Sweet Thing

  I knew Pops loved Jenny; he had talked so highly of her. I felt like she was sort of my father’s parting gift to me. She was a good friend, a straight shooter. She didn’t kiss my ass because I was her boss. I would need that honesty in the weeks to come.

  Later, I popped into Kell’s. It was another slow day for the café, so I took a seat and nursed my hangover with some herbal tea. I spent the whole afternoon staring out the window, people-watching and eavesdropping on Paddy and Joe.

  “Have you been takin’ your pills, Paddy?”

  “I have, Joe.”

  “And have you had your levels checked again?”

  “I have.”

  “Jesus Christ, Paddy, are you goin’ to make me ask you a hundred questions?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m eighty-seven years young, can still move like the Lord of the Dance, and I haven’t smoked in twenty-five years. I’m fine.”

  “I think you need to diversify your activities is all I’m sayin’. You know I’ve been doing that yoga stuff with Beverly over at the senior center?”

  There was a long pause. I turned to read Paddy’s expression. He looked thoroughly disappointed. “But we’re Catholic, Joe.”

  Suppressing laughter, I stood up, turned toward the two brothers and smiled. Joe grinned from ear to ear and then, loud enough for me to hear, said to Paddy, “Isn’t Alan’s girl a beauty?”

  “That she is, brother.”

  I mouthed thank you to my father’s old friends and then waved to Martha and Jenny before heading home. Robert and Jacob would be arriving shortly for the lesson, so I threw on a sweater, jeans, and some Converse. I cleaned the apartment a bit before sitting on the couch to wait. I noticed Will must have been home because he’d set the mail on the counter. I was surprised I hadn’t seen him walk by Kell’s. I wondered if maybe he was avoiding me.

  When the buzzer rang, I hit the button to open the door immediately. I ran over to the phone and dialed Sheil.

  “Hello?”

  “Sheil, I have people coming up for a lesson; I just wanted to let someone know.”

  “Okay, darling. Do you want me to come down there?”

  “No, but if I don’t call you in an hour, send the troops. Love ya.” I hung up and ran to the door. I opened the door before Robert had a chance to knock.

  “Come on in. Hi, Jacob, I’m Mia,” I said to the little guy.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mia.” Jacob was way too mature for a four-year-old.

  “Hi, Mia.”

  I looked up at Robert. He was wearing a sincere smile. “Ok let’s get started. Come on over to the piano, Jacob, and have a seat. Robert, can I offer you something to drink?”

  Robert was standing between the two couches. He was looking down, examining the coffee-table books. He didn’t answer me for a whole twenty seconds and then his head shot up like he’d just realized that I asked him a question.

  “Oh, no thank you, I’m fine,” he said as he pushed the books around on the table. Apparently nothing jumped out at him because he sat down and began scrolling around on his phone.

  “A Photographer’s Life, The Annie Leibovitz one, is really good. You know her? She’s done a lot of work for Vanity Fair.”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  There were so many interesting options on the table that day; I was really surprised nothing sparked Robert’s interest. Along with the Annie Leibovitz book, there was Cecil Beaton: The New York Years and a book called Def Jam Recordings: The First 25 Years of the Last Great Record Label. On top of the three books, there was latest issue of The New Yorker along with a copy of Guitar magazine that Will had left. I shrugged, then turned around to stand behind Jacob at the piano.

  “Okay, little man, let’s get started.” I showed him a couple of fun exercises to build dexterity in his fingers. He liked making the steady sounds, even if it wasn’t in the form of a song yet. He swung his feet under the bench and laughed as he pounded on the keys. He told me his mom really wanted him to learn to play. I said his mom was a smart cookie and that I’d teach him everything I knew. Just then Robert stood up and walked over beside me.

  “Why don’t you play something, Mia? You know, so Jacob can hear a finished product.” The words “a finished product” struck me as odd, but I proceeded to sit down next to Jacob, who didn’t move from the center of the bench. I shimmied a bit, trying to get enough space to reach the pedals comfortably. Robert was clearly more interested in watching me play than hearing me play because he stood directly over me. With Jacob right next to me and Robert hovering, I decided on an easy piece since I probably wouldn’t be able to play well anyway. Just as I began playing Gymnopedie No.1, Robert spoke up. “Watch what she’s doing, Jacob.” Jacob looked like he was frantically trying to remember every move my fingers made.

  In a low voice I said, “Jacob, close your eyes and just… listen.” Jacob closed his eyes while I played the slow-moving song with resolute attention. Even though Gymnopedie No.1 is an easy piece consisting mainly of a one-note melody and very little rhythmic complication, it has always evoked great emotion in me. I hoped it would for my audience as well. Jacob and Robert remained quiet while I continued. Once I finished, they both clapped, Jacob a little more enthusiastically than Robert.

  “I think that’s it for today,” I said as I stood up from the bench and headed toward the door. Jacob scurried out onto the landing and Robert turned toward me.

  “That was really good, Mia. I think Jacob will enjoy this. Dana, his mom, is going to be thrilled.”

  “So this wasn’t your idea?”

  “Well, I have Jacob every other weekend and his mom has been urging me to get him into some kind of activity. I suggested tennis but she thought piano would be better for him. I think maybe she’s right.” I sensed a double meaning from his expression.

  “Did you study music in college?” he asked.

  “No, I took lessons growing up and I guess I just stuck with it,” I said. He nodded his head and smiled kindly. I knew the next part would get him. “I actually have a business degree from Brown.”

  He came to life. “You’re kidding me? I did my undergrad at Brown.”

  I wouldn’t say I was shocked, but the fact that we had the same alma mater was something of a coincidence.

  We continued talking about college and then Robert called Jacob back into the apartment so we could talk some more. We realized we weren’t at Brown together because Robert was eight years older than me. He’d been divorced for two years and was living in an apartment on the Upper West Side, but his ex and Jacob live in Greenwich Village, explaining why he was down in my neck of the woods the day we met in the café. He told me how Jacob loves the playground at Tompkins Square Park and how he’d been popping into Kell’s for a couple years.

  I basically told him my life story in a matter of minutes. He said he remembered meeting my dad once and that he was sorry for my loss. You could have knocked me over with a feather when Robert told me he was the Vice President of JP Morgan. He was getting better by the minute. I thought he must be the most successful thirty-three-year-old I knew. Then the conversation shifted.

  “Mia, I’m really impressed that you’re taking over your dad’s business and I think it’s cool that you have this little hobby.” He pointed to the piano. “I feel a lot better about Jacob taking lessons now.”

  I knew what he meant and I can’t say I totally disagreed. He didn’t want Jacob messing around with something that would take him nowhere, but the way he said “little hobby” just irked me. I thought about telling Robert that I love music and that it’s a huge part of my life, but instead I just nodded my head and smiled. I couldn’t believe he would think a child taking piano lessons could possibly be a bad thing. I decided to overlook his little blunder and focus on the fact that he was a good-looking, successful guy with hopes and dreams for his son.

  When Jacob started getting antsy, Robert said they better go. I reached out to s
hake his hand. He took my hand in his and held it up. For a second, it looked like he was inspecting my fingernails or debating what to do next. Then he looked right into my eyes and gently kissed my knuckles. He lingered there long enough that when he released my hand I felt the air touch a hint of moisture left from his lips.

  “Maybe we can grab a bite sometime?”

  “I would love that,” I said in a low voice, somewhat shocked from the gesture.

  “I’ll call you.” Right as he got to the stairs he turned around. “Oh, I almost forgot, how much do I owe you?”

  “Just dinner.”

  He nodded. “I’ll make it worth it,” he whispered and then went jogging down the stairs.

  When I closed the door, I leaned against it and exhaled audibly. I thought about the events that had just transpired. I felt giddy and excited over the prospect of going on a date with Robert, but I couldn’t help but wonder why his marriage failed. The next two days flew by. I saw Will once on Monday as we passed each other on the stairs. “What up?”

  “Yo!” I said as I high-fived him. I heard him chuckle behind me as he headed out to the street.

  On Tuesday, I spotted a new bottle of my spring rain body wash on the counter with a note next to it.

  HEY, ROOMY,

  I NOTICED YOU WERE GETTING LOW. WINK

  My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t tell if Will was flirting or if he was being friendly or if it was the same to him, but I knew I liked it either way.

  When I got home on Tuesday, he was sitting on the couch with his head back, eyes closed, listening to music and looking beautiful. “How was your day?” he said, his eyes still closed.

  “Pretty good.” I loved the fact that there was always music playing in our apartment. Either it was a new playlist on the iPod, a record or CD in the stereo, or one of us was jamming away on an instrument. “This is great, who is this?” I asked.

  “It’s Bon Iver; the album is amazing. He recorded the whole thing in a little cabin in the Wisconsin woods,” he said, finally opening his eyes and looking at me.

  “I can tell. The resonance seems totally organic.”

  Will’s head shot back. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

  I sat down on the couch next to him. He reached down and scooped up my feet at the ankles, then brought my legs over his lap, turning my body in the process. I was still sitting up awkwardly.

  “Lay your head back, let’s listen,” he said and I knew his intentions were pure. I put my head back on a throw pillow and closed my eyes. His hands rested on my lower legs, positioned across his thighs. During certain songs, he would gently drum the beat on my shins. Every time he did it, I couldn’t help but smile and peek up at him. His eyes remained closed; he was totally in the moment, in the music… I loved it.

  We listened to the whole CD like that. Eyes closed, not saying a word. When it started to play over again, we both opened our eyes. Will looked down at me with a tiny smile touching one side of his mouth. He had peace in his eyes, or maybe it was desire.

  “What’s the name of the album?” I asked.

  “For Emma, Forever Ago,” he said.

  Lucky girl.

  “Hey, where’d you take off to Saturday morning? Jenny said you were in a suit?” I didn’t want to bring up anything that might lead into a discussion of our little gaffe on Friday, but I was dying to know about suited-up Will.

  He smirked and laughed lightly. “Oh yeah, the suit. We all have matching suits. The guys from the band and I do weddings sometimes. Minus Pete of course—we just do instrumental stuff, you know? Saturday was crazy; we played for like seven hours and then partied with the bridesmaids until the maid of honor passed out and tossed her cookies all over Dustin’s lap.”

  “Oh.” I felt a touch of irritation at the possible meaning of partied with the bridesmaids.

  Will got up. “I’ll show you a picture.”

  Great! I hope he doesn’t think I wanted to see some picture of a bunch of blitzed girls wearing taffeta, or worse, blitzed girls wearing nothing.

  I stood up and walked toward the kitchen table where he was scrolling through his phone. When I approached, he held the phone out, showing me the screen. It was a photo of the three guys with their suits on and instruments in hand. Will had the black Gibson, Nate a stand-up bass, and Dustin a set of bongos. They all looked serenely self-possessed and professional, I was quite impressed. They were seated in a half circle next to a rustic gazebo. I could see other instruments in the photo. Leaning against Will’s chair was a ukulele and next to Dustin, a steel drum. I hoped I would get to see the guys play at a wedding someday.

  “I had no idea, Will. This is so cool.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “It’s just for extra money and we get to play all types of music—it’s pretty fun.”

  As I walked over to sit next to him at the table, I stubbed my toe. Searing pain shot through me. “Fuck!” I hopped on one foot. Will stood up and pulled my chair out so I could sit. He sat back down and, without saying a word, grabbed my bare foot and put pressure on all five toes, relieving the pain. He was analyzing my expression. I had my bottom lip tucked entirely into my mouth using my top teeth.

  He smiled. “You okay, baby?” I shook my head yes. “Is fuck your favorite swear word?” It occurred to me that I cursed like a sailor around Will and I had no idea why. I paused at the thought and then figured why stop now.

  “No, definitely not.” I took a breath. The pain had subsided but Will was still holding my foot in his lap. He started giving me foot massage; it felt divine. “There are at least five swear words I like better than fuck. My favorites are compound words like apeshit, craphat or batshit, but above all, my numero uno, all-time favorite swear word is assclown, without a doubt. Asshat runs a close second. I must say, very few things give me greater pleasure than calling someone an assclown when they really fit the bill. I love it more than puppies and baby seals.”

  Will laughed hysterically. He calmed down and shook his head back and forth. Still smirking, he said, “Mia, you are such an enigma.” I think I felt the same about Will.

  Moments later, he got up to get ready. He left around seven to go work at the bar. Our little hangout session was a success. No drinking, no slips, just getting to know each other as friends. I didn’t mention Robert to Will; I figured that was my business.

  I didn’t see Will at all on Wednesday, but I heard him. When the café slowed down, I walked over to Sam’s to pick up our weekly order of cannolis. Denise, the owner, has been making the delectable pastries since 1979, and we’ve been stocking them in the cooler at Kell’s ever since. Sam’s was quiet except for the muffled guitar sound coming through the ceiling. Will was playing something. I couldn’t put my finger on the tune, but it made me smile and it made Wednesday a good day.

  Track 5: Religion

  The next morning, I sat at the breakfast bar to paint my nails or attempt to, anyway. Will came into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He was wearing black jeans and a plain black T-shirt. His wallet chain jingled as he moved about the kitchen. Black on black on a man made my fingers tingle. Black on black on Will did more. I focused on my nails.

  “Good morning, Roomy. Aren’t you usually at Kell’s by now?”

  Staring down, I answered, “I’m going in late. It’s poetry night and Jenny wants me to meet some guy she’s into. I guess he does slam poetry or something.”

  “Yeah, Tyler, he’s my guy.”

  “You know him?”

  “He’s my best friend. He’s awesome! You know he’s like eight feet tall, right?”

  Will had a way of speaking where even though his exaggerations were obvious, it seemed like he truly believed what he was saying. It was like Will’s perception really was reality. He probably barely knew Tyler and Tyler was probably six-five. “Where have I been?”

  He eyed me speculatively, “I don’t know. Here, let me do that.” He took the polish out of my hand and I made no argument. As he painted my n
ails quickly, he hummed a mindless tune. There wasn’t a speck out of place. Once again Will proved he had extremely competent hands.

  “Impressive, Will,” I said admiring his work.

  “Eleven sisters, remember?” He leaned across the bar, pushed on the front of my nose with his index finger and said, “Boop. Gotta go, sweet thing.”

  He grabbed his guitar and headed out the door, humming away. I sat at the bar until my heart slowed down to a reasonable pace.

  Later that day at Kell’s, Jenny told me everything about Tyler. They had been dating for a couple of weeks and she was already head over heels. Jenny said Tyler wrote website content for a living. I laughed when she described it as prolific writing. She scowled at me and said, “Yeah, I know he’s not exactly Faulkner, okay, but he does write poetry and that’s some romantic shit.” In the short time I had known Jenny, it was obvious to me that even though she could be goofy and fun loving, she knew exactly who she was and she took herself seriously. It was a quality I knew others could see from her confidence and it was a quality I admired and envied.

  Jenny had been at Kell’s for so long because my dad paid her well. Pops barely made any money from the café. In fact, there were years in the recent past where Kell’s actually lost money because Pops continued giving health benefits and raises to his employees. They were like family to him and they were becoming my family too. Because my father owned the buildings that housed Kell’s, Sam’s, and mine and Sheil’s apartments, he was able to keep the café afloat and live pretty comfortably on the rental income. He didn’t care if Kell’s made money; he was just determined to keep it open because it meant so much to so many people. Jenny saw that loyalty in my father and she continued working for him and now me because of it. The income at Kell’s was enough to live on for her and the schedule gave her the freedom to pursue other projects. She designed websites, mostly for people she knew with small businesses, and she coached a little kid’s soccer team on the weekends. I knew Jenny and Martha were in it for the long haul with me, which motivated me to start making decisions. I was making up my mind about what to do, but there were still questions. I knew I would keep the café open, stay in my father’s apartment for now, teach piano lessons, and then what? I wanted more. I wondered if I could finally put that business degree to use to start a company. I thought maybe I would get to know Robert and he could help me. These questions ran through my mind on a continuous loop at times. It seemed like the only reprieve I felt from my life stresses was when I was with Will.