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Jazz hadn't landed far from the proverbial tree in the looks department, she in many ways was a softer feminine version of her father. She had inherited his full lips, high cheek bones, and thick black hair. Her deep green eyes were all her mother though, one of the few attributes that had been handed down from mother to daughter other than the womanly curves that had won Max over back in the day. Jazz was at least 5'9 and could easily be mistaken for one of the models her father photographed on a weekly to daily basis. Max poured himself a glass of red wine before taking a bite of the thin crust margarita pizza Jazz had sat beside him. "Would you like a glass, babygirl?" Jazz smiled to herself, loving it when her father would allow her to share a glass of wine over dinner and how grown up and special it made her feel. "No thanks, I have a raging headache, which is the reason behind the gourmet cuisine we are dining on tonight."Max wrapped his arms around his daughter, lightly. The door swung open, and the attached bells rung to signify it. The ringing was light and twinkling, entirely unsuited to the locale. Two girls came through the door and sat themselves down next to me. I knew one of them, Andrea — she sort of hung around with our gang of low-lives. We had hooked up a couple times, but neither of us was interested in a lame boyfriend-girlfriend thing. She wasn't a beautiful woman, but that was what brought us together — our freckles and perpetually greasy brown hair made us kindred spirits. The other one I didn't know. She was big — not obese or anything, but rounded seemingly everywhere. Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail."Hey John," said Andrea. "Anything going on?" Nothing, really." It was what I always said, and it was always true. "Just out here supporting George's band, I guess. And getting hammered."Andrea nodded. "That's cool. This is Donna. Friend of the family and shit." Nice to meet you ... John, right?" I nodded and shook her clammy.
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