by Bill Moody
I go out to the car and call Coop. With a few hours to kill I don’t want to go back to Hollywood.
“Where are you?” Coop asks.
“In the Valley on Ventura. Want to have an early dinner?”
“I’m already there. Had to see a witness in Encino. There’s a deli around Havenhurst that used to be famous. You know it?”
“Yeah, I think so. “
“Okay, about twenty minutes?”
“See you there.”
I cruise down Ventura looking for the deli, finally spot it and pull in the parking lot in back. Coop is already there in a booth, frowning, flipping through the ten page menu.
“How can they have so many things?” he says as I slide in a booth opposite him.
I’m too tired to struggle through it. There’s a picture of a huge pastrami sandwich on the inside page with Still The Best printed above it. I order that, potato salad, and an iced tea. Coop does the same.
Coop leans back and looks at me. “You look like you just came back from the Twilight Zone.”
“I feel like it.” I can picture Rod Serling looking at the camera saying. “Meet Evan Horne, jazz pianist, erstwhile detective, whose journey takes him to a place where time is another dimension…”
“It’s been a strange few days, Coop.” I catch him up on all that’s happened. He listens quietly, sipping his iced tea, his expression hardly changing as I tell him about my mother, Al Beckwood, the tapes, Maybeline Jones. I stop as the waiter brings our sandwiches. Coop barely looks at his.
“Jesus, I can’t imagine what that must feel like. You probably haven’t really gotten used to the idea yet yourself. I mean, finding out Cal was your father, all that stuff. Are you sure you want to talk with this Maybeline Jones?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if she tells all, really opens up there might be some stuff you don’t, maybe should be…” He waves his sandwich in the air as he searches for the right words. “Left alone, you know? Oh I guess I should shut up. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I can’t imagine finding out something like this.” He takes a bite of his sandwich.
I have to smile but I know what Coop is getting at. For whatever reason, CaI left my mother pregnant and then—did he abandon us, or did she simply choose not to follow? I need to know everything, good, bad, or indifferent. I want all the blanks filled in and Maybeline can provide a lot of answers.
“I know it’s not going to be all good, Coop, but I just have to find out whatever I can. A week ago, I spread this man’s ashes in Santa Monica Bay. I want to know who he was.”
We eat in silence for awhile. Then Coop changes the subject. “What about the house? Did that guy come around while you were gone?”
I tell Coop about finding Brent Sergent with Dana and her story about Sergent.
“Do you believe her?”
“I don’t know. I guess. I just don’t feel like dealing with it now. The house is in no danger. He’s just looking for a commission, using Dana to get it. She seemed genuinely remorseful. She really is sorry for getting involved or she’s a damn good actress.”
Coop nods. “Well all you can do is keep a close watch.” He sips his iced tea.
“What about the music scene? You mentioned a recording session in New York.”
I tell him about the session and how it went. “Roy Haynes is amazing, Coop, and this recording will get me out there again in a big way.”
Coop grins. “I don’t know Roy Haynes from Roy Rogers but I’ll take your word for it. Those other tapes worry me though. And this Cameron Brody guy. How much do you know about him?”
“Not a lot but he seems to be an okay guy. I was with him when he tracked down this singer who was owed royalties. He did that on his own.” I hesitate for a moment and then decide to tell Coop about the mugging and theft of Cameron’s computer.
Coop frowns. “Excuse my suspicious cop mind, but that doesn’t sound like some random incident.”
“No I don’t think so either, but he couldn’t figure it out.”
Coop checks his watch. “I’d like to hear more about this. What about the tapes, Cal, your dad was playing on. Even I know Miles Davis. Who else knows about them?”
“Besides Cameron? The engineer at the studio, his friend who is transferring them to CD for me.” I look at Coop. He seems troubled. “What?”
“Oh nothing. I was just thinking about some other tapes you got involved in and what happened.”
“These tapes are different, Coop. These are just for me. Nobody else.”
Chapter Fifteen
Maybeline Jones lives in a small condo complex in Encino. The units are built around a tree-lined cul de sac, on a narrow road that winds up just off Ventura Boulevard. I pull into one of the guest parking spaces and get out of the car. It’s so quiet I have to strain to hear the traffic. Hard to believe the noise and crowding on Ventura are just down the hill. I ring her bell just after eight thirty.
She comes to the door a little breathless, clutching her shoes in her hand.
“Hi, I’m running a little late. That dinner went longer than I thought. Come on in and make yourself at home.”
I follow her in. Just off the entry way, it’s all soft lighting, tastefully decorated, and the stereo set to a jazz station with Keith Jarrett moaning his way through “Too Young to Go Steady.”
“Nice,” I say, looking around at the comfortable furniture, full bookshelves and, a fireplace. I feel Maybeline watching me.
“There’s some beer and white wine. Help yourself. I’m just going to run upstairs and change.”
“Okay.” I wander into the pristine kitchen and grab a bottle of pale ale out of the fridge. There’s an array of countertop appliances, but it looks like they’re hardly used.
In the living room dining area, there are some art deco poster prints and one section of wall space reserved for framed photos. I look closely at one black and white of Maybeline in an evening gown, standing in front of a microphone, the blurry faces of a bassist and drummer behind her. Next to it is another of her and a young Cal I recognize from the photos my mother showed me. Cal is seated at a piano, Maybeline next to him.
I’m still staring at it when she comes back downstairs in a loose, floor length gown. “Your Daddy was a handsome man.”
“How old was he here?”
“Oh, maybe late twenties, early thirties. We hadn’t been together long when that was taken.”
I see the obvious facial characteristics we share, and feel the jolt of a sudden memory when I was introduced to a friend of my mother’s. The woman had looked at me and said jokingly, “This is Richard’s son? He doesn’t look anything like him?” I try to picture my mother’s face then but I can’t. How many times had that happened?
Maybeline motions me over to the couch. “Sit down, baby. You okay with that beer?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
She settles herself on the other end of the couch. “Well, here we are.” She looks at me, her expression more serious now. “I’ve been thinking about this since you called me from New York. I knew I’d meet you one day. I just can’t believe nobody told you about Cal.”
“Neither can I. My mother said she thought she was doing the right thing, always meant to tell me but…” I shrug. “It caught me totally by surprise.”
“I bet it did, and she probably did think she was doing right by not telling you, protecting you maybe.”
“From what?”
“Oh everything that happened. She might have been afraid Cal would come into your life and then leave again. I’m sorry, baby, but Cal was no saint.”
“No, I guess he wasn’t.”
“He had his own way but he was a good man. There are plenty like him. Suddenly a young father, a career before him, trying to make choices. Only with Cal it wasn’t just a career, it was an obsession. And he was so talented.”
“Tell me about the Miles’ band.
Were you with him then?”
She sighs. “Yes. That was so hard on him. He was so excited about it and then so disappointed and frustrated. You know John Lewis was the pianist and this was before the Modern Jazz Quartet days.”
“Yes, but I heard there were a lot of musicians in and out of that band.”
Maybeline nods. “Yes. Cal knew John and another pianist, Al Haig who sometimes made the rehearsals, so he subbed a lot. It looked like for awhile that John wouldn’t make it, so Cal got his hopes up.”
“Did you know he taped some of the rehearsals?”
“Oh God, yes. He played them all the time. He would stay up late, scribbling music, hoping Miles would want to use one of his tunes. Gerry Mulligan came by once to talk to Cal about it. He was doing a lot of the writing. So did Gil Evans. They were like a little club and Cal was almost a full member. He’d be so disappointed when he’d get the call from Miles or Gil Evans that they didn’t need him that week. It was like a roller coaster.”
I try to process all this as Maybeline talks. Gerry Mulligan, Gil Evans dropping by, talking music with Cal, getting calls to rehearse or stay home that day. Cal had never mentioned a word of this phase of his life. I tell Maybeline about the music sheets I found at Cal’s. “One of them was ‘Boplicity.’”
Maybeline smiles. “That was his favorite. He could sing all the parts, played it over and over, made notes about it.”
“Do you think he wrote it? The credit is to Cleo Henry. I found out ‘Cleo’ was Miles’ mother.”
“I don’t know. Really I don’t. He wrote down so many things and always took them to the rehearsals.” She turns and looks at me. “Sometimes people want something so badly, they convince themselves it’s actually happening. Sometimes I think that’s the way it was with Cal, but the longer the rehearsals went on, the less Cal was used, and when they finally got the Royal Roost gig and recorded, well, Cal just about fell apart.”
So near yet so far, I think. Getting so close and then having it dissolve, just pulled out from under you. “Al Beckwood told me Cal went to the first night, then left right after the band played ‘Boplicity.’”
“He was gone for two days, just disappeared. He came home finally, looking like a skid row bum. Slept for a day and a half. I was working then in an office, just trying to keep things together. I came home that second day and found him sitting in a chair just staring out the window. Nothing I said could console him. He knew it was over and there was nothing he could do about it. I didn’t know what to do, so I just left him alone.”
It must have been like thinking you’d won the lottery, then finding you were one number off. Cal had probably already visualized playing with Miles, seeing his name on the record, anticipating the future—then nothing.
“How long was he like that?”
“It was weeks before he came out of it. He was drinking so much it scared me. He gradually got himself together though. It was all I could bear to see his sad face, the disappointment. He just looked at me and said, ‘Well, baby what’s my next move?’ I told him, ‘Cal you were good enough to play with Miles. You can play with anybody, have your own band.” He just nodded and smiled but he really didn’t believe it.”
“How long were you with him?”
“Almost four years, then we kind of drifted apart. He was never the same. He worked on and off with different groups, and if he was home he’d just pace around, like he was waiting for something.”
“What?”
She shrugs. “Maybe you. He kept talking about contacting your mother, but like I said, he was afraid you might not want to see him or she wouldn’t let him see you. He’d had enough disappointment already. I understood, but I told him you do what you have to do.”
“How did it end?”
“I came home one day and found his stuff gone. He left a note, saying he had to get away for awhile, that he’d taken a gig on the road. A month later, he sent me a letter, saying it was best for both of us if he just stayed away. I knew he wasn’t coming back, so I gave up the apartment and moved in with my sister.”
“That was the last you heard from him, the letter?”
“No, once in awhile he’d call, just wanting to talk, but we never got back together. It had all changed.” She stands up. “Excuse me for a minute.”
I open the sliding door to the patio and go outside to smoke. There’s a small table and two chairs. Maybeline joins me a few minutes later, bringing me another beer and continues as if she hadn’t left the room.
“I know one thing. He was always wondering about you. That was a time he called me, after you two had met and you started studying with him. He wanted to tell you then but again, he just didn’t know how. You never guessed huh?”
“No, never. I felt some kind of connection with him but thought it was just about music. I wish I had spent more time with him now.”
“And I wish I had known he was right here in L.A.”
“We both missed out.”
“I followed that case in the news, about that crazy killer of those musicians, and you helping the FBI. I wondered then if he told you.”
“Yeah I was in way over my head.” I laugh. “Cal called me Sherlock. I spent a lot more time with him then. He knew all about what I was doing and came to the recording session when I made my first CD as a leader, even brought his dog Milton.”
She laughs. “Cal had a dog?”
“Yes, an old Basset Hound.”
“Never would have believed it. What happened to the dog?”
I tell her about Dana, renting her the house and having her take care of Milton. “Listen, I don’t know what I’m going to do about the house yet, but if I decide to sell it, could you handle the deal.”
“Where is it?”
“In the Hollywood Hills. Just a little cottage really but I’ve got some developer after me to sell. They want to build something on the property, condos maybe.”
Maybeline leans forward. “You’re sitting on some valuable land there. Sure I will. You just let me know.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” I stand up. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Can I call you again? I’d like it if we could stay in touch.”
Maybeline stands up and gives me a hug. “Oh, anytime, honey. I’m always here. If you think of anything else, you just let me know.”
“Thanks.” I look at her. “This was very valuable to me. You can’t know how much.”
She doesn’t say anything, just walks with me to the door. “Wait a minute. I have something for you.”
She runs back upstairs for a moment then comes back with a manila envelope. “I want you to have this.”
I look inside. It’s a black and white photo. Cal is seated at a grand piano and leaning against it, smiling at Cal, is Miles Davis. Just out of focus in the background is a baritone saxophonist that can only be Gerry Mulligan.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, baby,” Maybeline says. “You need to have this. It’s the happiest your daddy ever was.”
***
Driving back to Hollywood, my mind is spinning with all the things Maybeline told me about Cal. I’d never know it all but I had a better picture now. Between my mother’s memories, Maybeline’s, my own brief experiences with Cal, I had a good idea what his life had been like, what he had felt, enjoyed and yes, regretted. There was still that gap between when he had left Maybeline and when I first met him. How hard had it been for him to spend time with me, teach me, not tell me he was my father? I couldn’t begin to imagine.
I exit the freeway and drive up to the house. There’s one light on in the living room, a pillow and a blanket on the couch, and a note from Dana on the back of an envelope.
Evan,
I couldn’t stay up any longer. I hope you’re not mad. Wake me if you want to talk.
D
I take another look at the photo Maybeline gave me. She was right. Cal did look happy. Subbing with
Miles’ band, the leader himself smiling at him. How could he not be happy?
I put it aside and stretch out on the couch, drifting off almost as soon as my head hits the pillow. When I open my eyes again, the sun is filtering through the window, and I hear Dana rustling around in the kitchen. I sit up, the blanket still half over me as she walks in.
“I didn’t wake you did I?” She hands me a mug of coffee.
“No,” I say taking the coffee from her. “Thanks.” I take a sip and look around. She’s put up some posters, added new curtains, and rearranged the furniture. The other addition was a small desk where her computer, a stack of papers, and books with post-it notes sticking between some of the pages sit. “Place looks good.” I hear water slurping in the kitchen and look at Dana. “Milton?”
She nods. “Almost time for his walk.” As if he knows we’re talking about him, Milton lumbers out and comes over, gives a low moan and offers his head for me to scratch. He makes some other low sound then turns and looks expectantly at Dana.
“Come on, you,” she says to Milton. “I’ll be back soon. I left some towels out for you.”
“Thanks. Take your time. I’m still not quite awake yet.”
She snaps on the leash and goes out. I get up, stretch and head for the shower, standing under the hot water for ten minutes or so. I get dressed, pour another cup of coffee and wander around, thinking this place has never been so clean and neat.
On Dana’s desk, I glance at the papers and notes on her thesis. She wasn’t making that up. I turn on my cell phone and call the airlines. Plenty of flights to San Francisco so I pick one for late afternoon, and call Andie.
“Hey, girl.”
“Please tell me you’re coming home.”
“Yes. United at four twenty if all goes well. Listen, I want to go straight to Monte Rio so pack a bag. I have something coming I need to be there for.”
“Okay, sounds good,” Andie says. “I’m ready for some time away from the city. What is it that’s coming?”
“Some tapes I got in New York. I’ll tell you all about them when I see you.”