I particularly remember this night because it was the one occasion that I fell out with Miles. From then on he referred to me as "Rattlesnake", which was a deeply offensive name as far as Miles was concerned, and one which he had been saving for just such a fellow like me. Miles spat the name with all the venom of a rather long Cobra and meant it passionately. Actually Trane had told me later that Miles felt quite bad about calling me that name…but I kind of preferred it to "Hey Boy!"

Anyway, the reason for his disapproval with me that night was as follows. I had purposely double booked the night in an attempt to finally make a profit. Dizzy had been hassling me for a show at my club, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Miles was furious at this and refused to play on account that the bell of Dizzy's trumpet pointed in an upward direction. Miles claimed that it was his idea, but that he did not have the necessary tools to fix it. Miles alleged that Dizzy had stolen the blueprints of the trumpet in a daring raid on his apartment one evening, 'round midnight. (Miles also claimed to have invented the little used monitor trumpet, which bent to the right, spiralled around the players back, finally finishing with the bell end very close to the players left ear, thus allowing the player to hear himself above any background noise…or as it's more commonly known, the band. There were plans too for one that bent in the opposite direction, for players who had been using the other version for too long.) There's no denying, Miles was a genius.

I tried to cool Miles with the promise that he could be the second act and that I'd have Dizzy warm up for him. Dizzy overheard this and became enraged, lashing out with his horn, connecting with one of my bottom left molars and slightly bending his trumpet further.

Ok, I said, there's only one way to settle who goes on first, we'll flip a coin. Being jazz musicians we had no coins, so I ordered a crêpe from the kitchen. I flipped the crêpe… … … … …unsurprisingly it fell jam side down. This bought a smile to Miles's face. See he was clever like that. Come to think of it, Dizzy was also clever but did not like strawberry jam.

So Dizzy went on first and played a stunning set. Man, he really knew how to
excite a crowd. He blew line upon line of fresh and startling ideas with liquid ease and lightning speed. It seemed as though all that had come before in the history of music in our world was within this man's soul, and a very large part of it right there in his cheeks. Miles became furious again and stormed into my office. (A small damp space where the road butted up to the pavement.) He said he couldn't possibly top an act like that. One where the leader had a trumpet that pointed in an upward direction. I replied calmly, promising Miles that he too would have a trumpet that pointed upwards. "Really" he said, his little face lighting up.

I led Miles to the stage where his band was already into the third tune. Come to think of it, Miles wasn't usually due on for another tune or so. I handed Miles a large Jack Daniels, sat him down in the reclining chair that was placed centre stage, patted him on the shoulder and said, "Miles - relax man, everything gonna be cool." Miles leant back in the chair. Right back, his trumpet pointing upwards and everyone was happy.

The evening was a great success and for the first time a small profit was made although this was quickly swallowed up by the crêpe bill.

Shortly after that show Miles became a huge star.

One time, in a crowded room at a party, I reminded Miles about the events of that night. This visibly embarrassed Miles in front of his friends. As if to disprove my account, Miles adopted a new stance on stage, pointing the trumpet directly downwards between his knees.

Any similarity between persons living or dead and the characters depicted in this story is entirely unintentional.

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