Like Dizzy Gillespie's Cheeks

Forty-eight

I wasn't completely awake when I found myself standing at the door of a huge, old, beautiful brownstone with an enormous picture window and stain-glass accents on top and in the corners of the window.

Liz derumpled my clothes, fixed my hair as best she could with the saliva on hand, so to speak, and kissed my boo-boo. I jerked my head back in pain.

"Ouch."

"Are you ready, big guy?"

I looked at her like a sick, sleepy puppy.

"You look pretty bad ..."

"Shit," I said as I looked around at nothing in particular to emphasis my panic.

"What?"

"I forgot to bring a gift, a bottle of wine or something ..."

"Jesus, Sam. Relax. I'll handle it."

"You'll handle it? She doesn't even know I'm bringing you!"

"You didn't let her know you were bringing a guest?"

"I ... no."

"Forgetting a gift is excusable, but forgetting to let the host know that you're bringing a guest, is not ..."

In midargument, the door opened and we both whipped our heads to the open door. My head felt like it was floating above and through the picture window as I attempted to focus on our hostess, Helena Storm.

"Sam ... and ... are you all right?"

Before I could form my mouth to make any sort of grunt, Liz spoke up.

"Ms. Storm, I'm Liz Brightwater ... a friend of Sam's. We apologize for not alerting you as to my accompaniment of Sam, as well as leaving a bottle of his favorite wine for you, in the cab—but as you can tell by looking at Sam, it's been a rather unusual day."

"Come in, come in. What the hell happened to you, Sam?"

"I fall down—go boom," is all I could manage to say.

Helena and Liz both looked at each other for what seemed like a long moment, and then giggled some sort of knowing woman giggle.

Her place looked as pristine and immaculate as the day it was decorated in 1965. Some of her furniture looked like it belonged in a museum. There were only hints of jazz history around, as it was mostly decorated with simplicity and taste—and lots of pictures of what I was assuming was family.

My nostrils came alive as we walked from the foyer to the front parlor, where the aroma of turkey, stuffing, and apple pie intersected with the comforting smell of smoke from a wood burning fireplace and the pine of a Christmas tree.

I was too dopey to count how many young adults, old adults, toddlers, and infants were there, but I wasn't too dopey to know that, in what was probably his favorite chair, sat Herb "Ivory" Storm—scholar, musician, genius—staring at me like the knot-headed, goofy-assed, inflammation-encrusted man that I was.

About to either pass out or puke, I stood in a cold sweat, staring at "Ivory" for what was, according to Liz when she told me two hours later, an uncomfortable amount of time. My empty stomach pleaded for fulfillment. I sweated through my heavy jacket, wool sweater, and thick corduroys as I began to feel weighed down. My eyes rolled back as I free-fell, taking in the vaulted ceiling, a beautiful chandelier, and the insides of my eyelids.

It was as though we played one of those trust games, where you stand high on a table and fall backward without fear, because I ended up in the arms of both Liz and Helena without thinking about it.

Sometimes if I wake up in an unfamiliar place, I shoot up in bed, my heart beats like a metronome going at two hundred fifty beats per minute, and I lose orientation. But this time, I awoke with a warm washcloth on my forehead and Helena rubbing my mop top.

"What'd I miss," I asked in a whisper.

"Besides dinner, two rounds of charades, dessert, and Green Bay kicking Dallas' ass, not much."

I smiled. "Oh, good. The party's about to start then?"

Helena looked at me the way I remember my mom had, when she was being my mom. Big, inviting eyes and a warm, unfrightened smile. She made me feel special.

"Are you all right?"

I thought about if for a second, because after passing out twice in the same day, with no history of that sort of behavior, I had to think about it for a second.

"I don't know ... I really don't. Can I get something to eat though? I'm starved, and the smell of your cooking isn't helping matters."

"Sure, let me grab you a plateful."

"How's Liz making out by the way? Is she still here?"

"You kidding, she's the life of the party. She's a master at charades, and I think one of my boys has a thing for her."

"Doesn't surprise me. She's easy to fall for. It's just unfalling for her, which is the hard thing ..."

Helena stood at the door trying to figure out what I meant. Until the smile indicated she got it.

"I'll be right back."

"Helena."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about all this ... really."

"Hey, listen, if I came to your Christmas party with a lovely lady, without a gift, passed out in the middle of everything, and then laid in your guest bedroom for a couple hours, I think you'd forgive me, wouldn't you?"

"Well, if you put it that way ..."

She smiled and closed the door behind her.

I closed my eyes one more time, and realized how much I had looked forward to spending some time with "Ivory" Storm. Possibly playing a tune with him, talking about Ben, just getting to know him better. I don't know if I was subconsciously looking for a Ben substitute, but the more I thought about it, the more it felt like I was. In the days leading up to this event, I didn't want to speculate whether "Ivory" would be there or not. I didn't want to think about it too much, because I didn't want to jinx it. I guess my strategy didn't work.