To me she was jazz incarnate. I didn’t know her name, but as I stared her, waiting for her to sing, worshipping at the Altar of the Eclectic, I reve...ently dubbed her ‘Jazzy Girl’. Let’s back up. Manhattan. October. Last year. Night. I was walking home in a foul funk after a lousy gig at some club on Lafayette that thinks it’s so cool it don’t even have a sign over the door. Cheap blues and expensive drinks, and don’t it just kill you to have to sing on a Friday night for the bridge and tunnel. About 10 minutes after Ed hung up the phone rang."Hello," Ed said, "Hy how would you like to win a Pulitzer Prize? I've got a great story for you. Can you come over my house right now?"Ed received an answer and hung up. He turned to Betty and told her about Hy Symington and what he was planning."Betty, I'm going to have to show Hy the pictures and tell him everything," Ed told her, "Are you OK with that?"Betty nodded her head. She dreaded having to see the pictures again, but she knew that Ed. More

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