Chasin’ the Bird

 Part 2 of 2

 

The trauma center waiting room was a busy place, people coming and going, families huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. Periodically a doctor would appear through the wide automatic doors, find the appropriate family members and give them a brief status report. The reactions ran the gamut, from smiles and laughter and hugs for the doctor, to choked sobs and tears.

Dom and Della waited, trying their best to remain calm. Mrs. Kemper had come by but had to leave after several hours. They would call her as soon as they had news to share.

The automatic doors swung open and a young man in scrubs came into the room.

“Mancini?” He called out in a firm voice.

Dom went to where the doctor was standing, Della close behind. “I’m Dominic Mancini.”

“Mr. Mancini, I’m Dr. Fleishman. I’m a trauma surgeon. Your brother sustained a knife wound and a laceration to his liver. The knife entered his right side, about right here.” He pointed to a spot on his torso. “It was a serious wound but we were able to repair it. No other organs were hit. He lost a lot of blood but they got him here quickly.” The young physician continued, describing the post-surgical protocol and the fact that the next forty-eight hours would be critical. Dominic retained just one detail: Vinnie was alive. The doctor finished his report. “Do you have any questions?”

“Dr. Fleishman…” Dom took a deep breath. “What are his chances?”

“I won’t sugar-coat it, Mr. Mancini. The surgery went well, but a lot of things can go wrong. I’d say his chances are fifty-fifty. As I said, the next forty-eight hours are critical.”

They thanked the doctor, marveled at his youth and professionalism, held on to his hand a little too long, and then watched as he turned and exited the way he had entered. Dom and Della fell into each other’s arms, tears flowing freely, damp spots collecting on shoulders. For now at least, Vinnie was alive.

_____

It was one of those glorious September days in The City, not a cloud in the sky, the temperature expected to reach the low eighties. The Giants would pack Oracle Park for the umpteenth consecutive sellout and the 49ers were poised to open their season with great expectations. All around town, people shed their jackets and scarves and ties and took their lunches outdoors to the parks, squares, and plazas. Out on the bay, sailboats moved in graceful white clusters around Alcatraz and Angel Island. It was the time of year San Franciscans cherish.

Dominic Mancini had little time to enjoy the season. He was on a mission. He walked all around Union Square, then down Stockton Street past the entrance to Macy’s. Nothing there. He made his way back to the Powell Street turntable and waited for a cable car. It was after Labor Day and Dom was able to board without the crush of tourists. The bell rang brightly as the car rolled up the street past the St. Francis Hotel, then farther up the block to the Sir Francis Drake, the doorman standing outside in the traditional British costume. At the crest of Powell Street, passengers jumped off for The Top of the Mark. Soon came the left turn onto Jackson, past the Car Barn and Museum. He looked and listened closely. Still nothing. The car turned right and climbed to the top of Hyde Street where it paused for the magnificent view of Alcatraz and the bay. Some riders stepped off for the photo op while others boarded for the trip down the hill. The car moved forward, tipped dramatically, and down the hill it rolled, intersection after intersection, a long series of steps. Dom could smell the wooden brakes burning as the gripman worked to control the car.

Dom got off at Aquatic Park and looked around. Nothing. He thought about stepping into the Buena Vista for an Irish Coffee but decided to walk over to Ghirardelli Square instead. As he approached the corner of Beach and Larkin and the stairs that led to the fountain plaza, he saw a small crowd gathered around a street performer and he heard the sound of the alto saxophone.

Dom stood at the back of the crowd and listened. He recognized “Cool Blues” and “Parker’s Mood.” Vinnie had it right. This man was channeling Charlie Parker.

A song ended and the musician announced he’d be taking a break. People pressed ahead, dropped change and bills into his instrument case, and moved on. Dom stepped forward and smiled as the aged Black man poured a cup full of steaming liquid from a thermos bottle. The man paused, lowered his dark glasses, and looked at Dom.

“Well now, there’s a familiar face.” He wore faded denim pants, battered work boots, and a cable-knit sweater that had no doubt been white once upon a time. A black fisherman’s cap covered most of his gray hair.

“Hello.” Dom smiled again. “I think you know my brother.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Mancini, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Dominic.” He extended his hand. “Vincent is my brother.” They shook hands firmly.

“Ha! Vincent? I always called him Dago Red. No offense.”

“None taken. He always called you Bird.”

The old man grew serious. “You know, your brother is my hero. Saved a whole day’s worth of earnings for me. Ran those kids off and they didn’t hardly get a dime.” He paused and searched Dom’s eyes. “Well now…well, well, well…I am afraid to ask. How is my friend Dago Red?”

Dom felt a lump in his throat, but he managed to get the words out. “He’s going to be fine. He’ll be coming home in a few days. We expect him to be back at work by Halloween. Thanksgiving at the latest.”

“Oh my, my, my, that is good news. Good news indeed! Tell him Emerson Jones said ‘Hello and God bless.’”

“Mr. Jones, would you do me a favor?”

“Why sure. What can I do for you?”

“I want to make a video for Vinnie. Would you play ‘Star Eyes’?” Dom took his smart phone from his pocket and opened the camera.

The old man smiled as he picked up his instrument. He moistened his lips, wet the well-trimmed reed, and began to blow.

_____

 

 Chasin’ the Bird

 Part 1 of 2

 from Like a Flower in the Field

 

Dominic buried his face in the pillow, hanging on to the last vestiges of a good night’s sleep. He had a rare Monday off, a “use it or lose it” vacation day. Della came into the room and sat down on the bed. She leaned down to kiss him on the temple and he had to smile. There she was, showered and dressed, makeup expertly applied, her dark curly hair framing her face. God she was cute. Dom was wide awake now.

“Okay, baby, I’m off to work.” She fiddled with an earring, adjusting the clasp.

“You sure you have to go? You smell so good I could eat you up.”

“Hmmm, hold that thought. I’ve got meetings scheduled this morning. I’m going to be late as is. What are your plans for the day?”

Dom rolled over and clasped his hands behind his head. “I’m going over to Vinnie’s place, see if he needs anything.”

“Okay. Tell him I said ‘Hi.’ You know, we should have him over for dinner. He hasn’t been here for a while.”

“Yeah, but you know how he is. He’s got his routine. Goes to work, comes home, has something to eat, listens to his jazz, and goes to sleep. He doesn’t like change.”

“You know, Dom, I don’t think your brother likes me. I think that’s part of it.”

“Nah, he’s just shy, especially around pretty girls.” He squeezed her knee and she jumped a little.

“Stop it. I’m serious. I don’t think Vinnie likes me.”

Dom started to protest, but he could see the concern on Della’s face. “I’ll talk to him today. If there’s a problem we’ll work it out. You know Vinnie—he’s an open book. And I’ll invite him for dinner. Okay?”

“Okay. Let’s do it Friday night. I’ll make lasagna. Oh, I gotta go. Give Vinnie my love.”

She was off the bed and headed for the door before Dom could grab her and convince her to stay. There was nobody like Della, at least no one Dom had ever met. Smart, feisty, funny, ambitious. He’d already made up his mind to put a ring on that finger, and soon, before she could discover all of his faults.

He checked the clock on the bedside table. Only 7:35. He’d told Vinnie to expect him by 10:00 and it was just a short drive from Dom’s apartment near the Panhandle of Golden Gate Park; plenty of time to shower and shave and make a plan for the day. Vinnie loved it when Dom came with a plan.

Vincent Thomas Mancini was thirty-nine on his last birthday, three years older than Dom. Vinnie had intellectual disabilities. The doctors said he was “somewhere on the spectrum,” that long arc of autism and other developmental issues that continues to evolve. He lived independently in a rented room in San Francisco, just a block or two from the cable car barn. He had the upper floor of a home owned by a widow, Dorothy Kemper, who kept an eye on him, packed a lunch for him to take to work, and put a hot meal on the table most evenings. Vinnie worked four days a week in the mail room of an office down on Market Street, and he took great pride in his job. It gave him a little spending money and, even more important, a sense of independence. Their parents had left an estate large enough to provide everything that Vinnie needed—room and board, clothes, medical insurance—all the necessities of life, including the means to continue building his collection of classic jazz CD’s. No iPod or downloads for Vinnie. He liked to hold a jewel case in his hands, with its colorful cover art and liner notes tucked inside.

Dom bounced out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Being late for Vinnie was not an option.

_____

Vinnie opened the door as Dom was walking up the marble steps to Mrs. Kemper’s place.

“Hey, Dominic, what’s up? Ten o’clock, right on time.” He gave Dom a bear hug, lifting him off the floor.

“Ow, Vinnie, you’re gonna break a rib.” They laughed as Vinnie put him down. “Hey, I brought something for you. Wanna see it?”

“For me? Oh yeah, let’s see.” He was excited now. Vinnie loved presents.

Dom handed him a CD that he’d found online: The Cal Tjader Sextet – A Night at the Black Hawk.

“Oh, man! Thanks, Dom. I don’t have this one. I’m going to listen to it tonight. This is great.”

Seeing Vinnie smiling, excited, and happy gave Dom a good feeling. They’d both inherited their mother’s curly red hair and when they were younger, people often mistook them for twins. Mom was in her forties, their father in his fifties, when the boys were born. Heart disease had claimed both parents when the boys were in their mid-twenties.

“So, Vinnie, I figure we’ll make a list and go to the Safeway down in the Marina. And if you need anything, you know, clothes or socks or underwear, we can go downtown to Macy’s. And we’ll get some lunch while we’re out. How’s that sound?”

Vinnie was busy reading the back of the CD. “What? Oh yeah, Dom, that’s great. Let me put this away and I’ll grab my jacket.”

He trotted up the stairs to his room leaving Dom in the entryway. This home was perfect for Vinnie, just a block from the cable car line. He could ride that venerable antique everywhere he needed to go—downtown for work or shopping around Union Square, down to Aquatic Park to enjoy the waterfront, or over to Fisherman’s Wharf for seafood, and then back home to Mrs. Kemper’s. As Della would say, it was “very San Francisco.”

Vinnie came down the stairs, his jacket partly off one shoulder. Dom helped him straighten it and zip it to the collar. It was August and a cold wind was whipping through the streets of the neighborhood. If you wanted summer in San Francisco, you had to wait for September and October.

_____

The brothers smiled across the table at the Washington Square Bar & Grill—the Washbag as Herb Caen dubbed it—the fabled restaurant at the corner of Powell and Union. Vinnie loved the filet of sole with lemon-butter-caper sauce. They both ordered the sole, plus a 7-Up for Vinnie and a glass of Chardonnay for Dom.

“So, Vinnie, how was your week?” Dom knew what the answer would be, a variation on the same old theme.

“Oh it was great, Dom. I caught Miles Davis at the Black Hawk. Turk and Hyde, ‘The Jazz Corner of the West.’ What a dump!” He laughed out loud. “Two sets, both of ‘em great. Miles is the best...”

There was a time when Dom would have tried to correct his brother, to explain patiently that the Black Hawk closed decades ago and Miles was dead and gone. What Vinnie had done was sit for hours in his room, his headphones in place, listening to Miles Davis – In Person at the Black Hawk, a classic recorded in 1961. But Dom had given up on corrections. If Vinnie believed he was there, hearing Miles in the flesh, so be it.

“So, it was a great show. How was the crowd?”

“Out the door and around the block, man. SRO! But listen, Dom, the best thing all week was Bird. Bird is here in San Francisco! I heard him, man, several times.”

Dom was sure Vinnie was referring to another CD, one of many Charlie “Bird” Parker recordings that he owned. “Oh really? Where is he playing?”

“He’s all over, man. I heard him up in Union Square, then over by Macy’s, and then down by the Buena Vista. Playing all his classics, ‘Star Eyes’ and ‘Confirmation’ and ‘Yardbird Suite.’ Never better, Dom. You’ve never heard ‘Star Eyes’ so beautiful. You gotta come with me. We should go find him—”

“Yeah, Vinnie. But not today. Maybe another time. Okay?” Dom paused a moment. “Hey, Della wants you to come over for dinner on Friday. How’s that sound?”

Vinnie looked away. “Yeah, okay, dinner on Friday.”

“Vinnie, what’s wrong? Is there a problem?”

“No, Dom. No problem.”

“Vinnie, look at me. Let me see your eyes.” Dom waited until his brother turned toward him. “Della is afraid you don’t like her. Tell me the truth, Vinnie. Are you okay with Della?”

“Yeah, she’s great, Dom. It’s just, well you know…”

“Come on, Vinnie, tell me.”

“We don’t do things together…like we used to.”

“Is that it? I don’t spend as much time with you as before?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Vinnie looked away again.

“Vin, look at me.” Dom waited. “Hey, you’re my big brother and I love you. We’ll work this out. All right? We’ll work on it. I promise I’ll do better.”

It wasn’t long until Dom had Vinnie smiling again, back to his tale of Charlie Parker alive and well, playing on the streets of the city they loved. Dom was relieved, and he knew Della would be too.

_____

Dominic unlocked the door, Vinnie close behind him, stuck his head in and called, “Hey Lucy, I’m home.”

Della’s voice rang out from the kitchen: “Ricky you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind…Hey Ricky, Hey Ricky.”

It was their riff on the Weird Al Yankovic parody, always good for a laugh. Della came out to greet them, a smudged white apron tied around her waist.

“Hi, Vinnie!” She gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. He flinched a little. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m making lasagna, from your mom’s recipe.”

“Oh hi, Della. Yeah, Mom’s lasagna, thanks for having me over.” Vinnie avoided eye contact. Then he remembered the bouquet of flowers in his hand, purchased with his hard-earned money from a stand on Powell Street. “Oh, these are for you, Della.” He held them out proudly.

“Oh, thank you, Vinnie. How sweet!” She started to kiss him again but hesitated. “I’ll put these in a vase.” She hurried away to the kitchen.

Dom took his brother’s jacket and flashed a thumbs-up. Vinnie smiled. This was a good beginning.

The dinner conversation followed the usual pattern, each party recounting the events of the week just ended. When it was Vinnie’s turn, they were not surprised—at least not at first.

“I saw the Cannonball Adderley Quintet, live at The Jazz Workshop. It was great. What a crowd. You could barely get in the place. They played Bobby Timmons’s ‘This Here.’ Great tune, man. It’s gonna be a hit. Guaranteed.”

Vinnie went on to describe the entire performance, which Dom had heard before. The live recording from 1959 was one of Vinnie’s favorites. With barely a pause, he segued into his next story and his enthusiasm cranked up a notch.

“…and Bird is still here, Dom. He’s still in San Francisco, playing all over town. You’ve got to come with me, Bro. You’ll love it. All the classics, ‘Moose the Mooche,’ ‘Scrapple from the Apple,’ ‘Ko Ko.’ And you’ve never heard ‘Star Eyes’ played like this—”

“Vinnie, wait a second. Are you saying there’s a guy playing on the street that sounds like Charlie Parker? Is that it?”

“Yeah, man, it’s Bird, here in The City by the Golden Gate, Baghdad by the Bay, don’t call it Frisco—”

“Okay, okay, calm down. I promise we’ll go real soon. All right? We’ll chase down the Bird.”

The conversation moved on to other topics. Vinnie loved the lasagna, and the bouquet of flowers was lovely in the little vase. Dom would count this evening a success.

_____

“Hey Lucy, I’m home.” Dom came through the front door with the usual greeting.

Della came out of the kitchen quickly, holding the cordless phone toward him. “It’s the police,” she said, her face drained of color.

Dom took the phone from her. “Hello.”

“Mr. Mancini, this is Sergeant Donlan, San Francisco Police. Sir, your brother was stabbed in an altercation in Union Square. He had a card in his wallet listing you as an emergency contact. He’s been taken to San Francisco General, the trauma center.”

 “Oh my God! What happened?”

“He was listening to a street musician and three young males came along and started grabbing money out of the man’s instrument case. Your brother charged them and threw a body block that knocked two of them down. The third one stabbed your brother with a switchblade. The three of them ran off.”

“How is…” Dom choked on his words. “Is Vinnie okay?”

“I can’t answer that, Mr. Mancini. I suggest you get to the hospital as soon as you can.”

Della grabbed her coat and purse. They locked the front door and ran for Dom’s car. Fog crept over the hills, about to engulf the neighborhood as they sped toward S.F. General.

_____

Coming soon: Part 2. Don't miss the conclusion...

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