A Pinch of Ooh La La (25 page)

“I doubt it,” Jake said. “What hurts, though . . . The thing about it is . . . she was my bestie. So I miss her as my girl, but I what I really miss is my best friend.” He raised his fingers toward the ceiling. “Phineas Newborn, Roy Haynes, Paul Chambers. Album:
We Three.
Song: ‘Sneakin' Around.'”

“Very good, Jake,” I said. “I'm impressed.”

“I'm OCD. Once I'm hooked on something, I'm hooked. Like your sister.
Ahhhhh!
But seriously, folks, listening to jazz helps me study. I think it has something to do with the rhythms. It helps me see all the equations and formulas. It relaxes my brain, so I don't go insane and don't become a pain . . .
Ahhhhh!”
He finished the remaining pie in four bites and gave a drum roll with his fingers. “Well, I'm outta here. You make good pie, Abbey.”

“Thanks, Jake.” He tossed his messenger bag over his shoulder and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “It's on me, Jake—don't worry about it. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Abbey. See you around, Doc.” And he left with an “Ahhhhh.”

Bendrix went back to reading.

“He was right about Samuel brainwashing Carmen,” I said.
“Samuel never liked Jake, and if he'd kept his mouth closed, Jake and Carmen might still be together.”

“Try not to worry, Abbey. He'll be fine. I've learned from Anthony, if it's meant to be, it'll be.”

I gazed at him with a sinking feeling. Jake was right; it was one thing to lose a girlfriend or romantic partner, but another thing entirely to lose your best friend. The thought came that I had lost Avery and survived, and I could lose Samuel, but if I lost Bendrix?

Without looking up, he said, “Stop staring at me like you're falling in love. I'm taken.”

“I'm glad you're my bestie, Bendrix.”

He studied me for a beat, comebacks and quips darting through that sharp brain of his. But he only returned his gaze to his tablet. “Me, too, grasshopper.”

Cool, Cool Daddy

A
fter our argument about Carmen, Samuel and I both retreated for a while. Samuel began staying at the office for longer stretches and working on weekends. I'm sure he was relieved to have a merger to work on—a legitimate excuse to stay out of the house. Due to our schedules and general lack of motivation, our meetings with Pamela became more haphazard. But I will say this: We kept trying to make our baby. We'd go for weeks without having sex. When I was ovulating, though, we'd make love like athletes, focusing all our concentration on the yellow ribbon at the finish line. Afterward, I'd position myself so that my head was upside down and my torso in the air. I willed Samuel's sperm—
just one of you squirmy bastards. All we need is one!
—to swim through the vast darkness of my uterus and find its way to my moon-sized ovum and penetrate.
Penetrate, damn it.
We agreed again that if we didn't get pregnant within the next three months, we'd start IVF and the adoption process. We even shook on it. We needed a third to save us. We needed a baby to
love so much that we'd remember we'd been in love once, too. In the meantime, we went about our lives as though waiting for the marriage fairy to float into our home, wave her magic wand, and make things better between us.

Sometime in early February, a few days after Dad and Aiko left for Germany, Bendrix held a party in honor of Anthony's thirty-seventh birthday. Anthony loved sixties soul music and asked that everyone dress as a singer from the time period. Karaoke, he warned, would be involved.

Bendrix dressed as a member of the Temptations and wore a suit with a sequined collar and an Afro wig. Anthony came as Ray Charles, sporting sunglasses and a harness that held a harmonica near his mouth, along with a cardboard piano strapped to his midsection. I went as Diana Ross, which gave me the excuse to wear a sequined gown and high bouffant wig, along with a pair of long Audrey Hepburn gloves that went up to the elbow. Samuel had passed on joining us. He'd been in the office all day and wanted to relax with takeout and TV.
Fine.

Anthony was like my dad when it came to the number of people he knew, and every inch of Bendrix's house was filled with guests, some from as far as the distant lands of Davis and Sacramento.

It was a fun night. We danced and sang and pigged out on catered Cuban food. Aunt Nag bragged that she had a beautiful singing voice but sang “Respect” off-key and searching in vain for the beat. I made it to the karaoke machine myself after several hours of dancing. To be honest, I hadn't had so much fun since I'd spent time with Jason back in May, almost eight months ago. I sang “Ain't No Mountain High Enough.” I am not being humble when I say I cannot sing, but I did my best, helped by Anthony, who backed me as a Supreme. Bendrix absolutely refused to go anywhere near the karaoke machine, no matter how much we
begged. As he so drolly put it: “Last I checked, hell had not frozen over.”

Sometime near eleven, while I was watching one of Anthony's friends dressed as John Lennon sing “Help!,” Bendrix grabbed my hand and said he needed to talk. Bendrix never took my hand and said things like
we need to talk
, and from the ashen look on his face, I gathered I was about to hear terrible news.

He led me outside to the backyard, where fewer guests mingled and we had some privacy. After leading me to the edge of the fence, he looked out at the fairy lights surrounding Lake Merritt and turned to me. “It's nice seeing you have so much fun, Abbey.”

“But that's not why I'm out here,” I said when he wouldn't look me in the eye. “What is it? You're making me nervous.”

He swallowed and tensed his jaw. “I'm thinking of asking Anthony to marry me.”

“No!”
I cried. “I mean, yes! Yes, yes, yes!” I jumped up and down. I felt my bouffant wig topple and snatched it off. “I'm so happy for you!”

“Hold on, now. Hold on. I haven't asked him yet.”

“But you will! I mean, I hope you will.”

He stuck his hands deep inside his tuxedo pockets and dug his foot into the ground: his way of blushing. “I do love him,” he said.

“I know you do. Oh God, Benny, I'm going to make the most beautiful, the most elegant, most outstanding wedding cake for you guys. We could do something in chocolate. Maybe something with ribbons. Do you have a favorite flower? You don't, do you . . .”

“Abbey—”

“Oh, I know. We could go with boutonnieres! Wait, what am I thinking? I'll make a tuxedo cake!”

“Abbey—”

“Oh God, that's so cliché. What the hell am I thinking? Sorry. Just give me moment. I think I'm caught off guard.”

“Abbey.” He grabbed me at the shoulders. “Abbey, would you shut up for a second?”

I closed my mouth.

“So you think I'm making the right decision, right?”

“Ha! You're asking me? Ha-ha-ha!” I laughed. “I don't know what the fuck about marriage.”

I saw how he studied my face, and I calmed down. “You are absolutely making the right decision. I'm not the poster kid for how to have a happy marriage, but you and Anthony make each other better. I'm really happy for you.”

We hugged.

“Dance with me?” I asked.

He stared down at me in his arms. “Let's not get carried away.”

“Fine. I'll dance for both of us.”

Since he refused to dance, I partied with Janis Joplin and later Sammy Davis Jr. I was still dancing when I heard yelling over the din of music and talk. “Is there an Abbey Ross here? Abbey Ross? She has a call.” Mick Jagger stood at the edge of the living room holding the landline. “They say it's important.”

I gazed around the room and sought out Bendrix. He was already walking toward me, looking concerned.

I took the phone. Dizzy was on the other end. “Abbey? I've been calling your cell. Samuel told me where you were. It's Dad, Abbey . . .” He choked then. I could hear his voice catching in his windpipe. “It's Dad—”

“Dizzy?”

“Abbey?” Bailey's voice.

“Yeah. I'm here.”

“I'm so sorry, honey. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but your daddy's gone.”

I knew perfectly well what she meant, but I tried anyway. “You mean he's in Germany. He's in Germany.”

“No, honey. I mean he's gone. Aiko called from Germany and said he was suffering from chest pains. He had a heart attack. I'm sorry, baby.”

The floor shook.
You have to be kidding me. An earthquake? Now?
I looked around when I heard screaming. When I saw Ike and Tina Turner and the Shirelles all staring back, I knew the screaming was coming from me. I wailed again. I heard Anthony in the distance trying to calm me but saw that he was standing right next to me. Bendrix tried to pull my hands by my sides, then grabbed me with full force. I collapsed in his arms and wept.

•   •   •

D
ad's funeral (still hurts to put those words together:
Dad's funeral
) was held at First Baptist, one of the largest churches in Oakland.

The immediate family, including the wives and exes and their spouses, all my siblings, Uncle Dex, and Uncle Walter took up the front of the church; friends and extended family, some media, filled the rest of the sanctuary all the way up to the balcony. The family had decided to wear pastels in Dad's honor to symbolize that he would not want us to focus on his passing as much as on the incredible life he'd lived. Aiko and the boys wore white. It was heartbreaking to see Bud and Ornette in their suits.

Bailey and Dinah sang a rendition of “You Taught My Heart to Sing.” Theo played Bud Powell's “Elegy” on his trumpet. Uncle Dex and Uncle Walt, each looking like he'd aged ten years, joined Miles, who played piano, in a version of “Going Home.” One of the saddest and strangest sights was seeing my uncles up there without Dad. I think the entire church broke down.

There were lighter moments, too, however. Dad would've wanted it that way. Several people told funny stories. Rita had two performers from the Oakland Ballet perform to a medley of Dad's songs. Finally, all of my siblings who played or sang joined together and performed a song Phineas had written titled “Cool, Cool Daddy.” I wasn't sure when they'd had time to practice, but they sang and danced and played their instruments like they'd been rehearsing for weeks. I felt Dad's presence off and on. I knew he was proud of us, at any rate.

•   •   •

I
stayed at Dad's with my brothers and sisters for a couple of nights. It helped to have them and to reminisce together. I went to bed once I returned home and pretty much stayed there for five days straight. Samuel tried to coax me out by telling me I needed to get back to work, but I couldn't. I didn't want to think about wedding cakes or cream puffs. I'd already spoken to Beth and asked her to close the shop for three days. I then asked if she'd run the place while I was out sick. I had cakes to get to, but they'd have to wait. I needed to get used to the idea that my father was gone.

Mom had flown out for the funeral and stayed at the house to look after me. In an uncharacteristic fashion, she crawled in bed with me one evening and told me stories about the early days of her courtship with Dad. She played with my hair and held my hand and basically was an odd touchy-feely mother I'd never known before. At one point I told her she was making me nervous, and we laughed.

By day seven, after Mom flew back to Connecticut, I started going to Dad's house, where the family was congregating every night. We all wanted to be there for Aiko and the boys and for one another. It helped that all of my brothers and sisters stayed in town for a while. Night after night, we banded together at the
house and swapped stories, ate, argued, and of course played and listened to music. Rita came up with the idea to set up a fund in Dad's name, something that would raise money to help bring music back to Oakland's public schools. Joan and I went ice-skating. Carmen and I watched a couple of movies—comedies, of all things.

Three weeks after Dad's passing, I woke up at my old baker's hours and left a note telling Samuel that I'd gone to check on Scratch and not to eat because I'd return with breakfast.

I drove through the dark, empty streets, one of only a handful of people out and about at three a.m. I let myself in and turned on the lights. I went to the stereo and programmed a mix that included Nina, Billie, and Otis. I went to the kitchen next and scooped flour and cracked eggs. I took my time mixing and shaping dough.

While currant scones and banana nut muffins baked in the oven, I went to my office to check the mail. There were several sympathy cards mixed with the usual. I sat in my chair and looked at the names and decided which ones to open and which I'd save for later. I froze when I came to an envelope with the surname Cooper in the upper left corner. I used my thumb to tear open the back flap. There was a homemade card inside. On the front, glued to stock paper, was a black-and-white photo of Jason, Dad, and me, taken the night he'd met Dad. I opened it and read the note inside.

Dear Abbey,

I was deeply sorry to hear about your father's passing. I count hearing him play that night as one of the best nights of my entire life, and I will never forget it as long as I live. He was a genius at the piano and he will be sorely missed. I don't
know if you believe in heaven, but I like to believe your dad is in a better place, somewhere up there playing with all the greats—Bird, Miles, Coltrane, Basie . . .

Please know that you and your family are in my thoughts and prayers. Gina sends her condolences as well.

Sincerely,

Jason

I pulled a photo from inside the envelope: Jason and Gina posing next to their wedding cake, their hands joined over a knife as they prepared to cut. They looked as happy as I would've expected. I drew the picture closer and stared at Jason while thinking about our night together and the fun we'd had. I felt my heart rise into my throat and my breath constrict. Tears came hot and fast. I'd known him only that one night, and I felt silly for thinking it, but I longed for him to hold me.

•   •   •

I
went home with a bag of warm muffins and scones. Samuel was already awake and sitting at the dining room table reading on his laptop. He kissed me hello and offered coffee. Since Dad's death, he'd been treating me as if I might break or was ill. I stood at the edge of the dining room while he went to the kitchen to pour mugs full and grab plates and napkins.

He said, “I'm glad you're feeling better. Mom called while you were at the bakery to see how you were doing and I was glad that I could tell her you're ready to go back to work. She wanted to know if you wanted anything.” I was still standing in the same spot when he returned with my coffee. “You okay? Why don't you sit down?”

I let my bag drop and walked up to him. I took the mug of coffee from his hands while I stared into his eyes. Then I reached
up and clasped my hands behind his neck. I didn't want to feel or think, and I especially didn't want to talk. Just for a few minutes, I wanted . . . I wanted . . .

“Let's have sex.”

“What?”

“Sex.”

“
Now?”

“Yeah, now.” I pulled his mouth toward mine and kissed him on the lips. Funny, I couldn't remember the last time we'd kissed just for the sake of kissing. When I heard his breathing deepen, I started to pull him toward the floor.

He laughed nervously. “What are you doing?”

“Let's do it here.”

“Are you kidding?”

I pulled off my T-shirt and started to unfasten my pants. “No, I'm not. Let's do it on the floor.”

He shrugged doubtfully. “Okay. If you say so.”