I had this friend, Frank said. He was a pimp to this girl I knew in the Bronx. Except, he didn’t treat her like a whore. He didn’t act like a pimp. He was more of a guide. Some kind of guru.

Really, the bartender said.

Yeah. He was kind of this spiritual force to both of us. He’d talk, and we’d listen. 

It’s good to have friends like that, he said as he wiped down the bar. Not all of us are so lucky.

He listened to jazz all the time on this tinny sounding radio. WKCR. 

The college station?

Yeah.

We listen to it sometimes. My boyfriend likes it. They play Billy Holiday.

Right. He was a big Charley Parker  fan.

Who?

Saxophone player from way back.

Oh.

He was one of the innovators of bop.

Right.

I don’t expect you to know who he was. Queens don’t listen to bop. They listen to Billy Holiday.  They both laughed.

Right?

True, the bartender laughed. True. Another one? Frank nodded his head and smiled. I see you in here with George. Is that your guy? Your old queen?

Hey. We all gotta make a living.

Cheers to that.

Anyway. I’ve looked all over for him. This friend of mine.

The guru?

Yeah. Hmm. We were tight. We’d talk, drink in silence, get high. All with music playing in the background. I gotta find him.

Sweetheart. Did he move?

He’s always on the move.

Billy Holiday came on singing Stormy Monday.

See. Billy knew.

Yeah. She sure did.