Like Dizzy Gillespie's Cheeks

Fifty-one

Before I left for Helena Storm's house for a surprise visit, I checked the message from the night before. I was shocked to discover it was my old friend Chad, the gay landlord. He called to inform me that he and Jack were finally tying the knot. The event was scheduled for New Year's Eve. Since Jack surprised Chad and proposed to him on Christmas day, there was no time for invitations, so they were calling all their friends to invite them by phone. Because it was going to be really romantic, they wanted me to bring a date.

Hearing Chad's voice after so long was both strange and comforting. Of course, it made me think of Timothy, which made me think of death, which made me think of Ben, which made me feel sad. But I also felt special that they thought of me. I was a little uncomfortable with the whole romantic aspect of his call, but that's a bridge I wouldn't need to cross for five days.

As I approached Helena Storm's front door, I hoped to hell that one, she was there, and two, if she was there, she wouldn't mind a surprise visit from me. If she wasn't there, what the hell was I to do with the bottle of Kendall Jackson Merlot?

It took her so long to answer the door, I actually turned and walked down the porch to leave.

"Mr. Greene. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

I turned around at the bottom of the porch, looked up, and saw Helena, a drink in one hand, and the other outstretched for a hug.

"I come bearing gifts ... and apologies for ruining your party yesterday."

"No problem. I happen to be having one right now that you can ruin. Come on in."

On the way in, I handed her the wine in exchange for a kiss hello.

I got the distinct impression that Helena Storm liked to party. As I entered her home for the second time in two days, the atmosphere was a little different than the first time. For one thing, the place was filled with elderly women, all drinking and eating and talking at the same time.

"Excuse me, ladies," Helena yelled out to the crowd. "I'd like to introduce you all to a good friend of mine."

"Is this the stripper you promised?" One of the ladies heckled while ladling what looked like eggnog into a cup. Laughter erupted from everywhere as every woman seemed to take a sip of her drink at the same time.

"No, Alice, the stripper will be at your place a little later for a private dance." More laughs. "This is Mr. Sam Greene. He's a jazz pianist."

"What did she say about his penis?" one woman said to another.

"I think she said it was green."

"How would she know?"

Although the average age of these women was probably pushing seventy, the place was dizzy with action. Helena invited me to stay and visit with her lady friends. I felt it was the least I could do.

I mostly listened as they gossiped about one another and told stories about sex, driving under the influence of medication, and the advantages of being a senior citizen.

"Stella keeps insisting she's engaged to Bob Barker," Emilia, a woman with a shawl and an attitude, said to no one in particular.

"Go on," said Sadie.

"No, really. She's gotten wedding invitations made up and everything. She just hasn't sent them out yet."

"She's crazy," said Barbie.

"Says she's waiting for Bob to come back to town to help her address them," said Emilia.

"Damn right, she's crazy, but that's all right. We're all a little crazy," said Sadie.

"No. We're all a little drunk," said Helena.

More laughs as they all seemed to drink at the same time again.

Alice felt like she had to get a comment in. "You know she has that creepy hairless dog she calls 'Bugs.' It looks like a damn rat, it does."

"She takes that thing everywhere she goes," said Emilia.

"You know," said Elana with a New York accent, "if I saw her on the street, I'd tell her to get a life, and fast."

"All right. All right. Enough about poor Stella," said Helena.

"Yeah, let's talk about Helena's boyfriend here, the stripper with the green penis."

Giggles turned into belly laughs as the ladies lifted their cups of eggnog, as if in ritual, and said, "To the stripper with the green penis."

Helena brought me a nice-sized slice of Bundt cake and a cup of eggnog.

"Here ya go, hon. Let's try to catch up."

I didn't understand what she meant until I bit into the viciously spiked Bundt cake. I grabbed the eggnog to wash down the harsh liquor flavor of the cake, only to be greeted by the abundantly liquor-doused eggnog. It was as though someone had fallen asleep at the measuring cup wheel while preparing these two recipes.

I blurted out an involuntary, "Wow, what the fuck!" But through their laughter at my reaction, no one really heard what I said.

"I have a mystery to be solved," Helena announced as she pointed to an arrangement of silk flowers. "These gray silk flowers were once as white as the dress I wore on my wedding day. Why have they gone gray?"

"It's called dusting ... not enough of it," yelled Sophie.

These women laughed more than a bar full of guys.

"Why don't we do a duet, Sam? Just like old times." Helena grabbed my hand and led me to the piano. I caught a glimpse of my forehead as we passed an old mirror. The knot had gone down, only to be replaced by more discoloration. And as I sat on the hard, wooden piano seat, I noticed my "inflammation" was down to a manageable shape and size.

The piano Helena had was sweet. I touched my fingers to the ivory, did the scale thing, and segued into "Lush Life." Helena sang as the other "girls"—those who were mobile and weren't in wheel chairs—danced. It seemed like it'd been a long time since I'd sat down to play. Or maybe it had just been a long time since it felt good to play. Was Lewis Nelken, the dead dry-cleaning, baseball-loving Jew, getting to me? I was possibly inspired. It was either that or the Bundt cake.