The queue outside the nightclub stretched back to the corner of the building. There were more than a hundred people waiting for their turn to be admitted to the neon paradise within. But, just like the gates to Heaven, there was a guardian angel deciding who could enter. As the queue shuffled forward, Mac occasionally caught a glimpse of people walking away, denied entry for some infraction of the nightclub rules.
"What you got on?" the doorman asked.
Mac grasped the lapels of his jacket and smiled proudly. "It's a zoot suit."
The doorman whistled appreciatively. "Very nice."
"Thanks. I had it made to an authentic pattern."
"Very nice," the doorman repeated, and stood aside. "You pass. You can go in."
Mac strode into the nightclub, savouring the rush as the music hit him. Tonight was 'Big Band Night' and a 20-piece ensemble was on the stage, playing a Glenn Miller hit. The crowd on the dance floor was bopping and jiving, enjoying the old-time swing music. Mac waved to some people he knew, then headed for the bar. There was an empty stool waiting for him.
"What'll it be?" the barman asked.
"Jack with ice, please." Mac waited for the barman to pour his drink, then lifted the glass and swirled the amber liquid around the ice cubes. The first drink of the night was always the best.
"Nice threads, guy."
Mac looked up to see a young woman in an A-line dress, the skirt stiff with starch, her face powdered and rouged. "Thanks," he said and raised his glass in acknowledgement. "You don't look too bad yourself, doll."
The woman picked up a highball glass and supped the contents delicately through a paper straw. "What's your name, fella?"
"Mac."
"Well then, Mac. Wanna dance?"
The band launched into an upbeat tune.
"Sure doll. Why not?" Mac put out a hand in invitation, and the woman hopped off her stool. Together they hit the dance floor. "Damn, baby. You're good!" Mac yelled above the music. "I didn't catch your name."
The woman laughed. "You didn't ask. My friends call me Jelly."
"Jelly?"
"'Cos jam don't shake like this!"