The Unconventional Path of Thelonious Aubrey

Book summary

Fledgling singer Theo Aubrey and his best friend Bo navigate the vibrant post-WWII music scene of New Orleans and Harlem, joined by a dancer and an enigmatic outsider. As they meet jazz legends and face their pasts, unexpected events shape their destinies in this historical fiction tale.

THE UNCONVENTIONAL PATH OF THELONIOUS AUBREY is a gripping historical fiction filled with humor, love, and heartbreak set against the thrilling backdrop of the jazz era.

Excerpt from The Unconventional Path of Thelonious Aubrey

Lulu's Hideaway

New Orleans, 1946

As Theo attempted to keep cool in the punishing August heat and humidity by pressing his face up against the shaded stone wall of Lulu's Hideaway, he took another drag off his cigarette, a nasty habit he was experimenting with for the simple reason that he wanted Lulu's patrons to think he was older than his 17 years.

"Taking a break, huh?" a voice behind him noted.

When Theo turned toward the street, he found himself staring at an NOPD beat cop who was making his rounds. His badge announced him as Officer Landry, while the uniform suggested potential trouble.

"Yes, sir. I’m just trying to keep cool and give my voice a rest."

"Well, them there smokes ain't gonna do much for your vocal cords, boy.”

"Oh, I don't inhale.”

"Yeah? So, how old are you?"

"I'm of legal age, sir," he assured his inquisitor, as he much too eagerly whipped a fake ID card out of his pocket.

Officer Landry looked at the card and chuckled. "Tell Lulu she's got to hire a new forger," he said, shaking his head. "Every one of her underage help looks like Ma Barker. But you appear to be almost old enough. Just keep out of trouble, kid," he added as he handed the ID back to Theo. "And be sure to ask for me if you have any trouble to report. NOPD likes to take good care of locals who help us keep the peace. 'You get my drift?"

"Yes, sir. But there's never any trouble inside Lulu's, sir."

"And why do you think that is, son?" he winked.

"Well, because it's a real classy place, and I'm pulling in a more sophisticated crowd to keep things nice and smooth inside. I've been working here a couple of months now and you ain't heard of any trouble, have ya?"

"That's true enough, boy," Lulu called over his shoulder as she sauntered out the door to join them in conversation. Louise Lausanne's black silk dress, inappropriate for the heat as well as for the time of day, hugged her zaftig curves in a ferocious struggle to prevent a mound of flesh from escaping. The fabric of her dress grasped her hips as if it enjoyed the ride. "You givin' my boy a hard time, Frank?" she asked Landry.

"Just checking ID cards, my dear. The ink on his card is practically wet. One smudge and his face will look like a pinwheel sucker."

Lulu laughed heartily. "My assistant's artistry is not what it used to be. But maybe as an honored friend of my illustrious establishment, you will kindly overlook all that documentation nonsense?"

"Oh, ya think so?" Landry teased.

Lulu flashed him a dazzling smile that could singe the paint off a Packard. "As you can see, the boy is mighty personable, so he knows how to pull in both the men and the women. And that makes me money," she beamed, as she reached into her cleavage to pull out a money clip full of bills. "And money makes us both happy, don't it?" Lulu slipped the bills into Landry's hand and winked conspiratorially, her white Chicklet chompers gleaming in the afternoon sun.

"Just keep the boys away from the booze and the women, Lulu-love. You can save all that for me for after hours. And incidentally, you sure can make a dress moan with pleasure." Landry winked as he furtively tucked the bills into his belt before brushing his hand across Lulu's hip and moving on.

Lulu shook her head as she watched Landry turn the corner onto Toulouse Street to make his rounds on Bourbon. "Break is over, chere. It's time to start bringing in the supper crowd. And don't pay much mind to Landry, but do come inside and get me if he comes back again. I'll send your friend Bo out to play his horn. That oughta help you wrangle up a crowd. You two are the best thing that has happened to me since God invented the girdle." Lulu chuckled heartily as she disappeared back through the arched alleyway of the entrance to the 18th-century stone building.

Theo, high on enthusiasm and low on tips, turned his attention toward a group of tourists heading his way. Although he was naturally shy, Theo had learned how to perform, adopting a different persona when necessary for financial survival. Not only did his keen instincts aid him in cajoling passersby to linger long enough to hear his spiel, but it also enabled him to persuade those same reluctant tourists to move inside for the action.

"Hey, y'all, you better slow down now. Where are you going?" he drawled. "If you're looking for cold drinks, good food, great music, beautiful dancers, and a darn good time, then surely you've heard about Lulu's, right? Ya gotta see inside this historic place. They used to hide slaves and keep prisoners here."

As the tourists glanced towards the entrance, Bo, as if cued by a bandleader, stepped outside with his trumpet. He licked his lips and then nodded toward the growing crowd before shooting Theo a grin.

"Meet my friend, Bo," Theo said to the group, who still seemed unsure of their direction. "You haven't heard music till you've heard him play his trumpet. Go ahead, Bo, let 'em know what they're gonna be missing tonight if they don't come on in before we're full-up and have to turn guests away. This place is famous, folks," he assured them. "We're booked full every night, but the cover charge is very reasonable."

Bo blew a few notes on his horn before falling into a soft melody. Theo observed how the trumpet's dulcet tones captivated their audience.

"That there sound is like tapping a tree and getting maple syrup, right? There's no way y'all can come to the Quarter and miss this. If you haven't been to Lulu's Hideaway, then you haven't been to New Orleans, so there's no need to even send a postcard back home."

After a moment of excited murmuring among the tourists, they happily filed into the establishment, a few pressing tips into Theo's outstretched hand. Theo nodded to each as they passed by, and then he turned to engage a new group of curious revelers.

The night was a success. The street audience succumbed to Theo's pitch and were lulled by Bo's hypnotic music that promised the fulfillment of unspoken desires all wayfarers harbor when they visit the Vieux Carre-an exotic place where the inexperienced often find much more than what they're looking for.

***

"Great job tonight, boys," Lulu said as she slipped a few extra bills onto the table in front of them. "We had only one drunken Yankee and three broken beer bottles," she chuckled. "No need for cops and no dancers losing their G-strings to drunks or ex-boyfriends. I'm starting to believe your pitch myself, Theo. Thanks to you and Bo, this place is gettin' an air of class about it. If you keep drawing in crowds like this, we are gonna be famous!"

"Yes, ma'am," Theo grinned. "That's my intention."

Lulu's Hideaway would indeed become famous. But not because of the exotic drinks. And not because of the private dining areas that had once been cells that housed prisoners and slaves during the Civil War and still displayed shackles and iron bars. And certainly not because of the Southern food or the seductive dancers, all of which were French Quarter staples. It would only take one woman to make Lulu's Hideaway memorable. But it wasn't Lulu.

Thumpin'

"Play me some notes, Bo," Theo said.

"I'm gonna play something you can sing to, T,” Bo replied, using his nickname for Theo. "Let's try a little Harry James. How about 'It's Been a Long, Long Time'? And stop holdin' back 'cause you're great, man. You have a genuine talent. Are you sure you never had any singing instruction when you lived in the nun cave?"

"Nah. The only instruction they ever offered besides catechism was lice removal."

"Good to know y'all are bug-free.

The two boys had pooled their money and were living in a one-room apartment on Ursulines. Their flat, devoid of paint and any suggestion of furniture other than a few strewn mattresses and crates, was in as much need of nurturing as its young occupants. However, there were walls of windows on two sides, so they never felt claustrophobic in the cramped space.

One saving feature of their tight quarters was the balcony that ran along two sides of the old clapboard building and could be accessed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. After work, when they would return home in the wee hours of the morning, they would sit on the balcony and play music or listen to the last vestiges of revelry from the Quarter as the voices and music drifted over the rooftops.

The boys were working out a plan. Theo had been gifted with an excellent set of pipes, and Bo had extraordinary talent on the trumpet. Together, they planned to polish their act and travel around the Louisiana parishes, filling their pockets with money and their bellies with good food (currently limited to whatever they could spirit out of Lulu's kitchen).

There was another motive behind their plan. Luscious young Callie Thibaud, an exotic dancer at the club, begged to go with them upon hearing their exciting agenda. She was an excellent dancer and could shimmy like a gold lamé pastie, so they both agreed her talent was of value. But even if she were to lose both legs in a combine accident and have her head unceremoniously removed by an airplane propeller, they were determined to take her (or what would be left of her in that scenario) with them on the road.

As Theo always said in private, Callie was sweeter than pralines, and her mixed Creole heritage was reflected in her auburn hair and creamy skin that often made him crave café au lait from the Café Du Monde.

Callie, a visual buffet, was a frequent source of food descriptions. Bo maintained that Callie made him dream of chocolate soufflé, an unforgettable treat he had once sampled at LuLu's, when he licked the leftovers off a patron's plate after brushing the crushed cigarette butts to one side.

Callie was two years older than both boys and had a few years of experience in "show business" so, at age nineteen, she seemed exotic and worldly. They were a harmonious threesome and as simpatico as three people can be--when two young men are dangerously and wildly in love with the same person.