Jon and I took the boy with, and when Webber made his rounds to welcome each of us, Jonny, in that way of his, said he was a good carpenter and asked if he could help out with the sets. Webber was amused. He said if it was all right with his dad, the job was his.
“I drove him out there and watched while he pounded some nails and got to spend time with the crew and the cast. It was great for him.”
“What turned Jonny against Mrs. Parnelle?”
“She saw him standing around, watching the workers, and began shouting that Webber wasn’t paying him to dog it. When I tried explaining the situation, the bitch began shouting at me, wanting to know what
I
was doing there. Somebody got Webber, who calmed her down. Then he took Jonny and me to lunch and apologized.”
“Webber sounds like an interesting guy,” I said.
“If there were more entrepreneurs like him, the country wouldn’t be so screwed up,” Dann said.
Suddenly his attention was drawn to activity at the entrance. “Well, looky here,” he said with a wide grin. “Heeerrrre’s Big Jon.”
The man who’d just entered was not that big, at least by Dann’s pro football standards. He stood six feet. Medium build. Everything about him looked polished—neatly barbered, his face a healthy tan, his smile exposing straight, gleaming teeth. His dark suit was tailored to emphasize broad shoulders and a thin waist. His black shoes were mirror-shiny. I figured him to be in his fifties. What impressed me most was his style—relaxed, confident, ready for anything. A man totally at home in his skin.
The brothers-in-law embraced. When they pulled apart, Jon Baker saw me, and his face lit up. “Chef Billy Blessing, I’ll be damned.”
He approached with an outstretched hand and gave mine a hearty shake. “I’m Jon Baker, and this is a real pleasure.”
“Likewise,” I said.
“It’s great that you’re featuring Charlie on your cable show,” he said. “I love the show, by the way. Record it. Watch it. Try the recipes. I love to cook. It’s how I unwind.”
“Billy’s morning show is broadcasting from here this week and next,” Dann said.
“Terrific. It’s a great city, Billy. I’ve lived in other parts of the country, but nothing compares.”
“You grow up here?”
“Nooo. I’m … I was a Malibu Beach boy. I met Donna—my late wife—out there when she was working at Cedar’s. She was a Chicagoan through and through, like her big brother Charlie. She hated the West Coast and just about had to put a gun to my head to get me back here, where people have to work for a living. And every day I thank God I listened to her.”
The sound of a digital chirp interrupted him. Both he and Charlie checked their phones. It was Jon’s. “ ’Scuse me a minute,” he said, and walked away from us.
“The guy’s a real dynamo, isn’t he?” Dann said. “And the whole BDI thing, this is all since he and Donna and the boys moved here about ten years ago. Out in California he was what they call a ‘laid-back dude’ who mainly surfed and sunned. Trust-fund baby.”
Jon rejoined us, pocketing his phone. “Gotta grab the boy and run. Pleasure meeting you, Billy.”
“Same here. Good kid you’ve got.”
“You bet. Two of ’em.”
Watching him moving toward his son, Charlie said, “Jon and Donna were braver than I woulda been, having another kid. But Dickie’s as sharp as his dad. He graduated from Northwestern, and he’s working his way up through BDI.”
The bar was going full tilt, and Dann seemed anxious to be about his glad-handing. I thanked him for the interview. He gave me an open invitation for dinner at the restaurant, then limped back into thelounge that was filling with customers, most of whom hadn’t been alive when he’d played for the Bears.
Out on Clark Street, the after-work traffic was congealing. Not a cab in sight.
I started walking north, past buildings of yellow brick and concrete. In the next block was a BDI
“I drove him out there and watched while he pounded some nails and got to spend time with the crew and the cast. It was great for him.”
“What turned Jonny against Mrs. Parnelle?”
“She saw him standing around, watching the workers, and began shouting that Webber wasn’t paying him to dog it. When I tried explaining the situation, the bitch began shouting at me, wanting to know what
I
was doing there. Somebody got Webber, who calmed her down. Then he took Jonny and me to lunch and apologized.”
“Webber sounds like an interesting guy,” I said.
“If there were more entrepreneurs like him, the country wouldn’t be so screwed up,” Dann said.
Suddenly his attention was drawn to activity at the entrance. “Well, looky here,” he said with a wide grin. “Heeerrrre’s Big Jon.”
The man who’d just entered was not that big, at least by Dann’s pro football standards. He stood six feet. Medium build. Everything about him looked polished—neatly barbered, his face a healthy tan, his smile exposing straight, gleaming teeth. His dark suit was tailored to emphasize broad shoulders and a thin waist. His black shoes were mirror-shiny. I figured him to be in his fifties. What impressed me most was his style—relaxed, confident, ready for anything. A man totally at home in his skin.
The brothers-in-law embraced. When they pulled apart, Jon Baker saw me, and his face lit up. “Chef Billy Blessing, I’ll be damned.”
He approached with an outstretched hand and gave mine a hearty shake. “I’m Jon Baker, and this is a real pleasure.”
“Likewise,” I said.
“It’s great that you’re featuring Charlie on your cable show,” he said. “I love the show, by the way. Record it. Watch it. Try the recipes. I love to cook. It’s how I unwind.”
“Billy’s morning show is broadcasting from here this week and next,” Dann said.
“Terrific. It’s a great city, Billy. I’ve lived in other parts of the country, but nothing compares.”
“You grow up here?”
“Nooo. I’m … I was a Malibu Beach boy. I met Donna—my late wife—out there when she was working at Cedar’s. She was a Chicagoan through and through, like her big brother Charlie. She hated the West Coast and just about had to put a gun to my head to get me back here, where people have to work for a living. And every day I thank God I listened to her.”
The sound of a digital chirp interrupted him. Both he and Charlie checked their phones. It was Jon’s. “ ’Scuse me a minute,” he said, and walked away from us.
“The guy’s a real dynamo, isn’t he?” Dann said. “And the whole BDI thing, this is all since he and Donna and the boys moved here about ten years ago. Out in California he was what they call a ‘laid-back dude’ who mainly surfed and sunned. Trust-fund baby.”
Jon rejoined us, pocketing his phone. “Gotta grab the boy and run. Pleasure meeting you, Billy.”
“Same here. Good kid you’ve got.”
“You bet. Two of ’em.”
Watching him moving toward his son, Charlie said, “Jon and Donna were braver than I woulda been, having another kid. But Dickie’s as sharp as his dad. He graduated from Northwestern, and he’s working his way up through BDI.”
The bar was going full tilt, and Dann seemed anxious to be about his glad-handing. I thanked him for the interview. He gave me an open invitation for dinner at the restaurant, then limped back into thelounge that was filling with customers, most of whom hadn’t been alive when he’d played for the Bears.
Out on Clark Street, the after-work traffic was congealing. Not a cab in sight.
I started walking north, past buildings of yellow brick and concrete. In the next block was a BDI
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