cook, missah."
Jonathan was gobsmacked and spoke before thinking.
"Just a cook?"
The man turned a reproachful look towards Jonathan.
"She was a damn fine cook, missah, damn fine. She made her a gumbo that made you glad you was born and no doubt."
Once the procession had reached Jackson Square the music changed. The change had come so naturally but still Jonathan could not believe his ears. The man with whom he had been speaking was now smiling and wiping a single tear from the corner of his eye he began to chuckle.
