"Jupiter Jazz"

The lone saxophone sings out through the silent, darkened room. The piano sneaks in and adds a light support for the heaviness of the haunting notes. A low, refined yet purring melody permeates the audience, and they become part of the music as each identifies with the emotion in the phrase. Though the song lacks lyrics, it clearly speaks of longing. The saxophonist raises the fourth as he restates the melody, in effect he changes key and lightens the piece's feel, which gives it an almost surreal happiness. He always returns to his home key in the darker B flat, scattering his improvisation with suspensions and strange sounding resolutions. His accompaniment begins to strengthen and speed up. The soloist closes his eyes as he crescendos to the climax of the piece, and he allows a certain coarseness to creep into his tone. He flats the seventh, further darkening the sound's color, and he scales up a few more notes before he starts the final line. The saxophone melody begins to fade, and the pianist plays an echo of the opening statement as the piece ends.

The audience remains silent for a short moment after the music finishes, then they applaud happily. A smile crosses the soloist's face, and he nods his head slightly to acknowledge their appreciation. His smile spreads to his eyes, though they are slightly glazed and do not seem to be seeing the room. He runs a hand through his already messy dark hair, and with his other hand, he gestures toward his accompanist, who also gives a miniscule nod before leaving the stage. The crowd only stops applauding when the saxophonist approaches the microphone.

"Thank you, folks," he says, "but it's time to speed things up again. Come on back out, guys." He beckons to the other members of the saxophone quartet offstage. The soprano, alto and baritone sax players saunter casually on to the stage, and the group strikes up a playful, bouncy tune that could not be more different from the previous song.

"So, you coming with us for a drink?" asks the bari sax player after the show.

The soloist pulls a cleaning cloth through the body of his tenor saxophone. "Nah, you guys go on," he says.

"Man, you've got that 'Goodnight, Julia' look again," says the alto player as he closes his case with a slight shake to his head. "What is it with you and that song?"

The soloist smiles. "It's nothing," he says.

"You never get all contemplative when we're playing Bird or Train; the only thing that comes close is how excited you get about Guaraldi-" says the bari player as he mimics stroking his small beard in thought.

"Hey, Charlie Brown music is awesome!" says the soloist as he shuts his case, pointing a finger and smiling ear-to-ear at his friend.

"Seriously, though, what is it about 'Julia?'" asks the alto player as the three old friends put on their dark coats.

The soloist frowns and sighs lightly as he picks up his case. "I think I met Julia once," he says with a short laugh. "I thought it was all disposable, though: great girl, but no Venus."

The bari sax player switches his case to his other hand and places his free hand on the soloist's shoulder. "My friend," he says, "you aren't making any sense."

The soloist laughs heartily this time. "Yeah, you're right man," he says.

"Dude, just come with us," says the alto player as he pushes open the backstage doors, and they exit to the lobby. "You could use a drink, especially if you're just going to sulk for the next two hours."

The soloist opens his mouth, but he stops before any sound comes out. Across from the stage door, a lone young woman is sitting cross-legged on a bench. One arm is wrapped across her small body holding closed her unbuttoned black coat, and her other hand twirls a lock of her auburn hair. She glances at her watch and bites her lower lip.

"You guys go on without me," says the soloist to his friends. They follow his gaze, smirk at their friend, and exit out the front doors as the soloist approaches the girl. "Hey," he says as he sets his case down by the bench and puts his hands in his pockets, grinning wide-eyed.

The girl looks up at the sound of his voice. She smiles at him, and the arm holding her coat relaxes a bit. "Hey, yourself," she says with a small laugh. "You were great tonight," she adds.

Shaking his head slightly, he replies; "I fracked a few notes in the quartet."

"Oh, quit critiquing yourself, 'Sax Quartet' is supposed to sound rough at parts," says the girl as she hits him lightly in the arm. "You sound better than ever."

The soloist catches her hand and pulls her to her feet. "So how've you been?" he asks as he picks up his case, and they walk towards the exit. "I didn't even know you were in town."

"Yeah, I had an interview earlier today, and I didn't want to make the three hour drive back on the same day," she explains as she holds the door for the soloist and his large case. "I heard you were playing so I thought I'd come by and see if I could say 'hi' before security kicked me out."

They share a laugh at the idea of security giving a second thought to the small young woman. "Are you still playing?" asks the soloist.

"Yes, actually," answers the girl. She tosses her hair back in a futile attempt to control it in the cold wind. "I got some poems published, so I treated myself to that rose brass horn I wanted," she says. Her posture straightens up a bit as she talks about her achievements.

"Aw, no Steinway grand yet?" teases the soloist.

"No, no Steinway grand, emphasis on 'yet,'" says the girl. "I don't have the house for it right now. Come to think of it, I'll be looking around here if my interview went as well as I think it did." She shoots a covert glance to gage the soloist's reaction, but his expression does not change. "So what about you? What are you up to?" she asks.

"Same as ever: practice hermit by day, jazz musician with dreamy eyes by night," he replies matter-of-factly with a grin on his face.

"Seems to be working for you; I've got your entire discography," says the girl. "All that solitude hasn't driven you nuts yet?" she asks. She loses some of the playful bounce in her step and her speaking.

"It simplifies everything," the soloist replies. He forces himself to look ahead. "You know I like to be alone," he adds.

The girl looks down at her hands. "I suppose you wouldn't be interested in dinner or a movie or anything before I head home," she says as the overhead train rolls past into the nearby station.

The soloist sighs, "If you really want to, I-"

"No, I don't want to butt in," the girl cuts him off. "Forget I even mentioned it." The arm holding her black coat closed tightens again. "Actually, I should get back to my hotel, it's getting late."

"It's not quite midnight, since when is that late to you?" asks the soloist, grinning once again. She grins back, but it does not spread to her eyes. "Where's your hotel? I'll walk you there," he offers.

"If you really want to," she says as she scratches her cheek.

The soloist stops beneath a street lamp and sets his case down. He takes the girl's hand and pulls her aside. "Don't do this to yourself," says the soloist. "You've made a good life for yourself. You know I still care about you."

"You care about me, not for me," the girl corrects, "and the longer I'm around you, the more I forget the difference.

The soloist shrugs. "Call it what you want, I didn't turn you down for dinner," he says as another train leaves the station in the opposite direction.

"My hotel's just around the block," says the girl as she gestures behind her. The soloist picks up his case again.

"Let's go," he says. She turns on her heels and leads the way. They try to make small talk, asking about each others' families and friends, but both give rather sketchy answers, leaving quite a few silences in between.

"I'm glad I got to hear you play again," says the girl when they reach the hotel entrance. "I'd offer for you to come in, but all I have in my room is a TV and my company, so I daresay you'd decline."

"I'm glad you came tonight," says the soloist. "Make sure you look me up if your job here works out," he adds. "Actually, I'm surprised you didn’t let me know you were coming. You could have stayed at my place and saved the money."

"I didn't want to bug you, plus I wasn't even sure you'd be in town," says the girl. "This place is pretty cheap, anyways."

They stay silent for a moment. "Well, good night," says the soloist as he reaches out to hug her goodbye.

"G'night," says the girl, reciprocating the hug. She inhales the sweet scent from his jacket; it was always some mixture of clean body essence and sax reeds. He holds her close and weaves his fingers through her silky hair. She bites her lip before breaking apart.

"Do you have time for coffee tomorrow before you leave?" he asks.

"Well, yes, but don't you have to practice?" she says.

"I can take a morning off," he replies with a smirk. "I'll meet you here around nine, does that work?"

The girl's playful look returns. "You actually get up before noon? I'm astonished!" she teases.

"I'll see you then," he says, returning her smile. "Goodnight."

"G'night," she says, and the hotel door shuts behind her.

"'Goodnight, Julia,'" says the soloist to himself as he starts his walk home.

Credits

"Jupiter Jazz" refers to episodes 12-13 of that name in the anime, Cowboy Bebop

"Goodnight, Julia" and "Sax Quartet" are both composed by Kanno Yoko for Cowboy Bebop for episodes 12-13 and episode 4, respectively.