Who needs Tinder? How a random meeting at an L.A. jazz club changed my life
My friend Jim called to tell me Mark Murphy was singing at the Jazz Bakery. I had seen him several times and he had become one of my favorites, so… great idea.
I had no idea it would end up being the night that changed my life.
We drove up to Culver City and had a nice French bite to eat at La Dijonaise, just down the block, and then headed in. We sat about a third of the way back in the theater. It was pretty crowded, but then Mark was a major draw for jazz lovers and it was a Friday night. He came out on the stage and sang, backed by a local piano trio. Amazing phrasing and surprising arrangements.
At the break between sets, I stood in line at the bar and bought a Heineken. I noticed an attractive blond, also drinking a Heineken, and reading the Los Angeles Times. She was wearing a dark leather coat, it being November.
I had recently been talking to myself about being more adventurous, so I walked up to her and struck up a conversation about Mark.
“He’s one of my favorite singers. Not many like him. Maybe Betty Carter.”
“What about Jon Hendricks?”
“Right. A very good singer. A lot of fun.”
We continued talking about jazz we liked. She had seen Mark once before, and had decided to see him again. She didn’t know anyone who would really appreciate him, so she had come alone. I was surprised. She was so attractive that I had been expecting a date coming back from the men’s room.
The lights blinked to signal the audience to come back for the second set.
“Nice talking to you,” she said and went back inside. I should have asked her for her number, I thought.
Just then, my friend Jim returned after finishing a cigar. “Who was that?”
“A fan of Mark’s. She was very easy to talk to. I should have gotten her number.”
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“I’ll tell you what,” he said, smiling, “she’s sitting right next to me.”
“What? I didn’t even see her earlier.”
“We’ll trade seats, and then you’ll be sitting next to her.”
“Great!”
When Jim and I returned to our chairs, her belongings were on the seat next to her.
“Would you mind moving your purse?” I joked.
During the second half of the concert, I worked up the courage to ask her for her phone number.
The next day, Saturday, I called Laurel, and we talked for three hours. The night before I’d found her easy to talk to, but on Saturday I was surprised at how much we had in common. I asked her if she’d like to go back to the Jazz Bakery the following Friday to see Regina Carter, the popular jazz violinist. She suggested we meet in downtown Culver City at San Gennaro, a very good Italian restaurant that was quieter than some of the other restaurants around. It would be easier to talk there.
The atmosphere turned out to be perfect for talking and having a little pasta and wine.
Regina played brilliantly, and her band backed her well. After the concert, we drove back downtown and walked around. We went into the Culver Hotel after noticing the plaque outside that announced the fact that all the actors who played Munchkins in “The Wizard of Oz” stayed there while filming.
It was getting late, and the bar was nearly empty and very quiet.
We drank single malt Scotches and talked until the bartender told us he was closing. We walked the short way back to our cars. The sidewalks in Culver City had been rolled up. There was almost no one around. I took her hand. As we turned onto the side street where our cars were, it was so quiet. With no traffic, it seemed completely natural to stand there in the middle of the street and kiss, just like in the movies.
This was back in 2005.
We’ve been together ever since.
A few years later, Mark Murphy was back at the Jazz Bakery and we went to see him. We told him the story about meeting at his concert and that we had since married. He thought that was so cool that during the second set he added a line to one of the songs, and he sang right to her.
The gist of it was, “Bake lots of chocolate chip cookies for him.”
I don’t really crave chocolate chip cookies, but Mark’s singing it has become a major memory.
In December, we were saddened at Mark’s passing. He was 84. Happily, the miracle of his music will live on for him, and he’ll remain in our hearts for as long as we can listen to it.
Warren is a novelist living in San Diego and has written several mysteries and thrillers, including the Inspector Kwong series. His website is VicWarren.com.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the current dating scene in and around Los Angeles. We pay $300 a column. If you have comments or a true story to tell, email us at LAAffairs@latimes.com.
