by Bill Moody
Coop smiles. “Now that would be impressive.” He nods and picks up the check, then hands it to me. “Hey, you’re an heir now. You can take care of this.”
We go back out to Coop’s car and I light a cigarette, feeling a little overwhelmed with everything, thinking how quickly your life can change.
“What do you want to do?” Coop asks. “I could drop you at the house then pick you up later. You can crash with me.”
“Yeah I guess that’s the best plan. I don’t think I want to stay there. At least not tonight anyway.”
We head up Sunset then at La Brea, turn north to Franklin. At Beachwood Drive, I tell Coop to turn north again and we wind up into the hills a few blocks. When we pull up in front of the house, Coop keeps the motor running. “I won’t go in,” he says.
“Thanks, Coop. I’ll give you a call later.”
He leans over and looks up at the house. “Damn it’s a tiny place, and all those steps. Don’t trip.”
“Yeah, Cal called it his built-in stair master.”
Chapter Two
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the house. Even longer in daylight. For one reason or other, I’d usually visited with Cal at night. I trudge up the steep steps to the little bungalow, feeling the sun on my back, and take out the envelope with the keys. It feels strange to unlock, open the door, and go inside with Cal not there. The two large houses on either side block most of the sun but I open the musty curtains and look around.
Cal’s chair and padded ottoman are where they always were, almost in the center of the room facing the tiny fireplace that as far as I knew, had never worked. On the table beside the chair sits the perennial stack of books. Cal had been a voracious reader, mostly mysteries. A television on a rolling cart, the old upright piano in the corner, and a small love seat leave little room for anything else.
I stand still for a few moments, listening. I can still feel Cal here, his voice echoing in my mind.
I shake off the feeling and stroll around, just glancing here and there, coming to terms with what I have to do. In the bedroom there’s just the bed, a small dresser, and a night stand stacked with more books, and a small lamp. I’d never been in here but over the dresser I notice a framed photo of Miles Davis standing next to—yes, it was Cal—and another man I don’t recognize. I shake my head. In all the time I’d known Cal he’d never once mentioned or showed it to me.
Nothing in the bathroom but an old robe hanging on a hook on the door, some towels draped over the shower curtain rod. I open a small mirrored cabinet over the sink and see several plastic bottles of medications. Some have never been opened. They have the label with the pharmacy and the prescribing doctor’s name typed on them.
The kitchen is sparse, a few things in the refrigerator, pantry, and a half full bottle of Scotch. I walk back in the living room and open the door to the small balcony and look out with a narrow view of Hollywood below. There’s a stereo with maybe fifty LPs. I flip through them quickly. Most are pretty old. There are also a few compact disks, and an inexpensive CD player. This was a new addition. Cal didn’t like the sound of CDs. Too clean, too perfect and sterile, he’d said.
I finally stop at the old scarred piano and wonder how he’d got it up all those steps. I run my hand over the keyboard, feel the layer of dust, and play a few notes. The Mingus tune written for Lester Young, “Goodbye Porkpie Hat,” runs through my mind. I sit down and start playing it, the way Cal might have. When I finish I lean forward, my head on my hands. This is harder than I thought it would be. I hadn’t seen Cal much over the years but I’m going to miss him.
“That was beautiful.”
I whirl around and see a young girl peering in the screen door. She opens it and comes in. “Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you.” Milton, Cal’s Basset Hound, is at the end of the leash she holds. The dog sees me, wags his tail and lumbers over to me. He nudges my hand for me to scratch his ears.
The girl is maybe mid twenties, athletic body with shoulder length dark hair and a very pretty face. “You must be—”
“Dana. Dana Trent. I helped Cal out a little before he…before he died.”
“Oh right, okay. I’m…”
“I know who you are. Evan Horne. Cal talked about you a lot.”
“All good I hope.”
She smiles. “Oh yes, all good.”
“Well come in, sit down.”
“Thanks.” She sits on the ottoman. She’s wearing shorts, a UCLA t-shirt, and running shoes.
“Nice to meet you, Dana. Were you here when…”
“I found him,” she says, looking away. “I came up to walk Milton. That was kind of one of my jobs. Cal was just sitting there in his chair, a book open on his lap, like he was asleep, a record playing. I knew he was gone but I called 911.” She looks back at me. “He was a very nice man.”
I nod. “That was not fun I imagine. How did you meet?”
She shrugs. “By accident really. I was walking by. He had Milton with him but he was having trouble getting up the steps. I asked if he wanted some help.” She laughs remembering. “He said, ‘No, just an old trick to get next to good looking young girls.’”
“Yeah, that was Cal.”
“He invited me in. We had coffee. Well I did, Cal had Scotch. We talked awhile, he asked me a lot about my courses. I’m working on a Masters in English.” She shrugs. “Then he offered me a job. I live just a few doors down. He wanted me to walk Milton, go to the store for him, that kind of thing, you know.”
“Yeah, well that was good of you to do it.”
“Oh he paid me, way more than he should have. I’m living with my aunt and on a couple of scholarships so money is tight.”
“Uh huh.” I look at Milton laying near her feet. “How does your aunt feel about Milton?”
She shrugs. “It’s okay. I told her it’s temporary.” She reaches down and scratches Milton’s head. He looks up at her adoringly. “Anyway, I was walking by and thought I saw the door open.” She looks at me. “I guess you know he was cremated.”
“Yeah, I just found out yesterday. Cal’s attorney called me. I’ve been in Europe and San Francisco for a few months.”
Dana nods. “I wrote an obituary for the L.A. Times,” she says. “I really didn’t know what to do. I hope that was okay. There was nobody to call that I knew of.”
“Sure. Thanks for doing that.”
She smiles. “I’ve got the paper at home if you want it.”
“Thanks I’d like that.”
“Two men who said they knew Cal from a long time ago called and left messages. They were musicians I think. I didn’t know what to tell them but I’ve got their numbers too.”
“Well, I’m glad you were there.” I stand up. “Can I get you something to drink?” I glance at my watch. “Or how about some dinner or something. I’d like to hear more about your time with Cal.”
She hesitates. “Well I’ve got some reading to do and…”
Suddenly I want to spend more time with Dana Trent, hear more about Cal’s last days and she’s the only link. “Come on. Just an hour or so. I’m buying. I’d kind of like to talk to you about Cal and since you were the last one to see him I—”
She shrugs. “Okay, sure, why not?”
“Oh wait, I don’t have a car. My friend dropped me off.”
“We can go in mine,” she says. “Let me run home and change. I’ll be right back.”
I watch her go down the stairs two at a time. I turn to Milton. He looks puzzled to see Dana go.
“Okay guy, you’re in charge.” I lock the door and jog down the steps to wait for Dana.
***
We drive to a small place on Sunset, a Chinese place Dana recommends. Once we’re seated and put in our order, I go in the back near the restrooms and call Coop.
“How’s it going, Sport?”
“Kind of rough, you know, being there and him gone.”
“Y
eah I can imagine. So you ready to be picked up?”
“Not quite. I’m having an early dinner with this girl who worked for Cal, walked his dog, helped out. She’s catching me up.”
“I bet,” Coop says, unable to keep the smirk out of his voice.
“Settle down. She’s about twenty-five, a grad student at UCLA.”
“Uh huh, and thick glasses, short stumpy body, straggly hair, right?”
“I’ll tell you all about it later and you can see for yourself.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“Let’s say eight. The White Dragon on Sunset, near La Brea.”
“Got it.”
I hang up the phone, still smiling as I walk back to our table.
“Everything all right,” Dana says.
“Yeah my friend is going to pick me up here. Save you a trip.”
She shrugs. “I wouldn’t have minded.”
I nod at her. “I can see why you would get along with Cal.”
She looks away, remembering. “Yes, he was easy to be with.”
The waiter brings our order. Kung Pao chicken and steamed rice for Dana; Mongolian beef and fried rice for me. I unwrap the chopsticks and start picking out the peas, making a small mound on the edge of my plate.
Dana laughs. “What are you doing?”
“I just don’t like peas.”
“Who are you?” She laughs. “I’ve seen Cal do the same thing.”
“Long story. So what did you do with Cal?”
She takes a mouthful of her chicken. “Mmm, this is so good. Well, mostly just walked Milton at first, then went to the store for him, you know, whatever he needed, although he wasn’t very demanding.”
“No, Cal just liked to be left alone.”
“I know. I used to worry about him when I wasn’t there. He just read and watched TV. The last month or so he hardly got out at all. I tried to get him to see a doctor, but…”
“Yeah I know.” We finish eating and I order some coffee. “Only so much of this green tea I can stand.”
“He talked about you a lot,” Dana says. “He was gruff at times but I could tell he really liked you. He said you were a great pianist and I don’t think Cal gave out that kind of praise much.”
“Thanks, and no, he didn’t. I was his student some years back. He taught me a lot. Did he ever play for you?”
“Never. I asked him too but he just brushed it off and I didn’t push. I did become something of a jazz fan though. He played a lot of records for me, pointed out things I had no idea were going on. You know, I’m an old rocker, but I liked a lot of it.”
She studies me for a minute. “So what are you going to do now? With the house I mean.”
I’d already been thinking about that. “I’m not sure. I live in the Bay area now. I don’t want the house, but I don’t know if I want to give it up yet. The house isn’t worth much but I’m sure somebody would pay for the property.”
“Oh yeah, it’s prime area and Cal said he’d had a lot of offers.”
We finish our coffee and I pay the check. “You mind if we take a walk. I’m dying for a cigarette. I want to run something by you.”
“Sure.”
We go outside and stroll down La Brea toward Santa Monica Boulevard. I get a cigarette going and ask her how much longer she’s got at UCLA.
“Probably another year and then my thesis. Why?”
“And the arrangement you have with your aunt is temporary, right?”
“I’m supposed to be looking but I haven’t been trying very hard and money is tight and…”
“Exactly. I’ve got a proposition for you. How about if I rent you the house. I’ll pay the utilities, charge you reasonable rent and in exchange you watch the house and continue taking care of Milton.”
She walks, head down studying the sidewalk. “Thanks but I could never afford it. You know what places rent for around here these days?”
“Let’s say, oh, five hundred a month?”
She stops and looks at me. “Are you crazy? You could get more than three times that.”
“I know but I want somebody there I know, somebody who knew Cal. I don’t know what I’d do with Milton and it would also give me a place to crash if I come down to L.A. for something, you know a gig or recording maybe.” I quickly add. “Of course if you had plans, a boyfriend or something, I’d always check with you first.” She blinks, her face lit up by oncoming traffic. “There’s no boyfriend.”
She stops again and puts one hand on her throat. “God, I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.” We turn and start heading back toward the restaurant.
“Are you sure? I can handle five hundred and I would take good care of the place and Milton.”
I smile at her. “I know you would. So is it a deal?”
She gives me a big grin. “Hell, yes!”
“Great. I’ll be around for a few days. I have to go through Cal’s things. Might be some books you can use, so I’ll get everything boxed up I want to keep and you can take whatever you want.”
She seems kind of dazed by it all.
***
Coop’s car is parked at the curb when I get back. He gets out and comes over. “Dana, say hello to Lieutenant Danny Cooper, Santa Monica Police. Coop, Dana Trent. She’s been taking care of Cal’s dog.”
Coop gives her a big smile and shakes hands. “My pleasure, Miss Trent.”
“Dana,” she says.
Coop nods and glances a me. “Dana it is.”
“Be right with you Coop. C’mon, Dana I’ll walk you to your car.” She waves to Coop and gets in and rolls down the window. I lean in. “Come by tomorrow and we’ll work out all the details. I’d like to talk to you some more about Cal.”
“Okay. I’ve got a seminar in the morning but I should be back by four.”
“Whenever. Thanks, Dana.”
She smiles and I stand for a moment, watching her drive away.
I go back and get into Coop’s car. That smirk is on his face as he pulls away. “Uh huh,” he says.
“Shut up.”
“Better not let Andie see her, I mean especially the way she fits in those jeans.”
“Shut up, Coop.”
***
The next morning, I have Coop drop me at a car rental on his way to work. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be around and I can’t keep having him drive me everywhere. “I’ll call you later,” I say as I get out of the car.
“Okay. Say hi to Dana for me.” He laughs and drives off.
I rent a little hatchback and drive back to Hollywood, stopping off at a supermarket to pick up some heavy duty trash bags and talk the produce clerk out of some discarded boxes.
A light drizzle starts by the time I get to the house and I have to make several trips up the steps with my purchases and the boxes. Inside, the house seems so dark and deserted. This is not going to be fun, but I turn on a couple of lamps and get started.
Cal’s record collection is pretty predictable. Mostly straight ahead jazz, some that goes back to the 40’s. There’s some big band stuff, Miles, Coltrane, several piano trios, including my own first recording. Some I think collectors would like to have. There are also two with Cal listed in the liner notes. I box them up, decide to keep them and remember I need some tape and a marker pen for labeling.
I take a break, get my cell phone out of my bag, and call the power company to change over the name. Then I call the phone company. Surprisingly, I have a dial tone in twenty minutes.
The piano, I decide will have to be hauled out of here. I hate to imagine getting it down all those steps. Maybe I can donate it someplace. In the bench I find some sheet music—old Broadway show tunes and some penciled music paper with untitled tunes.
I look at the first one. It’s all yellowed now but the chords are readable as is the melody. I hear it in my head then sit down and play it out. “Boplicity,” from the Miles D
avis Birth of the Cool recording in 1949. There are two others, also penciled in Cal’s scrawl, and both are from Kind of Blue, also by Miles, done ten years later.
Was Cal just transcribing the record, learning the tunes and the changes? I set them aside and go though the other music and find a copy of Downbeat magazine dated 1949, with a story on the Birth of the Cool band.
I feel the hair on the back of my neck prickle. In all the times I talked with Cal, I don’t remember a single one where we talked about either of these recordings.
Birth of the Cool was just that. Ushering in the cool school of jazz. Gerry Mulligan and Gil Evans wrote a lot of the arrangements. Mulligan’s partnership with Chet Baker was still three years down the line. Kind of Blue was another landmark in jazz history when Miles began to explore modal jazz and discovered a young quiet pianist named Bill Evans. It’s all kind of spooky. I don’t know what to make of it. I gather up the sheets and put them together.
In the bedroom I go through Cal’s meager wardrobe. There’s not much. Some slacks, a few sport coats, and a half dozen shirts on hangers. I decide to bundle everything from the closet into a couple of the big trash bags, maybe for Goodwill or the Salvation Army. Some I just toss.
The small dresser was more of the same. One drawer for socks and underwear, another for t-shirts, another for sweaters. The bottom drawer is stuck. I have to move and wiggle it get it open. It’s full of papers. Digging through it, I find canceled checks, bills, receipts, an old pocket watch on a chain, a program from the Newport Jazz Festival, and a lot of other junk I don’t feel like going through. In the end I just dump the contents of the drawer upside down on the bed.
I stop then, frozen to the spot.
Taped to the bottom of the drawer is a small manila envelope. I stare at it for a moment, knowing whatever is in it is somehow going to change everything for me.
I sit down on the bed and light a cigarette, just thinking for a couple of minutes. There were no missing legal papers from the lot the lawyer Scott had given me so this is something else entirely. Cal never struck me as a secretive man, so why this? I put out the cigarette and tear off the envelope.