A Waltz Under Starlight
The first time Jack Morrisey heard Daisy Chambers sing, the jazz was so loud it made his teeth ache. He was twenty-two, standing in the back of a Harlem club called The Velvet Note, wearing a suit that had been his father's and shoes that had been his brother's. The club smelled of gin and cigarette smoke and something sweeter—something like hope, if hope had a price. Daisy stood at the...
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