Joey Alexander knows he is good (fornothing) wrote in rooms,
Re: log: joey & ella, gatsby
Joey did like it, and nodded with that standard Alexander agreement of utter muteness before setting out to find some more of his voice amidst the ice and liquor in his glass. There was a sip and a swallow and a, "Yeah." Ella's smile was like hope and it fit the mental image he'd made of her, she was pretty and soft like the angels in childrens' picture books. He knew that he was supposed to say more than yeah, and he knew he was just too used to letting others fill up the social void that he made. His sisters would have been talking Ella's fucking ear off if they were here, but they weren't, and so now it was just up to him not to dig his own grave with awkward silence.
"Its…" He thought there was a gentleness to the jazz joint despite doormen with thick muscled necks and the swelter of city heat. The world seemed fresh despite the layers of coal dust and car exhaust that coated the outside. Maybe Joey bought into that stereotype built on images of the past, but possibilities seemed to exist here. This wasn't Gotham, and this wasn't Vegas. This was a place where love was written into all of the songs, and even the sadness was made sweet. But Joey didn't know how to explain any of that, so he just said, "Its real nice."
He noted the removal of the gloves, and although the stuffiness of the little club was likely to blame, Joey thought it might be worth asking something. "What time do you get done tonight?" He nudged his drink with a fingertip, swiping away the condensation and kind of suggesting that maybe she might want to have one when she was done singing. He didn't know if she drank, and immediately came the crushing worry that offering might have been a mistake. Again, he was setting this up like some kind of thing with his clean shirt and his drink offers when she'd only invited him to come watch her work.