MAEVE: A jazz coda by Janice Slater

Maeve was warm and sunny on the inside. Hard exterior when she had to be. Maeve's beauty was not her destination. Not a face that would entertain Playboy's editors or gather dust in doctor's antechambers. Her face, spelt the proverbial eye in the beholder. Round and plain without makeup. Maeve was not looking for the middle way. Life more than not took her into danger. She drove a Red Deluxe taxi. When she did her face up for late night rides into dives where Jazz muso's laid down what was below the belt and pulsed the mathematics of Jazz, Maeve's beauty was, in your face intelligence. The first woman tenor jazz player to kick ass at the Conservatorium of Music. Paid her dues playing scales on the saxophone. Long hot afternoons in a rented terrace in Newtown. Two socialite sister's owned this row of tenacious Victorian tenements. Maeve shared this jewel in the crown of bindi-eyed Newtown with two other Jazz musicians. One played his horn in a padded ...