A Pinch of Ooh La La (21 page)

“Yeah. Very. How do you know so much about jazz? Do you play?”

“Naw. I played hockey as a kid. My parents listened to jazz, though. Growing up, I thought it was the worst music ever—I liked Led Zeppelin and rap and anything but. Until I was about fourteen and they forced me into seeing Keith Jarrett's trio. I was obsessed after that. It was like the lights went on and I saw and heard music for the first time.” He paused and looked at me. “I can't believe your dad is Lincoln T. Ross. Wait until I tell my folks.”

Gina returned and Jason stood up so she could sit. “Guess what. You'll never guess, but try.”

“What?”

“Abbey's father is Lincoln T. Ross.”

Gina stared at me blankly.

“The musician we were just talking about? That's her father!”

“Nice,” Gina said as politely as she could. “Must be fun to have a father who's a musician.” She smiled again, then turned to Jason. “I need to get back. It's going to be a late night, but I think we can finish by ten if I keep everyone focused. Abbey, can we get to whatever we need to sign?”

I went to the office and found the necessary contracts. On my way back, I stopped at the stereo and changed the track from Sarah Vaughan, who'd just started singing, to Sonny Clark playing “It Could Happen to You.” Sure enough, Jason looked up and searched the bakery until he saw me at the counter. When he caught my eye he gave me a thumbs-up.

He put his arm around Gina as I returned to my seat. “Sonny Clark on
Dial ‘S'
?
Are you kidding me?
”

“What about his version of ‘Gee Baby, Ain't I Good to You'?”

“What about Bird's version of ‘I Remember You'?”

“Nineteen sixty-eight . . . ,” I said. “Ella Fitzgerald. ‘April in Paris.' Live at Newport.”

“If you're mentioning Ella, you gotta bring up Germany. ‘Mack the Knife.'”

We said, at exact same time:
“She forgot the words!”

“And then that scat!” he said.

We eyed each other until we felt Gina staring. She wore a concerned expression that caused a crease at the top of her nose. “You two need to start listening to music by people who are
alive
.”

Jason feigned offense. “Hey, watch it. Jason Moran is a genius. And Joshua Redman.”

“Brad Mehldau,” I offered.

“Mehldau's solo version of ‘My Favorite Things'?” He slammed his hands on the table. “Amazing.”

“Or
Live in Tokyo
—”

“Totally,” he said. “‘Exit Music for a Film.'”

We looked at each other.
“‘River Man'!”
we cried at the exact same time.

Gina reached for her purse. “All right. All right. Abbey, it has been a pleasure. Are you staying, babe?”

“Yeah. I think I'll do some exploring. I'm sure I can get an article out of this.”

I remembered the art crawl was that night and told him not to miss it. “Galleries and shops stay open late. Live music. It's a pretty big thing. You're lucky it's the first Friday of the month.”

“Excellent.” He said to Gina, “Walk you to BART first?”

She made her way out of the booth, but then Jason stopped her and asked that we pose for a picture. “I can use it for Cooper.”

“He's keeping a groom's diary; it's pretty funny,” she explained.

“Yeah,” Jason said, taking out his phone. “It's mostly about how to keep the bride happy by agreeing with everything she says.”

“Jason.”

He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Tonight I'll write about jazz and cake. You two stand next to each other.”

I put my arm around Gina. She was such a teeny-tiny thing, but it was easy to feel how physically strong she was.

“Say Canada!”

“Canada!”

I asked Noel to take another picture with the three of us. There were only a few patrons in the café by now, and Nico was busy wiping down the inside of the display case. We'd be closing within the hour.

Jason started putting his phone away. “Say, Abbey, can you spare a couple of minutes? I'd love to ask a few questions about your dad. It'll be for Cooper.”

“Jason,” Gina admonished.

“Gina, it's not every day that you—”

“It's okay,” I interrupted. “Sure. I'd be happy to.”

“Great. I'll walk Gina to BART and come back.”

“This is how they do things in Canada,” Gina said. “They're very friendly. Next thing you know, you'll be showing him around Oakland but thinking it was your idea. Don't be afraid to
tell him no.” She looked up at him and again there was that exchange of love mingled with flirtatious fun. I thought of Samuel as I circled my wedding ring around and around my finger. Why was it so easy to see what worked or didn't with other couples, but my own feelings could get so convoluted at times?

After Jason and Gina left, I made a call to Horizon Grains, our flour supplier. When I returned to the front, Jason was at the counter with a notepad and pen. He wore a pair of rimless glasses and I noticed he also wore oxfords with his jeans. I'd had an inkling earlier that he was like those men who didn't want to grow up—a man-child—but the glasses and shoes brought out his other side. No surprise. A woman like Gina wouldn't marry a man she couldn't lean on when need be.

I asked if he wanted anything to drink and made an espresso for him and tea for me.

I sat next to him at the bar and noted the pen in his hand, heavy and expensive.

He regarded it a moment. “Yeah, my father gives me a nice pen for my birthday every year along with a Moleskine notebook. I think it's his way of saying he's proud I became I journalist. But knowing Dad, if I switched careers to auto mechanic, he'd be just as happy to give me a wrench every year. So, you ready?”

“Ask away.”

“What is it like to be the daughter of a living legend?”

“Jumping right in, I see. Well, okay . . .”

I told Jason about life with Dad. Told him how from a young age, I had learned to share him with his fans and our big family. One follow-up question led to another and soon we were talking about our families, travel, movies. And jazz. We talked a lot about jazz. We talked for so long I noticed Beth walking to the door and turning the handmade
ouvert
sign to
fermé
.

Jason stared down into his espresso cup before draining the remains. The silence that fell between us hinted that we should part ways, but I wanted to keep talking. I liked him, and I couldn't ignore how hungry I was for conversation. Now that Bendrix was with Anthony, it was my turn to get used to not having him around as much, just as he had had to get used to not having me around when Samuel and I first got together. Anyway, I was also just plain ol' hungry. I looked at Jason. “You want to grab a quick bite to eat?”

“You read my mind.”

“Let me call my husband.”

“Sure.” He took out his phone. “I'm going to see how Power Smurf is doing. I have a feeling they're going to need her until midnight, poor girl.”

I went back to the office. Samuel picked up on the second ring. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey. I have to stay late tonight. I'm working on a cake and need a couple more hours. I was helping Beth and she messed it up enough that I'm going to have to redo it.” I hated to throw Beth under the bus. I hated lying. But I didn't want to tell him I was having dinner with a client and have to explain why. It was too much work, although I did wish I'd stop talking. “Luckily the cake isn't for a wedding. Just a birthday, but they need it by tomorrow.”

I brought my forehead down and touched it to the wall.
Shut up.

“Take your time. Carmen and what's-his-name are here and we're watching a movie. I ordered pizza. It's a night of chill.”

“Thanks, babe. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I redid my ponytail twice and applied lipstick. One last check in the mirror and I went to meet Jason out front.

•   •   •

W
e ate dinner at Chop Shop and continued to talk and laugh and talk some more. A few beers later, we were laughing at almost everything. At one point, he nodded toward a man walking inside the restaurant. “Hey, look—Salman Rushdie!” It took me a second to catch his joke. The man had a comb-over and his eyebrows bore down into a bit of a scowl. I looked around the restaurant and gave him a nudge when I saw a short man with bulging eyes.

“James Baldwin to your left.”

He found the man I was referring to and clinked his beer bottle to mine. “Very good.”

Our game of find-the-celebrity continued as we started walking through the outer edges of Art Crawl. It was still early, but the crowds were starting to build; by eight or nine o'clock the streets would be jammed. I was never sure how or when Art Crawl started, but a few years ago on the first Friday of every month, it became the thing to head to downtown Oakland and hit the art galleries. It built from there to include street vendors, bands, and some retail stores and bars allowing people to dance inside. I explained all of this to Jason and he asked if I'd like to join him while he walked around. Hell, I didn't want to go home at all by then.

He took out his pen and notebook and asked a few vendors questions. He also took pictures as we walked. We went into galleries and spoke to artists. We walked the entire length of the crawl, enough to work off most of our dinner, which gave us the excuse to eat tacos and later join a mile-long line in front of a specialty ice cream truck. We found a bench to sit on under a tree. We were feeling comfortable enough that we used our spoons to taste each other's ice cream—strawberry for me, toffee for him. It was dark by now, the sky overcast. A bandstand had
been set up at the end of the block and on one side of a building they'd be showing movies later.

We ate in silence until Jason asked, “Got any marital advice for me?”

The answer came in an instant. “Marry your best friend.”

“Did you?”

“My best friend is gay.”

“So would you say your husband has become your best friend?”

“Yes.”
This lying thing was coming in handy.

“Gina's my best friend, so I guess I'm doing okay in that respect.” He grinned and let his head fall back while gazing at the sky. I stared at his long neck, wondering if he felt attracted to me. But then I thought, it didn't matter.
The problem here, the big problem, Abbey, is that you're attracted to him.
No. Erase that. I was bound to feel attracted to other men at least once or twice before I died, so I couldn't blame myself for being attracted to a handsome, smart, funny, and fun man—
who loved jazz
. No, the problem was that I knew I wasn't nearly as happy as Jason and Gina were. Samuel and I had been two people dating who'd moved straight into marriage based on a mutual attraction. But I couldn't remember the last time we'd had an intimate conversation about anything that didn't involve baby making. And we hardly ever laughed.

Jason moved his gaze from the sky to the ever-growing crowd. “What a great night.” He stretched out his arms. “I love you, Oakland!”

Someone passing by replied with: “Oakland loves you back, bro.”

We smiled at each other and I tried not to stare into his eyes.

I finished my ice cream. He startled me out of my thoughts by taking my hand in his, his eyes bright and hopeful. “I think I love you.”

I felt a bolt of fear. Had he had feelings for me all along? I opened my mouth and waited for my thoughts to form into something that made sense. I knew there was a vibe between us, a connection or something, and I knew that in a different life I would so want to explore whatever was going on, but I did love Samuel despite our problems and he obviously loved Gina. I started to tell him he was probably experiencing premarital jitters. And then I found myself leaning in. . . . Hey, a kiss never hurt anyone, right?

He let go of my hand and looked out toward the small bandstand. “They're an indie band. I Think I Love You! The lead singer is from Canada. I can't believe this! We have to hear a couple of songs. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Finally I saw the sign next to the stage: I Think I Love You was listed with three other acts.

Jason took out his phone and started toward the small bandstand. “Honey! I Think I Love You is playing! I know! I can't believe it. I'm going to hang a little longer, okay? Yeah, she's still here. She's being a real trouper showing me around.” He smiled at me as we continued to make our way closer to the stage. “You get a full massage tonight for all your hard work. Yeah, yeah. I will. Okay, babe. I'll see you in a bit. Love you, too.” He returned the phone to his pocket. “She said to tell you hello and to remember you don't have to put up with me unless you want to.” A smile stretched across his face. “So. Are you sick of me yet?”

Not at all. I could spend the entire night looking at you smile.
“I'm still here, aren't I?”

A crowd of people gathered as the band warmed up on their instruments. Jason cupped his hands around his mouth. “
Caanadaa!”

The lead singer shaded his eyes. “Who said that?”

Jason whooped.

The lead singer grabbed his mike.
“Caaanadaa!”
He was a
skinny thing in extra-tight pants, his hair slicked into a fifties fishtail. He pulled the mike in and said, “I have something very important to say, everybody. Quiet down for me, please. I need some silence for a very important announcement.”

The crowed quieted as best it could. Some people looked worried. He put his mouth close to the mike. When he had our attention he shouted, “San Francisco
sucks
! San Francisco can
kiss my white ass
!”