Gingerbread (9 page)

"There's a big TV in the living room," Luis offered. I think he could tell how disappointed I was by the bland

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twenty-seventh-floor condo shimmering in the sky. "I don't like TV," I said.

"Did you say you're sixteen?" Luis asked, to which I wanted to respond, "Not too young for you!" but I just nodded my head.

"You don't like any of them TV shows about girl witches and such?" Luis continued.

"What shows?" I said.

Luis look at me suspiciously and said, "What are they feeding you in San Francisco?"

"Food," I answered. Dim sum with Blank, chocolate with Sugar Pie, black coffee for Fernando, Twinkies for Ash and gummi bears for Josh, martinis and steaks for Sid-dad, and for Nancy, ye olde LifeSavers.

In my Helen Keller commune, I had imagined that from the second I arrived in New York, my life would be different. Changed. Instead, I felt uncomfortable and scared, a stranger in a strange land. I clutched Gingerbread for support.

"A sixteen-year-old girl with a doll?" Luis said.

"Yes."

There was a pause like Luis was waiting for me to explain. Finally he said, "Hey, I'm cool with that," and I could tell, Gingerbread was feeling the crush power, too.

The sun had gone down and there was a red twilight glow over Central Park while Luis and I played Scrabble. I was just about to slay him with a triple word score "LOLLI" to add to his "POP" when Frank arrived home.

He put his briefcase down and said, "How do, kiddo?"

He did not open his arms to me and anyway that would have been weird if he did. I was still sitting at the

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table as I looked at him. There was a frog in my throat. Suddenly I understood why the sight of me pains Nancy. If my baby was a 24/7 physical reminder of Justin, that would break my heart over and over again. Luis had not been kidding about me looking just like my "uncle."

Frank had slick, ink black hair with specks of gray; wide eyes; big red lips; and a long, straight nose just like mine. The only difference between us was that he was orange-tan from what looked like a tanning booth and not some Caribbean paradise, and I am fog-dweller pale. Plus from the lines around his eyes, I suspected his face produced smiles much more than mine. When I stood up to shake his hand, he was one of the first men I have ever met who was significantly taller than me.

Frank was also ridiculously handsome. Does that make me a skank for noticing that? Because he totally had the older man retired movie star thing going on. My heart dropped for Nancy again; if I had been twenty years old and not known better (even though I do, and I am only sixteen), I could understand how some dancer girl with stars in her eyes straight from the Minnesota cornfields could have fallen for his white teeth, sparkling eyes, and smooth lies.

I think even Frank was tweaked by our resemblance. He kept staring at me like he was thinking,
Oh .. my...god.
Finally he said, "You must be tired from your flight."

Huh? Here I am your new long-lost all-grown-up daughter, and the best you have to say is, "You must be tired from your flight"?
Como se dice?

"Not really," I said. I was so not tired after the pre-Scrabble venti Starbucks run (Java be damned) with Luis

so

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that I wouldn't have minded snaring Luis to go salsa dancing all night but for my big reunion with my biological father and all. No biggie, right?

Because it seemed to me that Frank real-dad had a lot of explaining to do, and now was as good a time as any to get started.

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Twenty-one

What better way
to get started, I thought, than by announcing to Frank: "I am not your niece, you know."

Before Frank could so much as reply, Luis jumped up, knocking over the Scrabble game. He grabbed his phone and said to Frank, "I'm outta here. Call me you need anything." And
poof!
like that Loo-eese was gone. I gave Gingerbread a look so she wouldn't pout.

Once the door had closed behind him, Frank paused for a moment, as if he didn't know how to respond. Then he said, "Whoa there, pardner! Give a person a chance to settle in."

'"Whoa there, pardner'?" I asked.

"It's a saying," he said.

"On what planet?"

Frank sighed. Only two minutes into my reunion with Frank real-dad, and already I had exasperated him. I suspected this time was a new personal best for me.

'Are you hungry?" he finally said.

Since I figured maybe after a good meal he would be more likely to tell me the important details about, like, everything--my family history on his side, how he came to know my mom, where had he been all my life, who was he, really?--I figured it was easier to let him off the hook for the time being.

"I am so always hungry," I told him. Which is true. If I'm not hungry for food, then I'm hungry for something

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bigger: answers to the secrets of the universe, true love, a more substantial bustline.

Frank real-dad's shoulders seemed to relax a little, like me being hungry was something he could actually deal with, part of the known universe that was Cyd Charisse, progeny.

"Well, all right then." He placed his briefcase on the Scrabble table and walked past me toward the kitchen. He was careful not to stare at me like I was staring at him. He smelled like cigars and martinis, like Sid-dad. I wanted to shout at him: HALT! Stand before me and let me look at you. Let me understand who you are. Let's make this connection NOW Even though I was supposed to spend three weeks with him, I still wanted time to freeze, so I could soak in everything about him, before he disappeared again like he had when I was five, at the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport, when he gave me Gingerbread.

I followed him into the kitchen and he handed me a stack of delivery menus for a rainbow coalition of foods: Thai, Chinese, Malaysian, soul food, pizza, Vietnamese, Texas BBO, Mexican, Irish pub, Jewish deli, Greek diner. Each menu offered food Nancy would never let into her fat-free, sugar-free, taste-free House Beautiful, and bonus, most of the restaurants delivered until about three in the morning. I thought of the C-spots Sid-dad had snuck into my handbag at the airport in San Francisco and was psyched that if I woke up starving in the middle of the night (which, since Blank dumped me, happened a LOT), that I could order yum food and not have to ask Frank for money and not have to worry about Leila complaining in the morning about how I messed up her kitchen.

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"What'U it be, kiddo?" Frank said after I had salivated over the menus for probably ten whole minutes, during which time Frank had turned on the stereo and was now blasting Frank Sinatra, that good lookin', smooth soundin' "Chairman of the Board," as Sid-dad says. Sid-dad thinks Francis Albert Sinatra, born December 12,1915, in Hoboken, New Jersey, and died May 15, 1998, whose birthday our household is forced to celebrate and whose death we mourn every year, is the sun around which we mere earthlings revolve.

"What's with the 'kiddo' thing?" I asked. "My name is Cyd Charisse."

"Your mother chose that name," Frank grumbled, like he was embarrassed by the name.

"I think it's a nice name," I said. Who ever thought I would enter a zone where I would defend a choice of Nancy's? I'm actually impartial to my name. It is what it is: mine, and that dancer movie star's. "Even if I am not a dancer person and even if when I say my name people say back, 'Oh, and I'm Greta Garbo,' or 'Oh, and I'm Grace Kelly."

"Grace Kelly," Frank real-dad said, "now
she
was a looker."

What-ever, dawg!

I made my dinner choice and handed Frank the menu for Miss Loretta's House of Great Eats. Frank laughed.

"Why is that funny?" I asked.

"Because you chose the one restaurant from over a dozen menus that is run by our friend Loretta Jones. She used to be our housekeeper. My son and I helped her start this business."

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I instantly made the connection. "She made the gingerbread!" I exclaimed.

"Well, yes, gingerbread is her specialty ..."

"... no, she made the gingerbread that time ..."

... what time?"

"The time at the airport in Dallas-Fort Worth. She made the gingerbread!" This was like the most exciting thing ever but Frank cast his eyes down, ashamed.

"Well, yes," he stammered, "if I was carrying gingerbread she had probably made it. Loretta's an amazing cook." Frank was clearly embarrassed and I could feel Gingerbread's annoyance vibes psychically floating back from the living room where she was presiding over the knocked-over Scrabble board. "What would you like to eat?"

"Can we go eat there? At Miss Loretta's restaurant?"

"No," Frank said hurriedly. When he saw how disappointed my face was, he added, "Well, maybe sometime soon. Not tonight."

Gingerbread and I had had it. 1 crossed my arms across my chest and said, "You mean not until you've told Miss Loretta that I'm not your niece and that I'm really your biological daughter from when you were cheating on your wife?"

"You don't mince words, do you, Cyd Charisse?" Frank asked. He was uncomfortable but I think he was a little impressed, too.

I jumped up to sit on the bar ledge. "Let's be real, Frank," I said, knocking my boots against the backboard. In the Alcatraz days before I left for New York, I had imagined that Frank and I would form an instant father-daughter connection that I would call him "Daddy" and he would call

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me "Princess" or some such, but that was obviously not going to happen and anyway, now that I was seeing what he was like, I didn't think he was the type of person I would feel comfortable calling "Dad."

"Frank, I am not your niece. I am your biological daughter. Deal with it. If you are embarrassed by me, say so right now and I will go somewhere else." I don't know what I was thinking because really I had nowhere else to go and I wanted more than anything in the whole stupid world to get to know this strange person standing in front of me, but at the same time, I didn't want to be in a place where I was not welcome.

Frank hopped up onto the bar next to me. "Ouch," he said. "That hurt." I didn't know whether he meant the pain from heaving his old guy body up onto the bar or from what I had said. He paused and then turned sideways to look at me. "You're right, kiddo--I mean, Cyd. This whole situation is very awkward and new to me. I'm a sixty-year-old man with two adult children and now a new sixteen-year-old daughter. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life and not always comported myself in a manner I'm proud of. I'm new to all this--will you help me out here?"

I was still mad and for sure had never heard the word "comported" before but I said, "Okay," because what if he was a sixty-year-old man who had made a lot of mistakes but then all of a sudden dropped dead from a heart attack after the smothered chicken with cornbread, mashed potatoes, and apple pie dinner I was intending to order, and I hadn't said I would try? I don't think I could have lived with that.

"You're pretty together, you know that, Cyd Charisse?"

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Frank said. "To hear your mother and Sid tell it, you're hell on wheels."

Like that made sense.

"I think it's time to order, Frank. I'm not letting you off about meeting Miss Loretta, but let's just order in tonight. Anyways, I think there are some girl witch shows we need to watch on TV tonight."

Frank real-dad smiled. If I ever smiled, I'd say my smile looks just like his.

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Twenty-two

So maybe Frank
and I had near-bonded over a girl witch show and Miss Loretta's amazing chicken dinner, but when I woke up at noon the next day (which Nancy would never have let happen, even if I had been kept awake all night by Chinese water torture or something), Frank was gone. There was a note on the fridge that said, "Luis will be by after lunchtime to show you around. I'll be home by ten tonight-- business dinner. The doorman downstairs has the apartment keys for you. Have fun, Cyd Charisse. --F." There was a $50 bill attached to the note which I ripped off the fridge, stuffed down the garbage disposal, and obliterated to shreds.

Then I remembered how Sugar Pie said I have a rich person's conceit and I felt guilty for wasting money like that. Even if I was mad and didn't want Frank's money, I could have at least given it back to him or given it to a poor person who really needed it. I decided to call Sugar Pie and confess. Guess who answered her telephone? Fernando! I looked down at the Mickey Mouse watch on my wrist that Blank had given me for Valentine's Day. He had painted the straps in this psychedelic tie-dye pattern that made Mickey look like a freak. According to the Mickey Freak, who was still on Cali time, it was just past Sugar's breakfast hour.

"Huevos rancheros
for two?" I asked Fernando, forgetting all about my confession. There was a silence and I knew Fernando was trying for me not to know he was happy to hear my voice. I also knew Fernando was mortified so I

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decided to be discreet. "May I please speak with Sugar?"

There was a pause and then Sugs' voice replied, "Good morning, baby. How was your trip?"

"It was okay. Gingerbread and I think New York is too hot. My hair is all curly and wild here. So are you and Fernando a couple now because that would be the coolest if you were and don't you know that younger guys are totally hip." Blank is six months younger than me, but a full grade behind.

Sugar Pie said, 'A lady never tells."

"Don't be a lady," I said. Sugar Pie didn't say anything back. She wasn't giving up the dope. I continued, "Fernando is kind of cool but don't tell him I said that, 'kay? I am still mad at him for dragging me away from you-know-where in the middle of the night and starting all this trouble."

"You know that wasn't his fault. You know whose fault that was. You know he was just doing his job."

"Mmmm," I said. I wanted so much to ask if she had seen Blank and if he was hurting for me or even asking about me. Did he know I'd gone to New York to meet Frank real-dad? Did he know Loo-eese was a threat to him?

"Yes, your boy has poked around a few times the last week, if that's what you really want to know." Sugar Pie would be psychic even without her tarot cards.

"Was there some lame chick called Autumn with him?" I asked.

"Autumn? Who's Autumn?"

That response made me feel a little better. At least Blank wasn't dragging HER along to visit with MY people. I asked Sugar, "Do you think he misses me?"

Sugar Pie said, "What do you think, Cyd Charisse?"

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"What kind of answer is that?" I asked.

"Missy, you're in the most exciting city in the world supposed to be having all kinds of new adventures. Maybe the answer you don't want to accept is what you already know. Sometimes you need to lose a person to find yourself. Sometimes only then can you get that person back. Make sense?"

"No, Obi-wan," I said.

"You'll figure it out. We miss you here but don't expect to see you back till you've figured some things out, seen something of the world. Now get off the phone and go explore."

"Don't you want to know about my real dad?" I asked.

Sugar said, "I've read your cards. I already know. Now stop wasting your life and go outside and have some fun. But BE CAREFUL."

I didn't want to let her hang up--what was I supposed to do all alone in this sci-fi twenty-seventh-floor condo thingie with honking horns and people swarming around fast-fast-fast everywhere outside? But on the other hand, I wanted Sugar Pie to enjoy her time with Fernando. I know how much I hated to be interrupted when Blank and I were alone.

"Okay, bye." I was about to hang up, then added, "I love you, Sugar." I realized I could toss those words out like Mardi Gras beads to Sugar Pie, but you would not catch me dead saying those words to Nancy.

"You too, baby. Have fun. Call me after you have some adventures to report."

"Kisses to Fernando!" I said. Sugar let out a whopping laugh at that comment and hung up.

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I looked around the apartment and didn't know what to do. All those weeks locked up in Alcatraz, and now I had all the freedom in the world in the city that doesn't sleep, and I was paralyzed. There seemed to be too much possibility. I took Gingerbread in my arms and turned on the tube. There was a public access program of these Indian women wearing beautiful saris doing some kind of sari-ness dance. It was quite spectacular looking and Gingerbread and I joined in, as if we were participating in an exercise program for our morning workout. I was all into head swishes and hip-to-hand tra-la-la when I heard the sound of applause coming from behind me. Figuring it must be Loo-ese, I curved the ends of my lips upward and turned around to say "Hey ...," but it was not Loo-eese standing before me. Standing in front of me wearing a T-shirt that was actually gray but said "BROWN" on it was a mini-Frank. Well, not literally a mini-Frank but a much younger, thinner, and somewhat shorter version of bio-dad.

I knew who he was--did he know who I was?

"You must be Cyd Charisse," mini-Frank said.

"I know who you are, too. You're Daniel!"

He looked a little quizzical and said, "Did Dad tell you that's my name? The only time I get called that is at, like, graduations and doctor's offices."

"Do you have a totally cute nickname like Junior or Flash or Poncho?" I asked.

He looked even more confused and said, "No, charm girl. People just call me Danny."

I jumped up onto the sofa--I have no idea why--to reach and shake Danny's hand on the other side of the sofa. "You can call me Cyd or Cyd Charisse. Sid is also the name

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of my other dad so's people at home call me by both names but here in Manhattan I am like starting a whole new identity so you could use my real name or even make one up if you want."

"Loving you, lil' sis!" Danny singsonged. He was too adorable. He came around to my side of the sofa and jumped up on it next to me to shake my hand. "Pleased to meet you, secret love child."

"That's not the nickname you want to use for me, is it?"

Danny smiled and said, "No, Cyd Charisse. When I think of a good one for you, I'll let you know."

I wanted to know, "You're not mad or anything about my being here?" Looking into his eyes was like looking into a mirrored reflection of my own: the same dark brown color; his hair was the same dark black as mine, his lips the same full ruby red. The difference between looking at him and Frank real-dad was that with Danny I felt an instant
ka-pow
! connection. When I looked at Frank and saw our resemblance, I felt distant--separated from myself--and a little betrayed, and not at all comfortable. With my other family in San Francisco, even though Josh looks just like Nancy (he is totally the handsome Prince William babe-in-training) and Ash takes after Sid-dad and I look like the answer to the "what is wrong with this picture" question in our family portraits, at least I know more or less where I belong in that family.

Danny said, "Mad? No! How could I be mad at you about something you had nothing to do with." He plopped down onto the sofa into a sitting position and gestured me to join him. Way weirdness--once sitting on the sofa, we both crossed our legs Indian style at the same exact time.

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"I've known about you for years and have been dying to see you! Daddy finally told me about you last week--1 tried to act surprised--but I couldn't wait for him to introduce us. I've always wanted a little sister."

"I've always wanted to be one!" I exclaimed.

"Then we're a match!" Danny said. How funny that in my imagination he was some macho tough football dude, but live and in the flesh I could see he was just a regular Joe kinda fella who wore his heart on his sleeve.

"Is Rhonda coming to meet me too?" I asked. Because that would be the final chapter, of course, when my big sister and I became Sisters like in that song from the movie White Christmas although we probably wouldn't wear matching outfits and sing together, although we would totally read each other, like, instinctually.

"Rhonda?" Danny said. "Daddy told you our sister's name was Rhonda?"

I didn't want to explain how I read about them in a book and how Frank and I still had not touched the subject of me meeting his other children so I just said, "Not exactly."

Danny said, "My sister uses her middle name. Rhonda was an old family name. She never goes by that."

"Then what is her name and is she coming to see me too?"

Danny's face turned down and he said, "Lisbeth is having a little bit of a harder time with this. But she'll come around."

When he pronounced her name, he said the "Lis" part really fast and the "Beth" part really hard and long: lisBETH. It was the kind of stupid name some fourteen-year-old girl adopts when she is writing in a diary and if she keeps the

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name when she is an adult, she most likely has problems.

"Oh," I said and I looked to the ceiling so he would not be able to tell that tears wanted to form in my eyes. "Does she not like me?"

"How can she not like you? She doesn't even know you," Danny answered.

You'd think! "Then why isn't she here with you?"

Danny said, "Lisbeth is ...," Danny paused, searching for the right word, "special. She can come across as very angry and rigid, but once you get to know her, you'll see that she's all right. She always has the best of intentions."

If ever there was a warning flare, that was it. I figured the lisBETH issue was for a later time. For the here and now, I wanted to get to know Danny, the sweetest older brother ever.

"So, can we like hang out and stuff? I have nothing to do!" I told him.

Danny looked at his watch. "I have to be back at work in half an hour..."

"What do you do?" I interrupted.

"I'm a baker and cake decorator."

"No!" I said, awed. The thought of all his sugar access on top of my just finishing a conversation with my Sugar felt like fate or something. "That would quite possibly have to be the coolest job ever. Do you decorate wedding cakes or naughty cakes?"

Danny grinned and said, "I dabble with both. My partner and I own a little cafe down in the West Village. He does the cooking and I do the baking and we also do catering for special events like weddings and parties and things like that."

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I could tell he watched my face closely when he said the word "partner" to see how I would react.

"Is your boyfriend as cute as you and does he want to meet me too?" I asked.

I could see there was an unspoken test that I had just passed in Danny's eyes. "Yeah, Aaron wants to meet you too. Why don't you come down to the cafe a little later this afternoon after we've got everything ready for the evening crowd?"

"Cool!" I said. "Should I ask Luis to drive me?" How much did I want to call Blank and tell him that both our older brothers owned cafes? More than a lot. If ever there was cosmic evidence that we were soulmates, here it was. But I plucked the thought from my brain and told it buh-bye.

"Drive!" Danny exclaimed. "Nobody drives in Manhattan!"

Confused, I said, "But Frank told me Luis..."

"Oh, Daddy," Danny said. "He probably assumed Uncle Sid has a driver take you everywhere, so he is being competitive." Danny rolled his eyes.

"
Uncle
Sid?" I asked. "You know my dad?"

"Know your dad? He's my godfather. He and Daddy were roommates at Harvard; they were best friends for years, until the falling out over you and Uncle Sid running off with your mom. All the stuff I'm not supposed to know about."

"Oh," was all I could think of to say. This was a lot to take in after weeks stuck in Alcatraz, playing blind, deaf, and mute. A hell of a lot.

Danny said, "Look, I gotta motor. I'm writing down directions for you to take the subway. You can call me from

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a pay phone if you get lost. It would be crazy to drive down with the traffic and parking in this city." I liked that he trusted me enough and thought I was smart enough to take the subway by myself in a new and strange city.

Still, I wanted to say, forget about directions, could you just stop your life for the rest of today and sit down and tell me all this business about Sid-dad and Frank-dad, like in painful and excruciating detail? But Danny was already slinging his carry bag over his shoulder and looking at his watch like he was running late, and anyway, I felt a little weird about begging for a heart-to-heart when we'd only just met.

Then just in time I figured out a way to get to know Danny better. "I am a barista, you know," I said as he opened the door to leave. "If you need help. I used to have a job until my parents made me quit. I make killer coffee."

Danny said, "Cyd Charisse, you've got yourself a deal. Come around today at three and we'll give you an apron and put you to work."

He kissed me on the cheek and walked out. He waved behind his back to me and yelled out, "See you later, charm girl," as he walked down the generic hallway to the elevator.

I don't need a driver to figure this all out. I'm doing pretty damn good on my own.

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Twenty-three

I was too busy
being psyched about new barista gig and my new most adorable older brother to think about Blank. Then Luis came by and he was so honeylicious that my heart couldn't help but go south with longing for a cute boy to be all mine to snuggle up with, even in this sticky humid New York weather.

"So you gotta plan for what you wanna do today?" Luis asked.

Concentrating on what Luis says is difficult, he is so FINE to look at.

"Huh?" I said back. Because really I was, once again, inspecting his bulging biceps and wondering about his sure-to-be six-pack abs. "Do you work out?" I couldn't help myself asking. Concentrate, Cyd Charisse, I told myself. Think about cotton ball sky clouds, think about old locker combinations, do NOT think about that bod. Trouble.

Luis said, "Yup. Every morning I'm at the gym six sharp. Used to wanna be a boxer. Got too many injuries, though. So now I'm taking college courses in business and working for your da ... ," pause, "your unc ... ," pause, "your ... Frank part-time, driving and running errands and stuff."

"How do you know 'my Frank'?"

"His family's former housekeeper is my aunt."

"Miss Loretta."

"Right! How'd you know that?"

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"I hear she makes the best gingerbread ever." Gingerbread and I shared a telepathic moment. She knew we have a date with destiny with Miss Loretta, who in some ways is Gingerbread's spiritual mother, if you think about it.

"You're right about that. So whadya say, want to go explore big bad New Yawk?"

"I have a job," I said. "Starting this afternoon."

"Do you now? Where is it, I'll drive you there. Frank said I should take you where you want to go."

I don't need a twelve-step program to figure out where I need to go without a driver. I said, "Thanks, but I'll take the subway."

"Frank know about this?"

"I can take care of myself," I said, and I think I believed it. Besides, after talking with Danny, I didn't want Luis driving me around if that whole deal was really about Frank-dad trying to be competitive with Sid-dad. I wanted no part of it, even if it meant an opportunity to cozy up to Luis.

Luis shrugged. "I got the car in the garage for now. You insist on taking the subway, I'm taking the subway with. No way some sixteen-year-old girl never taken the subway'before is going on the subway by herself. You hungry? Let's go grabba slice."

"Grabba slice? What does that mean?" I supposed I wouldn't mind--at all--hanging out with gorgeous Luis, so long as he wasn't driving me. A generous sacrifice on my part, I know. On the babe scale, Luis was like an NBA-sized Blank. How much would I have liked to just spend the afternoon on the sofa making out with him and just