Lady Blues

by Aaron Paul Lazar

I smoothed the bedspread at the foot of the bed, trying to squash the sad memories, but they wouldn’t go away.

  Mrs. Pierce had been our aide, helping with Elsbeth’s medications and treatments. And when it was over, the integration of Mrs. Pierce into our family had been complete. She stayed to help, took over the sick room and made it healthy and clean again, and had nurtured us in much the same way she’d nurtured Elsbeth.

  I rubbed my eyes, dispelling the images. I still missed Elsbeth deeply, and knew the feelings of loss would never completely go away. Each day, however, I thanked God for my newfound love with Camille—a blessing so precious, I still barely believed it was possible. She helped dispel the darkness, while breathing life into me once again.

  Siegfried hovered like a nervous father, handing Freddie instruments and supplies as if they were in the operating room of the veterinary clinic. His eyes belied the calm in his hands, darting apprehensively back and forth between Freddie and Lily.

  “She will be all right?” he whispered.

  Lily followed his every movement. Her eyes shimmered with affection, tracing back and forth between Siegfried’s face and hands.

  Freddie nodded. “Yes, Uncle Sig. She’ll be fine in a few weeks. I’m pretty sure it’s just sprained.”

  Freddie finished wrapping Lily’s ankle. She snapped shut her emergency bag, and leaned over to smooth hair from Lily’s eyes. “You’ll feel better soon, honey.”

  Siegfried sighed with relief, shedding concern like petals from a day-old poppy. “Ah. Gut.”

  He settled into the wooden chair beside the bed, his massive paw covering Lily’s hand. They exchanged a look more intimate than seasoned lovers. Deep and connected, it seemed tinged with longing, a magnetic attraction to become one.

  Or, maybe I just imagined it. I badly wanted my dear friend to find love.

  The kitchen door slammed and the house filled with the aroma of Chinese food. Siegfried didn’t notice.

  I shook my head. Like Diablo, the horse whose belly took precedence over everything, I’d never known Sig to ignore food. Ever.

  So, maybe it would happen for him?

  Being so close to the apparent affection between Siegfried and Lily triggered a strong urge to be with my own wife, to hold her, to drink in the scent of her, to lose myself in her.

  I excused myself and followed Freddie out of the room.

  Camille stood by the kitchen table, her head bent over two large paper bags filled with Chinese food. Dark hair flowed over her face, soft and rippling with curls swinging back and forth, like voile curtains rustling over a windowsill.

  In spite of the completely inappropriate timing, my overwhelming desire for her swelled. I approached her and reached around from behind, kissing her neck in a not-so-virtuous fashion.

  At first she pushed at me as if to shoo a pest. I persisted, as the desire to be with her grew even stronger.

  She stopped and turned to look at me, catching the fire in my eyes. “Gus! Stop. It’s not the time or…”

  I kissed her lovely mouth.

  “Gus! I mean it.” Her laughter softened the words, but as luck would have it in my well-populated home, the kitchen soon filled with hungry family.

  Shelby, the first to arrive, rolled her eyes. “Gross!” She dove into the Chicken Lo Mein and placed a healthy portion on her plate.

  Relieved that she’d gotten past last year’s obsession with her weight, I watched her, still clinging to Camille with arms wrapped around her from behind.

  “Dad, come on. We’re in the same room with you.”

  With a reluctant laugh, I released Camille, who immediately flashed a sly look, full of promise.

  Johnny and the twins burst into the room, shouting and careening around our legs. I accepted the unspoken deal with my wife, and helped dish out dinner for my grandchildren.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lily healed quickly, but walked for several days with a limp. She and Siegfried seemed glued together by day and I figured they thought of each other all night long, because I usually found them at the breakfast table, every morning at the crack of dawn, acting as though they’d been apart for days instead of hours.

  We visited Thom twice, and found his progress to be agonizingly slow. Still in his medically-induced coma, he was unresponsive. The nurses learned our names after the first time, and then they let Siegfried and me tag along with Lily to Thom’s bedside, but we had to wear protective gowns and masks.

  The first time we visited, the nurse was changing his bandages, and I nearly dropped from shock. Angry black and red wounds wrapped what used to be an arm. The doctors advised caution and patience. His first surgery of many would take place in two weeks, if his vitals remained stable.

  On Thursday afternoon, I had a chance to leave work early. Classes were cancelled due to the school’s cranky boiler acting up again. Objections floated in my mind, but I didn’t voice them.

  Can’t we hold classes in another building? Why do these kids need heat, anyway? It’s April. And if they’re cold, they could wear jackets.

  Envisioning the resultant fussing and complaints, I kept my mouth shut and decided to use the time to visit Kip.

  Maddy scooted out of the office as if running from a swarm of hornets. She’d called Joe Russell, her amour and housemate, and somehow he too finagled the afternoon off. They planned a tryst, from the snatches of conversation I gleaned, and it promised to be one blazing encounter from the way she plotted with him. I heard the words, “Chianti,” “Lawrence Welk,” and “spaghetti and meatballs.”

  Chuckling at the image, I hurried through the crush of jubilant students and arrived at Bello Mondo by quarter to two. I swept into the nearly empty lot and headed for a parking spot beside a sleek black SUV. The driver almost opened his door into my fender, but I swerved at the last second.

  Spluttering and red-faced, he exploded out of his vehicle, shaking his fist at me. “Son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing?”

  I maneuvered into a nearby spot, quickly unlatched my seatbelt and got out, halting when I recognized him. It was the Novacom sales rep who’d been arguing with his heavyset partner in the hospital elevator.

  Black eyes raged beneath his sleek silver eyebrows. “You ought to slow down, pal. You almost took my door off.”

  Although he exaggerated—I’d had at least three inches of leeway between his door and my bumper—I smiled. “Hey, I’m sorry. Thank God for antilock brakes, huh?”

  My attempt at lightening the mood failed. He studied me for a cold minute, moaned and shook his head as if giving up on life, then headed inside. His lights flashed when he clicked the remote behind his back.

  I grimaced.

  Some people have no sense of humor.

  After locking my own car, I passed his and noticed two boxes of Memorphyl on the back seat.

  Bet they make a killing here.

  The polar blond at the lobby desk issued a royal nod this time, allowing me access with a terse wave of her hand.

  Kip lay on his back in bed, eyes closed, with both arms resting neatly atop a pale blue blanket. I stopped in the doorway, unsure if I should wake him. Sunlight flooded through the mini-blinds, illuminating dust motes that twirled above the heating vents and striping a pattern on the linoleum floor.

  For a moment, I wondered if he was breathing. So peaceful, so quiet was his repose that I hesitated until a gentle rise of his chest assured me he was alive.

  “Are you going to stand there all day?” he said, startling me.

  Opening his eyes, he reached for the bed controls with one gnarled hand. With practiced patience, he manipulated the bed into an upright position.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  Dismissing my concern with a fluttery smile, he pushed strands of silver hair from his forehead, and reached for his glasses on the table. With a slight movement of his head, he beckoned me to the chair beside him. “Would you please hand me that pad of paper on the desk?�
�� he asked. “And the pencil?”

  I responded as requested, feeling for a moment like a student with his teacher, wanting to please, to be favored. “Of course. Here you go.”

  Spidery penmanship filled the page. Lists of questions, neatly numbered, flowed on both sides of the paper embossed with a Novacom logo.

  “I’ve been remembering,” he said softly, frowning at the paper. “But it’s just snatches of things. Irrational things.”

  I leaned forward, intrigued. “Irrational?”

  Eyeing me over the top of his glasses, he corrected himself. “Perhaps not irrational. But…disconnected. The scenes I’m envisioning are confusing. Are they memories? Scenes from movies? Books? Or pure imagination?”

  I waited for him to continue. His vivid blue eyes first scanned the list, then looked into the distance, lost in thought. “I think I remember my mother.” His eyes softened with tears.

  “Really?” I said.

  “Yes. She smelled of gardenias. I’m not sure how I know it was the scent of gardenias, but I’m certain of it. Her hair was short, a soft cap of dark curls. I remember running my fingers through it as we rode in the horse and buggy, snuggled under wool blankets while a man, my father I think, drove the team. And my hands weren’t these pathetic old things,” he held one up, trembling. “They were small and youthful. Tiny fingers. I must have been very young.”

  His vision swam clearly into my own imagination. I saw the scene and urged him to share more. “What else? Do you remember her name? Or your surname?”

  A small frown creased his forehead. “No. Names escape me. But visions appear as if I’m seeing my life flash before me.” He nudged his glasses to move them down his nose a bit, and asked, “Do you think I’m dying?” A hint of a smile played on his thin lips.

  “You’re very much alive,” I laughed. “Maybe it’s the new medicine? The Memorphyl?”

  Nodding in agreement, he said, “Could be.” He gestured toward the rolling table on the far side of his bed. “Would you mind?”

  I hopped up and maneuvered it over his lap, and helped position his pillow behind him as he sat up straighter.

  “Better. Here. Put the paper and pencil up… there we go. Thank you, young man.”

  I smiled and returned to my seat. “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”

  He chuckled. “Well, it’s all relative, isn’t it? Now, just one more thing, would you mind?”

  He pointed to the container of ice water on the nightstand. I slid it onto the table and positioned it close to him. His parched-looking lips closed around the straw. He drank for a long time before asking me to remove it. “Thank you…er, Gus, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Gus LeGarde.”

  “Okay. Gus. I like that, reminds me of…”

  His eyes defocused for a minute. Smiling, he grabbed the pencil, flipped his list over, and added one more item. “I believe a Negro named Gus Gamon owned a night club I played in.” He underlined the name, and blanched. “Oh, dear. I forgot. One of the nurses told me that’s not an appropriate term any more.”

  I leaned over and patted his arm. “It’s okay. Some folks prefer the term black or Afro-American. I’m not sure if I’m up to date, myself. I try to stay current, but things change fast.”

  He flipped the paper over and touched the first entry, as if caressing the skin of a lover. “She was a Negro, er, a black woman. My lady. My love.”

  His face transformed, suffused with sentiment. His eyes closed as a memory seemed to wash over him. “She was the most delightful woman I’d ever met. Skin the color of creamed coffee and dark eyes you fell into, deep, deep down in her soul. And her voice… It was pure satin. Sometimes she purred low notes; other times she wailed high like a songbird. I believe she could sing three octaves with little effort. And she had flawless pitch.”

  My heartbeat quickened as his voice swelled with love. Anxious to know more, I encouraged him. “Tell me more. It seems you have a depth of knowledge in the musical field. Do you remember your training, your profession?”

  He opened his eyes and tapped one finger on his chin. “Music seems so familiar, like breathing. But the memories are playing games with me. I see flashes of myself at a piano, in a smoky hall, or conducting a band. But they are brief, just glimpses.”

  He shifted and went on. “But my memories of her are clearer. I am…I guess you would say, transported when I think of her. I believe there was some secrecy surrounding our relationship. Our times together were blissful, erotic, and heavenly; but I sense a heightened fear of discovery, as well. I guess that made it even more romantic.”

  “Can you remember who you were hiding from?” I asked.

  He sighed. “I believe we hid from just about everyone.”

  He went off into another reverie. After several minutes, he shivered. “I’m cold.”

  I reached for the black cardigan draped across the foot of the bed. “Here you go. Will this do?”

  Thin and trembling, he slid into the sweater, pulling it tight across his chest. “Thank you, young man. You’re very kind. I’m still not sure why you’re here, but it’s a nice distraction from visits by my medicinal army and the…the empty days of the past where I’ve felt like I was simply waiting to die.”

  I settled back into the chair and glanced at my watch. Only three o’clock. Still plenty of time.

  “We music men have to stick together, right?”

  His eyes crinkled into a smile. “It’s a good concept. I like it.”

  A rustling at the door announced Debbie, who rolled a cart into the room and apologized for the interruption. “Time for your Memorphyl, Mr. Smith.”

  Kip grimaced and waved a hand as if to ward her off. “Please don’t call me that any more, my dear. Call me Kip. I know that’s less formal than Mr. Smith, but I’m quite certain it is my name.”

  Debbie handed him a small plastic cup with two large pink pills. He downed them in one gulp, followed by a long drink of water. She moved efficiently around the room, adjusting the blinds and refilling his water jug as she chattered with both of us. “So, you two are hitting it off, huh?” She beamed at me, noticed the list on his table, and winked. “Are you remembering more, Mr. Sm—, I mean, Kip?”

  He answered quietly. “I am. Bits and pieces.”

  “Well, buzz if you need something. I’ll bring your peaches in a few minutes, okay?”

  He scowled and muttered, “I’m sick of those damned peaches. Why can’t we have pears today?”

  Debbie stopped dead. Her white shoes squeaked on the linoleum as she spun and faced him. “Why, Kip. You want something different? My goodness, you’ve had peaches every day for the past year.”

  “Precisely my point, my dear. It’s time for a change.”

  Laughing like a schoolgirl, Debbie practically skipped to his side. “You may have whatever you want, my dear man. Even if I have to send Gus here to the market!”

  I laughed, and had the sudden desire to bring the old gentleman home with me where he could get a decent home cooked meal. I realized it wasn’t possible to bring everyone home to protect and feed, but I couldn’t help myself. If Kip continued to improve, maybe he could come for dinner someday.

  Before Debbie left, she stopped in the door and looked over her shoulder. “Just let me know when you want to see your stuff, Kip. It’s in the back room.”

  He brightened. “My valise? Why, yes, Deborah. That would be lovely, when you have the time.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ten minutes later, Debbie returned with an alligator skin suitcase. Heavy brass buckles looked rusted shut and its warped lid looked as if it had been underwater at one time. She set it on the adjustable table near the bed and swiped at it with a fistful of tissues.

  “It’s all covered in dust. Let’s see if we can clean it up a little.”

  Kip sat up, his face flushed with excitement. I helped him draw back the covers and swing his legs over the side. He wore striped blue and white cotton pajam
as.

  “Sorry I’m not decent today,” he apologized. “I just couldn’t seem to get up the gumption.”

  Debbie backed up and rushed to his side. “Please. Let me help you. Here, let’s get you to your chair, then we can roll the table over to you with the suitcase on it.”

  He tolerated her fussing about him, and when she was finally satisfied, she rolled the table over and leaned down, squinting at the suitcase. She swiped at the bag once more with dampened tissues, revealing brass initials near the handle.

  “A.G.M.” She examined it again, straightening. “Strange.”

  Kip and I exchanged glances.

  “Are you sure this is Kip’s?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. It was in his locker. We moved it over from the old facility back in December, that’s why I knew about it. We all helped pack and move into this new place, you know. And my, was it a chore. But I saw this old thing, and wondered if it might spur some memories. Well,” she dusted her hands on her thighs, “enjoy digging. And let me know if you find any jewels in there!”

  Kip nodded, but seemed to be in another world. He stared at the case as if transported to another realm.

  “Kip?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Kip? Do you want me to…”

  “Yes. Please. Open it.”

  I stood beside the table and tried to move the stiff buckles. The leather, thick and encrusted, refused to budge.

  “Try again,” he said, sounding almost frantic. He leaned forward, reaching toward it. “Do you have any tools? I don’t mind if you cut the straps.”

  I reached into my pocket for the all-purpose Leatherman tool that had been my father’s. “Let’s try this. But it would be a shame to cut the leather. This thing’s an antique.”

  He chuckled nervously. “I guess it really fits me, then. Doesn’t it?”

  I shot him a smile and pried at the leather with one of the screwdrivers. Dry and brittle, it moved, a fraction of an inch, and with another five minutes of pushing and digging, I finally had both straps undone.

  I maneuvered the table so he could open the valise. “Okay, Kip. Would you like to do the honors?