Breakfast in Bed

by Rochelle Alers

  He had earned a graduate degree in education as a backup in case he ever tired of being a session player for various bands; however, in less than twenty-four hours, his well-ordered life had changed. Now he would spend the next five months teaching, running a department, playing at Jazzes on the weekend, and assisting his brother whenever he had to cater for any party for more than twenty-five.

  Gage smiled, but the gesture did not reach his eyes. “Murdock is a hard act to follow.”

  Dr. Carter nodded. “That he is, but I have no doubt you’ll be able to build on what he has accomplished with our students, because what you’ve done with the jazz band is phenomenal.”

  “That’s because I’m working with a group of very talented young musicians.”

  “Don’t be self-deprecating, Toussaint; the kids are close to worshipping you.” He glanced at his watch. “Classes are about to change, so I’m going to let you go.”

  Gage nodded, turned on his heel, and headed down the hall. He opened the door to the band room at the same time the bell rang. Within seconds the hall was filled with students pouring out of classrooms. He entered the room and draped his jacket over the back of the desk chair. Murdock had pasted on the desk a printout of the orchestra with the various sections and the names of the students and where they were seated. He studied the printout, then picked up the sheet music resting on the stand in front of a stool. A yellow Post-it was attached to a page of Dvorak’s Symphony No. 9 in E minor op. 95 “From the New World.”

  Gage wrote his name on the white board, and then nodded to each student as they filed into the room. He saw surprise cross the faces of his jazz band students. It was apparent they were not prepared to see him directing the orchestra. Once all were seated and had taken out their instruments, he sat on the stool.

  “For those who are not familiar with me, I’m Mr. Toussaint and I’m going to be your teacher for the rest of the school year. Unfortunately, Mr. Murdock has experienced a medical emergency. Those who are in the jazz band know me well and what I expect from them. I will have the same expectations from the orchestra.” He paused briefly. “I know the fall concert was a rousing success, but it’s usually the spring concert that is the musical highlight of the school year.

  “This spring I would like to try something different, but that all depends on how hard you all are willing to work. I expect you to practice whatever we go over in class, and if called upon, you will play in front of your classmates.” Glances were exchanged amid whispers. “It’s not to put you on the spot, but for me and your peers to acknowledge your musical genius.” Laughter, high-fives, and fist bumps followed his compliment. “I’m going to give you three minutes to warm up, and then I want Mr. Santos to come up and play for us.”

  A rush of color flooded the boy’s face. “I didn’t get a chance to practice it.”

  “Mr. Murdock doesn’t make us play if we don’t practice,” said one of the viola players.

  Gage resisted the urge to shake his head in exasperation. “Well, I’m not Mr. Murdock, and if you don’t practice at home, then you’ll practice in front of the class.” Minutes later, he beckoned to the clarinetist. “Mr. Santos, please bring your music.” The band room was so quiet he could hear breathing coming from those sitting closest to him. Gage did not want to embarrass the boy, but if he was a serious music student, then it was incumbent upon him to practice. He slipped off the stool and waited for the student to sit and arrange his music. “We’re listening, Mr. Santos.”

  The first few notes came out in high-pitched squeaking until he settled down and played the piece flawlessly. There was deafening silence for several seconds before the room erupted in applause, Gage clapping along with the others. “Excellent.” The boy returned to his seat, exchanging high-fives and handshakes with his classmates.

  A French horn player raised his hand. “Mr. Toussaint, may I play my solo?”

  “Me, too,” came a chorus from the assembly.

  The students asking to play solos meant they were confident enough to play in front of their peers. His eyes swept over their eager faces. “Okay. We’re going to begin with the violins, then the violas, and follow with the cellos and bassist. Each section will play their part, and then it will be the woodwinds’ turn, followed by brass and percussion. Once everyone has their turn, then time permitting we’ll play the entire movement.”

  It had only taken one class for Gage to assess the students as quite accomplished when it came to reading and playing music. Two months before, they had performed in the winter concert, and now it was time they practice for the spring frolic, and the compositions Mr. Murdock had chosen did not match their ability to play different genres. Gage had spent years playing classical music, but it wasn’t until he was introduced to ragtime, jazz, and the blues that he felt alive, as if the music was personally talking to him.

  He glanced up at the wall clock as the students packed away their instruments. There was still another three minutes before the bell rang. “Can anyone tell me what the first instrument was?”

  Several hands went up. “It was the drum,” called out the percussionist.

  Gage smiled. “Even before that.” He was met with silence and blank stares. “What about the voice? Did not man have the ability to sing even before the first drum was constructed?”

  “Word!” yelled Mr. Santos. “I saw an a capella group competition, and they made music with their voices that sounded like instruments.”

  Gage nodded. “You’re right. We’ll talk about this at the end of the next class.”

  He watched the students file out of the band room as ideas in his head tumbled over one another. This was his last year teaching under the two-year grant, and he wanted to leave more of an impact on the school than just starting a jazz band. Reaching for the leather portfolio case with his initials stamped on the front cover, he opened it and took out a pen and legal pad. Fifty minutes later he had jotted down several ideas he wanted to present to the instructors chairing the drama and choral clubs.

  He found Murdock’s office, opened the door, and slowly walked in. Framed posters of musicians from bygone eras to the present lined three of the four walls. Gage didn’t know why, but he felt like an intruder. The music teacher had not spent more than twenty-four hours in the hospital and already he had been replaced. It was a sobering reminder that everyone was replaceable. He stared at the photographs of Louis with his wife and children during happier times when they visited Disney World and the Grand Canyon. Gage made a mental note to call the hospital to ascertain when Murdock would be able to receive visitors.

  As he had booted up the desktop and programmed a password, he reminded himself that he had to call his brother and apprise him of the change in his work schedule. Eustace had confided to him that when he had checked with his physician before embarking on an exercise regimen, the doctor ordered a battery of tests, and some of the results were not good. Not only was he overweight, but his blood pressure was elevated and his cholesterol levels were much too high. It had become a wakeup call for Eustace to change his current lifestyle. He stopped eating fried foods and decreased his sodium intake. He had sworn Gage to secrecy because he did not want his wife to know what she had suspected for years—that if he didn’t change his diet, then he was going to have either a heart attack or stroke.

  Gage transcribed his notes into a memo, revising it several times before emailing to those assigned to the music and art department. Slumping back in the chair, he stared at the computer monitor, and recalled Tonya’s words: All work and no play makes for a dull boy. He did not know when she had said it how prophetic the statement would be. Gage was aware that he could have rejected the offer to become a member of the school’s faculty, but he now realized it would have a negative impact on the students if they had to wait for the district to search for, interview, and hire a replacement.

  Well, Tonya, he thought, you’re right, because for the next five months it will be all about work. Not only would he wo
rk with both the orchestra and jazz band, but also plan and rehearse for the upcoming spring concert, which was coming to resemble opening day for a big Broadway play. It would involve musicians, singers, actors, and stage designers. Ruminating about the concert was not going to solve the dilemma of his going into the restaurant to prep before Eustace arrived at eight.

  Reaching for his cell phone, he tapped the number to the restaurant. It rang three times before his niece answered. “Nicky, can you please put your dad on the phone?”

  “Hold on, Gage, he’s right here.”

  “What’s up, bro?”

  It took Gage less than a minute to explain to Eustace the change in his status at the school. “I have to clock in at eight, so I’m not going to be able to cover for you the days you work out.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem now that Tonya’s here. I gave her a key and the code to the security system. I’m almost certain she wouldn’t mind coming in early, but just in case I’m being presumptuous, you should let her know why you won’t be here. Hold on, and I’ll give you her number.”

  “Don’t bother. I have her number.”

  There came a noticeable pause. “You have her number?” Eustace asked.

  “Yes. She gave it to me this morning. I know you guys are busy now, so tell her I’ll call her later on this afternoon.”

  “No problem. Congratulations, professor. Or should I say maestro.”

  Gage laughed. “Neither.”

  “I gotta hang up now and get back to the kitchen because my girls are giving me the stink eye.”

  Gage ended the call, smiling. Tonya had appeared on the scene like a fairy godmother. When she left New Orleans following his cousin’s wedding, Hannah had mentioned Tonya planned to return at the end of January. But by some miracle she had come earlier than predicted. Circumstances could not have been better if he had planned it. Eustace could continue to work out as recommended by his doctor; Tonya had volunteered as a baker and sous chef for the restaurant; while he was stepping in for a fellow musician who had selected Gage to become an artist-in-residence. Although he and Louis Murdock had grown up in the same Tremé neighborhood, they rarely saw each other. By the time Gage entered grade school Louis had left New Orleans for Potsdam, New York, to enroll in the Crane School of Music. They were reunited years later when Louis returned to his hometown after three decades of teaching music education in various New York City and Washington, D.C., public schools.

  A reply to his email appeared on the monitor. It was from the director of the marching band. Like Gage, he was paid from a discretionary budget to rebuild the band after the former director had been fired the year before. He indicated the days and times he was available to meet with Gage to discuss the plans for the concert. By the time he left the office to pick up lunch from the faculty lunchroom, he had received two more replies.

  He had a jazz band class at two, followed by an hour of practice, and then he planned to call Tonya to update her on his teaching schedule and ask whether she would be willing to cover for him.

  Chapter 8

  Tonya worked well with identical twins Nicole Dupree and Melinda Shaw, who arrived together at eight-thirty and greeted her as warmly as if she were a long-lost cousin. She had met them for the first time the summer before at St. John’s family reunion. The thirty-five-year-old women had inherited their father’s complexion and height, and their mother’s doll-like features.

  Both had graduated college, earning degrees in social work like their hospital-based social worker mother, but after marriage and motherhood they were stay-at-home mothers until their children were school age, and then opted to work in the family-owned restaurant. They told her they left promptly at two in order to arrive home to meet their children’s school buses. Nicole, the mother of two sets of twins, admitted she didn’t miss counseling clients or updating case notes, because now she could spend more time with her children, while Melinda admitted she had always preferred working with her hands, because her first career choice had been to study art.

  Melinda adjusted the hairnet covering her short natural hair under a baseball cap before she unlocked the front door. “Tonya, you can work the counter with me, while Nicky will take care of table service.”

  “Are you ever filled to capacity?” Tonya asked as she placed a tray of white rice in one of the aluminum pans filled with hot water. Several other trays were filled with red beans, shrimp etouffée, chicken-andouille gumbo, dirty rice, and jambalaya.

  “Not too often. Most times our customers fax their takeout orders, and a few will begin calling around ten thirty for an eleven o’clock pickup. Then we have some folks who have a standing order, so once we hear their names we know what they want.”

  “What happens when you sell out of a particular item?” Tonya asked.

  “We don’t replenish it,” Melinda said. “If there are leftovers, then Daddy will donate them to our church for their soup kitchen. He believes it’s a sin to throw away food.”

  Tonya nodded in agreement. She had worked at several New York City restaurants that had joined City Harvest and donated food to organizations dedicated to feeding the hungry rather than throw it away.

  As soon as the first customer walked through the door, the work continued nonstop until closing time. There was nothing left to donate, because everything had sold out. Melinda and Nicole tossed their aprons in the laundry bin, kissed their father, and rushed out to make it home before the buses dropped off their children. Tonya cleaned off tables and stacked chairs in a corner, and then swept the floor. By the time she returned to the kitchen, Eustace had filled the dishwasher with dishes, flatware, and pots.

  “It’s quitting time for you, young lady,” Eustace announced loudly. “As soon as I clean the stovetop and mop the kitchen, I’m out of here.”

  “Do you want me to clean the stove?”

  Eustace pointed in the direction of the back. “You’re done for the day, so I’m ordering you to leave.”

  Tonya affected a snappy, “Yes, sir, boss!” Both were laughing when she took off her apron. “I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early.”

  Eustace wiped his shaved head with a paper napkin. “Not too early. Remember, I’ll be here around six.”

  “And I’ll see you at six, because I have to put up the bread dough for the baguettes.”

  “Thank you for reminding me that I have to call the bread man and cancel tomorrow’s delivery.”

  She left Chez Toussaints eight hours after she had walked in, feeling more alive than she had in months. Working in the kitchen alongside Eustace had revived her passion for learning to prepare dishes that were not in her repertoire. She managed to sample a spoonful of each dish and concluded red beans and rice with grilled chaurice—a Creole hot sausage—was one of her favorites. Tonya knew if she did not carefully monitor what she ate, she would regain the weight she had lost.

  When she had gone for her annual health checkup, the results of her tests indicated she wasn’t overweight, but over the years the pounds had begun to creep up, and there were times when she felt winded climbing subway stairs, especially in the winter when wearing a heavy coat. But once she began shedding the pounds, she had a lot more energy.

  Tonya left the restaurant and drove in the direction of the Lower French Quarter, where she planned to buy fresh produce. Hannah had stocked the guesthouse with meat, fish, and staples, but Tonya had made it a practice to eat several servings of fruit and vegetables every day. She managed to find parking and walked to the market with its graceful arcades that spanned six blocks.

  Within seconds she felt as if she had been transported back in time to when residents went down to the river, where fishermen, farmers, and artisans called out to customers to purchase their products. She passed trinket stands and shopkeepers selling pralines, muffulettas, and fresh herbs. By the time she left, her tote and several shopping bags were bulging with her purchases.

  She was five minutes into the return drive to the Garden D
istrict when her cell phone rang and Gage’s name and number appeared on the dashboard screen. Tapping a button on the steering wheel, she activated the Bluetooth feature. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go out with you tonight because I have to get up early and bake bread,” she said teasingly.

  A deep chuckle came through the speaker.

  “I’m not calling to take you out tonight, because both of us have to get up early. But I do need to see you.”

  Tonya stopped for a red light at Jackson Square. Her pulse quickened. The first thought that came to mind was something had happened with Eustace. “Is Eustace okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  She exhaled an inaudible breath of relief. “When do you want to see me?”

  “Now. That is if you’re not busy.”

  “Right now I’m not home. Can you give me about fifteen minutes to get back to the Garden District?”

  “I’m already here. I’m parked on the street outside the house.”

  Her eyebrows lifted with this disclosure, wondering what could be so pressing or important that Gage had come to her home. “Okay. Once I’m close enough, I’ll open the gates for you to park near the garages.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  She tried coming up with different scenarios as to why Gage would have to talk to her in person rather than tell her on the phone, and each time she dismissed the possible situations. In the end she knew she would have to wait to hear it from him.

  Lengthening shadows shrouded tree-lined streets as she maneuvered down the block leading to DuPont House. Reaching for the remote device under the visor, she punched a button, and the gates to the imposing mansion opened. She saw the taillights of the white Audi SUV come on and disappear when Gage drove through, she following his vehicle. Tonya tapped another device, and the doors to a three-car garage opened smoothly. The garage was empty, indicating LeAnn and Paige were both out. She knew even if she did occupy a first-floor suite, she doubted whether she would see much of the now retired schoolteachers. She drove into the garage and cut the engine. Gage was out of his car to meet her when she opened the hatch to remove her purchases.