Chapter 9: Who Loves Ya Baby?
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We headed out of La Fonda and the night air was distinctly chilly.
Making our way to the next block we passed through the neighborhood
basketball court and turned the corner. Lapiz stopped outside a high
mesh wire fence. “We’re here,” he said.
The fence was criss-crossed with threaded white plastic tape, so you
couldn’t tell what was behind. A padlock and chain also suggested
that this was the entrance to some sort of yard, nothing more. Anyone
not familiar with the spot would have just walked past, completely
unaware that the neighbourhood bar lurked behind.
Pulling the gates apart, Lapiz invited us in. Passing between two
apartment blocks we found ourselves on the other side of the fence on
what would have ordinarily been a candidate for Operation Greenthumb.
Either side of us were cars, disused or just resting there, we didn’t
ask but there were three parked lengthways on either side of us. At
the end of these was a dimly lit, er, hut? Possibly a corrugated lean
to type construction with, as previously described by Lapiz,
a ‘converted’ UPS truck side on to the beer garden.
A boom box played merengue. Several locals looked up from their
beer/conversations and all said “hi” or nodded. Definitely a friendly
place, at odds with what, for example, my mother would have thought
had she been present. There’s no way my mother would have gone past
the gate though.
We were introduced to Chello, the famed owner, who served us bottled
beers from a cold box. He slipped in slices of lemon in the necks at our request.
This probably passes for a cocktail in these parts I thought.
The beer was great.
On the walls were an assortment of pictures of sports/glamour and
landscape origin. There were an odd assortment of chairs and that was
it. This was Kojak Corner. This was pretty much what I’d imagined
from Lapiz’s descriptions, I guessed that we were the only tourists
there in recent, or even distant memory.
Customers kept coming in and it seemed that each and every one was
one of Lapiz’s buds. OK, I embarrassed RR earlier and now it’s
Lapiz’s turn. He is quite simply one of the nicest, laid back, down
to earth cats that anyone is ever likely to meet. How can you not
LOVE this guy! We were introduced to his good friend Ismael, who
would follow us out to our next spot, Jakes Bar.
As more merengue boomed out of the appropriately titled music box
Jane started to get noticeably more twitchy, this gal is a hardcore,
old-school salsera. We downed our beers and said farewell to Chello’s AKA
Kojak Corner, Ismael tagging along.
It was great to finally experience the joint, next time this will remain on
the itinerary.
———-
Previously Deleted/Lost Scene
Restored Outtake:
The door/steps where the Spanish Harlem Orchestra publicity shot was, as Lapiz had said, just over the street. It looked very unremarkable without the man and cart and internationally traveled musicians draped round it. Ricardo took a photo of me and Jane here.
——–
Up the street and turning right we made our way to the more
salubrious surroundings of Jakes Bar. Ricardo tried to contact Suzy
at home in Nottingham again [and again and again] but each time he
came back from the street he was noticeably more agitated. Sitting
with Lapiz helped him calm down though, what can I say, he just has
that effect on people.
Jakes, a modern typical European style bar establishment with hard
tiled floor was, it’s fair to say, more up-market than Chellos.
Ricardo instantly made himself at home and offended the locals in one
fell swoop. He, horror of horrors, LIT HIS CIGAR IN THE BAR!!!
Ahhhhhhhh, someone call the Fire Marshall/Public Health Department,
quick.
Smoking is strictly VERBOTEN in any NYC establishment. I
wondered if Chello had received the appropriate notices as, for some
reason, everyone there seemed to have a tobacco based product
dangling from their lips. Even Lapiz, who doesn’t smoke, cadged one
and smoked in there.
In Jakes we saw the worlds smallest big screen TV. Playing, and this
was inevitable, was BVSC. “Huck!” we exclaimed, “The Huckster!”
Ha Ha Ha……
After a few minutes our by now old friend Chocolate entered. Seemed
like a number of fans had been forcing alcohol upon him, he being of
sweet nature had obviously politely taken up the drink offers. What a
guy. He obviously must have caught Ricardo’s cigar faux pas as he
headed out to the bar entrance/mini seating area for a smoke.
Now, Ricardo had managed to get the names of his favourite trumpet
players from him [Perico Ortiz, big fan]. Jane had overheard him, in
Spanish, talking to another musician [none of us knew who but I’ve a
feeling he was A} Puerto Rican and B} a brass player] saying
(paraphrase) “If it wasn’t for you people Cuban music, our music,
would have died”. This seemed to be a reference to the role of the
NuYorican in the keeping and advancing of the flame, the product
being what we call Salsa.
At this point I would have not been surprised if Jose Obando had
ridden past the bar on a push bike shouting “AH-HA” in the style of
Nelson Munz, the school bully from the Simpsons.
So, realising that this could be a great moment for obtaining some
unheard, secret salsa real insider info, I joined him for a smoke
outside the bar.
We were alone, and he clearly remembered me from a
few minutes earlier. He nodded and, as my breath baited, he started
to talk about London. Wow I thought, some real inside dope on Salsa
in London, perhaps some momentous event about how a song came to
be or where an artist discovered he could play in a new style…..step
aside John Child there’s a new guy in town……
“wazzzzt gswecewo London” the great man said. I nodded.
“nwefueico Vangelis?” he added. Vangelis?
“Oh yeah, Vangelis, I know him” I replied, not literally of course, I
only know world class Cuban trumpeters but I left Chocolate
hanging.
“whfbusc fmcp’ c klmdhsys op n ok; ; fji nfm” he said.
I finished my smoke, thanked him and went back into the bar.
Like us he was probably very tired, what with his recent Alabama/Arkansas
University Big Band gig and the associated travel.
A new DVD was playing, Roberto Roena, En Vivo! Like a number of
others in the bar our table sang coro. “Who the hell is that singer?”
None of us knew, in fact nobody in the bar had any idea. If I could
remember the song I’d look up the credits so as to have something to
talk about next time I’m there. “Isn’t that Charlie Aponte’s cousin
from the isle of St. Thomas” I might be able to say, impressing the
locals with my depth of salsa knowledge.
We sat in Jakes for, possibly, an hour and a half, the longest we’d
spent in any one place all day. Ricardo was clearly suffering from
tiredness and we needed to move on to give us fresh impetus to carry
on. If not, we would have been in the land of nod in no time.
Ismael left and to our annoyance, not known to us at the time, also
left $25 for the bar bill. Damn, these NYCers are just too damn nice,
we had to fight to pay for everything, but with perseverance did
manage to pick up major tabs. We think!
(Muttered conversation in Chellos: “Jeez, those guys paid for
NOTHING! They even took Ismaels holiday fund!”)
Time for us to consider our options. We had hoped for some live music
here in Jakes, but not tonight. If there was we would have almost
certainly stayed. Ricardo should have been made to wear a pedometer ?
mileage this weekend? Christ knows, but safe to say “a lot”.
Live music available at Larry Harlows gig [too far, too late], Andrea
Brachfeld [too not known at the time and too misspelled], Chris Washburn
& SYTOS at NYPoets Café [too late and possibly a bit relaxed/laid back],
Jose Alberto [too Bronx based and I’m not that wild about him anyway]
…..leaving us, much to Lapiz’s head shaking disappointment, The Copa.
Expensive, miles away and not somewhere usually associated with the best
NYC has to offer music wise, but realistically our best option.
Jane dialed a local cab firm and we had to say goodbye to Lapiz. I know
we’d had some beer, but I kissed the dude. Luckily he didn’t reciprocate,
well, no tongues anyway.
Cheers Lapiz, we WILL see you again sometime. Our
taxi did what taxis do and we were on our way to the famed, if
somewhat dubiously considered World Famous Copacabana
Nightclub, downtown NYC……