AGAINST WINDMILLS

A novel by
ERCAN AKBAY

1989

1
JAZZINO
Destroying is a creative action.
There is no way to reset a life that’s heading down because if a building is ruined beyond repair, it’s better to demolish it first and then build it from scratch again. In 1988, I was so depressed that I couldn’t find the strength to carry on. For many months, I struggled to pull myself together and to heal myself but it didn’t work. I just couldn’t do it.
I failed.
By the time Hasan picked me up from the dirt at the end of pitch-black nights, I was still weak in the head. I had hit rock bottom after losing the love of my life and an old schoolmate. I was buried in deep grief. You don’t know how the end began; Hasan took the first steps to revive our almost bankrupt company. He ran around in excitement because of his accomplishments, and he used the power he gained with the money he received from the Americans. Eventually, I managed to get a grasp on myself and joined him. First, we rented a stylish office, and then we hired new staff. We were in business again. Our partner company from the States, which was especially known for its graphics cards and visual computing solutions, offered interesting hardware and software products.
I began to change my life slowly after things went well for some time and devoted myself to art. Let’s call it a kind of a ‘need for expression.’ In addition to my musical work, I wrote a few mystery stories, which weren’t published and which I wasn’t sure would be published. I also made some oil paints, which people who knew stuff about painting defined as something like ‘naïve-expressionist.’ Don’t get me wrong: I wasn’t trying to be a famous artist. I was just keeping myself occupied. I had even arranged a small music studio in the flat I bought to make the most of the joy I had by playing the guitar and writing songs. It was a simple studio: a recording desk consisting of a computer that could write midi files, a recorder with four tracks, a midi keyboard, a few small sound processors, and a microphone... The music industry was not at its best. Popular music was in great demand, and the electronic arrangements performed by the pain in the neck called midi made you long for even the ‘80s. But still, jazz and alternative musicians who made music for real music lovers struggled to survive with heart and soul.
I frequented the best clubs where I spend my lonely evenings having fun as a bachelor: alcohol, dancing and bedtime stories... Suddenly, I had a lot of women in my life now that I was no longer poor. What can I say? Thank God, I was good at this. Very good, indeed...
At the end of 1988, I decided to sell my shares to my partner Hasan and set off for a brand new adventure. Well, you can’t go against your nature. So what is better than managing a nightclub for a not-even-thirty-old-man to get himself into trouble? I didn’t turn down the offer of two buddies who bought an unsuccessful French restaurant in Gayrettepe with the aim of transforming it into a high quality jazz club so that they could gain some power in that glamorous world and became their partner. Soon, they discovered that I could meet all their needs: I was a hard-working, well-to-do, energetic, and enthusiastic fool who also knew a bit about music... For them, this was much better than hiring a business manager. I was to be in charge of designing and managing the club. As if I needed an excited new adventure, I gave up everything else and got down to work. We completed the legal establishment process rapidly and set off. Our jazz club that was located on Yildizposta Street had quite a large main hall. It was a square-shaped space of almost four hundred square meters without any columns in the way. It was a perfect place, which also had an annex including a kitchen, restrooms and an office room. Contrary to many entertainment venues in Istanbul, it had been constructed with the main aim of providing space for entertainment from the very beginning.
Askin P., one of my two partners in Jazzino, was a thirty-four-year-old man who used to sell high-tech products, and although he was somewhat of a boaster, he was also a very convincing salesman. He didn’t know a single word in a foreign language, yet he had somehow managed to become the sole representative of a few foreign brands including products such as projectors and sound and lighting systems used in clubs and discotheques. I mean, he was a smart and skilful guy who had founded a well-going company at the time, although through some hanky panky... He had brought together a couple of former jazz musicians to form an ‘advisory committee’ for Jazzino. It sounded really cool: ‘Jazzino Advisory Board.’ You know, a flamboyant description like ‘the Board of Aldermen’ or ‘the House of Representatives.’
Holy shit!
The advisory board consisting of old jazz masters were quite useful at the beginning. However, they cost us a lot... They drank like fish, and what’s more, they also offered other people drinks on our cost. Especially Brother Erol – may he rest in peace – latched on to me whenever he got tanked up. He explained – I don’t know how many times – how he had founded the first jazz group in Turkey and preached about the kind of jazz I should listen to. "You know son," he said, "nobody listens to anything else but classic jazz in such clubs. Don’t ever play guys like Chick Korea or Keith Jarrett. Not even during breaks. You’re going to tire people!"
"Sure, Brother Erol..."
"In the ‘40s and the ‘50s, jazz giants used to come to Istanbul: Paul Desmond, Dave Brubeck, you know... I was the one who taught them how to play the complex rhythms. Brubeck composed Take Five here. It’s actually a 5/4 Turkish rhythm. You know..." As he spoke, he used to imitate the beats and the accents of the rhythm using his voice and his hands.
"I know, bro," I always said as I nodded.
While I put together a group called Istanbul Jazz Quartet consisting of some friends I knew through my cousin who was a famous jazz musician and saxophone player, I got down to applying a formula that would pack Jazzino with customers starting from day one. We hired Can O. – a young and popular theater actor at the time – as the MC and managed to have the actors and actresses in the city to flock the club. Those are the people who are the real nighthawks in the city; they need to cut loose after each performance.
After a short preparation period of two months, we finally opened Jazzino in mid-January. More or less, we had to maintain the existing decoration, which resembled a Far Eastern brothel because we didn’t have much time to change it. The season was already half way. Owners of entertainment venues know it well: when the month of May comes, the winter venues in Istanbul don’t have too many guests anymore, and then everything stops until September.
We paid bigger attention to tasks such as the setup of things that required good technical skills and money such as the music equipment, the preparation of the stage and lighting. After that, we dealt with the work to control the areas that would bring the real cash such as service, the kitchen and the bar. We found a good chef, a maitre d’hôtel, bartenders, and waiters. And in the end, a giddy flashy jazz club was born.
Many journalists came to our cocktail party because we ran a successful promotion campaign, and afterwards, they canvassed us so well that the elite lovers of entertainment in the entire city kept talking about us. In those days, public relations, or PR as people often say, was still an aspiring profession in Turkey. It was a difficult concept for people like us to grasp, who weren’t aware of any means of promotion other than advertisements and inserts.
Our ‘PR consultant’ Ipek A., whom Askin engaged to our company perhaps because he wanted to give himself a cool image, was an attractive woman in her early thirties. She knew everyone in high society. Since designing the image of or club was assigned to ‘Lady Ipek,’ I kept away from that part of the work. However, when the PR costs reached peak toward the grand opening, I ended up being involved in those things again.
"Never in my life did I have such an expensive printing work! Did they print these catalogues in gold? " I asked Askin.
“We have to make sure what we get is high quality. We can’t have our stuff printed in cheap print houses. No way! Besides, the service sets and the napkins are included in that price. We had Hulki, the famous graphic artist as you know, to design the visuals. I mean...”
Askin had a lisp, and he tried to conceal it by repeating certain phrases such as ‘I mean’ over and over again. He acted as if not us but somebody else would cover all the cost. I objected. “We’ve already paid a small fortune to him for the logo, the posters, the signboard, and the invitations.”
“Those are different,” he said. Then he turned his back toward me as he continued by saying, “Ipek should also earn some money so that she serves us well, right? In the end, she’s the one who’s going to attract the journalists, the high society and the celebrities. It’s no game. I mean...”
“I see,” I murmured. “Sure it’s no game. Journalists are important. Right...”
In those days, I used to say ‘yes’ to everything. I had become such a mellow guy. Bar management was something I didn’t know well. Therefore, I had to be reasonable and leery. You know...
Although most of the journalists left our club at nine thirty without waiting for our jazz quartet who would take stage one hour before the usual time, they all wrote articles that said how fabulous the music had been...
God bless them, too...
I saw Askin before the cocktail party that was supposed to take place at seven thirty. Dressed in a tuxedo, he was combing his hair in front of the mirror in the men’s room. He had his beard shaped like that of Mandrake the Magician and wore a burgundy colored bow tie with yellow polka dots. “What’s up, Kohen?” he said as he grinned at me from the mirror.
“Where the hell did this Kohen name come from?”
Actually, I knew the answer. The other day, he had introduced me to some people as his Jewish partner... Apparently, he though I looked like a Jewish man especially when I wore a cap around my curly hair....
“Man, isn’t it good? Thanks to you, now the whole market and all the banks trust us because our partner is Jewish! Ha ha haa...” He had done it again. He laughed in that same disturbing way. “Everything’s done, right?” he said. “People will start filling in half an hour, I mean.”
I didn’t say anything. As I approached my room with a huge frown on my face, I noticed my other partner Taygun B. at the other end of the corridor. He was a well-built, blond guy with a moustache who was around twelve years older than I was. He had two kids. Usually he wasn’t much of a talker, but probably because he had Albanian blood, he became persistent and stubborn as a mule if he believed he was right. “Two hundred and fifty or maybe three hundred people will come tonight. I’m afraid the air conditioners are not going to be sufficient.” He was good at technical stuff. “We have to keep that vent sash open…” he pointed at the ventilation pipes on the ceiling and the wall behind which the bar was located.
“All right, bro. I’ll have that done. But in the evening... Not now. It’s already ice cold in there.” I tried my best to get rid of him.
“Let’s keep that in mind... By the way, the liquor guy is here. He wants his money. There, outside. You take care of him...”
Although I had only twenty percent shares, they had me take care of all payments for some reason. I didn’t say anything and just went out and paid the guy. I was thinking that we’d settle accounts once this burden was off our back.
In half an hour, people started coming. We were in one of the biggest business centers in the city where parking wasn’t a problem. In fact, there weren’t any alternatives in that neighborhood that could be turn into a rival. During the party, each one of us as the partners gave information to a separate group of journalists. Every now and then, I heard the things Askin said in a swanky manner. “I will introduce you to our advisory committee. Come again during the week, and we’ll talk. Extremely good jazz players will take stage, stage... He-re...”
The cocktail party ended at nine thirty. More people than expected came, and they devoured and gulped down whatever was available. I hurried to the office and ordered drinks for the second time. After the cocktail, we were going to charge money for the drinks. The Istanbul Jazz Quartet took stage at an early hour of the evening as we had instructed them to do for this special night. When they finished playing the intro song, Can, the announcer, walked to the stage and addressed the guests in a pompous manner.
“Dear guests and jazz lovers, welcome!”
Applause... Then he introduced the members of the orchestra.
Applause again...
“You’ve just listened to Duke Ellington’s ‘It Don’t Mean a Thing...” After that he made a strange comment about the song and then went on to reading the names of the following songs. Jazzino’s jazzy style would keep on with such ceremonies... After the orchestra played five or six songs, Can would come on the stage, tell a joke or something interesting, and then announce the next session of the band’s repertoire. This was our initial decision.
Our drummer Aydin T. was a real character, who was my classmate from high school and also a graduate of the Berkley School of Music in Boston. His music knowledge was profound, and when he talked, he used much humor that reflected his intelligence and his warm personality. He played the drum with a style as ‘cool’ and ‘swingy’ as that of Elvin Jones. His big green eyes with corners sloping downward made him look like Ringo Starr of Beatles.
Oguz, in other words ‘Charlie,’ played the double bass. As everyone knew, Oguz was one of the most favorite musicians jazz clubs in Istanbul sought in those days because this guy, who was almost as skinny as a skeleton, had a deep bass tone that was as clear as a bone... He was well trained and experienced, and he always fulfilled his part in the orchestras he played perfectly. However, because he was a little too mellow and shy, nobody expected him to perform creative double bass solos. But he accompanied the others with his double bass, which provided some groove that helped the drummer play more dynamically.
Cem P., whose father were American and whose mother came from a family of opera singers, was a graduate of New York Julliard School. This finicky guy was interested in experimental jazz piano styles. He favored composing Acid Jazz rather than the standard kind of jazz music we were all used to hearing in local jazz clubs. This handsome, blonde pianist with blue eyes had an Australian girlfriend named Leda, who started working as a barmaid in Jazzino starting from day one...
Inal D., the trumpet player, was a young talent who still went to the conservatory in those days. In addition to using his instrument dexterously, our soloist performed lyrical improvisations with a natural swing. In the following years, he would become quite known as a noteworthy jazz musician.
The Istanbul Jazz Quartet started the second set with ‘Stella by Starlight’ on our crowded opening night. Two other talented soloists would join us in the late hours of the night. My cousin Tahsin Unuvar, whom I’d mentioned earlier, was an accomplished tenor and soprano saxophonist. Tahsin and a young Turkish woman who was said to have a black woman’s voice would take stage after midnight during the third set. I didn’t know her.
Long story short, the music, the timber and distribution of the sound, the lighting, and the atmosphere were excellent... I received much praise as the person who brought together the orchestra and the technical equipment. Both Askin and Taygun were smiling from ear to ear. Naturally, this night of success also meant good profit...
The Istanbul Jazz Quartet unleashed themselves and played with full excitement, and they enthused the audience, too. The guests had gulped down the free drinks during the cocktail party, and now, everyone was talking like a waterfall. I stopped and chatted at different tables with a few beautiful women I already knew. They had an inviting an attitude that promised things could happen in the night. Or maybe I thought that was the case…
Go for it man! The sky is your limit!
Just as I was about to take a seat next to one of the girls, planning to stroke her legs under the table, Aydin the drummer came and said there were some problems.
“You guys go to the back office,” I said, “I’ll be there in a minute.” He looked upset and somewhat frustrated. I left the sweetie all alone and crestfallen and headed for the office on the right side of the corridor.
This room was the only administrative space Jazzino had: a ten square-meter, windowless room populated with a desk, a big safe box, two armchairs for guests, and a coffee table. Besides, the oil burner and the ventilation system were also controlled from this room. The four cavaliers of the orchestra were waiting inside. The noise outside was incredible. Even though I shut the door, you had to yell inside the room.
I was surprised when Cem, the pianist, started talking with an arrogant attitude. “We can’t work under these conditions. The fret-board of the piano is terrible. I can’t even hear my own sound from the monitors. There’s a horrible echo on the stage because of the mirrors behind us. Basically, everything sucks...”
Aydin interrupted before Cem was done: “Is this a cabaret or what, man? Why the hell is that jerk called Can introducing us? It’s not very becoming to a stylish jazz club!”
I took alternating glances at their faces. I was astonished. Aydin continued with his words: “No such thing is acceptable in a club...”
“And?” I asked. This was all I could say.
“And there are other problems too...”
Charlie and Inal didn’t say a single word. For another five minutes, Cem kept talking non-stop, complaining about the ventilation system and the noise the guests made. Aydin, on the other hand, kept whining about ‘additional’ problems such as the lit candles around the stage. He seemed to have forgotten that he was my friend and criticized us as harshly as he could. “You made this place look like a saint’s tomb! Everywhere is decked with candles. So that the high society frumps like us...”
I remained silent and listened to him. At the same time, I thought with the speed of light and started creating a defense speech in my mind. Eventually, I asked them, “Are you done?”
“No, we’re not, but we don’t have much time for more talking,” Cem said with and even more blatant manner. “We’re going to play the second set now...”
He looked at his watch. I did the same thing. Making sure that they realized I wanted them to remain seated, I started talking. I said, “You don’t have to play the second set. Forget it. We’ll finalize the matter and pay you off tonight,” with a rather calm voice. I poured a glass of water and drank it slowly. They were bewildered. They didn’t really grasp the meaning of my words...
“It seems that we’re not going to make it... There’s such a big discrepancy between what we hoped for and what we’ve got. You’ve been rehearsing for so many weeks. We built the stage from scratch. We bought new equipment. You played and we listened. Apparently, we haven’t listened to you well enough... From the outside, everything looks and sounds good to me, but it seems things aren’t working...”
They were all ears now... I said, “Anyway, it is what it is. Shame on us! Now you guys gather your things silently so that no one realizes what’s going on. And I’m going to talk to Brother Erol and his troop. Actually, they wished to play here. And tomorrow, I’ll find another orchestra.” I put the empty glass on the desk and stood up to leave the room.
It was their turn to be astonished. They glanced at each other. Cem said, “So, aren’t we going to solve these problems?
I took a deep breath and turned around to look at them. With a slightly louder voice, I sad, “Listen, we’re not in America. And Jazzino is not one of those bars you’re used to in Istanbul. You know, bars with five tables only… Empty bars with nothing going on... More than two hundred and fifty people are listening to you in there. I counted sixty people standing in front of the bar only when I was walking here.”
Cem opened his mouth as he attempted to stand up, but I motioned him to remain silent. Now my voice was even louder. “If tonight’s success was related to the music you made, then the bar you worked before here, that place in Taksim, at least twenty or maybe thirty people would come in every evening. At least for once.”
“Hey! Wait a minute!” Aydin interrupted. “Those are totally different places...”
I silenced him, too. By opening my arms wide, I tensed up the atmosphere even more. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I said with a determined tone. “It’s not you guys who are different. ‘This place’ is different!”
I pointed at the wall of the room adjacent to the main hall. “It’s like a concert hall in there. The light is good, the sound is good… Wherever you go, they ask you to bring your own digital keyboard, but you guys don’t appreciate the acoustic piano we put here that’s worth thousands of dollars. That announcer you curse upon has been killing himself for weeks to attract as many customers as possible. Let the place look like a cabaret. Who cares! Have you ever seen a damn cabaret in your life?”
Pretending not to take notice of their gaping mouths, I continued: “The customers are happy. They’re having a hell of a time. The personnel realized on the first night that the place will be packed full. They’re already collecting good tips. The newspapers will write about us. They’ll write about you, too. Until today, no venue in Istanbul went into business with such a lucrative opening...”
I heard Cem mutter something like ‘what the hell has that got to do with it.’ I kept talking without paying attention to him. “Has that happened? And if it has, I haven’t witnessed it personally.”
After looking at their faces one by one, I added, “And in spite of this fact, if you’re still bitching up with silly remarks and trivial problems, then it’s up to you.”
Nobody said anything anymore. I looked away and put an end to the discussion by saying, “Well, all the best to you, guys! What else can I say?”
I moved toward the door to get out to the main hall. Aydin jumped to his feet as if he wanted to block my way. When we came eye to eye, I could see that he couldn’t decide what to do... Feeling sure that he wouldn’t be able to make a move, I walked by him swiftly and opened the door. As I passed through the corridor, I thought how courageous I was. Yeah... I was too good at causing trouble for myself, but courage did help when you wanted to solve a problem because it helped me become agile in my actions. Faltering at a critical moment was the main variable that affected the outcome.
If you faltered, you lost.

2
SERRA

I realized the hall was more crowded now. The exhausted waiters and bartenders were running around among the drunken customers. I had sobered up because of the anger I felt towards that jazzer brothers. I didn’t even feel tipsy. In my mind, I tried to figure what to do if Istanbul Jazz Quartet packed their stuff and left. I couldn’t come up with a solution, so I decided to ease up my tense nerves, which didn’t seem to be of useful for anyone. I pulled myself together right away. Finally, I reached the bar after walking between the tables with difficulty. People I knew teased me loudly as I walked past them, but I wasn’t in the right mood to talk to anybody. I grabbed a glass of gin and tonic from the bar and lit a cigarette. After a few puffs, I calmed down a bit. I was keeping an eye on what was happening in front of the stage. Aydin and Cem appeared at the corridor. They kept talking until the platform and then stopped. They looked indecisive. This was a good sign... ‘That’s it,’ I thought, ‘they haven’t decided to take the risk yet.’ I felt more relieved now and sipped my drink with full pleasure.
I saw my ex-girl. It had been six months since we separated. She was over there, talking and giggling with a chunky fellow, who seemed to be her lover. I had dated her just because she looked like Nuket, and we had separated because she looked like Nuket. Life is funny...
I just couldn’t forget about Nuket, I didn’t know why. The bitch haunted me in my dreams at night... I took a huge sip from my drink. I wondered what she was doing in jail? I hoped I wouldn’t receive any news from her, yet I was dying to know… I was curious.
Oh, sure... Aahh... I was in love with her. Still. But I didn’t know why. The fucking bitch had teamed with Ayhan and turned my life into misery...
Nilufer, who was looking like Nuket, pretended that she has just seen me. She came and congratulated me on opening such a nice place. I asked her how she was doing. In no time, her gorilla-like lover appeared next to us. “Let me introduce you. This is Alper,” she said while grabbing the guy by the arm. “We’re colleagues. We work in the same place.”
“Hi, Alper,” I said with a fake smile on my face. “Nice to meet you.” I extended my hand, and we shook hands.
The asshole started telling me a bunch of crap. I felt I had to escape right away; I wasn’t in the right mind for talking bullshit. Just as I turned to walk away, Nilufer pushed her breasts, which were as big as ripe oranges, into my chest. She knew that those were the best parts of the female body for me.
I took a quick glance at Alper. I was embarrassed. Then I realized that no one, not even Alper cared whether Nilufer pressed her airbags against me or not. So I grabbed the girl by the waist. What else could I have done? I really wasn’t in the mood for getting my brain fucked. I didn’t say anything and I didn’t reply to their blubber. Actually, I didn’t even listen to what they said. Besides, I remembered that the girl’s performance sucked; at the time when we went out, she used to often complain about headaches, and what’s more, she couldn’t even give a good blowjob.
Thankfully, the orchestra and our announcer Can were back on stage. The guests were applauding like crazy. Taking advantage of the confusion, I said bye and left the two idiots. The girl, whose legs I’d attempted to stroke before the Killjoys of Bremen revolted, caught me as I was passing by. She pushed me into a seat next to her, but I couldn’t even remember the slut’s name.
Hey, how good it felt to be popular!
It was almost midnight. Tahsin was on the stage now; he kept blowing his saxophone. The bastard was at his best... I was too, actually. Just when I was getting things going with the girl next to me, ‘she’ went on stage.
I stopped.
I listened to her… I watched her...
She was slightly taller than a normal Turkish woman – almost five and a half feet tall. She was slender, and her complexion was light and smooth. She had lush, brown, curly hair, just like I did. Her huge hazel-colored eyes that looked through long, curled eyelashes, her arched long nose, oval face, and protruding cheekbones were in absolute harmony with her full lips, which were the most prominent part of her face. She wore a long white dress, pearl earrings and a pearl necklace that went well with her white teeth. Her black stilettos, which raised her to my height, added to her elegance. She was singing ‘Misty’ with her eyes shut. At first, she sang like a whisper or a moan, and then like a scream... The music that broke out of her chest through her magnificent voice was changing the whole atmosphere. Then she sang ‘God Bless the Child’ and ‘Sophisticated Lady’… This girl was a real star.
At the same time, she looked beautiful and sexy on stage. I didn’t realize how fast the night went by and had no idea how many songs she sang. I was in a different world. I came to my senses when she came down the stage, and as she took a few steps toward the tables near the windows, I headed toward her. I felt an irresistible urge to talk to her and to get to know her.
Her friends met her at the table she reached. A short, dark young man with a beard was among them. The two kissed each other quite intimately. The young man wasn’t good-looking at all. His hair had already begun to thin, and his shoulders were far from being broad. However, his features were still well balanced, and the fiery look in his eyes as well as his slender body made him somewhat enviable. I stood there and stared at them like a dumb asshole, and when I saw him hold hands with the gorgeous singer, I felt upset. Suddenly, someone touched my shoulder. It was Inal, the trumpet player. He looked at me with a smile on his face. I smiled, too. He pointed at the bar, saying, “Why don’t we over to the bar and have a short chat?”
Noticing the target of my attention, he pointed at the singer and said, “Serra sings fabulously, doesn’t she? I like her style, too. We played with her for quite some time in Bodrum.”
Trying to act cool, I said nonchalantly, “Who’s that guy with her?”
“Her boyfriend Baris. I guess they got engaged last year...”
“Oh,” I murmured.
We walked to the bar.
Inal was a good guy. He was probably six or seven years younger than I was. As I sat on a high bar stool, I put my hand on his shoulder in a friendly manner. The bar wasn’t crowded anymore. The tables were almost empty. Aydin was packing his stuff on the stage while he chatted with Brother Erol. He was in a good mood. Cem wasn’t around; maybe he had already left... Charlie had come across some acquaintances and was buried in a conversation. Inal wanted to have a glass of cognac, so I ordered some. The musicians were allowed to have two free drinks at the bar every night, but since they had all exceeded the quota tonight, I motioned the bartender to let him know the drinks were on my account.
“Man, that talk we had before, it really hurt, you know... It really upset me...”
“Take it easy, Inal. Such things happen. It’s not your fault,” I said and winked at him as I smiled.
At that moment, I caught glimpse of my own reflection on the bar mirror. I was wearing a dark turquoise t-shirt fitting my body, a dark blue-checkered Dormeuil blazer, and smoke-colored canvas pants. My hands were my pockets. Displaying a groundless self-confidence, I had the air of a fatherly boss. “Did you guys get paid?” I asked.
“Yes, bro. We’ve found out you ordered the cashier to pay double the amount for the night. Thanks a lot. We appreciated it.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve been working for so many weeks, and you played for a long time tonight. We thank you, too. You were quite a success.”
I glanced at my watch. It was really late. I was dying to introduce myself to Serra. “Anyway, forget about it,” I said. “Introduce me to that girl. Come on. I think it’s a good idea that she should join us as the guest singer whenever she’s available.”
I stood up. Inal looked as if he had more to say. I knew what he wanted from me, but having that talk now wouldn’t be to anyone’s advantage. I had always refrained from having such talks, and I had stayed away from gossip all my life. Gently, I pushed him to Serra’s table. Seeing us approach, they all stood up. Only four of them were there at the table: Serra, Baris and two other women, one of who had passed her prime years, and another who didn’t look too shabby. Inal knew them all. They hugged and kissed each other. Serra smiled at me while flickering her eyelids. Inal turned around with an exaggerated curtsy and said, “Let me introduce you the boss.”
We all laughed. I shook their hands one by one. Then I took the seat next to Serra and congratulated her on her performance. Her fiancé Baris was talking to one of the other women. I praised Serra lavishly. “You sing well. I really loved your voice.”
She was pleased. With a sincere tone, she said, “its very kind of you. And this is a magnificent place. I’d like to congratulate you, too.”
“Thank you. Let me order some drinks to celebrate, then,” I said and snapped my fingers to attract Tevfik’s attention. He immediately sent a waiter, and everyone ordered. They all wanted to have coffee. Meanwhile, the headwaiter whispered into my ear to inform that they would be closing off for the day and asked if we wanted anything else. I told him not to take any money from the table. Like we had agreed in the morning, he would put the earnings of the day into the big safe in the office together with all the related papers...
We made some small talk and joked around with each other. Everyone seemed to have a good time. After Inal gulped down the rest of his cognac, he bent over and whispered into my ear. He wanted to know if they would be working the following night as well.
“For the time being, yes,” I said. “We’ll talk about the details later. Does everybody want to keep on playing here?”
“Yes, yes! No one’s got a problem. I guess there was a misunderstanding,” he blurted.
I cut him short. “All right, then. We’ll keep on like we agreed. Tell the guys good night for me, will you?”
“Got it. Thanks,” Inal said. He lowered his eyes as if he had failed to get what he wanted. Then he carried on chatting with the others at the table. I didn’t linger. All I thought about was Serra.
In fact, I was searching for someone who would fill Nuket’s gap. Someone to heal the wound… This feeling wasn’t new. I was feeling constantly unsatisfied and deserted. I needed to be loved. I needed to feel passion. I needed to fall in love. Being wanted by other women, being desired, having sex embellished with womanly games, flirting in a way that boosted my pride, and enjoying coquettish amusement... None of such things could fill the gap choking my heart. But I had hope: a woman like Serra, maybe... A powerful, emotional, beautiful, and intelligent woman... That could heal me.
Mysterious…
Talented…
I was starting to feel a stronger desire to spend more time with her, and my longing turned into words that flowed out of my mouth. I stared into her eyes with a determined expression on my face and made my offer: “Would you like to work with us here in Jazzino?”
She faltered. Then, she looked away. After taking the last sip of her coffee, a crooked smile appeared on her face. “I’d love to, but at the moment, I’m booked for four days a week. As a principle, I don’t work on Mondays, anyway. I rest.” She was gentle and elegant.
I insisted. “Then we want to have those two free nights. Is it possible?”
She lowered her eyes as she assumed a serious attitude. Then she said, “I have to think about it. Can we talk later?”
I was disappointed. For some reason, I had thought Serra would fly at my offer. All I could do was murmur, “All right. But please don’t take too long to let me know about your answer. Okay?”
Inal, who was laughing with the others, turned to us and interrupted. Maybe he sensed the uneasy feeling between Serra and I... Pointing at me, he said to Serra, “You know, the boss is a musician! He plays both the guitar and the saxo. He composes, too.”
Serra asked with feigned surprise, “Really?”
I felt embarrassed when all the others turned and looked at me. Trying to sound modest, I said, “No! Inal is exaggerating. I’ve newly started playing the saxophone. I do play the guitar, but nothing like jazz or stuff. Other types of music… Well, you can call it a hobby...”
Baris and the other two women remained silent. Before they resumed their conversation, I added quickly, “But I can tell you that, as a listener, I know about music pretty well. Especially jazz, rhythm and blues, soul and stuff like that.” I could easily be proud about that department. I directed the subject back to Serra by saying, “That’s why I really liked your style.”
Opening her eyes wide, she said, “Really?”
Putting a meaningful expression on my face, I said, “You remind me of a singer I adore. Billie Holiday…” I had realized Serra was trying to sing like her.
“She’s my idol! You realized it so fast,” said Serra. “What an awesome woman she was.” Her eyes became misty.
“I admire her, too,” I said. “And you, how can I express it better... You are like a ‘reincarnation’ of her.” Then I came to the point. “Therefore, I really want you to sing here, in this club.”
Serra didn’t look happy with that ‘justified’ way I insisted, too. Her attitude astonished me because in those years, there weren’t too many jazz clubs in Istanbul, and finding a job was a difficult task any jazz singer here had to overcome. “I’ve never had a boss like you. I hope we can work together one day,” she said before turning to the others at the table. She was keen on cutting it short. I, on the other hand, was trying my best to convince her.
“It’s too early to discuss the financial aspect of such an arrangement, but you can be sure that I’ll make an offer that will please you.”
She paused. Then she started talking by picking her words with much care, yet she still didn’t give a definite answer: “Money is not important. Besides, I really like this place. But as I’ve said, I must think it over.” She sounded distressed.
I felt like asking her, ‘Hey, what the hell is your problem?’ but I listened to my common sense. Instead, I decided to try another tactic. I said, “In that case, I’d like you to be my guest here this Saturday. I suppose you work on Saturdays. You can come here after your performance again. In Jazzino, the music stops at 2 a.m. and as you see, we’re open till three or four in the morning.”
“Time’s not a problem. My program finishes at midnight in the club where I sing. Maybe I can even come and sing a couple of songs as the guest singer,” Serra said.
Now this sounded like a beacon of hope. Serra turned to Inal and said, “If it’s okay for Inal and his friends, of course. They are the bosses on the stage.”
I wanted to let everyone feel that in Jazzino I was also the boss of the stage and said, in perhaps an unnecessarily arrogant manner, “I decide about everything related to music here.” Then I stood up. “And I don’t let it be discussed either.”
For the first time, I noticed a glimmer of jealousy in Baris’s eyes. Nobody said anything. I wished goodnight to everyone and left for the office. After putting on my coat and beret, I hurried out.
The nightman at the car park – a man named Pala who was the champion of the world’s biggest moustache competition – tried to button up his coat out of respect before opening my car’s door for me. He gave me the keys and bowed as I got in. I gave gas without lingering. In those days, I used to drive a manual transmission Toyota – the latest model. On the way home, I kept thinking what to do. I felt weary. Later, I couldn’t even remember how I got home and fell asleep.
Thankfully, things that bothered me didn’t occupy my mind that night. I must have dozed off as soon as putting my head on the pillow.

3
GLAMOROUS NIGHTS

As I’ve explained before, Jazzino was opened at the end of January and became popular starting from day one. Our club was full. People loved the music so much that they couldn’t stop dancing. The press featured us frequently. Hurriyet, the biggest mainstream newspaper, published a half-page cover story about us in its popular Sunday supplement: ‘From Casino to Jazzino’. They placed colored pictures of the stage, the orchestra, the hall, the bar, and of course me, the boss...
In other words, they interviewed me.
The same article talked about the celebrities who frequented Jazzino. In fact, there’s no reason and no other way the jazz-loving high society flocks to a club. In other words, this is the best advertisement: the fact that famous actress Demet A., pop singer Nil B., famous sports announcer of the first channel Halit K., and well-known banker Hamit B. preferred to come to Jazzino... You know, you say to your friend, “We were in Jazzino last night. Guess who sat at the adjacent table? So and so...”
Everyone knows such celebrities, of course... “Really? I can’t believe it!”
“And so and so was sitting at the table behind us...”
“You are kidding!”
Let me not exaggerate, but believe me, I had almost become one of the top one hundred young Turkish bachelors, whom the girls of Istanbul considered attractive. All because of Jazzino! The fame was fabulous, and my financial situation had become super, too. I call it super because as an absolute dreamer, I hadn’t thought I’d make even one tenth of the money I earned through Jazzino. Even after the first night, I had made friends with the biggest stack of cash I’ve ever seen in my life! I mean it. Of course, the heaps of money weren’t as huge as the cotton bales in Cukurova, but they definitely were bankrolls of quite impressive size...
“Hey chef, did we make something like nine grand last night?”
Mr. Tevfik, our maitre d’hôtel, was an honest guy with good manners. He was in his fifties and had gray but lush hair. He was well built and dynamic. Moreover, he always looked clean and chic. Taygun had hired him through the reference of an acquaintance who knew about the club business. And Mr. Tevfik had come to Jazzino with a crew of experienced waiters and footboys.
With a smile on his face, he said, “Yes, sir. Last night’s turnover wasn’t too high because of the cocktail party and the complementary food and drink. Otherwise, it could have been double the amount we made.”
This was a figure I wasn’t expecting at all. After the expenses and the costs were deducted, more than six grand was left. In those times, you could easily buy a brand new car with the revenue of two evenings. I took a look at the income sheet and the chart showing the details. I asked him, “Did you go over the details? Are you checking the statements of the cashier?”
Mr.Tevfik swelled with pride as his smile became broader. Raising his eyebrows, he said, “Certainly, sir. After the club is closed in the night, everything is handed in to me. I do the necessary inspection, compare and count the cash and credit card slips, and then put them all into the main safe.”
“What about your service charges and the tips?” I meant the fifteen per cent service charge add to all bills.
“Very pleasing, sir.”
The tips our waiters collected were combined and then distributed to the entire service and kitchen staff in accordance with the tally sheet Mr. Tevfik prepared. This was how things worked in the entertainment sector back then... And I was the boss and the main inspector for everyone.
In other words, the boss of the money...
In fact, I had made much more than that during the best years of Process Electronics. Besides, I was only in my mid-twenties. I mean, in that regard, I was contented. At first, I didn’t understand why the money Jazzino gave me an arrogant air. But I guess this was the difference: solid cash you get on your hand gave you extra might and power because that money was made through a glittery, made-up and glamorous magic in the deep of the dark nights.
After our encounter during Jazzino’s opening party, I listened to Serra again during the second session of Istanbul Jazz Quartet on Saturday night. Her magnificent voice and pure beauty on the stage mesmerized me once again. She sang Duke’s ‘I’ve got it bad and that ain’t good’ that night... Actually she didn’t only sing but turned the club upside down...
She was amazing on the stage. I cheered and clapped until my hands hurt. This time, Baris, her boyfriend who was with her on the opening night, wasn’t there. After Serra came down the stage, I invited her to the bar and ordered drinks. She drank vodka and tonic. This was her absolute preference as far as I could see...
The drink someone prefers tells you a lot about his or her character. Those who like raki are talkers, but sometimes they tend to be braggers. Those who drink whisky like luxury, showing off and money, of course. Those who enjoy wine look for different tastes, beauty and love. People who prefer beer, on the other hand, have the spirit of a young rascal. But for some reason, I had always thought that those who drank vodka were a little harsh and ruthless. Although I liked drinking raki and wine every now, and then according to the setting and atmosphere, I used to go for gin and tonic in those days. Perhaps because I needed the energy the quinine in the tonic gave me.
“Once again, you were amazing” I said to Serra, praising her.
She said courteously, “Thank you. I couldn’t see you here when I arrived. Weren’t you here?”
Serra kept talking with a formal manner. Actually, that style is kind of sexy, but I’m a man who corrupts every situation quite fast. Pretending not to be too impressed by her appearance, I said, “I had some work to take care of outside. Besides, I thought you wouldn’t come because you didn’t call.”
“No, no. I came here right after my program at the other place ended. Just like we had agreed,” she said.
“Welcome, then. And this is to you.” I toasted. She did, too. We clinked our glasses. As she stared at me with her hazel eyes adorned by dark, curly eyelashes and smiles, I realized that my interest in her had increased in the week we hadn’t seen each other.
Serra was probably in her mid-twenties. Although her face had the youth and childishness of a college student, she had a mature, womanly figure. I couldn’t tell by looking at the dress she wore on the night I had first seen her, but the low-cut neckline of her black blouse tonight displayed her big breasts, satiny cleavage and slender neck. Her well-rounded legs were visible through the generous slit of her skirt.
No, I’ve never been a man quick to fall in love. On the contrary, I loved one woman, one single woman endlessly in my whole life… But there was something about this girl that enticed me more than her looks. I had a hard time understanding the situation. To tell the honest truth, physical beauty had never been a factor that affected me on its own.
Serra and I chatted for a while, and the longer we talked, the more I was drawn to her. She told me that she had been singing jazz since she was very young, and that she no longer wanted to anything else. I asked her, “Did you think about my offer?”
She looked at my face and said, “Yes.”
I felt she didn’t want to work at Jazzino as a singer. Feeling slightly offended about her reluctance, I asked, “And?”
“Instead of working here on a salary, I’d rather come here as a guest singer. Just like tonight. Besides, that’s better for you, too.”
I didn’t get it. “But why?” I insisted.
She shrugged her shoulders, saying, “Because then, you won’t have to pay me.”
I said, “But don’t you think that such an arrangement would disturb me?”
She paused. Then she stared at me before saying, “No, I don’t, because it won’t disturb you.”
Perhaps this was a good example to being more royalist than a king.
“What do you mean? It already disturbs me. Not being able to do you justice in return for such a great thing is the worst thing for me! Why are you doing this?” I asked angrily.
I must have raised my voice. She touched my arm gently to clear the air. Politely but with a determined tone, “Please calm down. That’s better. You’ll see,” she said.
She told me that she was the opinion that relationship based on money wouldn’t be good for our friendship and such stuff. Between the lines, she made sure to let me feel that she took a fancy to me since we met. In fact, that was the reason behind her refusal. At the end of our long conversation, I got it: She wanted to have a relationship with me that was more than a friendship. But there was the element of Baris. What would happen to him?
He was an issue. She was planning to part with him. Their relationship didn’t work, and both were aware of that fact.
“Unfortunately, I can’t leave him these days. ” Finally, she had given up her formal way of speaking. “Baris and talked about it and agreed that we had to put an end to our relationship at an appropriate moment.”
I usually try not to stand in a woman’s way. You know, if you infatuate a woman and force her to leave another man for you, problems could pile up. All that ‘if only’ and ‘I wish I had’ talk begins. You can imagine...
She keeps questioning whether she did the right thing to stick with you: ‘I wonder if the other guy would have been a better choice.’ Besides, she always takes such a thing as a commitment, and you might end up having to marry her. Anyway, the right thing to do, in that case, is to stay away from married or engaged women altogether. Even if you’re hopelessly in love, she should be the one to make the final decision and come to you after wiping out old scores.
I let her know what I thought about such stuff. I told her that not putting an end to her relationship with Baris would cause trouble. “It won’t be appropriate,” I said.
She laughed at me. “You look like a very virtuous man.” She was mocking me.
I laughed, too. But then I continued my words in a serious manner: “I surely am.”
She raised one eyebrow. I couldn’t be angry at her for being suspicious about me. I looked like a chaser, to tell the truth. Isn’t it always so? A person suffers the prejudices based on his looks. A young man with the face of a mugger is accused of all crime – theft, robbery, and mugging – committed in his neighborhood and even arrested no matter what a polite and decent guy he actually is. And eventually, the crime he never committed clings to his character for a lifetime. I said, “I don’t leer at anyone’s wife or daughter. And guys who do that piss me off. How can you flirt with a friend’s wife or girlfriend as if no other women are around?”
She broke into laughter. We made other silly jokes and told each other funny stories... But after a while, Serra became serious all of a sudden. “You’re right... Sure,” she said, and added, “but there are also many exceptions. For instance, my relationship with Baris is something that shouldn’t have existed in the first place. I don’t love him. Not at all… And we no longer dream about the future. I mean, we used to do that. Getting married, a house with red shutters, trips, kids... You name it...”
The plans they used to make sounded strange and sadly pathetic to me, but the fact that they had a relationship was stranger than the fact that they were breaking up. “Why are you together then?” I asked directly.
Pretending not to hear my question, she went on talking. “Not too many people know, but he and I are... engaged.”
I did. I knew about it. Yet I had no idea what it meant. “So?” I asked provocatively.
It was natural that I asked this question. I mean, it really didn’t matter if she was engaged or is she was someone’s girlfriend. Only marriage was different. It was because then, it meant that you lost yourself to the institutions of the state.
She answered my question with another question. “Why do you think two lovers who have been together for four long years don’t get married?”
“How do I know? And I don’t understand why you’ve been together for four years either. You know, if the situation is like that...”
I couldn’t ask her openly. If the problem were related to any discord related to character differences or sex, it would have come out in just a single week. It wouldn’t have taken four years to discover such a problem.
“You can’t understand, anyway... Baris has some serious problems, and I can’t leave him and let him solve them on his own right now.”
Was it anything related to money? Did they do business together, and were things going bad? “Didn’t Baris have problems in the past?” I asked.
She looked away. Then she sighed. Instead of telling me openly what it was all about, she started talking about how things were affecting her. “Whether the problem emerged at the beginning or the end of a relationship doesn’t make it easier for you to leave your fiancée. I can’t be ruthless like that,” she said.
Then she paused and frowned. “What we talked about should remain between us, please. It wouldn’t be right if I told you more. I have to leave him sooner or later. So there’s nothing that should annoy you.”
After taking a sip of her drink, she leaned toward me and whispered in my ear: “Let us just keep our friendship confidential. For the time being…”
My relationship with Serra began with that conversation. That night, I set aside my obsession about not tempting another man’s woman and offered her to go to her or my place. She didn’t accept my offer and told me to be patient. “First I must separate from Baris. I don’t want to look like a slut who is playing a double game. I hate such stuff,” she said.
“All right,” I said and dropped the subject. At the same time, I brought my hand to my mouth and made a gesture as if I was zipping it.
In fact, I wanted to sleep with her. I desired her badly. I’m not going to deny that. And I’m not going to feel embarrassed because I was aroused. As I’ve said before, her legs displayed through the slit of her skirt and her smooth, satiny cleavage was so damn sexy...
And that night, I had no one else to kill my loneliness with.