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“My mother loved Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, Sarah Vaugh, all the queens of jazz. So instead of choosing just one, she named me after their style of music. It was a lucky coincidence that my mom’s last name was Legend.”
“Lucky indeed. What a delightful story. I’m Daphne Adamo, Leo’s neighbour. I won’t keep Leo for longer than a moment,” she says, producing a jar of mayonnaise. “I couldn’t get it open for the life of me.”
“No problem.” I take the jar from her and twist off the top.
“Thank you, lovey. I’m baking for Thea’s visit tomorrow,” she says of her daughter. “The trick to a moist chocolate cake is a big dollop of mayo,” she tells Jazz. “Better than butter.”
“That’s good to know. I enjoy baking when I have the time.”
“Leo doesn’t eat sugar, but there are many alternatives these days.” She smiles at me and pats my cheek like I’m ten. “He’s such a nice boy. He picks up groceries for me and offers to drive me to the doctor when my daughter can’t. And when my Herbert passed away, Leo took care of all the arrangements.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jazz says, her voice filled with empathy. “Losing someone you love is never easy.”
“You’re right. It’s been a whole year now and I still miss him. I don’t know what I would have done without Leo. He was so helpful, and his kind words at the burial brought me comfort. Not only is Leo as handsome as a movie star, he also has a heart of gold. He’s quite a catch.”
“We shouldn’t keep you any longer, Mrs. Adamo,” I interrupt before she starts planning our wedding. “You don’t want to miss your favourite shows.” I take her arm and escort her back across the hall.
“I do love my murder mysteries. Come by when you’re back next, Jazz, and I’ll make us some tea and cookies.”
“I will, thank you.”
“Leo, hold onto this one,” she whispers loudly. “I have a good feeling. It’s in the eyes. You can always tell when there’s a sparkle.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Good night, Mrs. Adamo.”
I close the door behind her, wait to hear it lock because sometimes she forgets, and return to Jazz. “So, Ms. Undecided, are you coming in?”
“I think I will. Mrs. Adamo’s character reference swayed me. Did you really bury your neighbour’s husband?” she asks, surprised.
“No, she was already a widow when I moved in. Herbert was her pet guinea pig. All I did was put him in a shoebox and bury him in the backyard.”
“And give a eulogy.”
I shrug, and she laughs.
“Maybe you do have some redeeming qualities after all.”
“Maybe. But when it comes to you, all my thoughts are debauched and depraved.”
“I think I can handle it.”
“We’ll see.” I close the door and pull her into my arms.
“Hands off, Foster,” she playfully warns. “I, at least, want a drink first.”
“Sure,” I reply, summoning up the willpower not to rip that dress off her and go primal.
She tucks her clutch beneath one arm and bends to untie her shoes. “I’m a shoe-whore,” she confesses. “I have a closet full because I love the way they look, but I much prefer the comfort of being barefoot.”
“Those are damn sexy. But by all means, get comfortable.”
She smiles and slips them off. Her toes are painted bright pink, of course. I’d heard ballet dancers had rough feet, the callouses necessary, but Jazz’s toes look cute and suckable. As I move to the kitchen, I watch her walk into the living room.
My first-floor apartment is situated in an older building that’s three stories high and surrounded by trees with branches that tap against the glass panes when it’s windy. The walkway outside is cracked, and the floors inside are worn. I rented this place when I didn’t have much money. Now, I can afford something newer and more expensive, but I like the area and the proximity to work and my mother.
“Aside from water and juice, I only have beer and whiskey,” I inform her.
“Whiskey with ice is fine.”
