Only This Beautiful Moment by Abdi Nazemian

Author:Abdi Nazemian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

Bobby

1939

Los Angeles

Mother has been on edge all week. Her mood swings have been even more pronounced than usual. On Monday, she burned toast and said it was a curse. On Tuesday, she spent six hours cleaning. On Wednesday, she went to church for the first time in, well . . . at least five years. On Thursday, she took me to a street fortune-teller. “Look at his palm,” Mother told her. “Is that the palm of a star?” The fortune-teller traced the lines in my palm and agreed. “You know what I think?” Mother said. “I think MGM is playing hard to get. Is that what you see?” The fortune-teller nodded.

It’s Friday now, and Mother is frantic backstage. She’s got me and Willie standing in front of a mirror. She brushes his thick blond hair back. Spits in her hand to paste it down. Then does the same to me. I dream of a day when my mother’s spit won’t be in my hair.

“You look perfect,” Mother says to Willie, squeezing his football player’s body from behind. “The new suit looks very handsome, and what do you boys think of my new dress?” She twirls, shimmering in silver brocade.

Willie grabs Mother and pulls her close. “You look gorgeous, Mags,” he whispers in her ear. Willie is always giving Mother these kind of compliments.

Onstage, a comedian is audible. He’s new, I think. I’ve never heard his very particular laugh before. He finishes laughing at one of his own corny jokes and then announces, “Up next at Slapsy Maxie’s, we’ve got that family band you all love, the Reeves Trio.”

I find my spot onstage at the piano. Willie sits on a stool with his new Gibson guitar, which Mother bought for him with the money we all earned. And Mother takes the microphone. I start to play “Embraceable You.” It’s our first time playing the song for an audience. I close my eyes and think of Vicente. I wish I could tell the whole world that I chose this song for him.

When I open my eyes, he’s in the audience. Vicente. He never comes to my shows. His dad doesn’t like him out late. Why is he here?

“‘Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you. Embrace me, my irreplaceable you.’”

We end the song with my improvised piano solo. I deconstruct the melody, letting it turn into something mysterious and surprising. When the song ends, no one claps louder than Vicente. I wonder if he knows I’m playing these notes for him. I close my eyes and imagine we’re the only two people in the room.

When our show ends, I rush backstage and throw my coat on. “What’s the rush?” Mother asks. “We’re having a late dinner. I asked Vinnie to join.”

“His name is Vicente.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “Vinnie is easier.”

“Why did you ask him to come?” I ask, genuinely shocked. Mother thinks “Vinnie” is a boring jock.

“He’s your friend,” she says. “And I wanted tonight to be special for you. I’m not a monster, you know.

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