Marigold set everything up while I inwardly rejoiced. It was time to show the band members what the “baby girl” could do with a paddle and a tiny net.
I proceeded to whup the stuffings out of Marigold Blume. My idol, my mentor, the girl I most wanted to be in this world was frantically chasing Ping Pong balls around the room, groaning audibly as she listened to me calmly announcing scores for each game. “Twenty-one to three. Twenty-one to two. Twenty-one to . . .”
“Stop.” Marigold had shrieked. “Forget it. I give. No wait. Maybe I need an incentive. Wanna bet me, Becerra?”
By this time the guys had gathered near the pool table and were hooting, hollering and completely oblivious to even the barely-clad girls on the screen rolling in the mud at Yasgur’s Farm, New York, circa 1969.
I smiled sweetly at each person in turn and fluttered my lashes at a flushed and panting Marigold Blume. “Fine. I’m poor though. Scholarship girl, remember? Now of course, it won’t make a bit of difference since I’m going to beat you but I’ll be sporting and take a bet if you keep it low. What’s it to be, Blume?”
Marigold’s eyes twinkled. “Who needs money, anyway? Howzabout if I win you type out all the lyrics I’ve written for the last two years? As my handwriting is less than stellar I’ve neglected to get nice and organized. I’d love to read my hypnotically gorgeous poetry in clear black and white. Plus my brilliance would be on the computer forever and I’d never have to worry about losing a lyric.”
I almost groaned. I was quite familiar with Marigold’s penmanship. Marigold was being overly kind to herself. Illegible was the exact term and illegible was actually understated. On the other hand, we’d played three games and I’d skunked her each time. Unless she’d been hustling me, I should easily hit twenty-one before she could whip out a pen and paper.
“Okay. Let’s see. Um. If I win, you give me the brown leather conch belt you brought back from Peru over Christmas?”
Marigold’s eyes widened for a second then she shrugged. “You’re on.”
I had been right in my suspicions. Marigold had been scamming me, holding back in the previous games but even so, I had a twenty-one to fourteen win within minutes. I’d turned to the guys and bowed. “Next?”
The battle to usurp Bebe Becerra’s new position as Ping-Pong champ was on. Cam was next up, betting me a week’s worth of home cooked Mama Felsen dinners delivered to my door at the dorm. Should I lose, my payment would be my services as research assistant for various articles he needed for a mid-term paper he was writing for his graduate Advanced Music Theory class. Ten minutes later, after the score hit twenty-one ten, my mouth was watering in anticipation of the goodies I’d be feasting on for the next week.
Dusty decided to up the stakes, figuring if I played for real money, I’d get so rattled and nervous I’d be bound to lose. I was feeling pretty cocky by then but nonetheless was relieved when I took the fifty dollars he handed over, squirreled it away in my purse and then politely thanked him after our twenty-one to six match had ended.
Finally I turned to Nic. “Well, Jericho? You game?”
Nic shoved himself off the pool table and sauntered over, then accepted the paddle from Dusty. “I like this side of you, Bebe. Spunky. Tough. About time our quiet little pet turned sassy.”
I blushed and almost lost any spunkiness right then and there. I had had such a huge crush on the twenty-two-year old Nic from the instant I’d met him. I barely dared to talk to him at rehearsals for fear he’d see the adoration in my eyes and dismiss me as nothing more than one of the horde of silly girls who wanted to claim they’d dated Nic Jericho.
I inhaled and looked him straight in the eye. “So? Upping the ante again? Going to try and take the fifty I just won?”
He winked. “Ante upping most definitely. However, my pockets are flush with cash and I have no wish to take your scholarship money. So, I’d like to suggest a trade.”
“Listening.”
“Should you win, you get the loan of my SUV, with a full gas tank and freshly washed, for a month. You do have a driver’s license, yes? Or are you still in learners permit stage?”
“Hello? Seventeen, Mr. Jericho; not thirteen! Yes. I have a license, thank you very much. Totally legal. No adult needed in the car or anything. So I get the Blazer? Cool. And what do you get on the off chance I lose?”
His voice became as soft as a caress. “One kiss. At a time, place, and duration of my choosing.”
I nearly passed out on the table before the first volley was ever launched. Cam and Dusty were grinning. Stone had joined them and was giggling. Marigold was flat-out howling. I had to work hard to keep my mind totally focused.
As the challenger, Nic had the first serve. It sailed across the net and landed squarely in the middle. Easy return. Except I clumsily missed the ball and hit the table. Point one for the drummer with the dark-chocolate eyes and unruly black hair. Points two, three, four and five were as humiliating. I was getting an aerobic workout running from side to side, bending to pick up the balls falling very neatly off the very tip of the table.
Cam, Dusty, Stone and Marigold were all now cheering for Nic. Romantic bunch. If I lost I had no intention of allowing our kiss to take place in front of them and I was well aware they wanted to see the big romantic scene, which was why they kept urging Nic to “rip ‘er up, dude.”
I managed to pull it together enough so the match wouldn’t end up as a total rout. I was even with him. A difficult feat since I was also rooting for him to win. Then Nic was serving again. Much as I wanted that kiss I was determined not to throw the game so I began fighting like a fiend for the last point. When the ball hit the middle I sent it back with finesse worthy of Chinese table tennis champions. The mad volley was on.
I sent the ball over to where it hit just barely beyond the net. Nic easily reached it and sent it back same distance on my side. I hadn’t anticipated it. I was standing back from the table waiting for the killer slam. It never came.
“Twenty-one to twenty. My game.”
I stared into his eyes and whispered, “Your game.”
Nic laid the paddle on the table then held up one hand to the spectators. He didn’t even glance at them. “Out, sports fans. Now.”
The quartet, amidst much griping, snickering, and nudging, headed toward the basement stairs. Nic and I were alone. I hung on to the edge of the Ping Pong table and watched Nic quietly walk toward me. He held out his hand and I placed mine over it. He led me over to the entertainment center then switched off the old Humphrey Bogart movie, which had replaced Woodstock sometime during one of the losers’ earlier matches.
“I don’t want distractions. You?” he gently asked.
I nodded, unable to speak. Nic softly stroked my hair. He let his hand linger under my chin. I closed my eyes. His lips touched mine and their softness came as a surprise. The kiss stayed gentle, but firm, as he held me with both of his arms wrapped around my back and stamped me as his forever.
He’d then released me and smiled. “More to come when you’re older. You may be the hottest alto since Gracie and Stevie but you’re still seventeen and I’m still twenty-two and I’m content to wait until you at least hit toddler stage.”
“One kiss. Time, duration and place of my choosing.”
I opened my eyes as the memory became reality. Nic was looking at me now the same way he had then. I’d never stopped loving him. I never would.
“Nic.”
He smiled. “Sorry I startled you. I only now managed to get off the phone with Hank when Junie came racing in to tell me she’d heard a sound or two coming from the basement and figured either her mutant mice were back or you’d found the Ping Pong paddles and couldn’t resist lobbing a few over the net into the wall.”
I stayed where I was, steadying myself against the table with both hands. “Juniper Blume has great ears and even better instincts. But tell me, what happened with your colleague?”
Nic sank onto the sofa with total disregard for the Pe
rsian kitten hairs now clinging to his black T-shirt. “I came close to telling Hank I quit. For a man who graduated Harvard law, he doesn’t seem to understand a simple phrase like, ‘I’ll be back in ten days or so. Don’t call me.’” He smiled at me. “So, am I right? Were you taking the same trip to the past which grabbed me the instant I set foot in this playroom?”
I strolled over to the cd rack to peruse the music. There was no way to answer without getting into serious trouble I wanted but wasn’t sure how to handle. He joined me.
“Can’t answer? Going to get into trouble no matter what you say, Ms. Becerra?”
“Whoa. How do you do that, Nic Jericho?”
“What?”
“Read my feeble mind. It’s scary.”
“Sadly, I wasn’t able to read it when I most needed to. Was I?”
He gently put his hand on my shoulder and turned me around to face him. “One kiss. Here and now. Durationyour choice.”
His lips met mine and eleven years dissolved. It was our first kiss all over again. The tingly feeling and the flush and the warmth overtaking and overwhelming my entire being. My choice? How about the duration of a lifetime? Then came the awful thought His dad will never allow us to be together.
A cough sounded from a shadowy figure on the stair closest to the pool table.
“Bebe? Nic? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. But . . . there’s news.”
We stopped the kiss without breaking apart from each other and Nic held me with the ease of my hoped-for lifetime as we looked up at Junie.
“Reece is back. They found clothing and a sorority pin and they’ve checked dental records. No DNA results yet of course, they could be weeks, but it seems pretty conclusive. The girl is Daria.”
Chapter 31
I finished the last notes of Annie Lennox’ Sweet Dreams sans female backup. Pieces had been rehearsing for an hour and Saffron Baker had not yet made an appearance. I didn’t care. I could barely force notes out of my throat after an early lunch spent exchanging memories with Nic, which had been cut short when his father aided in giving me a sour taste in my mouth by made it clear I was still unwelcome in his son’s life. I’d spent wrenching moments trying to decipher Chasma process that had made me feel disloyal to Marigold and my fellow band members simultaneously. Then I’d watched Crime Scene investigators wander through Junie’s house picking up items for possible DNA samples, which couldn’t even be analyzed for weeks. I’d experienced a trip to the past in the playroom, which ended with one very memorable kiss courtesy of Nic Jericho and one heart-ripping statement by Juniper Blume telling us Daria was almost certainly the girl in the grave. All in all it had been one damned emotional day and most of the emotions hadn’t been what I could term pleasant.
Cam signaled, “Break.”
I sank down on the floor in front of my microphone. My legs wouldn’t hold me up any more.
“Bebe.” Nic waved a drumstick to grab my attention.
“Hmm?”
“You’re zoning. You’ve been zoning. Do you realize you just sang the same verse twice?”
“Sorry. My mind is nowhere near the Georgetown Palace Theater ballroom. Sadly, it’s in a gravesite miles away. My voice probably isn’t here either.”
Nic joined me on the floor and put his arm around me. I rested my head against his chest for a moment and felt safe for the first time this whole week. For the whole lousy last ten years. He turned me slightly around to face him, leaned over and lightly kissed my forehead.
“Hey, I understand. Completely. All of us feel the same, although, fortunately, as back up singers and musicians we’re not forced to carry the brunt of this like you are. But you need to try and put all this out of your mind for a while. If you lose it, it won’t bring Marigold or Daria back. It won’t help find Arianna. Sing for them, okay?”
I nodded.
He added, “I wasn’t able to ask you this afternoon in the playroom, since we both kept zipping back to the past, and I realize this is probably a terrible time to discuss this, but have you had a chance to think more about the lyrics? And if so, has anything come floating down from the heavens to provide any clues as to who took Marigold or what was wrong with her and why she kept acting insane and bitchy at the same time?”
“I did ruminate a bit on the way here even with the Blazer’s cd player blaring Willie Nelson at top volume, but my thoughts are still iffy and vague and no I have no answers. I actually began to wonder if Marigold did leave other lyrics somewhere. Scraps of paper hidden in old boxes of cereal or something.”
He smiled. “Well, unfortunately, if she did, being the consummate smartass she was, they were probably something on the order of “Nic, Nic, oh man of the drum, why can’t you write lyrics, you lousy ol' scum?” Hmm. Doesn’t quite scan, does it? This is why I always left the words to Ms. Blume. You may equate me with Lord Byron because of one poster, but poetry has never been my forte.”
“Oh boy. I refuse to comment on you and Byron, because it will only get me into trouble. Back to real lyrics, when Willie was singing Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain on my way over here, I started musing about whether I could assign meanings in Chasm to some of the past Beta Zeta girls. The blue-eyed ones, of course. Several of whom were quite jealous of Marigold.”
Nic’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. The only person I could come up with was the sorority president because of the phrase ‘golden spice dreams’ and her name, Amber. It was a stretch and it doesn’t work and I doubt she and Marigold ever said two words to each other apart from arranging the original dance with the Beta Zetas. But there is something gnawing at me about that specific phrase. I can’t put my finger on it and it’s driving me crazy.”
He said firmly, “You will. I have no doubt. Meantime, we can’t specifically pin anything on anyone from a song, so we don’t have a suspect.”
“No. Not unless you’ve come up with anything I haven’t thought of.”
“Nothing.”
Before we could theorize farther, Cam announced, “Break over. Bebe? You okay? Need more rest? If so the guys can doubtless handle some Fogelberg tunes and you can wait a bit longer if you like and keep from having to strain your voice until Saffron gets here. If ever. Where is that woman? I swear I’m going to buy her a clock and hang it around her neck. Attached to a cell with an app in constant buzz mode.”
“Maybe a keeper, too? A giant Saint Bernard who drools?” I suggested.
Cam, Dusty and Nic laughed and I felt better. If Cam was willing to let the boys sing a number or two I had no problem resting my voice. I could use the time to grab something to drink and perhaps give Junie a call to ask if Reece had any more news. Clifford Black had, surprisingly, shown up for our last rehearsal, grabbing a lonely table near the exit. He was listening to the music as though it was a lifeline to sanity and solace.
I didn’t want to disturb the guys while they sang through Dan Fogelberg’s Tucson, Arizona. I love that song but it deals with the disappearance and deaths of two people and always made me cry even back in the days when the theme wasn’t so personal. I found I couldn’t stand to listen to the rest of the song, so I opted to use the ancient pay dial-up telephone in the lobby of the dance hall. I was halfway through punching in Junie’s number when someone placed a hand on my shoulder.
I turned. “Hey, Stone. Hi, Glenn.”
“You heard?” came from Stone.
I froze, praying this wasn’t more bad news. “Heard what? If you’re asking about the news of Daria being the girl in the grave, then the answer’s ‘yes.’”
Glenn nodded and I relaxed slightly before adding, “I feel completely devastated for Clifford, and for Detective Harrison, too, since he’s such good friends with Cliff’s family. This is so awful for them, although I suppose the ‘closure’ thing is good. At least, I always hear parents in interviews after their missing kids are found dead talk about closure.”
Stone quietly asked, “Do you believe
it’s true? Finality is better than not knowing?”
I stayed silent for a moment, considering the question. “I’m not sure. I personally would rather hang on to the hope someone is still alive. I assume we are now talking about Marigold?”
Stone nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it could so easily have been her. The girl they found. I’m not saying this well, am I?”
I touched his hand; pressed it lightly. “I understand. Totally.”
He took a deep breath. “Change of subject? Have you been able to come up with some melodies that could work with Marigold’s old lyrics? Or are they too wacky and obtuse to be anything but poetry?”
I smiled. “When were Marigold gems not wacky and obtuse? Seriously, though, these are different and in answer to your question, yes and no. I haven’t messed with two of the songs apart from jotting down stuff like ‘country style with rockabilly rhythm’ But the third, which only calls for acoustic guitar and a solo voice doing sort of a rock ballad with a Celtic air I’ve done more work on. And the solo would be me. I’m not letting Saffron take it no matter what. This assumes she shows up anytime in the next century.” I instantly felt a chill.
Cam appeared behind me. “Do you have enough of Chasm to give it a try tonight?”
I turned around and then glanced at Nic, who’d walked into the lobby next to Cam. Nic shook his head very slightly. Cam wasn’t yet aware Chasm might hold the answers to the mystery of Marigold’s or Arianna’s disappearance. To Daria’s death. Until Nic or I could figure out what Marigold meant, we didn’t need to go primetime with it. I stated, “Maybe tomorrow night at the dance. And I’m talkin’ a strong maybe, not a positive yes.”
Cam groaned. “Aagh! What is it with you girls? Saffron popping in and out of rehearsals with quote unquote ‘stuff to do and places to go’. You being Miss Mysterious about this song. I’d like to imagine tomorrow night won’t be a surprise every five seconds and things might actually go smoothly for a change.”
Nic rolled his eyes to the heavens. He pointed to the side of the stage, and the objects were which were clearly visible through the open lobby doors and laughed.“Cameron. Consider this. The stage looks like the castle from every Dracula movie ever madeintentionally. Our soprano is ignoring us and our alto is fading fast.” He winked. “No offense.”
Pick up the Pieces Page 19