Barbara Stern would call her son Jeff Baena, the acclaimed screenwriter who co-wrote “I Heart Huckabees” and “Horse Girl,” at 8:30 p.m. on June 29 every year. It’s the exact minute he was born, a moment she’ll never forget. This year, however, he won’t answer.
Baena, who grew up in Miami, died by suicide in his Los Angeles home on Jan. 3. He was 47. His family and friends were stunned. If you ask his brother, father, mother and childhood friends about their plans to remember Jeff on his birthday, there would be a moment of silence.
Ever since Jeff moved to Los Angeles in 1999, June 29 was filled with birthday poker nights, chocolate mousse cake and a creepy vintage Cocker Spaniel figurine.
He made sure all players honored poker rules and that movies were playing so anyone mad about a poker loss could watch. The dark comedy genius planned for everything.
Most of Jeff’s family still lives in Miami, yet their grief sent shockwaves to the east coast.
“My parents are still grieving,” Brad Baena, Jeff’s brother, said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
People remembered Jeff as a great host as opposed to the man of the hour at his birthday parties. He shared the spotlight with guests, almost as a grand way of saying ‘thank you.’
Clifford Bailey, a lifelong friend, got passed around like a party trick by Jeff. The talented artist would make abstract sketches of guests before getting yanked by Jeff to draw another Oscar nominee.
“He was saying, ‘Hey Cliff, draw him, draw him, draw her,’” Bailey said. “I got shown around, introduced to a lot of clients. That way, people ended up buying my work.”
He did the same thing at age 16. Jeff would bring friends from Miami Killian High School home unannounced. He’d introduce his troupe to his family as Barbara made impromptu lunch from parmesan, white bread, bologna and American cheese.
She met some of the same friends years later at Los Angeles for Jeff’s celebration of life in April. They reminisced over his endless kindness while climbing the California hills, enjoying one of Jeff’s favorite hobbies: hiking.
Yet, he never hesitated to kick someone out from the poker table for going too slow during Fern Dells Card Club poker nights. Members would get emails with the date, place and time. Some could bring plus ones, but newbies would have to prove themselves to be invited back.
He gathered high school friends from Miami and Hollywood stars. They would collide and clash over competitive matches. Money was lost. Tears were shed. But the attendance grew.
“The last person I brought was my wife’s nephew, who just turned 30, and I was scared,” Bailey said. “I told Cameron, ‘Look, just keep the gaming moving. Whatever you do, whatever Jeff says just say, ‘Okay, okay.’”
Clifford anxiously waited to see if Cameron got the Jeff seal of approval. Was he too slow? Did he cross talk? What if he broke the rules? Wait, what are the rules?
“[Jeff] called me the next week and said, ‘Oh, bring him again.’ Which was rare. He never did that.” Bailey said. “Poor Cameron, he felt so special to be invited back only to have it all end six months later.”
Only, it rarely stopped. The Fern Dells Card Club is as active as ever, minus one seat at the table. Aubrey Plaza, Jeff’s former wife, gave his custom orange chips to the club so they can honor him with every move.
Jeff’s moves with them were ruthless. It’s better to see Jeff dominate a poker match than win the lottery in Clifford’s book. Yet, both are worth millions.
“I’m just trying to focus on the good times, there were so many of those. I’m not sure what happened there,” Bailey said. “We all thought we had 50 more years of poker ahead of us.”
Jeff would plan games for three nights a week instead of one two weeks leading up to his death. He cracked his jokes and gave members another unforgettable night. Though it became unforgettable for a different reason.
Friends barely saw his pain in those last moments. Not even family.
“My kids love Jeff. He’ll make bras out of napkins. He would do funny stuff and swap faces with them with the phone apps,” Brad said. “I had no idea he was even going through this at that time.”
Looking back, they could see he was in a different headspace. But Jeff was always different. Still, it begs the question: why would he want to make his closest friends lose their last paycheck before his death?
Despite reaching stardom, Jeff always kept his first friends close. Clifford remembers the prodigy who memorized Steve Martin jokes in his Coral Gables apartment and gifted him a personalized, mixed cassette before leaving to New York University.
Katie Rubin, Jeff’s high school girlfriend, remembers the hot, smart life of the party who, she thought, would never want to date her. She took her shot and hit the bullseye. Annie James, a fellow classmate, planned double dates with the duo.
“We spent a lot of time in Jeff’s green Jeep driving around Miami to various house parties, beach things and making films,” Rubin said. “He was the guy that pulled everybody together. Everybody was always at Jeff’s house. You wanted to be friends with Jeff.”
Though, Rubin knew there was a different side to him beneath the surface, one that found the backward and forward drives and tense game nights therapeutic.
“When all the people went away, there was a real kind of sensitivity that was pretty profound that he had,” Rubin said. “Having a lot of people around him helped him keep it light and be less focused on whatever may have been challenging as a sensitive person.”
Passing around a disturbing Cocker Spaniel figurine with freaky eyeballs and real fur with James as a game of tag. Or blushing while his Miami Dade school friends begged him to twerk at his 40th birthday party.
Playing ping pong. Shooting BB guns. Running away from a mountain lion. Driving to the Keys for Fantasy Fest. The more people, the more smiles Jeff would get to put on peoples’ faces. To Scott Baena, Jeff’s father, that’s all Jeff ever wanted.
“He took great pains at every [movie] preview to meet with the audience for questions and answers, to explain how plots were developed, what didn’t happen in the movie or what did,” Scott said. “He just wanted you to smile.”
June 29, a day usually filled with laughs, now has a bitter sorrow. James stares into her new Cocker Spaniel figurines’, she replaced the old one after not being able to find the original in time for his funeral, creepy, terrifying, spine chilling eyes.
She’s heartbroken that the demon has nowhere else to go, that the game’s over. Now, she can’t sleep at night for a second reason.
“It’s annoying that I can’t speak to him again,” Stern said.
If a magical birthday card could be sent to Jeff to the beyond, it’ll be filled with variations of: I love you, thank you, forgive me and I forgive you. Most of all, “I miss you.”
“I would just hope that he’s having a good celebration,” Brad said. “He’s able to play all the instruments and board games and just be in his element with other people. He’s continuing to do what he loved when he was alive.”
Jeff’s thoughts on the afterlife are debated, yet no one could ignore the paranormal activity at his house. So, Brad doesn’t think he’s seen the last of Jeff.
“If he can just show a sign of himself for his birthday, somehow, through some way, do it.”