Dinner with Milena

Milena quickly went to her place to make herself into divinity before dinner. We arranged to be at the car at fifteen to seven. I, being lightly dozy, even managed to nap for an hour, then I cleaned my shoes, took a shower and began to get dressed. 

Because it was constantly cold, this time to the Stacy Adams low tops I put on yellow cashmere socks, gray, greatly cut pants and one of my navy blue jackets. The shirt from petty corduroy with indigo-white stripes, almost a half inch thick, and a thin silk foulard in a discrete Turkish design, and just as yesterday—the camel hair coat, only that today in the color beige, and as always one of the yellow ties. Uninterruptedly I felt like Humphrey Bogart. 

Milena came punctually and presented herself phenomenally. She had black slippers on very high heels, such that she made the impression of being not much shorter than me. Luxuriant, falling to her shoulders platinum blonde hair, this time as if a bit slicked, a short black dress with a shoulder strap, serving mainly to expose her revelational bosom. On her shoulders she had thrown on a beautiful fur with long, silver-black hair. She looked super, she looked like the priciest of the priciest Parisian or New York whores.

We got into the car and in a moment were already parking by the hotel. Frankly speaking, the idea to invite Milena out to dinner, beyond my great sympathy for her and my desire to make her happy, truthfully came from this that from yesterday I could not forget about the foreshank, which before my eyes, when I had ordered some lightly dry pike perch, with great expertise and with the greatest happiness the patron of the Hares devoured. 

I remembered exactly each euphoric grimace on his lawyerly face and the entire time this foreshank sat before my eyes. 

I saw it, when at night I listened to Sokal, when I beat my automobile speed record and even when I made love with Milena. Now finally approached the moment of fulfillment. At the entrance I bought two consumption vouchers. 

The UB waiter, who yesterday served us and who, because we had a surplus of vouchers, received a pretty large gratuity, sat us at a revelationally situated two-person table. 

We were very hungry. We both ordered crayfish neck salad and borsch with a patty, Milena as a Czech ordered roast game foul with a large amount of sauce, red cabbage and dumplings, with red wine, and I of course the foreshank I had longed for all day, with white wine, and also two Melbas, coffee and liqueurs. 

When the dancing started, and we were already almost done with dinner, some fools, first asking for my permission, constantly tried to get Milena to dance. She was having a grand time, and I wanted as quickly as possible to change our locale, because after all to Alfredo’s music I decidedly preferred Benny Goodman’s. 

Knowing that Milena loved jazz, I wanted her to hear how the boys played and not live only on the jazz memories of Ludek Hulan. 

When we finally got to the café, there already the concert was on in full. Sokal, just playing IF I HAD YOU, when he saw me took for a second his right hand from the clarinet and waved to me. It made on Milena a very big impression. 

We sat by the bar, but with our backs to the bargirl, facing the playing. Here Milena was also constantly asked for a dance. She danced revelationally, completely different than the others, more like in the West, and she was definitely the best in the hall. Constantly someone asked where I found such a bombshell. 

After two in the morning the group stopped playing. Sokal again slept at Leszek’s. I told them, that if Leszek left his bass in the café for the night, then I could drive them home, because I had a car today. They were very happy. 

We sped down the damp, glistening asphalt, avoiding numerous holes and heaps of debris. Both the guys sat in the back, Milena next to me. She was talking of course about Ludek Hulan, who Leszek had even met, when Hulan toured in this place three years ago with the Czech big band of Gustav Brom. 

Leszek said that he was then the best bassist in Europe, in a class with Slam Stewart, and together with Brom he had the indisputable rank of the greatest star. Finally Milena was fully satisfied. 

We were returning home. Happy Milena wanted to go home to pick something up, so I dropped her off. She promised to be at my house soon. I parked the car under the terrace, undressed, took a shower and sitting in a bathrobe listened to wonderful jazz, which late at night played on some Scandinavian station. 

They played in turn Charlie Parker and Lester Young. Later, when from my arrival passed already a good hour, and on the radio Anita O’Day and Ray Eldridge with Gene Krupa’s orchestra finished LET ME OFF UPTOWN, and Billy May was just beginning his biggest hit of the time, FAT MAN BOOGIE, just then telephoned Milena. 

She said in a whisper, that I could not even imagine, how horribly sad she was, but just after she left with me for the evening, returned her husband, Mr. B, because it turned out that the dogs that had attacked the priest belonged to the local veterinarian and all of them had their rabies shots. 

She added that she and Mr. B both thanked me for one of the most beautiful days she had spent in her life. 

Her contacts with me Milena never hid from Mr. B and I got the feeling that he kind of knew everything. 

Because of his incorrigible brother, knowing full well that in a certain sense he neglected his wife, he accepted this status quo, and his stance towards me was always very friendly, even familial. 

Despite this I never went to their house, and he had never come to mine. Milena recompensed everything.