It wasn't the Blue Note, Cat observed, but it would do.
There was something a little counter-intuitive about a jazz club in Newport Beach; this place lacked a certain amount of grit that she appreciated, particularly in a place to go after dark, and she wondered what the quality of the performances could possibly be. LA seemed un-jazz enough, but at least it had a bit of grime to it. Newport was distressingly pristine.
But she didn't feel like going all the way to LA to find something that might be worth looking into, and this place was so damn convenient... also, she'd quickly discovered, they made a fine cocktail, which she came to know when she took the first sip of her Tom Collins. The opening act was making its way reasonably well through its first set for an opening act, and the club was surprisingly packed, though she supposed she ought to have expected it for a Saturday. Her table had but one empty seat, and so far, she'd politely declined the company of the gentlemen who'd asked if they could sit.
She was in no mood. She'd been haunted by dreams and shadows for the past two weeks, and she simply wanted to relax with a drink; if she kept any company, she'd rather it be particular.