Thursday, December 23, 1971
Daniel Mangan stopped in front of the brightly lit window display, feigning interest while watching the two young men loping along the sidewalk ahead of him. They stopped suddenly and Dan tucked his chin into his coat collar and continued staring into the window.
Don’t Forget the Woman You Love, a sign reminded him. “No. I haven’t forgotten her, I just can’t tell her,” he thought as he watched one of the men pull a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and then point ahead.
The second nodded and they continued on to the corner where they paused briefly before crossing and heading down the side street.
Dan hurried behind hoping he wouldn’t lose them. He’d spent the past three days following these two men to see if they were dealing with the Irish Republican Army.
With ink barely dry on his Bachelor’s Degree from John Jay College, he had entered the ATF training program. After twenty-seven weeks in basic training program he’d been assigned temporarily to the Manhattan office while hoping to be accepted into the highly competitive Criminal Investigative Program. This assignment was his last opportunity to prove his ability.
Dan had entered John Jay planning to earn a degree in criminal justice and join a local or state police department. While in school, he’d considered getting a graduate degree and trying for a position with the FBI. However, with the enactment of the Organized Crime Act the prior year, ATF had been recruiting heavily for graduates of one of the best criminal justice programs in the country. The enticement of joining a prestigious and rapidly growing federal agency without graduate school was just too tempting and Dan applied.
“Dammit,” he muttered. A large van, marked “Solex Fine Foods, Catsmo Artisan Smokehouse” was double parked in the middle of the block and blocked his view of several building entrances and vehicles that were parked legally. He waited as the two men disappeared behind it and never came out. He then crossed and saw that they must have entered one of two buildings. He stopped at the first entrance. Seeing that the directory included both residences and commercial uses he chose it over the adjacent brick residential building. He swore again when he looked up and saw that it had six stories and, given its age, it was doubtful that there was an elevator.
Jim Frayne headed down the once well-worn path that ran through the woods between his well-appointed home and the more modest Crabapple Farm. It had been several years since his family had opened up Manor House for the holidays, opting to celebrate at their Manhattan penthouse. When learning that his sister would be down from Montreal and Jim was between grad school and training with the Outward-Bound program, they had announced they would celebrate in the country this year. They’d already hosted a series of parties and were planning a huge Christmas Eve open house. Jim had hesitated spending the entire holiday in Sleepyside but was now thankful to be there. He was happy to be spending time with his adoptive family and was especially excited at the prospect of spending some time with his old friends while he was home.
He exited the woods and headed across the lawn and gravel drive, smiling at the sight of a brightly lit spruce tree in front of the family room window, every limb weighted down with a mix of homemade, heirloom and other brightly colored ornaments. He was half-way across the drive when a car turned off of Glen Road and headed towards him. He waited to see who it might be, then smiled and waved at the driver.
The best thing of all, he thought, was having his sister Honey so well and happy, and reunited with her best friend.
Looking up and down the street to make sure the two men weren’t lurking somewhere, Dan entered the building. He checked the first floor to see that there was no rear exit before deciding how to proceed. Feeling like each lesson and instinct he acquired while living on the streets as a teen, while in the Marine Corps, while a student at John Jay College, and during his most recent ATF training, was yelling instructions at him simultaneously, he decided to head upstairs toward the sounds of live music and a crowd of people.
At the third landing, he was greeted by an elderly African American man. “Welcome to Rivbea Studio, man. You’re lucky tonight. Sam may be playing.”
“Sam?” Dan tried to sound like he knew who Sam might be.
“Yeah. No cover, but we do ask…” the older man indicated a glass fish bowl filled with bills sitting on a bar stool.
“Sure. Of course.” Dan pulled a couple of bills from his jeans pocket and stuffed them into the bowl.
“Thanks.” Dan stepped past the door that the man held open and into a large room packed with people of all ages, sizes, colors, and possible sexual orientations. A woman sat at a baby grand in the far corner playing a tune somewhat familiar to Dan. He saw that the two men he’d been following were greeting the people standing around the piano and checked to see that there was only one door other than the one where he entered. He then looked for a place where he could stand or sit where he could observe the two men as well as the two exits. without their noticing him. There was one wooden stool at the end of a makeshift bar and he grabbed it. He sat down with his back to the bar, confirming that it gave him a good view.
“What’ll you have?”
“7 and 7,” Dan responded without turning around. Seven was supposed to be a lucky number and he hoped he’d be lucky that evening. Of course, he hated 7-Up. He’d learned to tolerate almost anything alcoholic while in Vietnam, but not 7-Up.
The bartender placed a paper napkin on the bar and began making the drink. Dan hoped the drink would be watered down. He was becoming fairly proficient at making a single drink last all evening, but it was easier to remain alert if it was a weak drink.
Jim laughed as his sister piled one gaily wrapped package after another onto his outstretched arms. When the stack reached above his head he asked if it was all.
“This is just the first load.” Honey walked around to the back of the car. “There’s a lot more in the trunk.
“Well, I now know why you had to drive a few hundred feet, rather than walk with me.” Jim turned carefully and headed towards the service porch. The stack wobbled dangerously as he reached for the storm door handle so he decided to try the seldom used bell instead. Despite his best efforts, the entire stack fell onto the sidewalk and in the adjacent flower garden.
“Dammit,” he mumbled as he began picking them up.
“What are you doing? Why didn’t you wait for me, Jim? I have these…” Honey ran up and offered her brother a large cardboard box. “These are for carrying the packages.”
“I certainly don’t need it now.” Jim handed a few packages to Honey and picked up the remaining from where they had fallen. “Where do you want these?” Honey held the screen door open for him and he stepped up onto the porch.
“Just set them where I can sort them. Some are for the Bob Whites and should be opened tonight but most are for others on Christmas morning.” She placed hers on the porch floor. “And I have more!” she called out as she headed back to the car.
“New here?” a man asked as he sat down next to Dan.
“Yeah, but I heard Sam’s playing tonight,” Dan responded while still watching the room. He hoped the man wouldn’t ask more since he had no idea who Sam might be.
Fortunately, the bartender returned with Dan’s drink and asked the man for his order, so Dan was saved from any further conversation. Taking the glass without turning completely around, he took a small sip. It appeared to be more water and 7 Up than anything alcoholic so he felt confident he’d be able to handle it and more if necessary.
He continued to watch the room, focusing on the two men he’d followed and the two doors, while also enjoying some of the best jazz he’d heard in years.
The pianist had been joined by several other musicians who had continued playing without interruption. The door opposite from the one where he’d entered opened and the room immediately became silent. Dan watched as a forty-something African American man came in, carrying what he recognized as a tenor saxophone. His father had played tenor sax and Dan was flooded with memories of his father’s forcing him to listen to John Coltrane records. He also remembered his mother’s crying when she’d pawned his father’s saxophone. Those tears had turned him away from ever picking up a musical instrument or ever listening to Coltrane again. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to break that Coltrane resolution tonight.
“It’s Sam,” he heard someone say, almost as if offering a prayer.
Jim set the packages on the large pine kitchen table and helped Honey with two more loads. Diana Lynch Belden joined Honey in sorting them so Jim took his and Honey’s coats and joined the others in the family room. Brian Belden was stoking the fire that roared in a huge stone fireplace that was a remnant of the original 18th century structure. Brian’s younger brother Mart was sitting on an ottoman trying to entertain two-year-old Mick while rocking a wooden cradle with his foot.
“I’d get up but…” Mart nodded from one young son to the other.
Brian set the poker on the hearth and offered a hand to his friend. Jim started to take it when Brian impulsively pulled him into a one-armed man-hug. “It’s been too long, Frayne. Far too long.” Jim started to agree as Brian pulled him toward a petite young woman with dark hair in a pixie cut sitting on the sofa. It had been almost two years since he’d seen her, and she hadn’t seemed as confident and sophisticated then, but Jim immediately recognized her as Brian’s new wife Terri.
“Welcome to the Bob-Whites, Terri.” He pulled Terri up and into a bear hug. “Beautiful as ever. Is the hair a Paris influence?”
Ever since Jim had accepted the invitation to join all his high school friends for this Christmas party, he had worried how to best greet Terri. He had already moved to Boston when she and Brian began dating. Shortly after that, she had accepted a Guggenheim Fellowship to study music composition in Paris. While Brian had encouraged her to go while he completed medical school in New York, once they were separated he had become depressed, even despondent in her absence. He was seriously considering taking leave from medical school to join her and turned to Jim for advice. Still hurting from his own recently failed relationship, Jim had encouraged his best friend to end the relationship; to let Terri pursue her ambitions in France while Brian focused on his own, much as was doing.
While their friendship had survived many disagreements over the years, his well-meant but somewhat callous advice had not been well received. Brian had chosen to ignore it, borrow money, max out his credit card, and make a trip to Paris. He had returned ready to resume his studies, but not the close relationship the two young men had shared. Jim now was thankful his friend had ignored him and managed to maintain a long-distance relationship. Seeing how happy and proud Brian was, he began to question his own choice.
“Don’t we have to vote to let anyone new into our membership?” Mart asked from his perch.
“As Co-President of the Bob Whites, I decree that marriage automatically makes someone a member.”
“Then what about Chip? He’s…”
Jim nodded his head towards the kitchen and quickly changed the subject. “Speaking of Co-Presidents, where’s Trixie?” He paused before adding, “And Dan?”
“Trixie’s due any time but Dan wasn’t sure he’d make it. He said he’s on some assignment and his getting home depends on its length and location.” Diana responded as she and Honey entered the room carrying packages.
“Is he really a G-man?” Honey asked as she set her load under the Christmas tree.
“Not really,” Mart handed the now happy Mick a book and set his son on the floor in front of the tree. He moved over to a large armchair and let his wife replace him on the ottoman. “Technically, the term is an abbreviated or slang form of the term, ‘Government Man’, but it’s generally used only in reference to agents with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and not other federal agencies. It’s thought to have originated during the arrest of the gangster, George “Machine Gun” Kelly by agents of the Bureau of Investigation (BOI), a forerunner of the FBI, in September 1933. Finding himself surrounded and unarmed, Kelly supposedly shouted, "Don't shoot, G-Men! Don't shoot, G-Men!. J. Edgar Hoover, his first name was John, by the way…”
“Okay, Mr. Walking Encyclopedia. Enough!” Diana interrupted her husband.
“I prefer the moniker of Human Lexicon,” Mart responded.
“Enough!” they all yelled.
“Well, Terri may have changed her hair but I see some things never change.” Jim quipped.
BANG! The kitchen door slammed against a wall.
“Someone want to help me with all this sh…stuff!” Trixie Belden called out. “Is everyone here? Sorry I’m late but I got delayed. Hey! Where’s my help?”
Yes, some things never change, Jim thought as he and the others hurried into the kitchen to welcome his high school sweetheart. He’d called her his special girl back then, but she had been much more. She’d given him life, salvation.
Dan was so mesmerized by the sweet, smooth melodies played by this man, Sam, that he found it difficult to focus on the two men across the room. He played the saxophone like nothing Dan had ever heard in his life. While it brought back memories of his father, it was much more. He knew he was in the presence of a truly great talent.
The man played one tune after another with no one moving from where they sat or stood. The only time Sam took a break himself was to wipe the sweat from his face and, once, to point to the bartender who quickly took over a drink.
Dan leaned forward each time a new song was announced, trying to hear the low sweet voice that parodied the sounds made by his tenor sax.
“Beatrix,” someone called out. Dan smiled at the familiar name and leaned even further, trying to hear what Sam said.
But instead of speaking, he nodded to the piano player who then began playing a soft melody. After a few bars, the saxophonist began playing. It started soft and low, almost sexy, and then the tempo picked up. While the saxophone continued to speak to him in a low sultry voice, there was an undercurrent of energy and passion. The tune switched tempo and style several times over the next six minutes, but Dan continued to feel that sweet sexiness in the sax.
When it was over, those sitting jumped to their feet, while everyone applauded. A few whistled or let out a few hoops. Dan remained sitting, almost as if he were in a trance. The trombonist looked in his direction and smiled. He said something to the pianist and headed through the crowd towards the corner where Dan sat.
Dan watched as one person after another reached out to the musician and admired the way he smiled and acknowledged each fan. The man had talent and humility. Dan just hoped he would have an opportunity to meet him.
By now, Dan had lost sight of the two men he’d been following. The room was packed shoulder to shoulder and it was impossible to see over the heads of the people, most of whom were standing. Dan felt confident that no one was moving in that crowd.
Eventually the musician got to the corner where Dan was sitting. The man next to Dan jumped up and offered his stool and inched away.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” The man nodded to the bartender and wiped his forehead with the now soaked towel.
“Do you know everyone who comes here?” Dan avoided the question.
“No, not everyone. But I think I know everyone who stares so intently. I hope it’s because you liked the music.”
“Oh, yes.” Dan offered his hand. “It was fabulous.”
“Sam Rivers.” The older man shook Dan’s hand. He then took the tall glass the bartender offered him and drained it. “Nothing but water, son. But I like it icy cold.” He gave the glass back to the bartender who left to fill it again. “They do tell me I’m good.”
“More than good.”
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Do you play?”
“Oh, no. But my father played tenor sax.” Dan realized he had almost broken his cover. He needed to be more careful. “Tell me, that last piece you played. Beatrix?”
“No, it’s called Beatrice. I guess you liked it.” He took a drink of the water. “Guess not. You look disappointed.”
“It was beautiful. I was…it reminded me of someone.”
“A woman.”
“Yes, Mr. Rivers. And she’s…well…she’s named…Beatrix.” Dan clinched his teeth. He was sharing far too much personal info.
“Everyone calls me Sam. Just Sam.” He chuckled. “You are new here or you’d know Beatrice.”
Dan raised an eyebrow.
“Beatrice is my wife. My partner. This club is named for her and I wrote that song for her. Yes, my Beatrice is…well she’s a very special woman.”
Dan nodded his understanding.
“Sweet. She makes my life soooooo sweet. But she can be hot and fast, too. And when she gets mad…” Sam laughed.
“Exactly,” Dan agreed. “That’s exactly what I heard. And it can describe, well, she’s…
“Do you know the story of Beatrice? Dante’s muse?” Sam emptied another glass of water.
Dan shook his head.
“They don’t teach enough of the classics in school any more. Beatrice was a woman that Dante met when he was a young man. He fell passionately in love with her as a young man and never fell out of it. In fact, it’s believed he only saw her twice in his entire life. He named a character in The Divine Comedy after her. Beatrice intercedes with God to have for Virgil lead Dante through hell, but she is the one to take him from Purgatory into Paradise because, as a pagan, Virgil cannot enter Paradise. In fact, Dante’s entire imaginary journey aims, in part, to find Beatrice.
“Think of that, she was beautiful, pure, idolized and yet was strong enough to survive the fires of hell, only to immerge in paradise. That’s my Beatrice. My muse, not exactly pure—she is married to me.” He laughed at his joke. “But she’s led me out of the fires of hell more than once. She’s my life and my salvation.”
“You know,” Dan offered. “You might say that about the Beatrix I know.” She certainly rescued me from hell, he thought.
Sam patted him on the back. “You know, you look exactly like someone I knew back in…a long time ago. He was a tenor sax player, too. What did you say your name is?”
Dan noticed the two men he was following heading towards the exit.
“Don. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go, but I want to come back. Hear you play again. Maybe meet Beatrice.” He threw a bill onto the bar and hopped off his stool.
“That’d be nice and bring YOUR Beatrice.” Sam called out as he went out the door.
It’s Beatrix, Dan thought. With an X.
“I thought I would die!” Trixie wiped the tears of laughter from her cheeks. “Honey and I had so much fun dressing you up, but we never ever thought you two would win the womanless beauty contest. Never!
Jim’s face was bright red. “I never thought I’d make it across the stage. That had to have been the single most humiliating…”
“Oh, c’mon Jim. You enjoyed every minute. Especially when Trixie spent so much time fussing over your make-up.”
“I wasn’t fussing. I just didn’t have a clue how to put make up on myself, much less someone else.”
“Try making up someone who had a BEARD!” Honey added.
“You had a beard?” Terri turned to her husband.
“No. Just a manly five o’clock shadow.” Brian rubbed his chin.
“What were your names?” Di asked. “Was one of you Miss Frogtown?”
“That was Brian. I was Miss Shepherd’s Ford.”
“Well, I agree with Jim that I never want to do something like that again, but it was for a good cause.”
“We raised money for a lot of good causes back then. Those were the best times.” Honey offered wistfully. “I miss…”
Trixie crossed the room and sat down next to her friend. “I miss them too. But we have many, many good times ahead. Tonight will be just the first of our many adult adventures.” She hugged her oldest and dearest friend. “We’re partners.”
“Well, I for one could use a good adventure; at least one without two under two.” Diana pointed upstairs where two-year-old Mick and six-month-old Jack now were sleeping.
“How can they sleep through all this talking and laughter?” Terri asked her sister-in-law.
“They are so much like their father. They eat anything and everything and then sleep soundly until they wake up hungry. Then it’s eat and sleep. Eat and sleep. Eat and…”
“Hey! I do much more than that,” Mart protested.
“I lived with you for almost twenty years, Mart. I know better.” Trixie flashed her most evil grin at her brother.
“People do change as they age, Mizzz Beatrix Belden. I certainly hope you’ve controlled your propensity to rush into dangerous situations since you joined the PD,” her brother retorted.
“Beatrice? I always thought it was just Trixie.” Terri looked confused.
“No. It’s Beatrix. With an X. Since Brian got Grandmother Belden’s name—Francis not Brian--I got stuck with Grandmother Johnson’s. I hated it with a passion as a kid, so Trixie was a salvation I guess. But now…Having a name that sounds like you’re a stripper isn’t very conducive to gaining respect when your co-workers are a bunch of macho cops.”
“So, do they call you Trixie?”
Trixie laughed. “My name tag just has my first initial, B Belden. Those who don’t call me ‘Rookie’ or ‘Belden’ call me ‘B’. So far, I haven’t corrected anyone.
Trixie got up and headed towards the kitchen. “I’m ready for pie. Anyone else?”
“I’ll help.” Terri followed her.
Jim watched as the two women moved around the large kitchen. He marveled at how easily the Beldens had welcomed both Terri and Di into their family and how lucky the man who married Trixie would be.
“That huge pine cupboard is an incredible piece of furniture,” Terri said as they came back into the family room. “Do you know how old it is?”
“I just know it’s been at Crabapple Farm for generations. Some great-great-great grandfather or something made it and the table, too. They were in the original kitchen when Moms and Dad moved here. One of the conditions for Moms’ leaving the city and moving here was that she’d get a state of the art kitchen.
“This room was the original kitchen. With that large fireplace and all the windows and doorways it was almost impossible to modernize it. Also, our grandfather was quite ill and couldn’t maneuver the stairs, so they built the entire addition that Moms designed. She made sure it could accommodate the family pieces as well as her state-of-the-art 1948 kitchen. It also included that large suite for my grandparents.” She pointed towards the door that led into what was now the master bedroom. After my grandmother died, we used the downstairs as a guest room but eventually Moms and Dad took it over. Moms also had them put in the large bay, just for our Christmas trees.”
Terri nodded her understanding. ‘I guess a lot of love has gone into this room…this entire house.”
“And it continues.” Brian had been listening intently to the conversation. “Beldens have lived in this house for almost 200 years, but each generation has added their own touches. With Mart and Di, now you and I, and that new generation of Beldens sleeping upstairs,” He looked over at his brother and sister-in-law, snuggled together in the oversized club chair. I guess it’ll continue.
Terri set what she was carrying down on the coffee table and hugged her husband. She turned and went back into the kitchen with Brian following.
“There’s a pot of decaf percolating,” Trixie added. “But you’re on your own to get a cup.” She grabbed some cookies and sat down on the sofa. “I think I’m done for the evening.”
Jim grabbed some and sat down beside her. “Have you had as good a time this evening as I?”
“It’s been great.”
“We waited too long to do this.”
“Yeah.” Trixie took a bite of her cookie. “But we’ve been so scattered.”
“But we won’t wait long to get together again?”
“I hope not, but with Brian and Terri heading to Virginia and you…where are you going for your Outward-Bound training?”
“Colorado. But only for a few months. Then I’ll be back east; either Maine or North Carolina.”
“Yeah, and Honey’s going back to Montreal for school and Dan…he doesn’t know where he’ll be.”
“It might take an effort, but we can make it work.” Jim looked at her, thinking they had to make it work.
“I’ll be here—or at least in the City.”
“I’ve got a couple things I need to talk about before we all scatter again.”
Trixie swallowed. “And?”
“Do you think we could meet for lunch tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Tomorrow’s not good. I still have some shopping to do and Moms will need help.” Trixie didn’t want to disappoint Jim by turning him down. If he wanted to talk privately, she assumed it must be important; but Christmas Eve would be chaotic at best. “How about Monday?”
“Monday lunch,” Jim agreed.
“At Wimpy’s.” They said together and then laughed.
“Would it be anywhere else?” Jim agreed as he leaned back. He’d been building up courage all evening to ask Trixie to meet with him and was relieved that she’d accepted his offer. Of course, now he’d have to build up the courage to tell her everything he’d been thinking for years. She’d been his first love. She’d been his salvation: searching for him when he’d run away from the evil Jonesy and uniting him with a family with immeasurable riches, both material and spiritual beyond his wildest imagination. She’d risked her own life to find his sister and then traveled to Canada to save her. Neither of her brothers would be married had she not intervened and saved them from their ignorance. And she’d saved Dan. How many times had she saved Dan? He wondered how many people other than the Bob Whites might consider her their salvation.
And he’d tried to change her.
He wanted to…no he needed to tell her how much she meant to him…and still did. And he understood that she never should change.
Honey walked up carrying two steaming mugs. “Would one of you like a cup?”
Holding a plate in one hand, Trixie reached up with her left hand to take a mug. “Thanks…”
“What’s that?” Jim grabbed at her hand, almost causing Trixie to spill the coffee.
Dan heard the exterior door on the first floor close as he headed down the stairs so he quickened his descent. He practically leapt across the lobby and followed them outside just in time to see them disappear around the corner at the opposite end of the block from which they’d come earlier. He hurried up the block, hesitated before turning the corner and, when he did, he encountered the two men as well as his supervisor, Ned Elliott.
Initially confused, he quickly realized what was going on and smiled broadly at the older man. “So, this was all a set up.”
“Good work, Mangan. Good but not great.”
Dan’s smile rapidly disappeared.
“Don’t worry, Mangan. I said good. Your first attempt. Your instincts were excellent. You never lost them for almost three days. But they spotted you the second day. Lost you for a while but spotted you again tonight. And while you took almost no unnecessary risks, following them into that club was…well it was a set up that you walked right into.
“But I didn’t…I didn’t see anything going on there.”
“Nothing was. It’s just a club where people come to enjoy music. At least as far as we know. But you had no idea if it were a trap. At least I don’t think you know anything about the RivBea.”
Dan shook his head.
One of the men he’d been following stepped up. “You did ten times better than I did when I first started. Listen, when we spotted you this evening I suggested to Jay that we catch some great jazz and see if you followed.”
“Hope you enjoyed the jazz,” the other man added.
“I did. But…” Dan didn’t know what to say. He had failed. Years of training and over 48 hours without sleep only to have failed.
“Does this mean,” he turned to his supervisor. “Am I still on schedule to enter the investigative training course?”
Ned slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve already been accepted. Everyone has a couple set ups like this before we let them out on the street.”
Dan sighed and all four of them laughed.
“I do expect you in my office at 9:00 am on Monday. All four of us will review everything that happened the past three days. I plan to keep you busy for a couple more days and then you’re scheduled to report to Glynco on the 2nd.”
“Understood.”
“Until Monday I want you to get some rest, enjoy Christmas. I understand you have family near here?”
“Yessir.”
“My car’s parked up the street. Can I give you a lift anywhere?”
Dan glanced at his watch to see if the trains were still running. “Could you take me to Grand Central. I should just make the last train home.”
“It’s nothing.” Trixie pulled away from Jim and rubbed the bandage that was wrapped around her hand. “An accident.”
“That’s a huge bandage. How did we not see it earlier? What are you hiding, Trixie?” Jim reached for her hand. “Brian? Did you see this?” Jim was trying to control the panic in his voice.
Brian started to stand but Terri grabbed the bottom of his sweater and pulled him back onto the chair beside her. “That’s an awfully big bandage Sis,” he called out.
“Dammit! I told you it was nothing. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. It was an accident.”
“And where did you have the accident?” Jim reached for her hand again and was successful this time. “Did it happen at work? You know how dangerous police work can be. Is your tetanus current? Is it a cut or…”? His heart was pounding and he’d raised his voice.
Trixie pulled back her hand. “I was stabbed with an ice pick. A super tiny wound that didn’t even require stitches. And, YES, my tetanus is current. And, YES, I always wear my seatbelt. And, YES, I’m a super cautious cop. I graduated second in my class at the academy and qualified first on the firing range.” She stood up. “And YES, I tried to hide it because I knew you’d react exactly like this. I do not need you or anyone else slobbering all over me.”
She grabbed her plate and mug and stomped into the kitchen.
Jim jumped up and followed her. Trixie stood at the sink with the water running. He watched while she tested the temperature and then began filling a large plastic dishpan.
“I’m sorry, Trixie. My overly protective, stupid male instincts kicked in and I...”
“When will you ever understand that I am capable…” Trixie reached for the dishwashing liquid and squeezed some into the water.
“I understand. I…”
“I think you try to.” She paused. “But you don’t.”
“It’s why I want to talk. I know how much you’ve grown, but I have too. I need for you to understand that. And no matter how you feel, you’ll always be…” he hesitated. “Are we still on for Wimpy’s?”
It seemed like hours to Jim until Trixie turned around.
She smiled weakly, rushed over to him, and gave him a hug. “Noon on Monday. We’ll work this out. Now can you collect the dirty dishes for me?”
“You can drop me here,” Dan told the cab driver. When he left New York without any bags, he hadn’t been sure whether he’d go directly to his uncle’s or try hiking up to his mentor’s isolated cabin where he kept toiletries and clothes. Seeing all the lights on inside Crabapple Farm, he knew he had to stop there first.
He paid the driver and headed up the long gravel driveway. Halfway to the house, the twinkle lights across the front porch railing and light over the front door went out. The lights on the tree in the family room lit up the entire side of the house so he headed towards them and the service porch beyond. The tree lights darkened just as he walked past the large bay, but he continued towards the rear entrance.
“Dan!”
Trixie came running out the kitchen door and across the service porch. “I thought…you said you were on assignment and…” She leapt into his arms. “You missed the party. Everyone was here…well everyone except you. But they’re all gone now.”
“I didn’t think you were celebrating in the dark.” Dan put her down and followed her into the house. “I have been on assignment. In New York. But I’m free until Monday.” He took off his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door.
“I’m making tea. That special lemon tea Moms gets. Do you want some? Or some pie? Or cookies?”
“Tea’s fine.” Dan watched as Trixie filled the kettle and put it on the stove.
“So, tell me about your assignment.” Trixie leaned back against the sink.
“Trix, you know I can’t. But I did find this terrific jazz club in the city. This saxophone player was…it was the most incredible music I’ve ever heard. And I met him and we talked for a while and…anyway I want to take you there. The sax player, his wife is Beatrice, C-E not X, but she sounds a lot like you. And the club’s name is RivBea.
“And you’re free until Monday and then…”
“I’m in the city for a few days but I don’t know how free I’ll be.”
Trixie got two mugs from the drying rack, turned around and smiled slyly. “But you have to eat…and sleep…”
“And other things.” Dan laughed. “Is that a bandage on your hand?” He reached for it.
“Just a…nothing really.”
“Did you get it at work?”
Trixie nodded.
“What’s the other guy look like?” Dan smiled knowingly.
“He’s was high on LSD.”
“But you subdued him.” Dan waited while Trixie nodded. “How?”
“Kicked him in the…”
Dan roared with laughter.
“He’d stabbed me in the hand. I had one good hand and he was totally out of his mind. I used what I had. A good pair of heavy oxfords.”
Dan continue laughing. “You are one incredible woman Trixie Belden. Soft and sweet one minute, tough as nails the next.”
“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed all the Bob Whites, but I’ve missed you the most.”
“You’re with me no matter where I am, Trix. You’re my muse.”
“Wheeee.”
Trixie tended to making the tea. She turned around and handed Dan a mug.
“So, tell me about this sax player and the club.”
“Ink to parchment, words to paper, glory to Beatrice.”
Dante Alighieri
Author’s Notes
DISCLAIMER: Trixie Belden® is a registered trademark of Random House. This story and its author are not affiliated with Random House in any way and no profit is being made. This story is story written solely for the enjoyment of Julie aka Jstar8 and other readers.
This story was written as a Secret Santa gift for JStar8 (Julie). It was an honor to try to create a story that adequately expresses my appreciation to Julie for her courage and generosity in becoming a Jixemitri Administrator and keeping “the greatest place on the web” alive. As always, I hope that Julie and all readers enjoy this humble offering as much as I did creating it.
The Alcohol and Tobacco and Firearms Division of the Internal Revenue Service (ATF) was renamed and its duties expanded in 1968. After enactment of the Explosives Control Act in 1970, even more responsibilities were delegated to the ATF division of the IRS. In 1972, it was officially established as an independent Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms within the Treasury Department. The Homeland Security Act of 2002, transferred the ATF from the Department of the Treasury to the Department of Justice.
John Jay College of Criminal Justice is a senior college of the City University of New York, located in midtown Manhattan. It was founded in 1964, as the only liberal arts college with a criminal justice and forensic focus in the United States. The college is known for its highly esteemed criminal justice, forensic science, forensic psychology and public affairs programs.
Outward-Bound USA is a national network of schools in the United States whose objectives are to foster personal growth and social skills of participants using challenging expeditions in the outdoors. Its programs include Educator Expeditions designed to provide a thorough understanding of the OB learning approach and to help participants to integrate the approach into their own classrooms or teaching roles.
7 and 7 is a mixed alcoholic drink containing Segram’s Seven Crown and 7-Up. A blended whiskey, Segram’s Seven Crown was popular in the 1970s, but saw a decrease in use along with most whiskeys in the 1980s and 1990s. 7 Up is a brand of lemon-lime flavored soft-drink, distributed in the United States by the PepsiCo corporation.
Guggenheim Fellowships are highly competitive grants that have been awarded annually since 1925, to those "who have demonstrated exceptional capacity for productive scholarship or exceptional creative ability in the arts". The roll of Fellows includes numerous Nobel Laureates and Pulitzer prize winners.
John Coltrane (1926-1967) was an American jazz saxophonist and composer who helped pioneer modern and free form jazz. He is one of the most dominant influences on post-1960 jazz saxophonists and has inspired an entire generation of jazz musicians.
Samuel Rivers (1923-2011) was an American jazz musician and composer. He performed on soprano and tenor saxophones, bass clarinet, flute, harmonica and piano. Rivers was an influential and prominent artist in jazz music, especially during the 1960-70s.
In 1970, Rivers and his wife, Beatrice (1931-2005), opened a jazz loft on Bond Street in Lower Manhattan. The popularity of Studio Rivbea, coupled with his forward-thinking compositions, made Rivers a leading figure and spiritual guide for the ’70s jazz loft scene.
Sam Rivers may best be remembered for “Beatrice,” a deeply felt ballad inspired by his wife of 56 years. It has become a jazz standard and a staple of tenor saxophone repertoire in particular. The song goes a long way explaining the longevity of their 56-year marriage. It can be heard at: http://www.rivbea.com/Beatrice.mp3
Beatrice is one of the guides in Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy. She guides Dante from Purgatory and into Paradise and, being the incarnation of beatific love as her name applies, she leads him to the Beatific vision. Dante saw Beatrice, described as being “radiant and comforting", as a savior who removed all evil intentions. “She has ineffable courtesy, is my beatitude, the destroyer of all vices and the queen of virtue, salvation.”