Asima “Zuma” Ikinci came to the US from Turkey in search of something her sister had told her.
Emine Ikinci, her older sister, met Frank Gould in a cab…or perhaps this is better said the other way around, when Gould traveled to Los Angeles in But Tell It Slant and hired a cab from the LA airport and wound up with Emine as the driver. They reunited when she moved to San Francisco and she became an Uber driver, Gould calling on her services whenever she was available. This occurred so frequently that Emine, who always carried a .38, started to appear as a reliable sidekick.
In Dare You See a Soul, she acted as bodyguard to one of San Francisco’s wealthiest men and Gould’s client only to find herself dead defending him. In On Revelation’s Wall, Zuma appeared on Gould’s doorstep, telling him that Emine had said she could trust Gould with her life. Now she was in America and she wanted his advice about what to do and where to go… Gould found her lot’s of interesting work…
No more Zuma? Don’t worry, mon lecteur, she’s still around. But not around here all the time.
We thought, given the amount of room there on scenic Sea Cliff, to ask Zuma and Justin to move in with us, then immediately realized we’d be perpetuating Zuma as a stereotypical au pair instead of what she was, naturally, our close friend, and that would be stratospherically beyond rude. Even to Justin. I imagined, to the contrary, that this particularly horrendous fallout might bolster relationships in every direction with Randy, as, apparently, he was still not comfortable with this beautiful young Turkish woman being his son’s fiancee. Mel and I, very much in secret, bandied about the possibility that this was a form of racial animus on Randy’s part and dismissed that idea post haste. However, regardless of the cause of his distaste for the beautiful and gracious young woman, if distaste it were, not even assuaging him was worth the price. Randy, Zuma, Randy, Zuma, Devil, Angel, Devil, Angel, left shoulder, right shoulder… That kind of thing. But that debate, while peeling an onion, didn’t last too long. The decision was rather obvious from the get-go.
Mel and I, therefore, began to ooze into more traditional daytime parenting roles. With obvious consequences. Like causing trauma for our adopted daughter. Today, though, Kevin took Daisy for a walk in the park… To ease the pain, take her away from the scene of the crime, and out of sight from the criminals. Presumably to fill her head with Irish tales and sayings that would pull her thoughts away from gruesome little dead otter bodies. While we eased into the morning on our swanky new gift patio.
“Look at that.”
“What?” I looked everywhere except where she indicated.
“That.” She pointed far away, though I know now it was at my ankle.
“Why?”
“Why? Look at it.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“Try putting your glasses back on.” She waited, both of us sitting on the nice deck chairs. Not the loungers. Too early in the day for that.
“You do have the advantage, Mel…”
While grabbing for my glasses, I took some time, speaking of advantage, to glance up at the morning sky, something we could see from the patio courtesy of Dante via the late—thankfully—Leo. The fog had risen into cloud and was marbling, exposing veins and patches of perfect Pacific blue sky. Five sailboats of different lengths were charting the waves out away from the Golden Gate Bridge—and, yes, folks, not in that perfect Pacific blue sky—towards the ocean, probably heading onwards to coastal excursions. Who knows where? The Farallons?
“Are you even listening to me? Or have you drifted off again?”
I continued watching the boats for a moment. “Of course I’m listening, Mel… So, what… Oh, that.”
“Yes, that. You’re all swollen.”
“About time, don’t you think? Want to go inside or should we do it out here for the gulls to watch?”
“Don’t joke about this. You need to call Morris.”
“Why?”
“You have an edema, asshole! Look at your leg!”
“That’s not an edema. That’s just a little redness and swelling.”
“What do you think an edema is, Sherlock?”
My cue. “I thought you were into calling me Watson. Wasn’t that what I heard you yelling? ‘Oh, Watson!’ Anyway, Ms. Sophomore, a little swelling is common off and on after an injury…”
“The swelling is on your ankle, dumbbell. Your injury, as I recall, was on your ass, ass.”
“You want me to call Morris? I’ll call Morris. Happy?”
“Do it now.”
“Why? I’m relaxing.”
“You’re always relaxing, that’s why.”
“My phone’s inside…”
The sigh. The Mel eyeroll. “Here. Use mine…”
I gave up and reached over. “Jesus. You’d think the Transamerica building was falling…all the way over here...” Ugh. I had to use an iPhone… I dialed. (? They still call it that, yes?) On my Android I had the number memorized. (Memorized? Oh, please help me with this vocabulary, someone!)
“Dr. Morris’ office…”
“Hello, Maureen, how are you today?”
“Can I help you?”
Now. Watch what a good Classical education can do, even for a schmuck from the Lower East Side. “Christmas on a stick, Maureen. All this time and you still don’t recognize my voice? It’s Frank Gould. And, remember, you have to say, ‘May I help you...’”
“Oh, Frank! Hello, how are you?”
“According to Mel, I’m dying. How are you? And how is Desi?”
A pause. “We’re getting married!”
“You are? To each other? Why?”
“Oh, Frank! Don’t be silly...”
“Remember who you’re speaking to… Don’t invite me, because you know I’ll be the one standing up when they ask if anyone knows a reason why…”
She laughed. Maureen that is. Mel? Not on your life.
“You’re better off sticking to your romance novels, Mo. Don’t forget, I know this guy…”
More laughs.
“Okay, I need to see the boss. And if you don’t get me in soon, Mel will start screaming at you.”
“I can squeeze you in at three today…”
“I love it when you squeeze me in, Mo, but don’t tell Desi.”
More laughs and Maureen hung up.
“Do you really have to go through that routine with her every time, Frank?”
“Yes. And I don’t understand why you have to be so chill and snooty with people.”
Mel closed her eyes and laid back in the sun. As best you can in a chair and she’s good at that. Yoga pants. “I’m not snooty. I just don’t have a need to be vulgar.”
“Vulgar? Who’s vulgar?” I sat up straight so that I wouldn’t spill my coffee. I felt a twinge in that swollen ankle but ignored it. “I believe that living in this swanky part of town instead of North Beach is affecting your...whatever, sensibilities. Private schools for Daisy. Snooty attitudes with our friends…”
“I do not have a snooty attitude and stop saying that.”
“First that business with Zuma…”
“That was mutual and we both decided it was a bad idea…”
“No, I’m pretty sure that came from you, all the way.”
She sat up and removed her sunglasses. Crap, now I couldn’t tell if she was squinting from the sun or… “You’re tossing all this in my lap because I told you you were being too bossy.”
“No…”
“Yes. And that’s so very predictable from you.”
“Well, I’m not being…”
“Yes you are...”
"Christmas on a stick"?
Francois Levesque.