“My heart, slippery pulsing muscle
aches to know the answer ~before the question is asked”
Most of Bill’s stories take place in his light filled apartment ~ the tidy kitchen where Bill has perfected the one egg omelet ~everything orderly, uplifting, unlived-in. Like a hotel or a lobby ~ a place you are just passing through.
And he is guiding me through his light filled home, holding my hand so I feel secure ~ while he examines that piece of blue velvet in his pocket ~ SOUL RETRIEVAL.
There are books on the coffee table. One a gift from his bass player Marc Johnson “Night Hawks at the Diner”. Images of the night life of the 1930’s ~ the dawning of the all night diner.
I am consumed by my fantasy of becoming one of these characters ~ no easy task in the age of polyester. I begin my vintage collection with an off-white gabardine men’s dress shirt, which I buy down on Canal Street during my first trip to N.Y. in July of 78.
I move onto pale satin slips and feathered boas, rhinestones, oriental robes and ornate hats. While the world in Edmonton dons silver lame jumpsuits and gigantic shoulder pads, I have had my hair bobbed and crimped to resemble Mia Farrow in The Great Gatsby.
The above is an outtake from the book ” The Big Love: Life & Death with Bill Evans”