by Phil Swann
As he stood in front of the infamous theatre, a quiet shiver raced through his body. He was amazed at how bland it seemed, how unimportant. Disgust ran through his body when he noticed the Hard Rock Café that had been built beside the theater, practically connected to each other. David looked through the old box office window. As he gazed at a photograph of Lincoln memorialized inside the theater's door, the faces of Henry and J.P. burned in his mind. He turned and began walking again.
Twenty minutes later David leaned against a tree beside a concession stand, smoking a cigarette and gulping a can of Coke. Just across Madison Drive, roughly two hundred feet away, David stared at the pinkish-white marble building, The Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of American History. He took one last puff of his smoke, tossed the soda can in the bin beside him, and headed for the entrance. It was time to get some answers.
∙•∙
A bearded man with a black ponytail sat cross-legged on the grass several yards away from where David was standing. He wore tan hiking shorts, a tie-dyed T-shirt, and a Yankees' baseball cap. Around his neck hung a camera. He lifted the camera and aimed the telescopic lens in David's direction. Then he panned west toward the Washington Monument. The image through the viewfinder, however, was not of the famous statue but of two men, casually dressed, aiming cameras of their own.
He watched as the men lowered their cameras and jogged toward the museum. He panned to the museum's entrance just as David walked through the glass doors. He lowered his camera, picked up a black bag, and followed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The elderly woman sitting at the information desk loved her job. David tapped his fingers on the counter while the woman spoke enthusiastically, and in detail, to a young couple from Ames, Iowa, on everything the National Museum of American History had to offer. When the couple finally stepped away from the counter, David approached.
"How may I help you, sir?"
"I'm looking for a Dr. Danny Parsons," David demanded more than asked.
"Dr. Parsons," her smile fading. "Does he work for the institution?"
"Yes, I'm looking for his office."
"Uh…oh my…I'm sorry, sir," the woman mumbled, frantically scanning down a clipboard, noticeably unnerved at David's very untourist-like manner, "that's a little out of my area. I'm not familiar with all the curators here at the museum—we have so many—and all the offices on the fourth and fifth floors are closed. Uh, what department is he in?"
"Music."
"Music," the woman muttered. "Well, uh…I'm sorry. All I can suggest is that you go to the third floor Archives Center and inquire at the desk up there if they know him. They have more direct contact with the music division."
David nodded. "Third floor, got it."
"Yes, east wing, third floor, the elevators are right around the corner, sir."
As David turned in the direction the woman was pointing, a shrill howl bellowed from his knee area.
"What the fu…!" David stifled his vulgarity when he looked down and saw a small boy lifting himself off the marble floor. Oblivious to the near collision, the boy continued his pursuit of another slightly older boy racing around David's back.
"Jeremiah, Zechariah, boys watch where you're goin’," commanded the old African-American man in the white Panama hat and bright yellow T-shirt boasting the words WORLD’S GREATEST GRANDPA across the chest.
"I'm sorry, sir," the man said with a flustered smile and thick Mississippi-drawl, grabbing the smaller of the two youngsters by the arm. "They's young and fast, and I'm just too cotton-pickin' old and slow."
"No problem," David replied, remaining intent on the elevators.
"Sir, excuse me for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help overhearing. You looking for Dr. P?"
David stopped and looked back at the old man. "Uh…yeah…Dr. Parsons. You know Dr. Parsons?"
"Oh yes, me and the doc are old friends—but Dr. P’s not in today."
"Do you work with Dr. Parsons?"
"Sure do. I'm security here. This is my day off, but I got my grandchildren today, so—”
"So Parsons won't be in 'til tomorrow then, right?"
"Right—tomorrow but—”
"Do you know what time?"
The old man laughed. "Well, now with Dr. P, that could be just about any time. You see, Dr. P has some trouble with time—always kinda runnin' a step behind the ol' tomato cart."
Tomorrow damn it, more waiting. "Okay thanks, I'll come back tomorrow."
"'But if you'd liked to see Dr. P today, you know you can."
David stopped. "I can? How?"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you, son. The doc’s in a little musical group that plays around here sometimes—heck of a fiddle player, Dr. P is."
"Where, what time?"
"Well, right now, in the garden over at the castle."
"The castle?"
"The old Smithsonian building across the Mall. They’re having a birthday party for one of the uppity-ups here at the institution, but it's outside and all are welcome. I'm taking the young’uns there now. Come on, walk with us."
"The name's Charlie, Charlie Cheevers," Charlie said, extending his hand as the two men stepped onto the thick green grass of the Mall and the two small boys raced ahead.
"David Webber," David said, taking the man's hand.
"Now, I'm not gonna get in any trouble with Dr. P, am I?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're not some bill collector or somebody the doc ain't gonna wanna see."
David's anxiety was growing with every step. He just wanted to take off running to meet Parsons face to face and start getting some answers about Henry. Instead, he was forced to slow his gait to that of the older man's.
"No, nothing like that. I just need to ask a musical question. You're not going to get in any trouble."
"Where you from, David? It is all right I call you David, isn't it?"
"Yeah, sure, I'm from L.A."
"Ooo-wee, Los Angeles. I was out there once, back in my Army days. Spent two—no, three nights there before getting shipped out. Mighty big ol’ place, always something going on. And you can call me Charlie."
"Yeah, there sure is, Charlie, there sure is."
"So, are you a doctor yourself, David?"
"A doctor?"
"Yeah, you know, like Dr. P."
David had to chuckle at the mere thought. "No, I'm just a piano player."
"A piano player, you say? Well, that's mighty fine, mighty fine."
David looked at the grinning old man. His teeth were almost the color of his shirt, but there was sincerity in his eyes and warmth to his voice. David felt this man actually thought being a piano player was truly mighty fine.
For several minutes the two walked in silence, Charlie having to periodically corral the two young boys from running too far off. David's brain sizzled. How would he introduce himself to Parsons and how would he break the news about Henry?
"Well, there it is."
David was mildly startled by Charlie's pronouncement. He had paid no attention to where he was walking. He looked ahead and saw the impressive structure towering above the sycamores. It was aptly named The Castle. The red sandstone palace looked like something out of a fairy tale.
"Wow," David whispered, unconsciously counting the steeples that jutted from the edifice.
"You can say that again. I've worked here for purtin' near forty years, and I still get all stirred up inside when I see it. Built in eighteen fifty-five, it's the original Smithsonian Institution building. The fella that designed it also did St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City, ain't that something?"
"Yeah, it is. So, where's this party?”
"It's just 'round the corner, you follow me."
Charlie wrangled the two raucous boys by their hands, and David followed as the old man led them across Jefferson Drive and between two small buildings to the right of the castle. A cool breeze accompanied the momentary relief from the sun
, and David began hearing music faintly blowing through the blooming Magnolia trees that canopied the crushed gravel and sand pathway—Strauss, he thought to himself, small orchestra.
David winced as they turned the corner and emerged from the shade into the afternoon sunlight bathing the lush floral landscape in front of the castle.
"Here we are, Haupt Garden."
A red brick pathway lined with cherry-blossom trees wound through the deep blue-green grass of the garden. As David and the trio strolled further into the garden, he began having to excuse himself around an increasing number of people holding paper cups and plates, and either standing around or sitting comfortably on wrought-iron benches. The crowd grew denser the closer they came to the castle's entrance. David saw who he suspected was the guest of honor smiling and shaking hands with well-wishers.
"Looks like the party’s in full stride," Charlie said, keeping a tight grip on his boys.
The clustered mass made it difficult to move and impossible to see where the music was coming from. David climbed on one of the benches, turned, and surveyed the grounds.
People milled around everywhere, and though David heard the music, he was unable to see where the orchestra was located. He focused on the center of the park-like yard where a large rectangular flowerbed bursting with a colorful array of pansies, Chrysanthemums, and daisies spanned the length of the castle. He panned up the flowerbed. "Charlie, the orchestra's over there," he said, looking like a ship's lookout pointing over the partygoers' heads.
David followed Charlie and the boys down the brick pathway toward the other end of the garden, happily finding the crowd thinning out the farther they moved away from the building’s entrance. Nevertheless, David still briefly lost sight of Charlie and the boys when he was held up by a group of people congregating in the middle of the pathway. David pushed through and was relieved to see the back of Charlie's white Panama hat bobbing up and down.
Some people were sitting with their eyes closed, some were standing and bouncing their heads like Charlie, and some were even dancing. The small orchestra of fifteen musicians sat on a slightly raised platform facing back into the garden. They were indeed playing a Strauss waltz. David walked up beside the old man. Charlie smiled and pointed to the stage.
"That's Dr. P right there."
"Where?" David asked, searching every face in the orchestra.
"There, playing that big ol' fiddle."
David looked where Charlie was pointing and saw two men and one woman sitting in the first row, each with their backs arched bowing a cello.
"Which one is Dr. Parsons?"
Charlie smiled. "That's easy, Doctor P. is the pretty one."
Chapter Twenty-Three
A smattering of applause rippled through the garden when Paul Rogers let his arms fall to his side. He turned and dropped his head in a humble bow. Dennis Beckman sauntered onto the platform and up to the microphone.
"Thank you, Dr. Rogers and orchestra, that was lovely," he said with a too-big smile. "Let's give them another hand, shall we? The Smithsonian Chamber Orchestra, ladies and gentlemen." Beckman stepped to the side and delicately clapped his hands as Paul bowed his head again and then extended his arm acknowledging the orchestra.
"Thank you, Dr. Rogers, and thank all of you. This has been such a special day. I’m overwhelmed, so I'll just leave you with a most humble thank you." The audience applauded. Paul turned to the orchestra and nodded. One by one the musicians began to rise and pack up their instruments.
Dani was shaking hands with her fellow cellists when Paul approached. "Congratulations, Maestro," Dani said.
"He hated it."
"What are you talking about?"
"He hated it. I shouldn’t have played Strauss. He hates Strauss."
"Paul, you're being ridiculous. Didn't you hear him, he said—”
"Yeah, I heard him, 'thank you Dr. Rogers, that was lovely.’ Dr. Rogers, not Paul. Lovely, not wonderful—he hated it.”
"Paul, will you relax, he liked it—he loved it."
"Doctor P.," a voice came from the crowd. "Doctor P."
Dani scanned the front of the stage. She grinned when she saw the Panama hat riding over the wave of heads below. "Charlie, you made it."
"Of course I did, Doctor P., wouldn't have missed it for nothing."
"Hang on, I’ll come down there." Dani patted Paul on the arm and then walked to the corner of the stage and down the stairs.
She wore a tailored black sheath dress with a pearl barrette holding back her chestnut hair, allowing only a single highlighted curly wisp to dangle down each side of her face.
Charlie was standing with his grandsons in front of him, one hand on each of the youngsters’ shoulders.
"Hi, good lookin'," Dani said, kissing Charlie on the cheek as the two boys giggled. "Good heavens." She put both hands over her heart. "Jeremiah and Zechariah, look at you boys. Charlie, are you sure I can't date these young men? They're about the handsomest gentlemen I've ever seen."
"Oh, I don't know. They'd just break your heart, these two would."
"No we wouldn't, Pappa."
"Uh-huh, Pappa."
Dani laughed and rubbed both boys on the head. "Like grandfather, like grandsons, right, Charlie?"
Charlie let out a husky laugh.
"So, did you enjoy the concert?"
"Oh my yes, y'all were really playing now.”
"Hear that, Paul?" Dani said as Paul was coming down the stairs.
"Hear what?" Paul replied, walking up.
"Dr. Rogers, you’re really something. Boy, oh boy, I just don't see how you keep all them people playing together like you do."
"Thank you, Charlie."
David nudged the back of Charlie’s hand.
"I'm sorry, where are my manners? Doctor P., Doctor Rogers, I'd like you to meet a new friend of mine. This is David Webber from Los Angeles."
David stepped around and extended his hand, first to Paul and then to Dani.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Webber," Paul said.
"Hi there, David Webber, welcome to Washington. Did you enjoy the concert?" Dani asked with a perky smile.
He didn't know who, or what, he was expecting, but she wasn't it. "I did. It was very good,” David answered.
"See, Paul, another satisfied customer. Now stop worrying."
"What're you worried about, Dr. Rogers?"
"He's afraid Beckman didn't like the concert because we played Strauss and Beckman hates Strauss."
"Well, I thought it was wonderful, didn't you, David?"
"Yes," David mumbled again.
"And he would know too, he's a piano player."
"Really," Dani responded. "Professionally?"
"Uh, yeah," David stammered as he wrestled with how to bring up the subject of Henry. "Just bars, clubs, places like that."
"Oh, I see," Dani responded. "Charlie, you're full of surprises. How do you know a piano player from L.A.?"
Charlie laughed, putting his hand on David's shoulder. "Well, I met him over at the museum. He was looking for you."
Dani looked at David, then Paul, then Charlie, and then back to David.
"Me? You were looking for me, Mr. Webber?"
"Uh, yes, Dr. Parsons, I was."
"Why?"
David swallowed hard and decided it was time to get on with it. "Dr. Parsons, may I speak to you in private for a moment?"
"Private?" Dani said, glancing again at Paul.
"Yes, may we speak in private?"
"Why?"
"Uh…I'd really rather tell you in private, Dr. Parsons."
"What's this about, Mr. Webber?" Paul asked.
"Dr. Parsons, if you don't mind—”
Dani's smile suddenly fell. Her knees went numb, and a rush of heat surged through her body. Her weight fell onto Paul as Charlie moved quickly to grab her by the arm. "Is this about my father—is he okay—has something happened to my dad?" Dani cried out as her eyes began to tear-up.
> "Your father? Uh—no this doesn't have anything to do with your father—”
"Mr. Webber, what's this all about?” Paul demanded.
"David?” Charlie said, his trademark smile totally absent.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare her. I just need to ask her a couple of questions about…a mutual friend. Dr. Parsons, I'm sorry, but this will only take a few minutes, and it's very important."
"David, perhaps this could wait 'til later?" Charlie said.
"No, it can't," David snapped.
"Well, maybe it just has to, Mr. Webber," Paul said back.
"No, Paul, Charlie, it's okay," Dani broke in, regaining her composure. "I'm sorry, Mr. Webber, my father’s 's been ill, and I thought that you were—”
"I understand," David said. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"No, it was my fault for jumping to conclusions." Dani took a deep breath and exhaled with a smile. "Whew, I really need to get a grip. Me, falling into the arms of two men, can you believe it?"
Charlie laughed out loud. Paul was less amused.
"So, you say we have a mutual friend?"
"Yes, I believe we do."
"Can I ask who the friend is?"
Dani caught the frustration on David's face.
"Got it—in private. Okay, Mr. Webber, tell you what. I was just leaving. If you'd like to walk with me to my car, we can talk on the way."
"That'll be fine."
"Great, you can carry my cello."
Paul's arm was still around Dani's waist. "Dan, are you sure you're okay? I'll be glad to walk with you to your car."
Dani smiled and pulled away. "I'm fine, Paul. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah." Paul surrendered, letting his arm fall.
"Will I see you in the morning, Charlie?"
"No, ma’am. I got the late shift next week, but I'll see you after five."