The promoters would arrange for us to stay in black homes. Living tight, Otis and his band quickly grew tired of the high prices and low satisfaction of restaurant food while on the road. Traveling with two suitcases devoted to nothing but hot plates, pots, pans, and seasonings, Blik cooked nightly for the band, wet towels pressed against the door to keep the illicit smells of room-cooking from seeping into hotel hallways. So, he'd get up early and prepare a lot of nice things. We eat for a long time.
Garlic toasts appear and are eaten.
Herb-inflected feta cheese is offered, fresh lemon slices passed, and more chicken proffered to complement the soup. Of course we have ice cream. As we wander outside after the still-stable table has been cleared, Parry points with a laugh to the large fishing boat that dominates Otis' back driveway. The dealer had an itch in his brain about Otis' name. He knew that he was Someone.