I Left My Back Door Open (27 page)

“I don't know if I want to share you with Brianna,” Skylar mumbled. “I just might wanna keep you all to myself.”

I was surprised when Skylar informed me that his daughter liked sushi, and suggested that the three of us meet Wednesday at a Japanese restaraunt for our first visit. I asked myself why I felt nervous going to dinner with an eight-year-old, but I knew that if I hit it off with Brianna, we could become one happy family. I cautioned myself not to push too hard. I wasn't sure how she would take to me, because she was still missing her mother. Skylar said he'd told Brianna that I was a new friend. He wasn't sure whether Brianna would resent a date: She'd never seen him romantically linked to a woman except her mother.

I fell for Brianna hook, line and sinker. The cherub-faced darling with a mass of red curls almost walked into my arms on our first meeting. Skylar and I took Brianna to her favorite all-you-can-eat sushi place. I was still trying to digest the idea of a child being into sushi. I reminded myself that Brianna was from California. We spoke Spanish to each other and translated for Skylar. When Brianna asked her father if she could invite a playdate to church, Skylar reminded her that Ariel was Jewish and her parents might not want her to attend a Christian church. Brianna promptly answered, “I go there and I'm not a Christian.”

“What are you?” Skylar asked.

“I'm biracial,” Brianna responded.

“In some circles in the Bay Area, it's almost a religion.” Skylar chuckled.

“Is biracial the opposite of Christian?” Brianna wanted to know.

“Biracial is not a religion,” Skylar explained. “It means that you …”

“I know what it means,” Brianna interrupted. “Mom's bi and you're racial. And I'm biracial.” She giggled.

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Skylar said rolling his eyes.

“This evening went well,” I commented to Skylar as we walked out of the restaurant.

“That's because I was here,” Brianna chirped. “I'm a superstar!” she bragged, and skipped ahead.

“When your daughter pats herself on the back, she doesn't use a feather.” I laughed.

“I've read that girls at her age have a lot of confidence,” Skylar said sheepishly.

“Let's hope she doesn't lose too much of it.”

When I said good-bye to Skylar with a friendly hug, I was touched that Brianna hugged me also.

Our first meeting had been a success. I fantasized about becoming part of an “us” with them. Maybe I was being selfish, but I thought it might be for the best if Brianna's mother stayed in the background. I could easily visualize myself playing mother to this precocious child.

The next week, I accompanied Skylar to Brianna's school play. She wasn't the star, but I found myself hanging onto her every word and watching her every movement.

I glanced over at Skylar. His eyes were shining with pride. At intermission I told Skylar about his glow. He insisted that it wasn't just pride; that it was partly relief.

“I was nervous as a cat,” Skylar confided as we stood sipping punch next to the snack table. “I was just so thankful that Bri didn't forget her lines.”

We were able to see Brianna for a moment backstage during intermission. I was chewing gum and Bri asked me for a piece. I told her that it wouldn't be a good idea for her to come out on the stage chewing gum. Brianna assured me that she didn't have to do anything in the second half. I didn't want her to think I was like a wicked stepmother, so I gave the child a piece of sugarless gum and cautioned her to be discreet. I wondered if Brianna knew what the word “discreet” meant as Skylar and I made our way back to our seats.

To my horror, a few minutes later, I looked up to see Brianna onstage, chewing like a cow. She was upstage in a group scene, and she wasn't speaking lines, but it still didn't look good. Skylar immediately came to attention, motioning to her from the audience. I felt sweat creeping down my neck and then my back. Brianna continued to chew, and Skylar continued to motion to her. Several people around us were focusing on Skylar instead of the play. Finally, he managed to get Brianna's attention. But instead of swallowing her gum, she asked loudly, “What, Daddy?”

There were a few snickers as Skylar motioned for Brianna to get rid of the gum. She swallowed it and the show went on. I felt an empathetic lump in my throat. I felt like I was becoming part of a family.

Sarita called me the next day. She was beside herself because Phil hadn't come home last night. She'd contacted the usual suspects: his mother, sister, drinking buddy, the other two barbers in his shop. No one had seen or heard from him, including me. I grilled Sarita to make sure that an argument hadn't preceded Phil's disappearance. When she assured me that one hadn't, I became quite concerned. Phil was not the type of man to just up and disappear for more than a few hours. In the back of our minds lurked the possibility of foul play. Almost every other day you read or heard about some horror story in the news. Crime was much more common than rare. I had to put my being in love on the back burner. I had an uneasy feeling this brisk autumn day.

Sarita had contacted the police and they'd told her to wait twenty-four hours before filing a missing person report. I told Sarita if she didn't hear from Phil by tonight, I'd come over and sit with her.

Later that evening, Sarita called to tell me that she still hadn't heard anything from Phil, but she wanted me to stay put, just the same.

“It's no point in your blundering out here tonight. There's too much crime going on out here in these streets. It's not safe out here for man or beast, much less for a woman alone.”

“I want to lend you moral support.”

“I appreciate that. I really do. And you're giving me that by being concerned and talking with me on the phone, and remembering me in your prayers.”

“You've checked the hospitals? He might've had a car accident.”

“I've checked the major ones. Besides, they would've notified me by now. Phil always carries ID. We're even listed in the phone book.”

“He could've lost his ID. He could've been robbed. You check the jails?”

“The jails?” Sarita sounded defensive.

“He could've been arrested for jaywalking or just driving,
while black
.”

“I checked with the police station. I've even checked with the morgue,” Sarita said softly.

“Well, the fact that he wasn't there is promising.”

“Dee Dee, I just don't know what I'll do if something has happened to Phil,” Sarita said in anguish. “He's always been a good husband and a wonderful father. I could kick myself for all the times I got on him about little or nothing.”

“This is no time to beat yourself up. Let's just try and stay hopeful.”

“This just isn't like Phil. I just know something bad happened. I don't want to think like that, but what else can I think? Phil just wouldn't walk off like this. He had customers waiting for haircuts.”

“How is Jason weathering all of this?”

“He's worried sick, of course. My daughters are both nervous wrecks; they're talking about flying home. I've tried not to let Jason see me crying, but I've broken down a few times. Lord knows I'm trying to be strong, but sometimes I just can't,” Sarita said, sniffing.

“That's understandable. Crying isn't a sign of weakness.”

“Well, Jason and I have both cried together. I called my pastor and he came by earlier and prayed with us. Some of the ladies from the church offered to come sit with me tonight. But I told them that I was gonna call my good girlfriend, and take some melatonin and go lie down. If I stay up all night, I'll worry myself sick. I have to turn it over to God now.”

“Well, call me any hour of the night or day if there's anything that I can do. I'm always here for you.”

“Thanks, Dee Dee, but just pray for us. It's in God's hands now.”

Doing my radio show the next day helped me take my mind off my worries. It was as if when I disappeared behind the glass door of the control room, I entered another world.

“That was Larry Davis doing his rendition of ‘As the Years Go Passing By.' Ahead of him was Howling Wolf, with ‘Howlin' for My Darlin.” Before that was Smokey Wilson's rendition of Elmore James' ‘Something Inside Me.' And I opened the stampede with my homie, Wilson Pickett, doing ‘Mustang Sally.'”

“I hear you can get down with a harmonica,” the leather-faced bluesman seated next to me said into the mike.

“Wait a minute, listeners, did I ask anybody anything? I mean, who's conducting this interview, me or you?” I teased.

“Excuse the hell outta me,” the brotha said in a Mississippi-molasses drawl.

“For those of you just joining us, I'm chillin' with Fatback Brown, one of the baddest bluesmen around.”

“That's right, and I got money in my pocket and I'm rarin' to clown! So meet me with your black drawers on.”

“Fatback's just kiddin'. He's not a player. He's been married to the same woman for twenty-something years. And she don't take no stuff.”

“That's true, I've been married to the same bowlegged woman, built like a fiddle with plenty of room in the middle, for twenty-nine years.”

“And I wish you twenty-nine more,” I said.

“So, Dee Dee, heard you mixed it up the other night with J.J. Malone and his Backroads Blues Band.”

“Yeah, I was on harmonica for a minute. Jill Baxter took a break. That white girl sho can blow, huh?”

“I hear you wasn't too shabby yourself.”

“I did okay, I wasn't too rusty. I got a little practice a while back, sitting in with a few of the bands during an event they have here every August over at B.L.U.E.S. on North Halsted.”

“Across the street from Kingston Mines?”

“Yeah, two blues clubs on one block. You know, Chicago is the home of the blues. Anyway, the event is called 31 Bands in 31 Days, all Chicago Bands. It was pretty tight.”

“Don't forget to plug my gig tonight, now, while you naming the rest of 'em.”

“I got you covered. Will you trust me to do my own show, here?”

“G'one, I'll hush, then.”

“Speaking of the Home of the Blues, the legendary Checker Board Lounge on the mighty South Side will be boiling over with the blues tonight. Because they are hosting the sizzling Fatback Brown and his Black-Eyed Peas.”

“That's right, we gonna blow the roof off the sucker.”

“Fatback, we're gonna chew the fat a little while longer, then I'm gonna play some of your music so our listeners can get a taste of your pot likker blues.”

“Okay. First, did you hear about the judge asking the man why he hit his wife upside the head with a chair?”

“No.”

“The man say, ‘'Cause, Judge, I couldn't lift that couch to save my life.'”

“That's cold. Now after I've just given you a nice plug, you wanna come on here and act a fool. The phones are gonna be ringing, folks will be callin' my show sexist. They'll be saying I'm promoting domestic violence.”

“We just havin' a little fun.”

“But you know I'm somewhat of a feminist. I like women as well as men.”

“Now, I ain't gonna touch that.”

“I don't mean it that way. I ain't trying women unless the world runs outta men, y'all hear me?”

“Whatever. Fatback is sophisticated. He can go with the flow. Anyway, I ain't really no sexist. Ask my wife.”

“You've never raised your hand to her, right?”

“You know I'm proud to say I haven't,” Fatback said, making eye contact.

“That's good.”

“I've wanted to, 'cause sometimes she likes to give me a lotta lip. You know how sometimes women are just beggin' for a whuppin.'”

“You're diggin' your ditch again. The phone lines are starting to light up.”

“Anyway, I've always been strong enough to walk away and wait till my wife comes to her senses.”

“A truly strong man doesn't have to hit,” I said.

“That's right, even if a woman deserves a good whuppin'.”

“Women don't deserve to be hit, period.”

“You gotta be careful, too, 'cause some of them women hit back. You could end up with a face full of hot grits like Al Green. Or wake up missing something important like that guy, John Wayne Bobbitt. Or you might just have a woman who'll hit you upside the head with one of them heavy pots. Then your head'll be all wrapped up like a Hindu. Your buddies'll be asking you, man what happened to you, man? You be saying, I slipped and fell.”

“I've got several phone lines blinkin' now. The views expressed here are strictly those of the guest. Joan, please screen my calls. I don't want to get into it about domestic violence or Hinduism. I contribute to battered women's shelters and I have a wide range of friends.”

At that moment, an intern came into the control room with a message slip. I could see Sarita's name on the top of it. I gathered up my courage before I opened it.

It said, “Phil is home safe!”

I felt so relieved. Thank the Lord! I would get the details later. I put on Fatback's music, but I really felt like playing “Oh Happy Day.”

“What do you mean, your ex-wife has shown up?” I asked Skylar over the phone the next night. “Shown up how?” I struggled to keep from shouting.

“Allison was at our doorstep when we got home this evening. She didn't call or anything. We weren't expecting to see her until next month.”

“So she just came for a visit,” I suggested hopefully.

“Well, not exactly. Allison told Brianna she wants to try to live in Chicago.”

“Live in Chicago! Why?” I asked, trying to sound neutral.

“I imagine that she wants to be closer to her daughter. Maybe she's gonna try to be a mother to her again. Maybe Allison will clean up her act and we can even work out joint custody or something. Then I could have more time to spend with you,” Skylar added seductively.