In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Chapter Seven Carolyn and Sarah somerville, september 1986 the 1369 Jazz Club on Cambridge street hosted a popular jam session on Monday nights. from eight to midnight, jazz musicians from all over new england would stop by to play with the band, to network, and to hang out. the session was legendary—even back in tacoma, i’d heard musicians talk about it. for weeks i’d been debating whether to go. if i really wanted to become a working jazz musician, i was going to have to get out and play. there was only one problem: my nerves. during performances, i’d start out fine, but somewhere around the eighth bar, i’d suddenly realize that i was on staGe, with PeoPle looking at me. oh My God! and a full-blown panic attack would set in. things improved a little when i switched from classical music to jazz. in jazz, it’s much more important to be able to improvise and go with the flow than it is to give a flawless performance. Was i ready to get out and meet new people? Would my nerves collapse under the pressure? i was trying to establish myself in a new city. i could not afford to get off on the wrong foot. When i really need advice, i call ruth spencer. she’s been my best friend since the 1970s when we were in college at oberlin. like the sister i never had, spencer is a short, light-skinned african american with wire-rim glasses and wavy hair. she has come to all my recitals, checked out all my boyfriends, and knows me better than i know myself. More than any of my non-musician friends, spencer understands what it takes to survive in the music business because her aunt ruth lipscomb was a concert pianist back in the 1940s. lipscomb gave a critically acclaimed recital in Carnegie Hall and even performed at the Café society with nina simone, the famous jazz singer. “i want to play at this jam session next week,” i told spencer. “Problem is, i’m terrified i’ll make a fool of myself. remember when i flunked out of that piano competition because i broke down in the middle of my piece?” “of course i remember. your hand shook so bad the music fell off the piano when you turned the page.”spencer is my best friend, but she does love to tease me.“the expression on your professor’s face was priceless. the poor old white man nearly keeled over in a dead faint.” 26 27 Carolyn and Sarah, Somerville, September 1986 “Ha ha, spence. very funny,” i said, not laughing. “Just help me out here, oK? do you think i should go to this jam session or not?” “of course you should go. that competition was years ago.you’re a different person now. you’ll be fine.” “but what if i’m not? What if i screw up again?” Hearing the panic in my voice, spencer dropped the banter and began speaking in what i liked to call her therapist voice. it was softer, deeper in tone than her regular voice, and very calming. “did i ever tell you about the summer i stayed with aunt ruth?” “Gimme a break, spence.” i knew i was being peevish, but i was jittery as a bug on a griddle.“What’s your summer vacation got to do with anything?” “bear with me, Carolyn. i’m trying to make a point here,”spencer continued, as if talking to an irritable two-year-old. “When i was ten, i spent the summer with my aunt ruth in new york City. i’d never been out of West virginia before and i was dying to see the statue of liberty. i wanted to look out from the top of the empire state building. and more than anything, i wanted to eat cotton candy and ride the ferris wheel at Coney island. aunt ruth took me all of those places, but we never left the house until she’d finished practicing. every single day, no matter how much i begged and pleaded, she put in at least three hours. i never heard so many scales in my entire life!” ruth spencer is an impatient person. she walks fast, talks fast, and loves to drive fast cars. imagining her as a frustrated ten-year-old spinning her wheels indoors on a hot summer day made me laugh out...

Share