Blame It On My Youth

My Tragic Loss

I composed myself after a few sips of water. Staring at Lolita’s face on that album cover, I tried to suppress the memory.

“Feeling better, Mom?”

“Not quite. But I’ll be fine in a moment.”

Taylor took the record album out of my hands. “Such an awesome singer. How come you never mentioned her before?”

“She kind of breezed in and out of our lives rather quickly, just a couple of years. I haven’t thought about her in a long time.”

“Sounds like she was really a good friend of Grandma’s.”

“She was. She meant a great deal to me, too.”

“So, what happened?”

“I’m not sure I can talk about it just yet. We really should go get something to eat. We have all night to talk about it.”

Lolita’s album ranked high on the charts. Once again, we headed to the Blue Note Club to see her perform. After the show, Mommy and I went back to her dressing room.

“Kay. So glad you’re here tonight. Hello, Kimmie, dear. Sit for a moment, please.” Lolita lit a cigarette. “I heard from my agent, and I’m booked to do the early show tomorrow, live. Can you possibly pop over to my apartment at the Lincoln Towers and do my hair for the show?”

“Of course. What time? They air pretty early in the morning.”

“I guess around three o’clock. Would that be all right?” She looked at me and exhaled ringlets of smoke.

“Of course, we’ll be there. Imagine, the Early Show.”

“But Kay. Kimmie has school.”

“Not to worry. She’s a smart girl. It won’t matter much if she misses one day.”

“It’s fine, Auntie Lolita,” I said. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. How exciting to be on the Early Show.”

She grimaced, but then forced a smile. “Very well. I’ll make sure you have front row seats.”

As Mommy and Auntie Lolita discussed what type of hairdo to create for the show, worry lines crossed Auntie Lolita’s face. She glanced at me on occasion. Something weighed on her mind. But what?

Mommy jabbered on, “Shall we do something high, but geared towards a day look, or…”

Auntie Lolita answered my mother with a snappish tone. Not her usual relaxed air. She then drew another puff on her cigarette.

“You know what, Lolita, I think my first idea was best.”

“Fine, Kay. You should get Kimmie home now. It’s getting late. As it is, she won’t get much sleep.”

“True. Let’s go, Kimmie.”

Lolita hugged us both and escorted us back into the club. “I’ll see you at three o’clock.”

We left Middle Village at 2:30 and arrived on West End Avenue, in front of the Lincoln Towers at 2:45. I had never been to the Lincoln Towers. Six massive buildings took up several blocks from West 66th street to West 70thst. Mommy parked in the front driveway.

The doorman came out. “You shouldn’t park there.”

“I’m here to style Miss Diamond’s hair for the Early Show.”

“Oh. Yes. She’s expecting you. Go right up. The twenty-ninth floor. Penthouse three.”

“I know. Thank you.”

As we entered the lobby, large brass chandeliers hung from intricate beamed ceilings. Oriental carpets sat on polished travertine floors. We walked by three or four traditional-looking sitting areas before we arrived at the elevators. The lovely mezzanine, with rows of arched French doors led to more cozy seating areas. I had never seen such a massive lobby. It was larger than any hotel I had ever visited.

“It’s beautiful,” I said in a breathed voice.

“Yes. Wait until you see her penthouse. She has a stunning view off the terrace.”

Auntie Lolita greeted us wearing a plush, terry cloth robe. The spacious living room was simply decorated. Auntie Lolita sat on the beige, low-rise sofa, picked up her coffee, and lit a cigarette. “I’ll need a moment to wake up. Please sit.”

I decided to step over to the wall of windows and the doors to the terrace. Mommy was not exaggerating. The view took my breath away. Even though it was dark, amber lights twinkled along the Palisades. Moonlight shone, illuminating the Hudson River rippling below.

Mommy took out all her hair supplies and placed them on the glass dining room table. She pulled out a geometric upholstered chair with brass legs and patted the seat. “Whenever you’re ready, Lolita. I’m all set up.”

Lolita spoke truly little as Mommy worked on her hair. She answered when addressed, but never embellished the conversation as she normally would do when having her hair done. She even restrained from smoking.

Mommy’s hands wove in a chignon, finger-waved a few sections in front, and sprayed half a can of Lacquer.

“Careful Kay. That stuff is lethal,” Auntie Lolita said after coughing a few times.

“We have to set it well. It has to last for hours under hot lights.”

“This hair would live through an atomic bomb. Enough with the hairspray!” She coughed again.

The moment Mommy was finished, Auntie Lolita stood. “Excuse me a moment. I need to get dressed. Help yourself to a coffee, orange juice, or anything you like in the fridge.”

I poured us some orange juice since Mommy never drank coffee. Lolita entered wearing a stunning Pucci kaftan.

“I do like that on you, Lolita,” Mommy said. “I have several Pucci kaftans.”

“Really?” Lolita glanced at Mommy. I knew what she was thinking. Pucci was not made in her considerable size. Little did she know about the two Pucci kaftans expertly stitched together by her talented seamstress.

“How nice.” She stepped over to the hall table and picked up her purse. “Shall we go?”

“Come, Kimmie.”

Mommy drove over to the studio. Lolita had arranged for clearance for us to park inside the building.

It was my first time at a television studio. I did not know where to look first. We followed the assistant across the stage. Auntie Lolita went directly to makeup, and we were ushered to our seats. The activity on the set was chaotic. Lighting, booms, microphones, and people rushing about in all different directions.

The hosts, Rex Winter and Martha Cooke, entered the set. They sat in front of a massive sculpture of interlocking metal webbing representing the world. The plain, white-faced clock with black trim and a TV screen looked odd mounted against the backdrop of a swirling galaxy.

Rex Winter shuffled a stack of papers on the desk. Miss Cooke engaged him in conversation. They seemed so different in person. Probably because this was the first time, I ever saw them in full color and not inches big inside a tiny black-and-white screen.

“One minute to air,” a guy wearing headphones, shouted out.

Rex Winter and Martha Cooke sat erect and waited for the red light to flash on the camera. The moment it did, Rex Winter said, “Welcome to the Early Show…”

I waited with anticipation as they read the late breaking news stories. About halfway through the show, Rex Winter announced, “…and the Early Show’s special guest is Miss Lolita. Her new album is ranking high on the R&B charts…”

I stood up and applauded as Auntie Lolita walked onto the set, but Mommy pulled me down right away.

Martha Cooke started the interview. She asked about Lolita’s early beginnings in Harlem and about the jazz greats who had influenced her.

“Of course, Billie Holliday was a major influence. I had the great pleasure of meeting her in my early days of jazz. Such a tragic life, but so incredibly talented…”

After a few more questions, Rex Winter said, “Today, Miss Diamond will be performing a song from her new hit album…”

“Thank you, Rex. I chose a song Billy Holiday wrote and recorded in 1944, ‘Don’t Explain.’”

The orchestra played the introduction. Auntie Lolita stepped up to the mic and began to sing. She glanced at Mommy a few times during her performance. Her soulful bravado sent chills up my spine. The hosts and crew were so immersed in the emotion, that no one moved a muscle. We were all in a trance and she seemed to be in one herself, lost in the melody and words.

With the last note sung, the studio popped back into present as everyone applauded. Rex Winter cleared his throat. He stood and extended out his hand. “Thank you, Miss Diamond for joining us today. It was a real pleasure. Miss Lolita.”

Auntie Lolita stepped over to Rex Winter and Martha Cooke and shook their hands. “Thank you for having me today. It was a pleasure.”

We snuck away from the show and met Auntie Lolita backstage. She had a lit cigarette in her hand.

“You were fantastic, Auntie Lolita! The whole studio stopped and watched you perform.”

“Thank you, Kimmie. But I am glad it’s over. I’m really not a morning person.”

“No kidding,” Mommy said, and she laughed.

It was a few weeks before Auntie Lolita visited. But one day after school, I walked in on her and Mommy having an intense conversation.

Auntie Lolita jumped up. “Kimmie. You’re home from school early.”

Mommy’s face was bright red, and she sat on the other side of the room from Lolita.

“Teacher’s meeting. So, we were let out earlier today.” I ran over and hugged her. “So happy to see you. It’s been ages since the Early Show.”

“I’ve been busy, dear. You know how it is. Never a free moment when promoting a new album.”

“I understand. I hope you’re staying for dinner.”

She glanced over at my mother, who was still flushed and avoiding her stare.

“Ah, no. I really do need to head out. An important meeting. Nice to see you, dear.”

She grabbed her coat and never looked back. The door slammed and she was gone.

I never saw my mother so quiet. It unnerved me. What just happened?

“Mommy is everything okay?”

“I’m fine. Just go to your room and start your homework.”

I did go to my room, but I could not concentrate on my homework. Something was not right with Auntie Lolita. Asking my mother about it wasn’t a good idea. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what happens next.

It took years for me to find out what really happened that afternoon. Something I never dreamed in a million years, but that was not what ripped their relationship apart. That happened a few months later…

Once again, I had returned home from school. Auntie Lolita was expected for dinner; I had not seen her since the last time she visited. I left my books on the hall table and stepped into the kitchen to start dinner.

After peeling the potatoes, snapping the string beans, and making the salad, I went upstairs to do my homework. Debi was at the desk already doing hers.

“Auntie Lolita’s coming over for dinner. Isn’t that great! It’s been forever since we’ve seen her.”

“I guess.” Debi continued to write.

I hopped onto my bed and read my assignment for English class.

We usually had dinner around 6:30 when Mommy and Vincenzo came home. I had a few hours to study before I had to start the actual cooking.

At 5:30 the doorbell rang. I raced down the stairs expecting another one of Mommy’s deliveries. I opened the door.

“Kimmie, dear. How are you?”

“Auntie Lolita. You’re here already. Great!”

She entered and headed straight into the kitchen. “Thought I would give you hand with dinner.”

“That’s really nice of you, but I have everything ready.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She smiled, took a seat, and pulled out a cigarette. “So how are things at school? It’s been a while since we had a girl-to-girl chat.”

I sat on the chair opposite hers and spent the next half an hour telling her about my classes and sports activities. It was so nice to share it with her. Mommy never had time for such menial things when there was work to be done or money to be made.

Like clockwork, Mommy and Vincenzo arrived at exactly 6:30. I had the table set in the dining room. Auntie Lolita and I met the others at the table. Conversations were light, and Mommy and Lolita spoke as if nothing had happened. It was like old times.

After dessert Vincenzo and Debi left to watch TV. I started to pick up the dishes.

“Just a minute, Kimmie.” Auntie Lolita took a plate out of my hand. “Your mother and I will take care of the dishes. Go and watch TV with the others.”

“It’s all right. I don’t mind. I love spending time with you.”

Mommy glared at me. “Go, Kimmie. I’d like a word with Lolita.”

I knew that tone and sprinted into the hall and listened at the archway into the living room.

“Lolita, what’s going on? Since when do you tell my daughter what to do? It’s really not your place.”

“Not my place? Really? I care for Kimmie a great deal, and I don’t like the way you’re raising her. You treat her like your servant and companion—keeping her out to all hours at nightclubs on school nights, dragging her to my house at three o’clock in the morning, when she should have been in bed. Should I continue?”

“No. You said quite enough already. Mind your own business, Lolita. She is my daughter, not yours.”

“I wish she were mine. I’d certainly show her a lot more affection than you do. When was the last time you hugged her, and told her you loved her?”

“That’s enough! Get out, Lolita.”

I ran up the stairs and peered down. Auntie Lolita threw open the door and slammed it shut. The shock of what I just heard had not quite sunk in. When it did, I collapsed onto the landing. No— It cannot be. It just cannot be. I will never see her again and it’s all my mother’s fault. She chases everyone I love away. First Dad, and now Auntie Lolita. Why must she always do this to me?

I saw Lolita one other time. My mother had read in CUE magazine that she was performing at the Copacabana with Sammy. The moment she told me, I pleaded with her to go. It had been several years since their fight, and she never once mentioned it. She smiled and said, “Of course, Kimmie. I’ll take you for your confirmation present.”

Overcome with joy, I hugged her. “Thank you, Mommy.”

I was thirteen, five-foot-seven inches tall, and already had the curves and bust line of a young woman. Mommy took me shopping for my first grown up dress. We found a little boutique on Queens Blvd. The sales lady, Miss Bea, picked out a modest A-line dress in royal blue satin.

“I don’t think so. That’s a bit too sophisticated for her.”

“Very well.” Miss Bea rummaged through a few more racks as I drifted toward another section of clothing. I was hoping for something more colorful. It was the ‘60s after all. I found a subtle pink-and-white geometric print dress with little flecks of silver. It was cinched at the waist with a braided silver belt.

“What about this one?”

“That would look lovely on you. Very sleek and modern,” Miss Bea said.

“I’m not so sure, Kimmie. It’s very short. With your long legs, it will only come down to your upper thigh.”

“No, it’s not. Can’t I please try it on?”

“Okay. Go ahead. But I don’t think it’s appropriate for you.”

Miss Bea stepped over to the shoe section. “What size shoe do you wear, dear? This dress will look better with a pump.”

“Seven.”

Miss Bea picked out a pair of silver pumps and brought me to the dressing room. I pulled off my skirt and blouse and slipped into the silky dress. It fit perfectly. I looked more like sixteen than thirteen, especially after I put on the pumps. “Mommy’s not going to like this,” I muttered. “But I do.”

“How long does it take to put on a dress? Let me see how it looks on you,” Mommy called out.

I moved the curtain and tried to walk steady. This was my first time in high heels.

The saleslady smiled. “My word. You look STUN-NING…you certainly have beautiful legs and that dress really shows them off.”

Mommy smiled. “Yes. But she’s only thirteen.”

“But I really like it. I’m not a child anymore. I’ll be confirmed soon.”

“Oh, is this for your confirmation dear?”

“Yes. That’s when the church says I’m considered an adult, and I should be able to pick out my own dress. Don’t you think, Miss Bea?”

Before Miss Bea could answer, Mommy said, “That’s the church—not me. I’ll find you something more fitting for the occasion.”

“But—’’

“No buts…take it off.”

Before I was completely changed, Mommy pushed a white eyelet dress through the curtain. “Try this on. It will suit you better.”

“Fine.” I put the dress up in front of me. The length didn’t please me, it hit below the knees, practically mid-calf. But the eyelet was quite pretty, and the style was like the other, with perhaps a bit more flare.

“Well. I’m waiting.”

I cautiously came out. “What do you think?”

“Twirl around for me a few times.”

I found it hard to keep my balance in the pumps, but I attempted the twirls all the same.

“That is very nice. Just adult enough without showing too much leg.”

“I quite agree,” Miss Bea said.

“Kimmie? What do you think?”

I stepped over to the mirror. I certainly didn’t look sixteen anymore, but I really liked the eyelet.

“Did you want the pumps as well?” Miss Bea asked.

“Silver pumps with white eyelet…I don’t think so.” Mommy smirked. “We’ll have to think about the dress. Kimmie, go and change.”

“Okay. But I still need a dress.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you for your help, Miss Bea.” Mommy said.

Miss Bea shrugged and escorted me to the dressing room. I handed her the dress and put on my own clothes.

“Thank you. I really did like the first one I tried on.”

“Me, too, honey. Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

A week later, a box of dresses “fell off the truck” and landed in our basement.

“Kimmie, I have the perfect dress for you. Go down to the cellar and look in the new box that just came in.”

“Not again.” Mommy beamed at me as went down the stairs.

“It was on its way to a department store,” she yelled.

I looked in the box and found a beautiful white eyelet dress with a crisp white linen sash.

“Bring it up and let me see it on you…you’ll be the best-dressed girl at your confirmation.”

The dress was even prettier than the one I had tried on last week. The length was much better, too. This one hit me just above the knee.

A limo was scheduled to pick us up right after my Confirmation commencement. It waited curbside as we exited the church.

Within a few minutes, we streaked over the 59th Street. bridge into Manhattan and arrived at 10 E. 60th Street. The Copacabana Marquis glowed brightly from the early evening sun. The doorman sprinted over to our limo and opened the door. It was balmy with just a hint of steaminess in the air. He escorted us under the deep red canvas canopy toward the entrance to the club.

Latin music played through the room as we stepped onto the bamboo wooden floor. White-columned palm trees seemed to hold up the ceiling as the feathery, golden beige palm fronds umbrellaed the tables and chairs.

We were seated so close to the orchestra; we could almost touch them. Mommy had a hard time positioning herself on the red canvas seat stretched over the rattan chair. I was waiting for it to snap, and I think she was too. Vincenzo squeezed in on the right side of her and I slid into the chair on the her left. Of course, my sister sat next to me. My mother invited Pastor John and his wife to join us. She had become very friendly with him since he transferred into our church.

A moment later, a waitress took our drink orders while we looked over the menu, featuring only Chinese food. My favorite.

Food arrived and filled the table. The lights dimmed. The music softened as the MC stepped up to the mic. He announced the COPA girls. Ten beautiful girls with jeweled satin headdresses danced around the orchestra, dazzling the audience. I had never seen a show quite like it.

Then the music stopped. A bright light illuminated the stage. The MC stepped into the light.

“Welcome to the Copa. Tonight I have the pleasure of introducing our first guest, Miss Lolita.”

I jumped up, applauding like mad. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She swept onto the stage in a flowing sequin gown. Her long curly hair cascaded down her back. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” She opened her arms as if to give us all a hug. After pointing to the orchestra, she sang the first of three songs.

When she finished the set, she cleared her throat. “Tonight I have the pleasure of sharing the stage with my good friend, the multi-talented, Sammy!”

He dashed into the spotlight.

The club erupted with applause.

He greeted Lolita and began to sing several of his famous hits. He started with “Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye” and finished with “That Old Black Magic…”

“And speaking of black magic—Lolita, how about singing a bit of jazz with me?”

“Sammy, I’d be delighted. How long has it been since we last performed together?

“Too long.”

They bantered a bit and broke out into several duets.

As Sammy was singing, Mommy stood. She excused herself from the table. Sammy stopped. “Where are you going, sweetheart? I was right in the middle of my song. I guess we’ll just wait until you get back.”

Mommy turned as red as the canvas chairs.

“Kay. Is that you?” Lolita asked. “Oh, but it must be. No one has hair as fabulous as yours.”

Mommy’s voice caught in her throat. She couldn’t answer. Then she bolted through the club like the bulls in Pamplona.

Lolita glanced at our table. “Kimmie. Oh, my dear. You look so grown up. Ladies and gentlemen, some dear friends of mine are here tonight…and what a wonderful surprise.” She beamed at me.

I waved and blew her a kiss.

Sammy told a few jokes and did wait until my mother returned.

“You’re back. Wonderful” He jumped on top of the piano and began to tap out his next number.

Mommy did not say a word during the rest of the performance. After the last song, Sammy. bowed to the audience.

A thunderous applause echoed throughout the hall. Lolita applauded Sammy, and then bowed to the audience, too. “Thank you all for coming tonight. You’ve been a wonderful audience. Kay, would you please meet me backstage?” I would love to see you all.”

The applause was deafening. Lolita bowed again and left the stage.

We met Auntie Lolita as soon as the crowd dissipated. She took us back to her hotel suite across the street. Once inside, she gave me a bone-crushing hug. “I can’t get over how grown up you are. Tell me everything.”

“I’m thirteen now. Advanced a grade. And still into sports. You know—the usual.” I hugged her this time. “The show was amazing tonight. I really enjoyed it.”

“I’m glad, dear.” She glanced at my mother. “Kay. How are things?”

“Fine. You know how it is, Lolita. I’m always busy,” Mommy said with a cool edge in her tone.

The tension in the room increased. We left abruptly.

I never forgot Lolita. But as I matured, Mommy left the jazz world and moved into a new frontier seldom visited by a woman, and she dragged me right along with her.

We did discuss Lolita many years later. My mother finally told me about what happened that afternoon I walked in on them. She simply said, “Lolita was falling in love with me.”

After the initial shock wore off, she explained about Lolita’s hidden life. “I never held that against her. You know how I am, Kimmie. That’s not why I broke off our friendship.”

“I know, Mom. It was because of me.”

The stunned expression on her face spoke volumes.

“You didn’t like Lolita telling you how to raise me.”

We never spoke of it again…