Neil shook his head, and the expression on his face was bleak. There was a sudden stillness between the four of them, and Neil said in a low shaky voice, ‘Unfortunately, Tony just died.’
‘Oh no!’ Nell cried and pressed her hand to her mouth, and the tears spurted again.
Rosie clutched Gavin’s arm. She had turned deathly pale.
***
The three friends kept a vigil for four days.
It was Friday, April the seventeenth when Kevin Madigan regained consciousness and finally opened his eyes. It was Good Friday, and the beginning of the Easter weekend.
Nell was sitting next to his bed, and she was the first person he saw. He gave her the faintest of smiles. ‘Hi, honey,’ he said weakly.
‘Oh Kev! Thank God!’ she cried, reaching for his hand, holding on to it tightly. Rising, she leaned over him, kissed his cheek, and murmured against his ear, ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too, Nell,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Still holding his hand, she sat down again, her eyes pinned to his face. Tears glistened in them.
‘I’m sorry, Nellie.’
‘It’s all right, don’t talk. You’re still weak, you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. But I know you’re going to make it.’ She tried to extract her hand. He clung to it.
She said, ‘Let me go, Kev. Just for a minute. I want to fetch Rosie and Gavin. They’re outside in the waiting room.’
FORTY-THREE
Rosie knew that Johnny was in Manhattan.
He had left innumerable messages on her machine at the apartment in Paris and called Jeffrey Associates numerous times, looking for Nell. Her assistant had been instructed to deal with this emergency by explaining to all of Nell’s clients that she was on vacation and unavailable.
But now on this Good Friday afternoon, knowing that Kevin was out of danger, Rosie made the decision to see Johnny. She needed to tell him to his face that they had no future together.
After calling the Waldorf Astoria and being passed to the message desk, Rosie hung up. It was obvious he was having his calls screened; she did not want to leave Gavin’s number at the Trump Tower apartment. After mulling things over for a few seconds, she decided to go over to the Hit Factory, where he most probably was working on his new disc. Once, while discussing his recording sessions, he had explained that he liked to start early, around eleven, and work through until six or seven. She glanced at her watch. It was just turning three. She would take a taxi there now.
Having returned to Gavin’s apartment at the Trump Tower from the hospital only an hour ago, Rosie hurried into the bathroom to take a quick shower. After putting on fresh make-up and doing her hair, she dressed in a grey suit with a matching three-quarter-length overcoat.
Gavin had remained at Bellevue Hospital with Kevin and Nell. She left a note on his desk saying that she would be back in a couple of hours, and, after consulting the Manhattan Yellow Pages, she made a mental note that the Hit Factory was still at the same address on West Fifty-fourth Street.
***
Ten minutes later, as she was paying off the cab, Rosie saw Kenny Crossland, who played keyboard, out of the corner of her eye. He was standing in the entrance of the building where the Hit Factory was housed.
As she turned around and took a step forward, he grinned at her and called, ‘Hi, Rosie! Johnny’s gonna be thrilled to see you. He’s been driving us all nuts. When he couldn’t reach you he got real upset.’
‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with him,’ Rosie said. ‘And then I was on a plane coming from Paris.’ She shrugged, and gave him a small smile. ‘Well, I’m here now.’
Kenny put his arm around her shoulders, and together they went into the building. Riding up in the elevator he explained, ‘We’re recording instruments today, but Johnny’s here anyway. He likes to be in on every aspect of the production. He’s probably doing a bit of rehearsing right now, or he might even be over-dubbing.’
Rosie merely nodded, not wishing to say too much to Kenny. After all, her business was with Johnny, and she had noticed on the British tour that he and Kenny had frequent spats about all kinds of things. She suddenly felt protective of Johnny, and did not want to give his associates anything to gossip about.
Kenny deposited her in the reception room, asking her to wait while he went to get Johnny. She thanked him; he grinned at her and disappeared.
Sitting down in one of the chairs, suddenly feeling weary and debilitated, Rosie leaned her head back and stared blankly at the walls. Everywhere there were framed platinum and gold records of stars such as Billy Joel, Michael Bolton, Paul Simon, Madonna and Johnny Fortune.
She wondered what was keeping Johnny, then realized he might well be in the middle of a session, and that he couldn’t break away until it was finished.
About fifteen minutes later a young man came into reception and introduced himself as one of Johnny’s record producers. Chatting to her amiably, he led her out of the reception area and down in the elevator to another floor. Here he ushered her into the control room. Through the large glass window, she saw Johnny on the studio floor, singing into a microphone. His eyes were closed, and he was wearing headphones.
The young man said, ‘Johnny won’t be long. His vocal is being over-dubbed onto the track.’ As if he thought she needed to know exactly what was happening, he added, ‘Johnny’s listening to the music track on the headphones and singing what he hears into the mike.’
‘It’s very interesting,’ Rosie murmured, continuing to watch Johnny.
The young man smiled, nodded and left her alone in the control room with the engineer.
***
Once Johnny finished the track, he opened his eyes and peered out at the engineer in the control room. The engineer nodded enthusiastically and gave the thumbs-up sign, indicating that the session had gone well.
It was then that Johnny saw her.
He appeared to be taken aback for a split second.
Then his face lit up and he waved. Putting the mike down, he took off his headphones and beckoned to her.
Rosie went to join him on the studio floor.
Immediately, he grabbed hold of her, pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her.
After a moment she managed to extricate herself gently, and with a nervous laugh, she said, ‘Johnny, the engineer’s watching us.’
‘So what. Oh honey, it’s great to see you! I’ve missed you so much!’ Still holding her by the shoulder, he stood away from her and stared hard at her, grinning from ear to ear. But his bright blue eyes were intense, and she noticed a tiny spark of anger lurking there. His voice rose when he exclaimed, ‘Hey, Rosie, I’ve been trying to reach you for days! Calling and calling your apartment. I’ve been going crazy trying to find you. Why didn’t you call me back? Where the hell have you been?’
Speechless, she stared at him. Overwrought about her brother, jet-lagged, exhausted from her hospital vigil and extremely anxious about this confrontation, Rosie felt her control slipping. She endeavoured to steady herself.
When she didn’t answer him, Johnny rushed on, ‘We’ve gotta change things, honey; I can’t live like this. You’ve gotta be with me all the time.’ Peering at her, his expression suddenly questioning, he cried, ‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming? How long have you been here?’
His words touched a raw nerve in her. She thought of her brother’s fight for his life in the ICU at Bellevue Hospital and she fell apart, tears streaming down her face.
Startled and confused, Johnny put his arm around her and guided her out of the studio, saying, ‘Aw, honey, don’t cry. I guess I’m just a bit worked up because I’ve been out of my mind with worry.’ Going into an office, he drew her inside with him and closed the door behind them.
Rosie couldn’t stop weeping. She sank onto a chair, groped around in her bag for a handkerchief and brought it to her face. Her pent-up emotions, repressed over the last few days, were released, and she continued
to sob.
At a loss, Johnny sat down on the chair opposite her; he was baffled. At last, he said in a much gentler tone, ‘I shouldn’t have railed on at you, Rosie. I didn’t mean to upset you so much.’
Taking a deep breath, she said through her sobs, ‘It’s not you, Johnny.’ And then before she could stop herself, she blurted out, ‘It’s my brother Kevin! He’s been shot. He almost died. That’s why you haven’t heard from me these last few days, Johnny. I’ve been with him at the hospital.’ Once again she had a mental picture of Kevin’s ashen face, and fresh tears flowed.
‘Shot? What happened? Was he mugged or something?’ Johnny asked, frowning.
‘No, he wasn’t mugged. He was shot when he was working. By the Mafia. I’m sure it was the Mafia. They gunned him down like they gunned down my father,’ Rosie cried through her sobs.
‘Mafia,’ Johnny said. ‘I don’t understand…’
‘My brother’s an undercover cop. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but—’
‘Cop,’ Johnny muttered, staring at her.
‘Yes,’ Rosie answered, nodding her head. ‘He’s with the NYPD, has been for years. For months he’s been working for the CID, investigating a Mafia family. The Rudolfos. You must have heard of them. Everybody’s heard of them. They shot Kevin. The Rudolfos shot my brother.’ Pressing the handkerchief to her face she tried to stem her tears.
Johnny stiffened in the chair and his face paled. He continued to stare at Rosie disbelievingly, trying to digest what she had just told him. In Paris, she had said her brother was an accountant; now she was telling him he was an undercover cop. A cop who had been shot by the Rudolfos.
His world turned upside down.
***
‘I didn’t come here to tell you about Kevin,’ Rosie said slowly. ‘That all came out because I’ve been so upset. I came to see you to explain something, Johnny, something about us.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked in a low voice.
Rosie looked directly at him and pushed a smile onto her face. But it faltered instantly. In the most gentle voice she could summon, she said, ‘Johnny, it won’t work.’
‘What won’t?’
‘You and I.’
In a way, he had known what was coming, what she was going to say, but still he could not accept it. He felt as though all the blood were draining out of him; feeling sick, he sat back in the chair, trembling inside.
Finally, Johnny said, ‘Why won’t it work? I love you, Rosie. You know I do.’
Taking a deep breath, she reached out to hold his hand and said, ‘But I don’t love you, Johnny. At least, not in the way you want me to love you.’
‘We’re wonderful together! Great in bed, great out of it. You said that to me in London.’
‘Oh Johnny, you are very special, so loving and generous. But I can’t marry you. It would never work. We’re so different and in so many ways—’
‘What ways? Tell me what ways?’
‘The way we live our lives.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘Listen to me, Johnny. You’re one of the world’s greatest entertainers; you’re a megastar, and you live in a certain manner; you have to because of your work. You keep odd hours. Then again, you need the woman you love to be with you all the time. Night and day. On tour. Always at your side. I can’t do that, Johnny. I have a career of my own. I adore my work, and I can’t give it up. You’re possessive, controlling even, while I’m extremely independent. The sparks would be flying all the time.’
‘The sparks do fly when we’re in bed. We’re not so different then, are we?’
‘No, we’re not. You’re a very sensual man, and I found you extremely seductive. But sex is not enough. There has to be more in a marriage.’
‘You’re not giving it a chance, us a chance,’ he argued, pushing aside his shock, focusing on her. ‘I’ve been in Australia for over a month… I haven’t seen you for seven weeks. We just need to be together, Rosie. A few days with me at the Waldorf, and things will be the same. Just the way they were in Paris and London. I know they will be.’
Shaking her head and letting go of his hand, Rosie stood up. ‘No they won’t, Johnny.’
‘You’re wrong, honey!’ he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. ‘You can’t tell me you don’t feel anything for me, that you don’t love me the way I love you! I can remember every minute we’ve spent together… that wasn’t an act… you meant it, honey.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I did, Johnny. Being with you was special. I was infatuated with you, but I didn’t grow to love you. I’m not in love with you, Johnny. That’s why there’s no future for us.’
He gaped at her. He was so stunned he could not speak.
Every bit of her sympathy, her innate kindness and gentleness rose to the surface. She reached out and touched his arm. In a voice that was sad, full of regret, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Johnny, so very sorry.’
‘Give us a chance,’ he pleaded.
She stared at him, biting her lip. She felt so sorry for him, and yet there was nothing she could do to assuage his pain.
Tears glittered in his eyes. ‘But I love you, Rosie. What am I going to do without you? Please, stay with me a few days,’ he begged. ‘Let’s try and work this out. There must be a way.’
‘There isn’t, Johnny darling. And I can’t stay. I’m leaving for Paris on Sunday morning. I have to get back to work.’ She turned when she got to the door. ‘Goodbye, Johnny,’ she said.
FORTY-FOUR
Johnny was devastated.
Rosie had left him. His life was in shreds. He couldn’t live without her. He wanted her back. He had to find a way to get her back.
He sat in the stretch limousine on his way to Staten Island, turning everything over in his mind. Very simply, he was unable to accept her reasons for breaking up with him. She hadn’t made sense; he knew she was lying. The real reason she was dumping him was because her brother had told her he was part of the Rudolfo family. And she believed the Rudolfos had shot Kevin.
This afternoon, after she had left the recording studio, he had called Uncle Salvatore on the spur of the moment. And now he was going to see him, to talk to him, to ask for a special favour. He had never asked for anything before; he was quite sure the Don would not refuse him. When they had spoken earlier, Salvatore had begged him to come to dinner. ‘After all, it’s Good Friday, Johnny, a special occasion for us.’
But he had declined respectfully, explaining that he was recording until seven. This was not true. In fact, he had left the studio almost immediately after Rosie, once he had spoken to the Don. He was no longer able to concentrate on his work. Shaken up, he had returned to the hotel knowing he must pull himself together before he went out to the island. He did not want to show weakness in front of Uncle Salvatore.
His thoughts zeroed in on Rosie. And on her brother Kevin.
It was all very obvious to him. In investigating the family, her brother had somehow found out about his connection to the Rudolfos through his Uncle Vito, caporegime in the organization and Salvatore’s closest goombah. Her brother had warned her off him. Yes, that was it. That was how it had happened.
It wasn’t possible that she didn’t love him. He knew better than that. After all, he was Johnny Fortune. Women swooned over him. She had called him a megastar; she had said he was seductive, sensual. She was telling him something, wasn’t she?
Johnny closed his eyes.
Her face danced in his head.
She was beautiful.
He loved her. She was the only woman he had ever loved. And she loved him. He was certain of that. They were powerful together.
He was going to get her back.
His Uncle Salvatore was going to help him.
***
They sat together in the inner sanctum.
Salvatore Rudolfo sipped a Strega, Johnny a glass of white wine, and they talked for a short while about Johnny’s Australian tour, the new disc he was recording, his
career in general.
And then Salvatore sat back in the chair and smiled at Johnny. Sangu de ma sangu, he thought. Blood of my blood. My son. Except that Johnny did not know that he was his father. Lately, he had wondered if he had made a mistake in not telling Johnny the truth. Maybe Vito had been right. Perhaps he ought to know. What harm would it do? And Johnny is a big star now, the biggest of them all. Nothing can hurt him. Only Johnny would know, not the whole world. He would think about it some more. Make a decision before Johnny went back to the coast. If he did tell him, it would have to be their secret.
Focusing his penetrating gaze on Johnny, Salvatore said, ‘I’m glad you came out to see me, Johnny. Now I can congratulate you in person. Vito tells me you’ve found the right woman, a good Catholic girl to be your wife. When’re we going to meet her?’
Johnny took a deep breath. ‘That’s why I wanted to see you tonight, Uncle Salvatore. To talk to you about Rosie. There’s a problem.’
‘Oh. What kind of problem?’
‘Rosie’s broken off with me.’
Salvatore was flabbergasted. ‘That’s impossible. Women are crazy about you, Johnny.’
‘I’m sure Rosie still loves me.’
‘Then why?’ Salvatore raised a snowy brow.
‘Rosie’s brother is a cop. He’s been shot, badly wounded—’
‘A cop, Johnny? Her brother is a cop? And you got engaged to her?’
‘I didn’t know he was a cop. Not until today. Rosie says her brother was shot by the Rudolfo family. I think he knows about Uncle Vito, my connection to the family, and that he told Rosie. And that’s the reason she broke it off.’
‘Mebbe. Except that this brother, the cop, was not shot by the Rudolfo family. The Rudolfo family don’t go around shooting cops. It’s bad for business. Capisci?’
Johnny nodded, and a look of relief flooded his face. ‘That’s what I thought, Uncle Salvatore, and that’s why I came to see you. I wanted to be sure that Rosie was wrong.’
‘She is, Johnny, very wrong.’
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