Jazz and Weed and Wine

Charlie liked to drink red wine from Spain and listen to jazz on weeknights. He did it on weekends too, but I always figured it was the Tuesday and Wednesday nights that made him feel hip in a Joe Cool sunglasses sort of way. Some nights with the right company and crisp air outside, he’d go onto his small balcony and smoke weed, or cigars if he didn’t have weed, and philosophize about things like the stars and human nature and whether or not cover bands could ever really recapture the magic of a great song. Sometimes I was the right company, and those times when he held a joint out to me, pinched between his thumb and pointer finger with the remaining three digits spread, I’d shake my head no and lean harder against the balcony railing. He’d shrug- more for me- and take another hit.

His balcony was small; it was the king of apartment balcony that was there more for the aesthetics of the façade than anything else. Two could stand comfortably, but with three people shoulders began to press together. Charlie and I would stand with inches between us and he’d get high and talk about almost anything I asked him. Of course, even with his eyes clouded and tongue loosened I couldn’t make myself bring up the one thing I wanted to talk about most.

It was a Thursday night in winter. It was late and I was up watching the news when the phone rang. I sighed and answered it and was unsurprised to hear Charlie on the other end. Only he would call this late.

“Ana,” he said a little too loud. “Ana, daaaarling.”

“Hey Charlie.” I held off another sigh- he sounded drunk- and pushed some of my dark brown hair behind my ear.

“Come over.”

“Charlie, it’s late. I’m tired.” I had just been considering tucking myself in for the night when he called. He did this more frequently than I would have liked. He’d call me and invite me over with no notice at all and with no regard to what his clock read.

“Daniel’s here.” Daniel was a mutual friend, though he was closer to Charlie than to me. He was closer to Charlie than to anyone, and vice versa. I imagine that he was at Charlie’s apartment every night of the week that I wasn’t and that he’d heard more of Charlie’s secrets than anyone else.

“Okay,” I said, waiting for Charlie to make his point about why Daniel being present mattered.

“You like Daniel, right? You guys are friends,” Charlie said.

“It’s still late, Charlie.” I was trying to put my foot down. It was a bit pathetic really, because I’d end up going over anyway. I always did.

“Should I wait till after midnight?” he asked. “Then it’ll be early.”

“Charlie…” I warned with the voice I used to scare the misbehaving kindergarteners at the school where I was a TA.

“Please, Ana?” he said and it threw me off because Charlie hates to say please. “Daniel and I were talking about you and he said I should invite you over so I called you.”

“Is Daniel there? Can I talk to him?”

Charlie let out a peevish sigh. “Fine. Here he is.”

Clunking noises can through the phone line just before Daniel’s voice.

“Ana? Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry about this. I told him he should invite you over but I didn’t mean right this second.”

“It’s okay. It’s not a big deal. How much has he had to drink?”

“I don’t really know. He started before I got here. He was drinking wine but he moved on to whiskey after a while.”

“Is he smoking?”

“Not yet.”

“Alright, well, put him back on,” I said. Part of me was screaming. Part of me was dying to ask Daniel what Charlie had said about me. For my dignity’s sake, I ignored that part.

“So are you coming or not?” Charlie wanted to know.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I answered.

“Great.”

“Bye Charlie.”

I hung up the phone and looked down at myself. I was in my pajamas. Tidying up and changing would take me almost twenty minutes. The drive to his apartment would take about ten, not including the time it would take to find a parking spot. I was glad I would be late, so that maybe he could sit and watch the clock for a while, wondering if I was even coming at all.

---

Daniel answered the door and we said our perfunctory hellos. I’d put on dark wash jeans and a gray long sleeved shirt and pulled my long hair into a ponytail. I hadn’t put as much effort into how I looked as I normally did because I figured Charlie wouldn’t care or even notice anyway. As soon as I entered his apartment, I toed off my sneakers and shrugged my black jacket off my shoulders. Charlie was watching me from the couch.

“Hey Charlie.”

Behind him a hockey game was on TV. I thought he must have TiVo’d it because there was very little chance it was actually being broadcast at midnight on a Thursday.

“You’re late,” he said.

“You’re always late,” I shot back. “Who’s playing?”

“Ninety-four Stanley cup finals, Canucks vs. Rangers.”

“He insisted we watch his tape and now he’s not even paying attention,” Daniel complained.

“Whiskey?” Charlie offered, indicating the bottles on the coffee table. “Wine?”

I considered for a moment before answering. “I think I’ll put on a pot of coffee.” I picked up both bottles and carried them to the kitchen.

“Why’d you take those?” Charlie called after me.

“You don’t need any more,” I responded over my shoulder as I pulled the tin of coffee grounds out from behind more bottles of wine.

I could hear Charlie and Daniel talking as I started the brew but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I considered staying in the kitchen to wait for the coffee but I didn’t want to seem peevish and sulky with no reason to be, so I padded back into the living room and sat in the corner of the sofa.

“What d’you think the ‘H’ in ‘Jesus H. Christ’ stands for?” Charlie asked me almost immediately.

“Hoover,” I said.

“As in the president?” Daniel clarified.

“No, as in the vacuum cleaner,” Charlie deadpanned.

“Yeah, the president,” I told Daniel more politely. “I think. Someone told me that once, but I’m not entirely sure it’s true.”

“Well there’s one of life’s questions answered and it’s barely past midnight,” Charlie announced.

“Great. What’s the next one, then?” Daniel asked.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“How did your parents meet?” I asked him. He blinked at me.

“That’s not one of life’s questions,” he told me.

“No. It’s one of my questions. So?” For some time I had been trying, question by question, to piece together Charlie’s life before college, his life before I met him. My friend Eliza always asked how someone’s parents met when she was trying to get to know them. It seemed strange that after having known him for eight years, I was still trying to get to know Charlie, but that’s how he was.

“At a bar, I think,” he answered. “It wasn’t the kind of story they told all the time because it isn’t really that interesting. He bought her a drink, asked her to dance, you know…”

I tucked that into what I knew about Charlie, but truthfully it didn’t make too much of a difference in how I saw him. Eliza said knowing how someone’s parents met said something about the kind of relationship they had which each other, which said what kind of household their child grew up in. Eliza majored in psychology in college.

“How’d your parents meet, Ana?” Daniel asked.

“They worked together. My dad was assigned to be my mom’s mentor for her first month or so of her new job. My dad teases her about it all the time, says it was hero worship and ‘a thing for authority.’ My mom says it was love at first sight.”

There was quiet in the room for a moment, then, “That’s sickeningly sweet,” Charlie said bitingly. My smile faded and Daniel shot him a withering look, which he ignored.

“Just because you have no concept of romance doesn’t mean no man does,” I snapped.

Eliza said I grew up in a romantic and idealistic house, which I guessed was true. She also said that was what made me naïve, which I also guessed was true even though I would say ‘optimistic’ instead of ‘naïve’.

“Your turn Daniel,” I said, turning almost completely to face him instead of Charlie.

“My parents met in college,” he said. “No good story there.”

“Well I’m guessing there’s more to it than that.”

Daniel shrugged. “Probably. I just don’t know that part of the story,” he said.

“I think I’ll check on the coffee,” I announced when it became painfully clear that our conversation had dried up. The pot was full enough so I called to Daniel asking how he wanted his and poured three mugs. Daniel entered the kitchen to help me carry them out.

“He probably won’t drink it unless it’s Irish,” he said.

“I know, but it’s worth a shot. Is he having a bad night or something?”

“Eh. No worse than usual,” Daniel answered. “Why? Does he seem worse?”

“Usually he doesn’t drink this much. He just has a few glasses of wine and smokes some weed.”

Daniel eyed me carefully. “Ana, I’d say he does this at least twice a week. Twice on a good week, actually.”

I could feel the knot of confusion on my forehead. “I guess he just doesn’t do it when I’m here.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows. “I guess not,” he said slowly. “Maybe you should come more often.”

I thought of forcing out a laugh but I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be funny or not. In any case, I didn’t find humor in it so I just picked up my mug and Charlie’s, careful not to confuse them, and carried them out to the living room.

“Here,” I said, thudding it down in front of him. On one thigh, he was finishing up rolling a joint.

“Want me to roll you one too?” he asked me before sealing it.

“No thanks,” I said with as much disdain as I could muster.

“Dannyboy?”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “No. And stop calling me that.”

“Well come keep me company at least.” He gestured towards the balcony doors.

“Are you going to drink your coffee or not?” I asked. Daniel’s cell phone rang and we all jumped a little before he moved a few feet away to answer.

“Not. You probably didn’t put enough sugar in it anyway.”

“I put in three spoonfuls! God knows how you drink anything that sweet anyway.”

He shrugged. “I guess I’ll heat it up later. Now will you keep me company while I smoke this?” he asked impatiently, holding the joint under my nose.

I sighed, frustrated. “Fine. Okay. I’ll come stand with you while you smoke the damn joint.”

“Hey Daniel?”

Daniel held up a finger, listening intently to his phone call. Charlie motioned for me to follow him anyway and I did. He lit his joint with a match- he always used matches instead of a lighter- and then tossed the spent stick to the floor. I took a sip of coffee. It had rained a little bit earlier that night and the ground was still a darkened and damp.

Charlie offered me a drag, like he always did, and I almost shook my head no, as was practically a reflex, but I guess I decided ‘screw it’ and took a hit.

“I haven’t smoked pot since college,” I told Charlie.

“I know,” he said. “I used to smoke it with you, remember?”

I nodded. “I remember.” I held my mug tightly between my palms to heat them up until it hurt. The burning sensation was a sharp and pleasant contrast to the cold air. Just behind Charlie, the door clicked open.

“Hey Ana, can a talk to you for a minute?” Daniel asked, his head poking through the crack in the door.

“Sure,” I slid past Charlie and followed him inside.

“That was my brother. On the phone, I mean. My dad’s in the hospital.”

“Jesus, Daniel, I’m sorry.”

“Will you two be okay if I take off?” What he really meant was would I be able to handle Charlie alone if he took off.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“Good. Okay.” Daniel was frazzled. That was the best word for it. He ran a hand through his hair and it stuck up in odd places. “Do me a favor? Tell Charlie I had to go but don’t say why. I’ll tell him when he’s sober.”

I nodded sympathetically, embarrassed that I was beginning to feel the effects of my own non-sobriety. “Okay,” I said, and then I reached out and smoothed his hair back into place. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how he’s doing.”

“Sure.” He made his way to the door, grabbing his coat off the rack on his way.

“And Daniel?” I waited for him to turn around. “Ask him how he met your mom.”

He almost smiled, or at least I thought he did, and then he left.

I crept about halfway to the balcony door before I realized there was no reason to be stepping carefully or quietly. I rejoined Charlie and nudged him with my elbow, holding my fingers out. He passed me the joint.

“Where’s Daniel?”

“He said he had to leave and he’ll talk to you about it later,” I said before inhaling the weed.

Charlie held out his hand and wiggled his fingers impatiently. I passed the joint back over. “Did you give him a kiss goodnight?” he asked sourly.

I decided it would be best to ignore him. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“A lot, how about you?”

“None. You’ll be hung over at work tomorrow.”

He groaned. “I hate my job.”

“Yeah well I bet it’s way better when you’ve got a pounding headache,” I said sardonically.

“Yeah, I’m awful for drinking,” he bit back. “You, Saint Ana, have to get up tomorrow and tell five year olds to ‘just say no’.”

“Screw you, Charlie.”

He peered at me for a while and I looked determinedly away even though I could feel his eyes waiting to lock into mine. “Aw come on, Ana. I was joking.”

“No you weren’t,” I snapped.

“Okay, fine, it wasn’t a joke. But it wasn’t a fair jab either.” When I still didn’t look at him, he continued. “Look, I apologized, what more do you want.”

I turned on him quickly. “You haven’t apologized,” I said icily. “You said it was a joke. That’s not an apology.”

“Fine. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

“Ana. I really am sorry.” Something in his voice made me think he meant it. That was the thing about Charlie; he’d piss me off until I was ready to slap him and then he’d say something in that little boy voice that made me sorry for him. It made me think that he had enough problems anyway, without my nagging adding onto it. It was an unsure voice of a kid who just wanted to be okay, who just wanted the things he did to be okay.

“Has anyone ever pointed out to you that you have pretty major mood swings when you’re drunk?” I asked lightly.

“Yeah, Daniel tells me that whenever I start shouting.”

I chuckled. “I can imagine Daniel scolding you for that.”

He passed me the joint and I inhaled it before passing it back. “It’s easy to imagine Daniel scolding,” he said. “Doesn’t matter what for.”

I laughed again and we continued passing the pot between us. “It’s easy for you to imagine because he scolds you so often.”

Charlie grinned. “You’re probably right.”

“You know,” I began, taking a lungful of the drug, “it’s less fun you tease you if you just agree with me.”

“Why do you think,” he began, changing the subject, “the ground gets darker when it’s wet. I mean, water is clear.”

My mouth twitched into a half-assed smile. “I have no idea, Charlie. That’s something to ask a scientist.”

Charlie looked at the blunt he held between his thumb and pointer finger. It was nearly gone.

“Let’s go back in,” he suggested. “I want a glass of wine.”

“Okay.”

I followed just behind him to the kitchen and watched him pour wine into a long stemmed glass with a dark blue rim.

“Want some?” he asked.

I thought I should say no, but I honestly couldn’t think of why. I knew I had a reason, but I couldn’t remember what it was so I decided it must not have been that good. “Sure,” I told him.

He pulled out another glass, muttering, “These things are so ugly,” and filling it up. I’d heard him complain about the wine glasses before- they were a gift from his mother- and I smiled slightly, picking up the glass that was less full.

We settled into the corners of the couch and Charlie muted the TV and turned on the stereo. I waited until I recognized the jazz music as Tom Waits, then I took a sip of wine and remembered my reason for not wanting any.

---

Jazz and weed and wine would always remind me of Charlie, and so most of the time I tried to avoid that potent combination. I met him at a party in college, when I was a freshman struggling to be my own person and he was a grad student, sophisticated and self-confident, with the touch of god on him. Now I was never religious, but I couldn’t deny that there was something about him, something in him, that was as divine as I’d ever seen. He had everything: brilliance and charm and humor, permanently ruffled black hair, pale blue eyes, and a long, lean structure. He knew he had it, too, and was arrogant in an enchanting way. I was in awe of him. I was in love with him.

I ran into him, literally, on the quad a few days later and he remembered my name. I don’t think that I did more than blink and smile like an idiot as he handed me my fallen book- something for my freshman seminar- and asked me about the class. I stammered out an answer and he told me he’d see me later. He said my name again and I thought I’d melt.

That January, a few days after Christmas break had ended, I was having a glass of wine in an underground bar where they introduced their jazz pianist as Charles Baker. Charlie caught my eye and sent me one of those winks that almost looks like a blink if you aren’t paying enough attention. He finished playing and sat at my table and we smoked too many joints and enjoyed the jazz.

That evening he took me home and the next morning I crept out of his apartment in my smoke-scented black dress, shoes in hand, hoping he was too high on the jazz and weed and wine to remember that it was me he’d had in bed that night.

But me, I could never forget it, because that night I felt touched by god too.

---

It took me several seconds to swallow the sip of wine in my mouth. The longer it sat on my tongue, the more I thought I didn’t have the strength to push it down my throat.

“Maybe I should go home,” I said, taking deep breaths.

“You’re high,” Charlie told me. “You can’t drive.”

I sighed, because I knew he was right but I needed to get out before I did or said something stupid. I must have looked panicked, because Charlie shifted slightly closer to me: one of the worst things he could have done. “Are you alright?” he asked.

I nodded hastily. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Are you sure? Here, have some more wine.”

“That won’t help. Weed and wine together… And then the jazz…” I trailed off, not able to explain myself.

“You love jazz,” Charlie said, utterly confused.

“Do you remember,” I began to ask even though I never wanted to, “when we were in college? Well, I was in college and you were in grad school, and you were playing piano in the bar…” I was rambling and I couldn’t stop. The weed was probably a mistake. “And then you sat with me and we drank and we smoked and we went home. Together. I don’t know if you remember…”

“Ana. Anabelle,” Charlie said sharply enough to cause me to shut up. “Anabelle,” he said again, more softly, reverently. “I’m not that guy anymore. Look at me; I’m a mess.”

“But you remember?”

“Of course I remember.” He reached out and touched my face, and I pressed into his hand as if that would increase the sensation. I shifted closer and then closer again until I could hold his face in my hands and kiss him. He gripped me harder and I squeezed my eyes shut tight, desperate for as much of him as I could have.

When we separated my heart was as loud as our breathing.

“Christ, I’m going to need another joint,” Charlie muttered.

I frowned. “No you won’t,” I said.

“After you leave, I will.”

“I have to leave?” I hated how disappointed I sounded.

“No, but you will. Ana, I’m no good for you. I drink too much, I smoke too much…”

“Then stop drinking and smoking so much,” I said, as if it were just that simple. “I’ve wanted this- you- since I was eighteen. Because back then you were fearless. You were inspiring. And you still are, most of the time. You’re not a mess. Not really. Daniel says you do this a few times a week, but not when I’m here. That’s what he said. So I can help you, can’t I?”

“But I…” he began, unsure.

I kissed him again when he trailed off. “If you want to be different, then change. Just not too much, okay?” I smiled at him until he smiled back and then after.

“I want to be different,” he said. He kissed me, the action all his own for the first time, and we moved as close to each other as possible so I could feel the almost-familiar pang of his divinity.

“Come to bed with me,” he said. And so I did.

---

You know how everyone always says that everyone else looks so peaceful when they’re asleep? Well it’s true. At least it was with Charlie. His slightly-stubbled jaw was unclenched and the pinched little wrinkle between his eyes was gone altogether. Just the way he clutched the pillow was oddly endearing.

There were a lot of things I wanted to say just then. ‘You make me feel touched by god,’ was on the top of the list, but Charlie was fast asleep and needed to rest until the weed and wine wore off so instead of waking him I rolled over and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, reminding myself that he was high. A hand immediately clamped on my wrist.

“Don’t you dare try and leave this time,” Charlie warned groggily.

I grinned and slid back into place at his side.

“Hey Charlie,” I whispered.

“Hey Ana,” he murmured in response. “Go back to sleep. I want you here when I wake up.”

There was still a lot left in the open. There were still sober conversations to be had and adjustments to be made. But when he said those words, in that voice in that bed in the middle of the night, god I felt like I could live forever.