Like Dizzy Gillespie's Cheeks

Thirty-one

There was no conversation about or reference to Liz as I made my way back into the den of wired souls. I wondered if Max, in his "helpful" way, filled Kate in about my on-again-mostly-off-again relationship with Liz. I'm sure I'd find out soon enough.

Max and Tracy announced they were three months pregnant. I didn't know how to react. I never do when people announce big things like that. Marriage, babies, new houses. I only end up comparing myself to whatever situation is at hand, and using it as some perverse yardstick of life. Never measuring up.

Now if they'd told me someone had died, I'd have known how to react. I know how to react to death. It just comes naturally. My heart skips a beat. I get that knot in the pit of my stomach followed by the dizzy sensation. The loud, irrational voice of sorrow bellows from my mouth. And then I'm OK.

It was about 1:30 a.m. when we all stood outside watching our words develop in the cold air. Since cabs seemed to be at a premium, we all decided to share one.

I sat in the back, between Kate and Tracy, while Max sat up front with Osama, our Saudi-born driver. Max usually likes to chat it up with the cabbies. To him, it's fascinating to talk to people he usually wouldn't have the opportunity to talk to, to understand what their lives are about and how different their experiences are than his. For me, the only reason to talk to the cabby is to ask him to put the window up or put it down, whatever the case may be.

So while Max discussed the advantages and disadvantages of terrorism, I made my own conversation with the women.

"Have you guys ever heard of Judith Aaron, the artistic director of Carnegie Hall?"

"I haven't," said Tracy.

"Neither have I," said Kate.

"It's just as well ... she died today."

"Was she a friend of yours?" Tracy said with concern.

"No. I wish I would've known her; she seemed like a fascinating person. You guys would've really liked her."

The look on their faces said they weren't sure why I brought this woman up, but decided it was better conversation than what was going on in the front seat.

"You cannot fight terrorism with a cruise missile," Osama said to Max with a finger point for emphasis.

"How did you ... know about her?" Kate asked reluctantly.

"I read about her in the obituaries this morning."

"Is there a reason you read the obituaries this morning?" asked Tracy.

"I've been reading them ever since Ben died." My head whipped from Kate to Tracy. "You know, fascinating people die every day."

I guess I threw them off, because, for the rest of the trip, it was silent in the backseat while Max voiced his suspicions about some Saudi millionaires driving American troops out of Somalia in the early '90s and some gibberish about the World Trade Center bombing.

Lucky for us, Max and Tracy's place wasn't too much farther.

We all sat in silence as Osama pulled up to curb. Max turned to me with a wink and a grin.

"You got this one, big guy?"

Several thoughts about Max passed through my mind, none of which were very positive, but what came out of my mouth was, "Yeah, I got this one."

Once I realized Max and Tracy were about to leave Kate and me alone in a cab together to determine where the cab was about to head, I hyperventilated. I couldn't breath. I couldn't communicate. Max, Kate, and Tracy couldn't tell if I was serious or joking, but Osama knew it was serious. Serious enough to freak out, thinking I was having a seizure or something.

"Out of my cab! No dying in my cab! Out of my cab!"

I was able to reach across Kate, roll the window down, and get a breath of fresh air.

Kate instinctually held me and started to rub my head to calm me down. I had no choice, other than to go with it. Osama kept yelling until Max told him to shut his terrorist-supporting ass up or he'd call his buddy, Bill Witherspoon (no doubt a made-up name), at the FBI.

"If it's that big of a deal, I'll pay for the cab, man," Max said.

I managed a little chuckle, and explained that I got a little claustrophobic but that I'd be all right. Tracy and Max left the cab. I wished I could've, but Kate gave Osama her address and told him to drive on.

"Feeling a bit vulnerable right now, Sam?"

"A bit."

She put her arm around me again, pulled my head to her breast, and comforted me like a baby. I fell asleep and had a strange dream about Ben. It's peculiar to say I had a strange dream, because it seems like all dreams are strange ... at least to me they are. I don't dream that much, so when I dream, I think they're strange.

So in this dream about Ben, I was at his funeral playing the piano. Everyone was dressed in red rather than black. Maybe we were all in hell, I don't know. As I was playing the piano, my cell phone rang—not that I have a cell phone, but that's another story. So I stopped playing the piano and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Sam Greene?"

"Yep."

"I've got a collect call from a Mr. Ben Webster."

I looked around in disbelief. I looked at the casket sitting in front of me; I looked at the people in the pews. The reverend, who was standing at the pulpit, mouthed, "Who is it?" I mouthed, "Ben." He mouthed back, "Tell him I say hello."

"Sure, I'll accept the charges," I said into the phone.

"Thank you. Connecting," the operator said.

"Hey, Fingers."

"Ben?"

"What the hell you playing?"

"I'm playing 'Bags' Groove,' your favorite."

"It's my favorite when Bags plays it, not you."

"Oh," I said. And with that, I felt a nudge on my shoulder, heard my name whispered in my ear, and felt some wetness on my left cheek. Either Kate was lactating, or I drooled all over her shirt.

"Sam, we're here."

"Kate ... um."

"Yeah, I know. Hyperventilating and drooling all in one night is pretty tough. Do you want to come upstairs and ease your pain?"

Questions abounded. Do I let the fear take over, or do I act like an adult? Do I lay it on the line or tow the company line (whatever that means)? Not an easy decision, especially after having two embarrassing as hell episodes in a matter of twenty minutes.

Apparently my pondering was taking longer than I imagined, because Kate was just staring at me and Osama was tapping the divider glass impatiently.

"Are you going with the lady or not? I do not have all night with you people."

"I should probably go," I said, regretting the decision as soon as it came out of my mouth.

"You sure?"

"No, but I think it's the best decision for the time being."

"Can I give you some money?" Kate went for her wallet.

"Sure, but not for the cab ride." I smiled, eliciting the crooked smile before Kate left the cab.