I Left My Back Door Open (19 page)

“Sorry,” Sharon mumbled. “You know, I have a couple of male buddies who can talk to me much more easily than with the straight women they date.”

“Maybe because you don't have to deal with their shit,” I teased.

“This might sound strange,” she confided, “but I feel closer to men now than I ever did when I was trying to be involved with them.”

“That's interesting. Remember in the movie
Tootsie
, Dustin Hoffman impersonated a woman to get an acting job?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, he basically concluded that he was better with women as a woman than he'd ever been as a man.”

Sharon paused and wrinkled her face. “How are you relating that to me?”

“Maybe you're getting in touch with your male side now that you're with a woman. And therefore you're able to relate more to the male perspective.”

“I don't think so, girlfriend,” she protested. “I think it's because I no longer want anything
from
men. And therefore I can be more real.”

Now I was left with something to chew on.

“I'm basically shy,” Skylar confided. He dipped his bread into a small plate of olive oil.

He
looked
shy in his baby blue dress shirt, sitting across from me in the candlelight. But I'd learned to take what men said on first dates with a grain of salt. Sometimes, when a man tells you he's shy, he's really hoping you'll nurture him right into the bedroom. Or maybe he's decided that you're not
all that
, and shy just means “not interested.” Then, when he doesn't make a move on you, he hopes you'll tell yourself, he's just shy. But the truth is he doesn't want you.

I glanced across the table again. Skylar wasn't wearing his glasses. He looked better without them. Maybe he had on contacts. Anyway, Skylar's narrow dark eyes looked earnest in the candle's glow.

“I guess I wanted to cop to being shy right away,” he continued after chewing on his bread, “because experience has taught me that women either like shy men or they don't.”

Let's say a man truly is shy, just for the sake of argument. And he happens to confide it while I'm savoring a Chardonnay with a smoky aftertaste in a room painted with Italian street scenes and lighted by old-fashioned street lamps. I just might want to help him out. So I answered, “I'm one of those women who likes shy men. I find them charming.”

Skylar sipped his wine. “I have a confession to make. I'm only shy in the beginning.”

“It's natural to be shy in the beginning,” I said. “I feel a little bit shy myself.”

“Sounds like we're on the same page then.”

“It depends on how you define the beginning,” I said.

“You should've been a politician,” Skylar teased.

“I don't have the stomach for politics.”

“So, how did you end up playing the blues?”

“Well, I've always loved music,” I replied.

“Same here.”

“I was the entertainment critic for my college newspaper,” I elaborated.

“That must've been interesting.”

“It was. I interviewed B.B. King once. He told me that it hurt his heart that so many young black people had turned their backs on the blues. I promised him that I would do my best to keep the blues alive.”

“You've certainly kept your promise,” Skylar said, smiling.

“Yeah, and I've never regretted it. But, enough about me. What kind of music are you into?”

“I like all kinds of music.”

“What don't you like?”

“I'm not wild about country or bluegrass.”

“Me, either. I like some opera, but I'm not crazy about it.”

“I like it when I'm in the mood,” Skylar admitted. “Sometimes I'm in the mood for classical.”

“Yeah, me too. I like a little rap occasionally, and disco to dance to.”

“I'm into blues and reggae, but I'm really a big jazz fan.”

“We have a lot in common musically.” I smiled, feeling that maybe I'd met a man after my own heart.

Skylar nodded. “This is the first year in a long time that I've had to miss the Monterey Jazz Festival.”

“You were really nearby, in Santa Cruz, huh?”

Skylar nodded.

“The closest I ever got to the Monterey Jazz Festival was when I saw
Play Misty for Me
with Clint Eastwood.”

“That movie made Roberta Flack a star,” Skylar reminded me.

“Yeah, people who saw it kept talking about that song, ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.'”

“Do you have it in your collection?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you play it for me sometime?”

“Sure.” I sighed, recalling the sensuousness of Roberta Flack's rendition. I gazed momentarily into Skylar's sexy, dark eyes. “I was into jazz big time during the seventies,” I related. “I guess you would actually call it jazz fusion. You know, the Crusaders, Bob James, Al Jarreau, Patrice Rushen, Dee Dee Bridgewater, Grover Washington, Jr., Randy Crawford and Pat Metheny.”

“Wow, you've said a mouthful. But, girl, you were half-steppin',” Skylar teased. “What about jazz legends like Monk, Coltrane, Bird, Sarah Vaughan, Ella Fitzgerald, and of course, Betty Carter?”

“I dipped and dabbed a bit in them.”

“Well, I dipped and dabbed a bit in fusion,” he confessed. “I must admit, I wouldn't mind hearing Randy Crawford sing ‘Street Life' again.”

“Well, that can be arranged.”

Skylar's lips curved in a sexy smile. “It's a date I won't wanna miss.”

I was swimming inside Skylar's bedroom eyes when the waiter appeared with our spinach salads.

“I may as well put my cards on the table,” Skylar said as we dove into our pasta dishes.

I felt a sense of trepidation. I hoped Skylar wasn't about to throw me a curveball. Things had been going so smoothly; I really felt attracted to this guy.

“I'm happily picking up the tab for this dinner,” he continued. “But I don't have money to burn or anything.”

“
I'm
not ‘panning for gold,' if that's what you're worried about.”

“I make a decent living, doing mediation and legal aid work,” Skylar added between forkfuls of pasta, as if he hadn't heard me. “I have a law degree, but I don't do much practicing. I'm a single father.”

He rushed through the sentence as if he wanted to slip it by me unnoticed, but I noticed and I called him on it.

“Oh! I didn't realize that you were a parent. You really buried the lead.”

“Well, it's just a first date. I didn't want to wear my fatherhood on my sleeve.”

And scare away a potential mother
, I thought.

“I admire a man who's takes responsibility for his children.”

“Being a single parent is pretty stressful.”

“How many children do you have?”

“One. I started to say, only one. But, hey, one is a handful.”

“Girl or boy?”

“An eight-year-old girl.”

“That's a nice age. What's her name? Do you have a picture?”

“Brianna. And, no I don't have a picture with me,” Skylar said, almost apologetically.

“You're a single father and you don't carry pictures,” I marveled.

“I have a couple in my other wallet. Besides, I didn't plan to bore you all evening, talking about my kid.”

“I wouldn't be bored. I love kids.”

“Do you have any?”

“No, that's why I love 'em.”

“I hear you. You think you'll ever have any?” Skylar asked.

I felt a pang of guilt as I flashed on my abortion. I looked away, sipped my wine and paused thoughtfully. “I've thought about adopting, but I don't think I want to raise a child alone. But if I happened to …”

“If you happened to what?”

“You know …”

“If you happened to meet someone who had a child or children already, you'd be open to it?”

“Well, yeah, maybe I'd be open to it,” I answered cautiously. “But I'm not really looking for instant family.”

Skylar cleared his throat. “Well, I'm not shopping for a mother for my child, if that's what you think.” He sounded defensive.

“I didn't mean to make it appear like I thought you were,” I stammered.

“I'm just looking for some connection. I'm not trying to put my daughter off on anybody. I want to make that clear.”

“I didn't feel that you were. In fact, I find it appealing that you have a child,” I admitted to myself as much as to Skylar.

“Well, you should be aware that there's a downside.”

“There's a downside to almost everything,” I said, and sipped my wine.

Skylar gulped his water. “I can't always do things at the drop of a hat. I have to arrange child care. And sometimes my daughter is sick, or she has to go to an activitiy. It can be complicated.”

“I bet. But I'm sure it's worth all the hassle. Your daughter's probably a daddy's girl.”

“I wouldn't say so. I was happy to have a girl, but I didn't want a daddy's girl. I have a good friend like that. I mean, her father spoiled her rotten. She followed three boys, so you can imagine. But in the end I think it was detrimental to Lisa. In fact, it crippled her. She lacks a certain confidence and inner strength that I think is important to have out here in the world. And she has consistently picked the wrong men. None of them can measure up to Daddy. I'm trying to raise my daughter to be able to stand on her own two feet. But it's really hard when you're trying to do it all by yourself.” Skylar paused. “I mean it's the hardest thing I've ever done, including passing the California bar exam.”

I nodded sympathetically, but underneath I felt disappointed. Feeling sorry for my date just wasn't my idea of a romantic evening. I wanted to first get to know Skylar the romantic lover. Later for Skylar the overwhelmed single father. Besides, when did parenting become the hardest job in the world? When I was growing up, it just seemed like something people did, almost on automatic pilot. Nobody talked about parenting being so hard back in the sixties. Not even mothers, who had the brunt of it. I remembered relatives remarking about how easy Mrs. So-and-So had it because she only had one child. “Imagine only having to take care of one child?” they marveled. Nowadays, even people with one child can feel totally whupped.

“Isn't being a parent rewarding, though?” I asked, feeling like I was playing devil's advocate.

“Absolutely,” Skylar said. He licked tomato sauce off his lips. “It's the most rewarding thing I've ever done. Brianna's a great kid. But she deserves two involved parents.”

Hint, hint, I couldn't help but think. The hell if he's not shopping around for a mama. “Where's Brianna's mother?”

“In Indianapolis, living with
her
mother. That's why we're in Chicago. I wanted Brianna to be closer to Allison, but so far it hasn't made much difference.”

“Doesn't Brianna see her mother?”

“Not enough.”

“Why's that?”

“Her mother loves her in her own way.” Skylar sighed. “But she's got some problems. Allison's life is pretty untogether right now. She got injured in a car accident. She's almost recovered now, but she lost her job, got depressed and fell in love with painkillers. It's another story.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. That's sad.”

“Yep, it's really sad for Brianna. Allison's not there for her the way she should be.”

“Well, I'm glad that Brianna has you.”

“I never thought I'd end up having to play Mr. Mom.” He sighed again. “Anyway, I didn't plan to spin a tale of woe tonight. I really
did
want us to have a nice, relaxing, candlelight dinner.”

“Well, we almost did,” I said, smiling ruefully.

Skylar and I had definite chemistry going for us. A couple of days later, I was still vibing on the good-night kiss that he laid on my lips after we parted at the restaurant. But I managed to get behind a mike and get down with the blues, same as if nobody had paid me or my lips any recent attention.

“I'm playing some blues that y'all can use tonight. I tell you, folks scared of the blues. They think the blues'll bring 'em down. But the truth is, sometimes you can be so far down that only the blues can bring you up. I know when I'm depressed I wanna hear 'bout somebody worse off than I am. So I turn to the blues. And if I listen long enough, I guarantee you I'll hear 'bout somebody more pitiful than me. And I get to feeling that my burden ain't so heavy after all.”
You're good
, I told myself.

“The blues are 'bout sucking the marrow out the bone,” I continued. “See, the blues ain't 'bout being proper. I know some folks done got too proper for the blues. They're afraid they might sweat their heads out. Well, that's what the blues are about. The sho' 'nuff blues are guaranteed to sho' 'nuff sweat your head out!

“Don't let me get to preachin', y'all. Don't let me start. The blues ain't nothin' but a pain in yo' heart.” I leaned closer to the mike and spoke in an intimate tone. “There was a time not long ago when people didn't need all these pills. Nobody talked about being depressed. Sistas were too busy to have nervous breakdowns. It's amazing how we used to cope. We turned to the church and we turned to the blues. Some of those same folks that were in the juke joints on Friday and Saturday nights were in the Amen Corner on Sunday mornings. Now some folk have gotten too proper to shout, ‘Laud have mercy on your chile.' But you know what? Folks weren't running to a therapist back then, paying a hundred dollars an hour, and they weren't poppin' Prozac and Zoloft and St. John's Wort. The blues used to be the best medicine. The blues used to cure what ailed you.”

I backed off the mike and raised my voice a little. “The blues are about self-expression. The blues are about confession. The blues are about telling it like it is and letting the chips fall where they may. I'm talkin' 'bout the sho' 'nuff blues today. And that's what I'm fixin' to play. ‘Meet Me With Yo' Black Drawers On,' by Sweet Baby Jai, a favorite diva outta L.A.”