16…Frivolities…
When we walk over to Bea's, there are no shoes outside in the hall, so I know she must be relaxing her no-shoes rule tonight. She does that when a dance party breaks out.
Music is playing softly, but the living room is empty of everyone, but for one corner just next to Bea's shrine to DJ John Peel. We go first to a table against one far wall that's holding a lovely cake, plates, forks and napkins as well as a large bowl with beers on ice. We make room to fit the leftover platters and champagne on it.
James looks around the room. "Wow." Her apartment is pretty stunning, especially the first time you see it. Now, though, all the furniture is moved against the walls.
"Bea doesn't mind if you go explore the place if you want. But let's go meet Mrs. Babushka first." I lead them over to the corner with a niche made by a coat closet, farthest from all the activity. In it are two very modern-looking glider chairs, which only seems to highlight how ancient the woman is who's sitting in one of them. She is wearing a faded cotton dress with a small flowery print on it that, contrary to what I joke about Bea's caftans, is the very definition of housedress. She's also got worn out sensible shoes, a ratty black sweater and a scarf on her head, tied in that Eastern European way. And yes, there is that moustache. I never see her look any other way. Petal is curled up on a dog bed near her feet, but looks up when we approach with a quick wag of her tail.
We stop in front of her chair as Mrs. Babushka glances at me briefly, then looks straight ahead, rocking just a little.
"You've met Emory, but I'd like to introduce her boyfriend, James Ransdell. This is Mrs. Babic," I pronounce it in the Serbian way, as my grandparents did, like Babitch, only thicker.
"Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Babic." James puts his hand out to shake, smiling sweetly. She ignores it.
Now I feel badly for not telling them that she never really acknowledges anyone other than an occasional furtive glance. Em grabs James' hand out of the air, bringing it to her side.
"And this is his friend, Leif Vincent, Mrs. Babic." I gesture to him standing next to me. Her eyes flicker up to his face. And stay there.
What!?
She never makes eye contact! Not like this. And now she's holding it for several seconds, at least!
Leif is gazing at our wizened neighbor with an unreadable, sober expression on his face. "Mrs. Babic," is all he says, with one stern nod.
Mrs. Babic's eyes flick between Leif and me before she goes back to her thousand yard stare. But the weirdest thing is that her lips pull up into what I think is the smallest, subtlest of…smiles? Possibly? Or maybe it's a grimace—I can't tell. Strange, either way. I stare blankly at her for a moment before shaking my head to regain my composure.
I gesture to Petal, "And this is our wonderful dog, Petal. Petal, meet James and Leif." She pumps her tail a few times tiredly, then rests her head back on the edge of her cushy dog bed.
"Let us know if you need anything, Mrs. Babic," I say lamely as I lead our group away. I've never heard her speak, ever.
The twins and their friend are at the food table by now, and Pat and Bea come into the living room from the bedroom hallway, each carrying stacks of vinyl records and CDs. Bea is in a silver caftan with sequined music notes on it. It's actually really beautiful.
"Be there in a sec," she says, passing us to pile the records next to the turntables and computers on another table.
"That was so good," J, one of the twins, says, gazing appreciatively at the platters that have not a scrap left of the food we brought.
Heid, the other twin, says, "I hope that was for us."
I laugh, wondering how they polished all that off in the couple minutes while we were with Mrs. Babic and Petal. I hear the soft music fade out as Bea puts on a rock song I don't know and I do the introductions to the Gemini Twins.
"We're not really twins," Heid says brightly, which is obvious as she has medium brown skin with a gloriously huge afro and J is the color of parchment, but for his freckles, with light blonde hair shaved around the sides. They are wearing nearly matching outfits of jeans, vests, skinny black ties, button down shirts and Vans.
"And our last name's not really Gemini," J adds.
Bea interjects, joining our circle, "Your last name should be ADD."
I often think of them as Thing One and Thing Two.
"It's our stage name." J, again.
"We live downstairs," Heid says.
"In Pat's old apartment!" J exclaims.
"They've earned quite a name for themselves DJing at campus parties. I teach them about the history of music and they help keep me up to date on new. They're my protégées." Bea smiles indulgently at them. "Who eat me out of house and home."
"But it's a payoff because we do her web site," J says.
"And digitize all her music and old shows to the computer," Heid continues.
"Which will take years." J completes the sentence.
Bea interjects, sounding like a twin. "Which I pay you for."
"Yeah, but,"
"But some of them are on,"
"Get this!"
"Cassettes!"
"C-30, C-60, C-90,"
"Go!"
"And we pick up records for you at,"
"The record store."
"Can we have cake now?"
Bea gestures to the pale, tall boy with shaggy brown hair. "This is their friend, Adam, who also attends NYU."
The Gemini Twins talk over each other again.
"And he's in an indie band."
"Clearly."
"That hair screams hipster musician."
"Or sixth member of One Direction."
"That's what makes him beautiful."
"But he's really good."
"Do you study music at NYU?" Em asks him, cutting over the twins.
J and Heid don't let him answer. "He's a lit student."
"Poetry."
"Can we have cake now?"
"Which helps with songwriting,"
"And with the ladies."
Adam gives a shy smile and a shrug, blushing a bit. I empathize. Just a little behind him, Pat is opening more champagne, giggling.
Bea turns to James, smiling widely, "You must be that boy our little Miss Magnolia prattles on about. I'm Bea." Em makes a face at Bea while James and she shake hands. J and Heid start in again.
"You're Aunt Bea."
"Bea's too short of a name."
"But my name's just J."
"It suits you."
Now focusing on James, "Where are you from?"
"What music do you like?"
Bea shushes them with a look. "Actually, please do tell me what kind of music you like so we can play some of your favorites tonight."
"I'm from England," he answers the twins' question. "And I like…uh…" Poor James looks overwhelmed.
J and Heid again, "England's good—Beatles!"
"Stone Roses!"
"Tricky."
"Herman's Hermits."
"Mrs. Brown's daughter was lovely."
"No pressure or anything,"
"Dizzee Rascal. Yeah, no pressure,"
"But this is where we decide,"
"Whether to like you or not."
"Stop it!" Bea says to the twins, sounding like a harried mother. "Or you will not get any cake!"
I feel for James, who looks bewildered. The twins can do that to you when they're on a roll, although thank heavens, they're not like this all the time. As I watch James' face, I see him muster that sweet effervescence of his. "Well, I like…U2, Coldplay, Adele…"
The twins' eyes go dark. They've tuned him out. Not because they don't like those artists—they, like Bea, love every kind of music and don't discriminate based on hipster status—but because they have millions of fans already. It is common. It's not interesting.
I want to kick them.
"And I like some of the old British ska…The Specials and Madness. But lately, I've kind of started trying out a new kind of music; new to me, I mean. I've been listening to some Southern American music. Southern rock and country and folk and even bluegrass. "
The twins eyes light up again, as do Em's, I notice; this is probably a testament to her Southern heritage. Pat sips his champagne, clearly enjoying all this theater.
"You get extra points for,"
"Being an Englishman and liking something so,"
"So unexpected,"
"Nice."
James seems relieved, but his reprieve is short-lived when the twins ask in perfect unison. "Do you have a theme song?"
"Sorry? A theme song?" James is perplexed again.
Bea answers, "What they're asking is if you had to pick a song as your theme, your anthem, what it would be?" This is a question Bea asks people sometimes upon first meeting them. The funny thing is she never answers it herself when anyone asks her back—at least not seriously. She always picks some cheesy, frivolous song as her answer, but I know she's not telling the truth.
"Do you mean a theme song for your life? Or…" James is at a total loss, but clearly trying to be a good sport.
"Not necessarily," Bea answers. "Maybe just for this today, or, say, this moment in your life."
"Um…" James glances over at Em. "Well, I think I would have to pick Coldplay's 'Yellow,' for right now." Em beams at him again.
"That's very nice of you," Bea says, looking between the two of them, knowing he's referring to Em's favorite color.
That decided, she turns to Leif. "And I've heard some about you, too, Leif."
"Actually, I go by Vince. Very few even know my first name."
Huh? He hasn't directed any of us to call him Vince.
"Where are you from?" Bea asks.
"Near Cape Cod." He seems perfectly at ease.
The twins again… "Oh, Massachusetts! The Lyres."
"Black Light Dinner Party."
"The Gobshites!"
Bea's eyes briefly meet mine. The twinkle in them makes my mouth go dry. I narrow my eyes at her in warning, which only makes her grin wider.
Just to shut her up, I blurt out, "He's Cape Verdean."
Bea's expression becomes almost wondrous. "Oh! I love Cape Verdean morna music! Cesaria Evora? You know of her?"
Leif shrugs, "An absolute and unparalleled goddess."
The twins again. "We don't know her."
"Will you play something of hers, Bea?"
"What's morna?"
She ignores them. "What other music do you like?"
"I like a lot of guitar stuff, singer-songwriters, even flamingo and gypsy guitar." The twins stare at him raptly as he continues. "But what is truly sacred music to me is the band, The Waterboys, especially their more Celtic songs."
"I agree they are divine. Not long ago I was having an online debate with one of my music nerd listeners about Mike Scott versus Karl Wallinger, but anyway, I digress." Her eyes flick over to me again, "And, speaking of water…funnily enough, this song I put on is in honor of both you and James."
I have no idea what this rock song playing now is, but pray in vain no one will ask.
The twins, of course. In unison again... "Who is it?"
"It's an English band, The Duke Spirit, from an album called Neptune." Bea explains, gazing at James, then Leif, as innocent as a shark. I brace myself. "This particular song is called 'Neptune's Call.' Neptune, of course, being the god of the sea." She glances at me, practically wiggling her eyebrows like a silent movie villain.
I might just kick her.
I don't know what to do, what to say. I am awash in embarrassment once again. This would usually be the point that socially pitch-perfect Em might jump in to save me, smooth things over. I look over at her, but she is clutching James arm, looking off into space. Her disengaged stare is not unlike Mrs. Babushka's. I feel the urge to kick her, too.
Henry's voice rings in my head. Feel it. Accept it. Own it. Lean right into those feelings. All this takes just a second to process.
That seems to be the end of her villainy as Bea says, "I'm going to go pull some more records for tonight. You twins go ahead and cut into the cake, but for god sakes don't eat it all, and Elle, would you get more champagne glasses and the snacks I have baking out of the oven? And put in the ones ready to go next to the stove? There are more people coming." She disappears down the bedroom hall.
I stop for a moment, taking a breath, looking everywhere but at Leif…Vince, whatever. I head to the pristine white kitchen and am surprised to find Adam has followed me.
"Do you need any help?" He seems so earnest, and gosh, he really is nice-looking.
I pull a baking sheet with some kind of perfect little asparagus pastry things out of the oven. "I think Bea has it pretty much set up, but thank you. You can help me carry, though." I tilt the baking sheet, sliding everything onto one of a stack of plates Bea had left out by the stove. "Did you get the same musical inquisition the others did when you first arrived?"
"Uh huh, but the beauty of it is that the twins already knew what I liked, so they answered for me."
"They'll do that," I laugh. "Did you get asked the theme song question, too?" Only now do I realize that no one asked Leif that question, maybe because Bea was distracted by her ignoble quest to embarrass the hell out of me. I would really love to know his answer. As if I conjured him with my thoughts, Leif silently stalks into the kitchen and I pretend not to see him. He stops, hovering by the counter behind Adam, glaring, not saying a word.
"I did, but I think I would change my theme song answer right now if I was asked again."
"Change it how?" I pull out the second baking sheet.
"Well, I said that it was Dylan's 'Like A Rolling Stone,' but now I'm not so sure. I'm thinking I might change it to The Beatles 'I Saw Her Standing There.' You know it?" He blushes so deeply at this, looking down at the stove door.
"I'm sure I do, Bea plays a lot of Beatles, but can't think of it right now." I can't think of anything right now. And the reason is that Leif's glare behind Adam has turned murderous, wiping out my functioning brain. I don't know what the hell his problem is.
"What's yours?" Adam asks.
"What's my what?"
"Your theme song."
"Oh. I just…I don't…"
"Sorry, didn't mean to put you on the spot." Adam shakes his head, smiling. "It's an interesting concept though, isn't it? Asking someone their theme song."
"Bea has a lot of interesting concepts," I say sarcastically. "She thinks a theme song says a lot about a person."
"Your Aunt Bea might be right." Adam nods as I busy myself, arranging the appetizers on the plate. "Do you…um…dance?" he asks shyly.
"You cannot have grown up in my family without dancing, so yes, I do. You?" I pull another baking sheet out of the oven, piling the contents on another plate, then put the waiting appetizers into the oven to bake.
"Depends on the song, but save me a dance, okay? A slow one; that's about all I'm good for."
"Will you carry these out and I'll take the champagne flutes?"
When Adam takes the plates and turns to go back to the living room, he almost bumps into Leif. "Oh. Sorry, dude. I didn't see you there."
Leif doesn't say anything, but follows us out of the kitchen.
The overhead lights in the living room are now turned off and Bea's mirror ball and disco lights are on, transforming the room into a dance club. Bea is at her turntable, cuing up a song.
After I've put the glasses down on the table, Pat grabs me. "I get the first dance." He always loved dancing with my grandmother and I know he misses her. Pat and Rosamunde dancing together were the picture of grace—our very own Fred and Ginger. I know I'm a sorry second, but will always dance with Pat when he asks.
Bea's voice comes over the speakers. "This first is a Patrice request that I'm sure Ellawyn will balk at. She is always complaining about frivolous things, but can never answer me when I ask her what's wrong with frivolity."
This time, I know Bea did not do this on purpose—she was not privy to that conversation with Leif where I admonished him on Em's behalf, taking Bea's usual position. Pat holds out his hand when the song starts and I gratefully take it knowing it will keep me occupied for a few minutes and excuse my flaming face.
As Pat spins me around disco-style to this frivolous song, I notice James and Em as well as the twins have joined us on the makeshift dance floor. Leif is leaning against one wall, smirking, of course, as Adam stands by the food table, nursing a beer, watching Pat and me.
When there aren't many people here, as part of the twins' musical history lesson, Bea tends to call out over a microphone the title and artist of at least every few songs. She does this now as the song starts to fade. "That was Leif Garrett's 'I Was Made For Dancing,' from 1978. Hopefully, that wasn't too frivolous for you, Elle!"
Jeez!
"This next one is a slightly more modern dance song, from the nineties by English band St. Etienne. A brilliant cover of a Neil Young song…" I tune her out as the new song melds with the ending chords of the last, which is one of Aunt Bea's DJing talents—that woman can mix some completely disparate songs seamlessly so you can barely tell where one starts and the other ends.
Pat keeps me dancing and I have to admit it is kind of fun. My skirt swirls around me as the music takes over.
Midway through the new song, Pat, breathing heavily, releases me saying, "Forgive me, but I've spent too many weeks eating cream pasta and drinking grappa and I need to catch my breath. I'm so out of practice." He kisses my cheek and walks toward the food table, picking up his champagne glass. I follow along behind him. Em and James are still dancing, as are the twins. Adam has gravitated over to Bea at the turntable and I am hyper-aware of a different set of eyes burning through my back.
I decide that now is the perfect time to run back to The Rambler to take the now-empty platters we brought over with our leftovers and I can also pick up some more champagne from our fridge. I load up my arms and quickly scurry out the door.
I've got the refrigerator door open, pulling out two bottles, and I know, I know when I close this door, what, or I should say, who, will be waiting when I turn around. I can feel him. I shut the door, shivering. I am not wrong.
He's leaning against the island, smirking.
"So…you don't like frivolity." Why is his voice so damn beautiful? "But apparently, you do you enjoy spouting opinions that are not your own." His smirk has done the service of wiping out my embarrassment.
"I can't decide which of your two expressions is your natural resting state." As he tilts his head quizzically, I add, "Smirking or glaring. That's all you seem to do—smirk or glare. Glare or smirk." I am so pleased with how I sound—all cool and unaffected. Maybe I'm getting the hang of this whole new leaning into the embarrassment thing. I am practically patting myself on the back for my new control. "Maybe Vince's is the smirk. And Leif's is the glare. Or vice versa. Who knows? It's a mystery!" I shrug blithely.
One side of his mouth tugs up into a half-smile and for a moment I don't see any trace of a smirk or glare in him. Instead, his eyes sparkle with humor.
I press down on my own burgeoning smile, saying. "Maybe if you stay over tonight, I'll have to sneak into your room to watch you sleep, to see if the smirk or glare is your natural state."
Damn! Total wrong thing to say! Because now, aside from it sounding mildly creepy, all I can think of is watching him sleep. His beautiful face in repose, maybe dreaming. I shut that down, looking away—the kitchen sink instantly transforms into the most fascinating thing I've ever seen!—but not before my face goes pink. So much for my nascent mastery.
My eyes go back to Leif's. He's got a brand new look. One that I might describe as…burning?
I have that feeling again of being adrift.
We stay like that, our eyes locked, until I hear a tentative voice in the hallway—Adam's. From the sound of it he's standing near The Rambler's open front door. "Ellawayn?" I thrust both of the champagne bottles at Leif, which he takes; his hand briefly touches mine in the process causing a wave of heat to rip up my arm and then through my entire being.
Definitely not so cool and unaffected.
The tentative voice again, closer. "Ellawyn?" Adam's head appears in the kitchen doorway and I pull my eyes from those deep pools of ocean water. "Just getting some more champagne!" I go to step around Leif, toward the door.
He's glaring again, at Adam.
