A Long Story...
Greg was sitting at the piano in the speakeasy, pounding away at the Basin Street Blues. He was dressed in a rakish tuxedo, and altogether looked like a sporty character. There was a glass with a lime in it near him, although knowing Greg was a life long teetotaler, Jake guessed it probably just contained soda pop.
Greg was an actor at Mammoth-Art Studio in Hollywood. His latest role was in a gangland melodrama, and he had gotten the piano job at the Pig in a Poke speakeasy to soak up atmosphere for his performance. It was just for a weekend. His best friend, Jacob "Jake" Black, was a writer at the studio, and had come down that Saturday night to see what Greg was up to. Jake was a teetotaler, too, and had never been in a speakeasy before. He looked around with interest.
There was a dance floor, and a few couples were dancing away. At a table near Jake, there were two pairs of clean-cut college students with their girl friends, out on a double date. They probably felt like they were up to the last word in deviltry by visiting the Pig in a Poke. On Jake's other side, a middle-aged man with a mustache was escorting a woman in a low cut dress who was young enough to be his daughter. At a third table, an elegant, beautiful young woman sat. Two young men in tuxedos were very attentive to her.
An over-dressed man of around forty, was seated at the best table in the speakeasy with a chorus girl. He wore lots of rings with huge stones, diamond studs in his tuxedo shirt front, and other jewelry. Jake wondered if the man were a big time bootlegger. There was a tough looking man seated with him, who could be a bodyguard.
Jake did what he always did in a new and interesting place. He took a small notebook out of his coat pocket, and started taking notes in shorthand, recording everything he saw. Jake never knew when they might be useful on some story he was writing.
Greg pointed out the speakeasy's manager. He was a dapper, powerfully built man, also
Greg was an actor at Mammoth-Art Studio in Hollywood. His latest role was in a gangland melodrama, and he had gotten the piano job at the Pig in a Poke speakeasy to soak up atmosphere for his performance. It was just for a weekend. His best friend, Jacob "Jake" Black, was a writer at the studio, and had come down that Saturday night to see what Greg was up to. Jake was a teetotaler, too, and had never been in a speakeasy before. He looked around with interest.
There was a dance floor, and a few couples were dancing away. At a table near Jake, there were two pairs of clean-cut college students with their girl friends, out on a double date. They probably felt like they were up to the last word in deviltry by visiting the Pig in a Poke. On Jake's other side, a middle-aged man with a mustache was escorting a woman in a low cut dress who was young enough to be his daughter. At a third table, an elegant, beautiful young woman sat. Two young men in tuxedos were very attentive to her.
An over-dressed man of around forty, was seated at the best table in the speakeasy with a chorus girl. He wore lots of rings with huge stones, diamond studs in his tuxedo shirt front, and other jewelry. Jake wondered if the man were a big time bootlegger. There was a tough looking man seated with him, who could be a bodyguard.
Jake did what he always did in a new and interesting place. He took a small notebook out of his coat pocket, and started taking notes in shorthand, recording everything he saw. Jake never knew when they might be useful on some story he was writing.
Greg pointed out the speakeasy's manager. He was a dapper, powerfully built man, also