by BT Urruela
“Ooooh, sounds very intriguing. You’ll have to let me know when it comes out,” she says with genuine interest as she opens her door, letting in a cold rush of air that sends Grandma into shivers. I grab a blanket and wrap it around her shoulders.
“If it comes out,” I say with a chuckle. “That’s a big ‘if’.”
We pile out of the SUV and get Grandma situated in her wheelchair when Sami comes strolling up behind us.
“Hey, everyone,” she says with a beaming smile and a quick wave.
“Hey, Sami,” I respond, bringing her in for a hug, which I hold for a moment longer than I probably should. “Sami, this is Bobby and Cassandra.” I point to each of them and they pass her a smile and wave. I grab my Grandma’s wheelchair and spin it around to face Sami. “And this is Gracie. Everyone, this is Sami.”
“Well, hello there, Ms. Gracie, aren’t you looking quite beautiful today!” Sami says, bending over for a hug and Grandma slips one hand around Sami’s neck quickly before returning it to her side.
“Grace, are you ready for some jazz?” I ask, leaning down to her ear. She puts her hands together and brings them to her mouth.
“Oh yes!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together lightly.
“Let’s do this then.” I push the wheelchair toward the door and Bobby jogs up to open it.
As I allow Sami and Cassandra to pass through first, Bobby winks and gives me the look, indicating his approval, as I follow behind them with the wheelchair. I roll my eyes in response.
I’m happy to see the place isn’t busy, and there looks to be a spot to the right of the stage that’s blocked off completely as Bobby had said. A few patrons are peppered around the joint, but nothing I’d think would overwhelm her. It’s an old school Italian place with décor from the fifties and it’s lit mostly by candlelight. Once the door shuts closed, you can’t even tell the sun is shining outside. A hefty older gentleman in an ill-fitted charcoal suit blows mightily into a saxophone as an equally old, but rail-thin gentleman plays the piano and sings behind him. The sound system has been updated this century at least and the sounds echoing throughout the room would be pleasant if it weren’t jazz.
A short man, sixty-ish, with a thick salt and pepper mustache and a pronounced beer gut saunters toward us with a wide smile and extended hand.
“Hello! Bobby and Gavin, I’m guessin’? Frankie Viviano,” he says jovially, in his thick Brooklyn accent. “Come, come…I gotta great spot for yous guys.”
I haven’t ever met Frankie Viviano before, but I’ve heard many stories about the man who leads us to the spot in front of the stage and beside the dance floor, blocked off by velvet rope. He fought in Vietnam with Julius, and pulled him out after he stepped on the landmine, in fact. The experiences they had back then and ever since are stuff books are written about, and I soak up every opportunity Julius gives me to hear about them.
He unhooks one of the ropes and pulls it back, motioning for us to enter. There’s an open spot just for Grandma and I slide her in before pulling out a seat for Sami. As everyone sits down, I shake Frankie’s hand once more.
“Thanks again for doing this,” I say, putting a hand to my heart. “I really do appreciate it.”
He waves me off, shaking his head. “Don’t even mention it. Friend of Peg Leg’s is a friend of mine. I’ll send Sharlene right over for ya drink order.”
“Thanks.” I nod before taking a seat between Grandma and Sami. Grandma is mesmerized by the musicians, her eyes glued to them and her body swaying in her chair.
I catch Sami’s eyes on me in my peripheral, which draws mine to hers. As Bobby and Cassandra order drinks behind her, I lean in, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.
“Thanks a lot for coming,” I whisper.
She leans in a bit too and I catch a whiff of her intoxicating perfume. I shut my eyes, hoping the deep breath I take isn’t too obvious.
“No problem at all. It’s my pleasure,” she says softly, before leaning back into her chair and acknowledging Sharlene as she approaches with pad and pen in hand.
I tap Grandma’s shoulder and she doesn’t respond at first, her eyes fixated on the guy wailing away on his saxophone. I rest my hand against her shoulder this time and she turns, excitement in her eyes and a smile spread wide across her face. Her joy is contagious, and I find myself grinning as I watch her.
“Do you want a drink, Grace? Water? Tea?” I ask, and her gaze shifts up for a moment, as if in thought.
“Make it a Manhattan, sonny. Extra cherries,” she says, loudly, before she turns back to the band.
I laugh, shaking my head and giving her a gentle squeeze. “No, no alcohol, Grace.”
She shoots me a glare, the earlier joy now replaced with irritation.
“And why the hell not, young man?” she fires back, and I fight not to laugh again.
“You’re on medication, Gracie. Medicine you aren’t allowed to mix with alcohol.”
Bobby clears his throat in a way that lets me know he wants my attention. I turn my head and he shrugs.
“One won’t kill her.” He grins, and Sami shrugs with a look of agreement.
I remain silent for a moment, pondering my options for a bit before turning back to Sharlene. “Fuck it. Give me a Manhattan, extra cherries, and a Cabernet, please.”
“I’ll get those right to you,” Sharlene says, collecting our drink menus.
“Cabernet? You start writing again and you get all classy on us?” Bobby chides, lifting his balled hand with only his pinky straight out.
“Cute, Bobby boy. You just stick to your unoriginal mass-produced piss ‘beer’ and leave me to my dignified choices.”
We listen to the music for a few moments, before Sami leans in as Sharlene approaches with the drinks behind her.
“So, you’ve been writing again? That’s exciting,” she says genuinely, flashing her radiant smile.
“You kind of inspired it,” I blurt out, regretting it immediately. I try and stop myself from saying the first thing that comes to my mind, but it’s a losing battle time and time again. Especially regarding matters of the heart.
She pulls back, a hand on her chest, shock written all over her face as her martini is placed in front of her. “How did I do that?”
“I told you the other night. Secrets was writer’s paradise,” I lie, knowing full well it was her, and only her, that led to my writing marathon.
She laughs, wrapping her fingers around the stem of her martini glass and steadying her hand as she lifts it.
“You wrote something dirty then, I presume?” she asks before taking a drink.
I shake my head, and turn my focus from Sami, onto Grandma and her drink, considering how much I should admit. I collect a handful of napkins and wrap the bottom of her glass with them, throwing in an extra straw.
Turning back to Sami, I say, “To be perfectly honest, it had nothing to do with the sex club.”
“Swinger’s club,” she corrects me with a slanted smile.
“Is there a difference?” I ask, and she glances at Bobby and Cassandra, whose attention is on the stage.
“In present company, I’d rather neither word be used, but yes, I’ll take swinger’s club over the other option.”
“Well, fine then. It wasn’t the blank club that spurred my writing, if I’m being honest.”
She smirks, taking a drink as she arches an eyebrow, her eyes on mine over the crown of the glass.
As she lowers it, she asks, “What was it then?”
“It was you…” I say, my voice trailing, as my confession rings out.
There’s a faint sign of both confusion and admiration in her expression. “What do you mean, it was me?”
“I—I kinda, um, dig you, I guess. And Friday night was just so…” My voice trails again as I shake my head slowly, smiling wide as the memories from that night wash over me. “It was awesome.”
She hides her face in her hands, but she smiles behind them.
“Oh, God. I’m still so embarrassed,” she says, shaking her head before dropping her hands.
“Don’t be. It was highly entertaining.”
“And how exactly did I get you writing,” she asks, handling her glass once more.
“You’re just different than a lot of women. Unique. Original. And as a fairly unique and original guy myself, that’s quite appealing.”
“Well, thank you. I like to think so,” she says, pretending to poof out her hair. “But that still doesn’t quite explain to me how I got you writing. And I thought you didn’t date very much.”
“I don’t, but I live in New York City,” I say, laughing, but the challenge and Dr. Thresher’s warning in the back of my mind sends a heat flash down my back. “I interact with people all day.”
“I guess that’s quite the compliment, if I stood out in a city of millions, so thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So…what did you write about?”
“Just stuff,” I say, taking a drink of my Cabernet as my eyes flit to the stage.
“Don’t even,” she responds, wagging a finger at me. “You better spill it.”
“Just a guy and a girl meeting right now…getting to know each other.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks. “And how’s that going for them?”
“They’re really digging each other,” I respond with a mischievous smirk.
“And how’s the story end?”
“I haven’t written the ending yet,” I reply, just as the band finishes up a song and Grandma applauds wildly. She cradles her Manhattan and brings it slowly to her mouth, sipping, before returning it to the table in a shaky process I watch like a hawk.
As I turn back toward Sami, she says, “How’s it looking so far?”
“It’s looking good. Real good,” I add, feeling corny as all hell. Trying to change the subject, I add, “How were your plans last night, by the way?”
“They were wonderful,” she says, with a bright, genuine smile. “My parents met me halfway for dinner. We spent a few hours eating, drinking, and talking. It’s always so nice to see them, and I think after talking to them this week, they knew I needed it.”
“That’s great! I’m glad you got to spend some time with them. Are they not able to move closer this way so you can see them more often?”
She shakes her head before finishing off her martini and setting it aside. “No, my dad is a professor in American history at Oneonta and he loves it. They both love the lifestyle up there, too. I’m pretty sure more than a week in New York City and they’d wish me the best and go running for the hills.”
I laugh, shrugging and nodding my head. “Yeah, it’s not for everyone. I can see the value in both, for sure. What does your mom do?”
“She’s I guess what you would call ‘stay-at-home’, but we have horses, chickens, and more cats and dogs than they know what to do with, so she has her hands full. She’s incredible. Always putting family first and working to keep the house in order.”
“Honestly, it’s probably one of the hardest jobs, made harder when kids are involved.”
“Well, my parents happily stopped at one. They couldn’t have any more anyway, but I think they were just fine with that after my terrible twos,” she says with a giggle as Sharlene approaches again to take our orders. It’s then I see Bobby’s eyes on me, a shit-eating grin on his face. I shake my head, rolling my eyes, but his expression remains unchanged. Instead, he crosses his arms, purses his lips and slowly nods his head in approval. I scratch a conspicuous middle finger against my temple as I turn my attention back to Sami.
“What about your parents…do you get to see them often?” she asks.
“Uhhhh.” It’s all I can manage as my brain tries to come up with a response on the fly, without much luck. Her eyes drop to the carpeted floor and she waves me off.
“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
I put a hand up, passing a look of seriousness over my face in an attempt to ease the obvious tension. “Please, it’s no big thing. I just don’t really speak with my parents anymore.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she mutters, her lips slipping between her teeth as she brushes her dark hair behind her ear.
“Don’t be,” I say firmly, but with a smile. “I’m not. The best thing I ever did was rid my life of them.” I pause for a moment, wanting to say so much on the subject, but needing to get it right. “I have a handful of really great friends in my life. I’ve found, outside of my grandparents, they have been more family to me than my own blood.”
My focus shifts to the stage as I think and from the corner of my eye, I can see her settle in her seat with her eyes still on me. I turn back around, clear my throat, and say, “I didn’t have a great childhood. A pretty shitty one, actually. When I moved to New York City, I faked the funk with them for a while. Stayed in contact, visited them when I could during holidays, tried to make it all feel normal…until I realized it wasn’t. None of it was normal, nor had it ever been. It was like an epiphany I got one day. Pulled out a pad and pen and just opened the floodgates. I wrote down every issue I had with them, the pain they caused my brother and me, and how it still affected us. There was just complete apathy on the other end. They were lifeless. And I was done. I haven’t talked to them since.”
“How long has it been?” she asks, her expression soft and voice low, almost too low to hear.
“About four years ago. Best thing I ever did,” I say confidently, my back straightening a bit unintentionally. She smiles faintly before taking a sip of her drink.
“I’m glad to hear that,” she says, not quite seeming to know what to say.
As a growing anxiety takes hold in me, I say the first thing that comes to mind.
“Don’t make shit all awkward now.” This seems to break the tension, and she smiles, poking her tongue out at me.
“Has your Grandma always lived here?” she asks, and I instinctually put a finger to my lips.
Leaning in, I whisper, “She’s, uh, she’s got Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t remember I’m her grandson. So, mum’s the word with the g-word.” I pull back and smile as she nods her head.
“Sorry,” she whispers, cringing.
“No problem at all,” I respond in a normal volume. “Grace has lived here in New York City her whole life.” I place a hand on Grandma’s shoulder and give her a soft squeeze as she moves her body along with the music, more so now than when we first got here. She’s absolutely beaming with excitement and it knots up my throat to see. “She was a nurse at Presbyterian and my grandpa was NYPD for twenty-eight years.”
“That’s so incredible,” Sami says, her hands clasped over her heart.
Her expression abruptly changes to worry and she turns, motioning to Bobby and Cassandra. “Oh, my God, I feel like such a jerk sitting here with my back to you and cutting you out of the conversation.”
“That’d probably be my fault since I sat you,” I mention, and she flashes me a smile.
Bobby puts up a hand and waves her off with a shake of his head.
“Please, you guys enjoy yourselves. We certainly are.”
“I’d love to get to know you both as well, though,” Sami responds. Standing, she scoots her chair just beside mine, making room so Bobby and Cassandra can pull their chairs closer.
As the girls engage in their own conversation, about hair and whatnot, Bobby drags his chair even closer to me. He sits with his back to the band and his focus on me. He smiles, curling a finger for me to lean in. I roll my eyes and oblige.
“What?” I whisper. “She’s right there.” I motion my head back, with my eyes darting over to where Sami sits, just a foot or so away, but leaning away from us at least, deep in conversation with Cassandra.
“I’ll be quiet,” he responds.
“What’s up?”
“I don’t know, bro,” he says, his eyes flitting to Sami and back. “What is up? You didn’t tell me about this little change in
the plans. I like it.”
“I didn’t tell you because it just happened, and more importantly, because I didn’t wanna hear any of your nonsensical bullshit.”
He rears back a bit with fake hurt in his eyes and a hand to his chest.
“That hurts, bro.”
“Oh, fuck off,” I say, shaking my head.
He leans back in and asks, “So…” letting it linger in the air. “What. Is. Up?”
“Nothing,” I reply, shifting back in my seat, crossing my arms in defiance, and focusing on the band instead of Bobby. He leans over until his face is right in my line of sight, a ridiculous smile on his face. I laugh abruptly, and shake my head, trying my best to ignore him, but he moves in again and clicks his tongue for my attention.
“You know I won’t leave you alone until you tell me,” he says, that stupid grin still on his face.
“Does this seem like the appropriate time, Bobby boy?” I ask, motioning to my right side.
“We’re being quiet enough.” He jabs a fat thumb toward the saxophonist behind him. “Kenny G’s got us covered.”
“Just testing the waters,” I say, keeping things short.
“And how does the water feel?” he asks, wriggling his brow and it makes me want to both slap him and laugh at him at the same damn time.
“The water feels refreshing. But I’ve just got my toes in. As it should be.”
“Just don’t piss in the water,” he responds, and I pass him a scrutinizing look.
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. I was trying to think of more water analogies and besides shriveled balls, that’s all I could come up with.”
“Well, A for effort, good buddy,” I say with a dramatic thumbs up.
“Wait!” Sami exclaims, surprising both Bobby and me, and drawing our attention to her. “RJ Callahan?” There’s a hint of awe in her voice, and her eyes are trained on Bobby.