Triptych

Dedicated to Patricia Silver, to the memory of Mary Jeffery, and the boy that I once was.

Mona was glad that Dave at least had the courtesy to call and warn her they were coming.


It was going to be a rough night for her, vocally. Her singing was stiff, thanks to a cold developed from too many air-conditioned buildings. Her body and the summer weather of Washington, D.C., in 1978 were not compatible.

It was still early in the evening and the club's crowd was small. The first set was usually a creaky one but tonight it was worse than usual. She had to keep watching herself so that she didn't directly clear her throat into the mike. No one knew how tense she was unless was one of the guys playing backup.

Her fingers felt as stiff as her throat and it came across in the way they moved across the electric keyboard. Not inaccurate, just unable to break loose. The casual listener wouldn't notice it, but the band would. Claude, the bass player, kept watching her blankly, as if expecting her to suddenly take off in an unexpected musical direction. She knew he was aware of her uneasiness. He had played with her long enough that they could read each other's minds through their music.

Dave walked in with his wife two songs before she and the band ended the first set. She did not recognize them at first because she had never seen Bridget before and Dave had changed.

As the waiter showed them to the booth that she had arranged for them, she noted that Dave had put on weight. Not fat, just increased his size. He had been skinny, like the boy he was, when they were married, nearly ten years before. He must be around thirty-one now, she estimated.

She nodded at them, as they sat down, and smiled, not missing a note or a lyric. She was accustomed to greeting people who arrived while she was singing.

Dave's wife wore eyeglasses and a neutral expresssion. She also smoked. That was all that could be told about her from the stage.

Mona gave the three-count for their last number in the set --- a jazz-disco version of that Swedish group Abba's "Take a Chance on Me"; she relaxed as Claude and Mikey, the new lead guitar player, nailed the harmony on the first line for a change. The song gave each member a chancfe to build up a sweat before the break. In the middle, they started to jam, and as Claude took his solo, Mona glanced at Dave and Bridget.

The years since their divorce had passed quickly for her. The last time she had seen him was in Cleveland, where he had made a drunken ass of himself while she was performing.

What was that damned song he kept asking me to play, she wondered. Oh, yeah, "The Way We Were." He had climbed up on the stage and tried to sing it with her, when she had finally given in. that was a week after their divorce. The next set, he tried to do it again --- she got him laughed off the stage by playing "Send in the Clowns." The next time, she requested the club owner not let him back in.

That was six years ago. She had lost contact with him, sometimes regretting it, and at other times, grateful for it. Her career had gained momentum and in a small way, she felt like she was in demand. She knew she was not much more than a lounge singer, but she was one of the best. She had followed Carmen McRae and Roberta Flack's gigs in certain places. She had control of her own group and enough male admirers to keep her company when she felt alone. She doubted if she would ever get top billing in Vegas, but she would be confortable as long as she could play. What more could a nice Jewish girl from Shaker Heights want?

Dave and Bridget watched her with interest. He was smiling at her, enjoying the music, keeping time by banging the palm fo his hand on the table. Bridget's expression was neutral. Giving me the benefit of the doubt, Mona thought.

Billy banged out the drum cue that let the rest of the group know his solo was over. They swung into the last chorus, pulling it together with a loud crescendo at the end. The sparse audience applauded in a polite manner. Thanking them, Mona told them to drink up and stick around for the next set. Then she flipped her mike off and left the keyboard.

Well, here comes the last six years, she thought, as she lifted her skirt above her ankles to step down the stairs on the side of the stage.

Again, she was glad Dave had finally learned some manners and called to let her know they were coming. She had planned on not washing her long black hair, just pulling it into a neat bun. After his phone call, she washed and blow-dryed it quickly, and let it hang down to her waist.

She also changed her mind about the black dress with the shawl. The low-cut burgundy velvet she wore now was tight-fitting and hard to sing in, but at least it kept her from looking middle-aged. Bridget was about twenty-five, Dave had said on the phone, younger than both of them. It would do her morale no good to feel matronly beside her ex-husband's second wife. She could still look like a college girl if she wore her hair down and sat in the right light.

Dave was standing when she reached their table. I like the moustache, she thought, as he bent and kissed her on the mouth.

Bridget had remained seated, her cigarette poised, a waiting-for-an-introduction smile on her face. Dave turned and took her by the hand.

"This is my wife, Bridget," Dave said. "Babe, this is my ex, uh ..."

"I'm Mona Ruby," she finished for him, holding out her hand. "I mean, just Mona." Smile like it's real, she thought. Don't want to seem like a hard rocker.

Bridget laughed nervously and shook hands. A redhead, huh, Mona thought, noting the younger woman's short and tight curls. At least he still goes for big boobs, she noted, trying to keep her eyes from too obviously sizing Bridget up.

Mona shook out a cigarette, and tried to light it. The disposable lighter she used was ready to be disposed. She flicked at it several times, with no luck.

"Why don't you sit down?" Dave said, motioning to the empty seat across from Bridget and himself.

"Just a minute." She continued to flick the lighter, frowning.

"Here, use mine." Bridget struck hers with her thumb and held it out. Mona thanked her and bent down, pushing her hair back from the flame.

She noticed the silver band on Bridget's left hand. Gold for me. Silver for her. Maybe it helps him keep us straight.


She sat down across from them. There was an awkward silence, in which they all smiled at each other. After a moment, Bridget leaned forward and said, "I love your group."

Mona smiled, feeling artificial. She never knew what to say to that remark.

Dave said, "I see you're still working with Claude. Good man."

How pompous you still are, Mona thought, as she replied. "Yes, the best. Even if he is a pain in the neck to work with."

"You two still arguing?"

"Only way to work," she said, wishing she hadn't brought it up. She was aware of Bridget's large owlish eyes taking in her every move.

Touching Dave's arm, Mona said, "Hey, let me buy you two a drink." She motioned to the waiter. "Frank, bring my friends whatever they want. My tab."

Dave started to protest, but she waved him silent.

"It's OK, hon. Performers get a discount."

He started to protest again, but Bridget cut him off and ordered a tequila sunrise.

Dave looked at her as if surprised and then turned back to the waiter.

"Ginger ale. Lots of ice, please."

He smiled foolishly at Mona, after the waiter left. The shock on her face had shown. Dave had spent most of the last year of their marriage high on either pot or booze. That was one of the reasons they had broken up.

"Don't tell me you're on the wagon," she said.

He paused and looked at Bridget briefly and then stared Mona in the eyes.

"I've been in Alcoholics Anonymous for four years, hon," he said softly.

Mona looked at his light blue eyes and saw creases at the sides. God, he turned out beautiful, she thought, noting the bgray starting to pepper his bushy hair.

The impact of his words then hit her.

Alcoholics Anonymous? Four years?

They had been divorced six years ago. I suppose he thinks I drove him to drink, she thought, taking a drag of her cigarette.

She looked at Bridget, who was watching her with interest behind her thick glasses. She'd look like an old-maid schoolteacher if it weren't for that curly carrot top, she thought. Why does she keep looking at me like I'm some kind of rare worm?

Leaning forward, Mona said, "We've got to stop all this embarrassing nonsense, Bridget. i'm really glad to meet you and to see that Dave's being taken care of properly. What have you been feeding him, anyway?"

She was tempted to add, "hormone pills?" but thought better of it.


Bridget laughed, each note coming out separately, on an upward scale. She took a drag on her cigarette and gave no sign that she intended to answer.

Dave and Mona stared at her, waiting. She smiled at them nervously, as if she were surprised they wanted her to talk. Is she retarded or something, Mona wondered.

Then she spoke.

"Oh, Dave does most of the cooking. I clean. He doesn't trust me in the kitchen."

"You've learned to cook, then," Mona said to Dave.

"Actually, we've got you to thank for it," he said. "When I moved out, I swiped your recipe cards. I used to tell people that it was the best thing I got out of marriage."

Mona laughed, slightly. The remark irritated her, as did the revelation about the missing cards. She remembered money missing from her purse and overdrafts at the bank.

They're only here for an evening, she reminded herself. Stay mellow. Don't look like a bitch.

"Well, whichever one of you is doing the cooking, it's certainly done wonders for you. God, look at you, Dave. You're built like the Incredible Hulk!"

He smiled, obviously pleased.

"When I quit drinking, I had to do something. So I took up weight-lilfting. The discipline was what I really needed to keep me straight. That and Bridget."

Mona watched him slide his hand under the table and touch his wife's knee. Bridget smiled happily.

The waiter arrived with their drinks. They sat in silence as he distributed them. Bridget lit up a cigarette as he left.

"Babe, I don't know whether I can handle both of you smoking like chimneys." Dave waved the smoke away. Mona looked at Bridget and eralized they were both holding their cigarettes at the same angle.

"Well," Mona said, stubbing her half-finished cigarette out. "It sure sounds like you've changed from the past. It takes a lot of work to stick with weight-lifting. A lot of dedication."

God, don't IMPLY anything, she thought. The marriage is over. Leave it in the grave.

Dave was oblivious rto any insinuations.

"Yeah, the workouts have been a real turning point in my life. Strict diet, jogging, you know. Of course, now that I've got a kid, I can take him down and work with him ---"

"You've got a child?"

"Oh, yeah, I thought I told you when I called." He reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. "This is Lonnie."


She looked at the school picture. Lonnie was sandy-haired and freckled, with large, slightly bucked teeth showing in a wide grin.

Frowning, Mona asked, "How old is he?"

"Seven."

"Seven? But ---"

"He's adopted," Bridget explained. "We;ve had him about a year and a half."

Mona handed the wallet back to Dave.

"He's a nice-looking kid. Hey, why don't you bring him in to hear the band some time?"

Dave and Bridget exchanged a look.

Mona thought, oh shit, that's right. What would they call me, Aunt Mona? What does this make me, anyway, a stepmother? A stepback-mother?

"Look," she said. "You don't have to tell him who I am. I mean, about us being married. Just say I'm an old friend. It's true."

"Lonnie would probably love meeting you, Mona, but I don't how much he'd get out of the band," Bridget said. "He's deaf, you see."

Oops, Mona thought. OK, don't apologize. You didn't know.

"I guess he wouldn't."

Bridget nudged Dave and started to get out of the booth.

"Mona, where's the john?"

Mona pointed her in the right direction and watched her walk off. She turned back to Dave.

"I like her." After a moment, she smiled and added, "Damn it."

"Yeah, so do I."

"Where did you meet her?"

He smiled.

"I was at AA and there was this sixteen-year-old girl who used to come in. I'd been clean for about six months. She'd talk to me about how she hated having to come, but the Youth Commission was making her do it. I told her about how I felt the same way at first and then started to change my mind." He lifted his ginger ale and sipped at it thoughtfully.

"Anyway, I guess one night she went out and got high and was acting a little crazy, asking for me. I think maybe she had a crush on me or something. You know."

Yeah, I do know, Mona thought, suddenly aware of the tuft of chest hair revealed by his open collar. He voice still had the slightly southern drawl that attracted her to him in the first place.

"She called me up and asked me to come over. Just gave me the street address. Didn't tell me what kind of place it was or anything. Turns out it was a home for emotionally disturbed kids. Bridget was doing an internship there."

"She's a social worker?" Mona asked.

"Yeah. After she got her degree, she became a probation officer. She's good at it, too, or at least I think so."

Mona remembered how he would hug her at the end of each set and tell her how good she was. He came to as many shows as he could. It was nice at first, but then she got nervous having him around all the time. He was getting too involved with her career, and not enough in his own.

"So what are you doing, then? Are you a social worker, too?"

He paused a minute, as if about to make a rude remark. Then, he smiled, his serene mask back in place.

"Naw, I learned my lesson. She does her work, what she does best. And I write. None of that music review stuff, either. Just your regular old reporting."

He IS blaming me, she thought. I only got him that job because he said he wanted to stay close to the business, to be near me. It's his own fault his drinking lost it for him.

Dave suddenly turned his gaze to the side. She was about to turn to see what he was looking at, but suddenly felt herself grabbed by the arm and jerked around.

It was Vino. Angry about something. As usual.

"Hey, Mona, the goddamn pigs towed my car again. I gotta pay a forty-five dollar fine."

Shit, she thought. Why does he have to come asking for money now?

"Vino, this is Dave ---"

"Pleased to meetcha," he said, not looking at Dave. "Look, I need some bread, Sugar, or I don't got no way to get to work ---"

"VINO, THIS IS DAVE. Dave WILKES. My HUSBAND. I mean, my EX-husband." She winced at her error.


Vino looked at her a minute, not understanding.

My God, they look alike, she thought, noting the same thick dark hair, styled in more or less the same long style. Vino looks more Italian, but damn, they're the same type. Lighting another cigarette, she introduced them.

"Dave, this is my friend, Alvino Lorenzetti," she said, frowning at Vino's jeans.

The two men shook hands, and Vino leaned his weight to one side, trying to look tough.

"So, you're Mona's ex, huh?" he asked, sounding like a punk.

Dave leaned back comfortably and smiled. I'll bet he could tear Vino apart with one hand, Mona thought. She wondered if the band would get fired if she encouraged Vino to pick a fight with him.

Vino said, "Well, listen, I'm glad to meet you, man, but Moma and em, we ---"

Dave leaned forward, looking beyond Vino.

"Vino, I'd like you to meet my wife, Bridget. Bridget, this is Alvino Lorenzetti." He said the name with the perfect Italian pronunciation. Bridget nodded as she eased by Vino and into her seat. Dave sat down and put his arm around her. They looked up at Vino with amused expressions on their faces.

Vino stood for a moment with uncertainty on his face. Mona rolled her eyes in disgust and erached into her purse, pulling out fifty dollars.

"Here, Vino," she said, as if to a puppy. "Pay your goddamned fine and keep the change."

Stupidly, he took the money from her and started to leave. Then he came back and kissed her, hard. Looking at Dave over his shoulder, he said, "Nice meeting you, man," and walked off.

Thinking that perhaps she should nstart devising ways to dump Vino, she watched him saunter off. Turning back, she saw Dave staring at her, his mouth covered by his hand.

She wanted to throw an ashtray at him but instead lifted her hands in mock despair, rolled her eyes, and said, "So what can I do? He loves me so."

Dave raised his eyebrows and said, "I didn't say anything."

"Did I miss something?" Bridget asked.

"I'll tell you later, babe," Dave said, not looking at her but smiling warmly.

Yeah, I bet you will, Mona thought. Have a good laugh on old Mona and her young boy friend. OK for you to have a dizzy young girl for a wife, but let me look at a man in jeans and I'm robbing the cradle.

"I guess Vino's just a phase I'm going through," she said.

"Honey, you don't have to ---"

"Just a phase. Sort of like that girl you were dating? The one that kept interrupting everyone ---"

"I didn't think you knew about her."

"I heard things. What was her name? Charlene? Shirley ---"

"Sherry. Drop it, Mona."

There was no threat in his voice. It was just a statement. She dropped it.

She saw Claude back on the stage and realized the break was almost over.

"Listen, we're going vto have to go back on. Can you stick around? Maybe we can go out after the show."

"Hon, we can't. We promised Lonnie we'd take him to see the Smithsonian tomorrow morning and he's an early riser."

"Well, listen, can you stay around for the next set? We've some good material I want you to hear."

"That's why we came, isn't it?" asked Bridget.

Mona wondered why they did come, anyway. Was Dave showing off his new wife, trying to get the old one's blessing? The whole evening was weird. She and Dave sitting and staring at each other like strangers, Bridget looking so goofy behind those glasses, Vino being his usual asshole self.

"Listen, how about a song? Any requests? You know I'll dedicate it to you."

Dave and Bridget looked at each other. They do have a song, Mona thought. She remembered "For All We Know," the old Karen Carpenter song, to which she and Dave had been married.

"Oh, I don't care," said Bridget. "Just so it isn't 'Second Hand Rose.'"

As they all laughed, Mona decided that perhaps Bridget wasn't quite so off the wall as she had thought.

Back on the stage, Mona flipped on the mike and greeted the audience.

"Hello, everybody. We'd like to begin this set with a special dedication to two friends of mine who are very much in love. This is for Dave and Bridget."

She smiled her well-practiced stage snmile and began her keyboard solo introduction. She shut her eyes and began to sing:

Them that's got shall get
Them that's not shall lose
So the bible says
And it still is news
Mama may have
Papa may have
But God bless the child
That's got his own
That's got his own ...

Opening her eyes during the instrumental break, she watched them. They were talking softly, looking at each other. Dave glanced up at her and smiled softly, and then turned back to his wife. Looking down at the keyboard, Mona smiled and relaxed.

When the number was over, Dave and Bridget joined the applause. Mona smiled down, toasting them with her glass of scotch. When the applause subsided, she snapped out a fast beat with her fingers and the band jumped into "Stayin' Alive," which they normally opened the second set with.

There were more people in the lounge now and the band was more relaxed. Mona focused her attention on the music and started enjoying herself.

About halfway through the set, a waiter came by with a note written on a napkin.

Hon, you're beautiful as ever. The band was great. We have to go, but if you play "Just the Way You Are," you'll know how I feel. Dave.


As she looked up and saw their empty table, she realized he had not asked her how she was doing.