A Pinch of Ooh La La by Renee Swindle Read Free Book Online Page A

the floor. She sang “Trouble Is a Man” in a slow, breathy voice. “Why is she singing it like she’s at a funeral? She needs to speed that shit up. She should know better.” Dinah was Rita’s daughter, but Bailey had taught her everything she knew about music.
    â€œGo easy on her,” Rita said lightheartedly.
    â€œI’m gonna show her what’s what; that’s what I’m going to do. Messin’ with my song like that.”
    We followed Bailey downstairs to Dad’s large practice room. Dinah stood at the mike singing while my dad, Uncle Walter, and Uncle Dex backed her.
    Guests sat in chairs or stood against the walls or in any space they could find, with more guests flowing out into thehallway. Dad had knocked out two walls to enlarge his practice room. Albums lined the shelves and there were photos everywhere of artists he’d played with. Growing up, I’d spent hours and hours in Dad’s practice room. Sometimes I’d surround the piano with stacks of his LPs, then crawl in through a tiny opening and tell him I was hiding out in my fort, where I would occasionally watch Daddy’s feet pressing the pedals as he worked on a song.
    Dad gave a nod and Uncle Dex went into his solo. They were brothers in spirit, and in all their thirty-plus years together, they’d never once talked about disbanding.
    The room erupted into applause when everyone saw Bailey make her way up to Dinah. She grabbed a second mike, and—“Baby, I love you like you were my own, but it’s time I schooled you on how to sing my song!” Everyone laughed and applauded, including Dinah. She took an exaggerated bow. “Give it up for Momma Bailey, everybody.”
    Bailey snapped her fingers high in the air, faster and faster. Dad and my uncles doubled, then tripled their speed until “Trouble Is a Man” was no longer a torch song but a snappy tune that had us all tapping our feet and clapping our hands. “Aw right. Y’all feel that?”
    Bailey sang “Trouble” as only she could. Dad closed his eyes and sent his fingers crisscrossing over the keyboard in a race of snazzy agility. Uncle Dex let out a shout and slammed the cymbals.
    I felt Bendrix give my shoulder a bump. “It’s too bad your family throws such boring parties.”
    â€œIt is, isn’t it? We’re a sad bunch when you get down to it.”
    â€œYes, and don’t get me started on the lack of talent.”
    I said, “You’re not forgiven, by the way, for showing everyone my online profile.”
    He continued staring at the stage. “And you’re not forgiven for bringing up a certain someone I’d prefer not to hear about.”
    At that, we smirked at each other and went back to clapping along with the rest of the crowd of friends and family.

5
    Say It Isn’t So
    O ne of my employees, Nico, who helped with deliveries and assisted in pretty much everything, sent a text during Bailey and Dinah’s second number: He’d arrived with the cakes and was waiting in the kitchen. I’d made three cakes for the night: almond, finished with almond dacquoise; chocolate cake with rum-laced buttercream; and a spice cake made with freshly shaved ginger. The cakes were covered with a marbleized background softened by a burst of lilies and hibiscus made from gum paste. I’d decorated the bottom cake with Dad’s initials, each letter made to look like embroidered silver.
    The few people in the kitchen oohed and aahed as Nico and I finished assembling the cakes. Once we were done, I asked Nico if he wanted to stay, but he opted for a plate of food to go. He was taking classes at Laney Community College and said he had a paper due on Monday.
    After watching him drive off, I caught sight of my sister Carmen sitting on the wide wraparound porch of the guesthousenext door, smoking a cigarette as though it were part of her everyday routine.
    I