by Koko Brown
He stepped closer, breaching the distance between them. “Had I known I hurt you so much—”
“You would have let me be?” she interrupted.
He shook his head. “I would’ve done this differently.”
He just didn’t get it! “Even if you had a mediator, it wouldn’t erase the past.” Celeste removed her tuxedo jacket and flung it over a chair. “Go home, Shane and let me be.”
Celeste turned back around. She dipped her hand in a jar of cold cream and smeared it along her brow, over cheeks and down her jaw.
How long he stood there Celeste wasn’t quite sure. Time seemed to stand still, while she removed her heavy stage makeup. One thing she was very aware of was the door closing behind him.
It was the witching hour and Shane felt like a fool. He’d been shunned by his wife and yet here he sat front and center at an astronomically expensive reserved table at Club DeLisa, waiting for Celeste’s set to begin. A bottle of hooch sat on the table, next to a small coffeepot and a tray of rolled cigars.
Sure she’d rebuffed him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep trying until she finally let him in and allowed him to redeem himself.
He would never give up on them. She was all he had left of true value in this world. Money, a boxing title were all trivial possessions. True love was priceless. And if he had to sit here night after night he’d do it.
“Ladies and gentleman, we are sorry to inform you that Celeste Newsome will not be performing tonight. We’ve parted company on amiable terms and she’s no longer a headliner at the Club DeLisa.”
She’d given him the slip. Shane was so angry he crushed his cigar. Realizing the mess he’d made, in more ways than one, he cut his losses and stood up.
Picking his way through the crowd, Shane made his way over to the bar. If anyone knew the inner workings of an establishment, the bartender would be considered an internist.
Shane waited at the end of the bar, money already greasing his palm.
“What can I get you, sir?” Shane glanced at the wizened old man, looking older than Methuselah himself, and groaned. He probably couldn’t remember what he had for breakfast.
“I need information.” Shane peeled off a twenty dollar bill. “What happened to the star?”
As if taking bribes were an ordinary occurrence, the bartender didn’t flinch or blink. He simply folded the money then slipped it into his jacket pocket.
“She hopped on a train this morning. Said she needed to get out of town in a hurry, take care of some business. She bought in so much money, boss man practically cried in his evening soup.”
Shane ignored his chaotic heartbeat. “You know where she was headed?”
“Gonna cost you another bill.” The man smiled when Shane laid another twenty on the bar.
“Where was she headed?”
“You aren’t trying to do her any harm are you?”
“No harm. Just trying to woo her back.” The bartender looked at him quizzically. “She’s my wife.”
“I don’t get involved in domestic spats.” The bartender turned to leave. Seeing his window of opportunity sealing shut, Shane reached out and stopped him. He reached inside his pocket and laid a hundred dollar bill on the bar top.
The bartender licked his lips. “You really love her.”
Shane placed another hundred dollar bill next to the first. “More than life itself.”
“She left on the morning train heading back to New York City,” he said, palming the fresh bills. “On the Capital Limited matter of fact. Should arrive by tomorrow afternoon.”
So she was heading home. Shane smiled. She’d won this round but not the bout. He’d lick his wounds and come out swinging.
This time winner takes all.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Celeste rolled down the car window. She placed her arm on the sill and played with the wind, allowing it to push her arm back and forth. It was such a beautiful spring day it would be a shame not to enjoy it in some shape or form.
“We should be in Kansas City in the morning,” she breathed. “I can’t wait for a rack of ribs.”
“Smothered in sweet barbeque sauce,” Maybelline, the troupe’s sole canary added. She shared topped billing and the back seat of the early Ford woodie station wagon they were sandwiched in. Cramped and bumpy, it was a better ride than the bus the stock performers were sentenced to.
“Nothing like a rack of Kansas City ribs,” Bigelow drawled. Bandleader and resident pianist with fifteen years in the business, he sat up front with Georgie and Will.
Celeste laid her cheek on her forearm. Freshly plowed fields, whizzed by one after the other. If it weren’t for her present troubles, she could almost enjoy the scenery.
After buying her contract back from the owner of the Club DeLisa, she’d bumped into Bigelow Hodges on the train back east. In between jobs, they’d come up with the idea to headline their own tour. Between them, they had enough connections to create a full tour.
Two months later, with three dozen other performers on board, they’d opened in Miami Beach to rave reviews and dozens of write ups in the syndicated press. Their hopes for a road tour blossomed into a twenty city circuit overnight.
Her turn in fortunes also garnered her different type of fruit four weeks ago. One that wouldn’t take no for an answer, and yet kept his distance. Unlike their previous reunion, Shane remained a quiet, yet constant presence in her life.
He attended all of their performances, yet kept his distance. He didn’t chat up any of the other performers. He just followed the troupe from city to city.
Did he drive her crazy?
Right up a wall.
What could she do, save confronting him? Celeste refused to go down that path again. After their last reunion, he’d so engrained himself under her skin her every waking moments were filled with thoughts of him.
Even now, as they ate up the miles to honor four contracted performances in Kansas City, she wondered if his suit remained true or was abandoned in St. Louis.
Celeste laid her cheek upon her arm. Try as she might, the very notion of never seeing him again didn’t delight her in the least.
Boom!
The car lurched to the right, launching her into the back of the driver’s seat. Two heaves forward, a horrible hiss, and the car rolled into a ditch. Wedged between the seat, lying on her back, Celeste glanced up at the roof of the car.
“Is everyone okay?” Bigelow leaned over the seat. A nasty gash cut through his left brow, blood was dripping down his temple.
“Other than my pride, I’m fine,” Celeste groaned, peeling herself from the baseboard. “What happened?”
“Georgie’s gonna check under the hood. Ya’ll climb out, while he gives her a look over.”
Grateful for the brief respite from the road, Celeste crawled out. While she settled beside Maybelline in the shadow of a cornfield, the main bus came ambling back up the highway, crossed the median and parked behind the disabled woodie.
“So what’s the verdict?” Bigelow asked when Georgie reappeared from under the hood.
“She’s blown a gasket,” Georgie, resident driver, mechanic and road hand, surmised. “She isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Will it run again?”
Georgie pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped the oil from his hands. “Yeah, if you replace the entire engine.”
And that would take several days, Celeste groaned. But that wasn’t the worst of their troubles. Making a late start of it, they needed to be in Kansas City by the afternoon to go through at least one run of the show then hit the stage for their first performance.
“Can we all cram onto the bus?”
“She’s already filled to the gills as it is. Five more bodies, all the costumes and our luggage? We’ll be risking more than the woodie. We’re gonna have to split up the group.” Bigelow turned to Georgie. “You take the bus into the next town and see if we can get someone to haul the woodie in and
find a replacement.”
When things couldn’t get any worse, a green bus with shamrocks painted in the windows lumbered past, slowed down and then pulled off the road. Celeste’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach like a day old cold biscuit.
“What in the hell?” Bigelow murmured as the Paddy Wagon backed up. “That Colt. 45 still in the glove box, Georgie? The roadie nodded. “Go get it.”
“Sure thing, Big.”
Like a tall drink of water, Shane stepped down from what had once been his tour bus. His tall frame was molded in a chambray shirt and a pair of black corduroys. His dark hair was hidden under a tweed paper boy cap.
“Well hello, big daddy.” Maybelline sat up straighter, shoulders thrust back, size forty D breasts at salute.
“You folks need some help?” Shane held his hand out to Bigelow. “I’m Shane…Shane McAllister.”
So he was going by his real surname?
“Our station wagon blew a head gasket.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
Bigelow looked to Georgie. The roadie nodded his head, giving his consent. Shane ducked his head under the hood. He prodded around, said a few ‘yeahs’ and ‘hungh hunghs’, then came back up for air.
“You’re going to need a head gasket and possibly a new radiator as well. Looks like she’s been running hot for a while.”
Celeste fidgeted. Her seat had become unbearably hot. And it was his entire fault. He talked car parts and she was getting turned on.
“We were thinking about hauling the wagon in and finding a temporary replacement,” Bigelow said, unaware of Celeste’s situation. “In the confusion, we got a little sidetracked. We need to be in Kansas City before the sunsets, but the bus is already jam-packed. ”
Shane looked at his wrist watch. “You’re running it mighty close. You probably have another one hundred miles to go. You’re taking a huge risk thinking you can locate a replacement. The next town’s Boonville. You’ll be hard pressed to find anything suitable there.”
Bigelow scratched the back of his head. “We didn’t think that far ahead.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to offer a solution.” Shane’s gaze met hers and an electric current seemed to pass between them as if he’d physically touched her. She felt it all over body, on her breasts, between her legs. “I’m also heading to Kansas City. I wouldn’t mind the extra company.”
Before she could offer up an excuse to separate company, Maybelline jumped up. “That would be a fabulous idea. I’m happy to be rid of that cramped box,” she gushed, drawing Shane’s regard. His gaze held neither interest nor dislike. All the same, Celeste didn’t like him looking at another woman.
Bigelow stepped forward and shook Shane’s hand. “We’ll accept your offer, if you allow us to pay for the gas.”
Shane smiled broadly and the proverbial ball and chain clicked around Celeste’s ankle.
Did the woman ever stop talking? The canary of the troupe had definitely earned her nickname. For the past hour and a half she’d talked nonstop. Shane wondered if he draped a towel over her head would she finally shut up.
Still, Shane couldn’t bemoan his situation. Just this morning, he’d tried talking himself into throwing in the towel and heading back to New York. He’d lost that argument and like a love sick pup hopped onto US40.
Good thing. His luck had taken a sharp upswing, his stock more than quadrupling when he’d come across Celeste and her entire troupe stuck on the side of the highway.
He couldn’t have planned things any better if he’d tried. And he would take advantage of his sudden turn in fortunes. Shane glanced up in the rear view mirror. Her eyes met his. In the moment before she looked away, her eyes shot daggers at him.
Shane grinned. She looked fit to be tied! And that spoke volumes. In order for a person to be jealous, they had to care. His ears might be bleeding by the time they rolled into Kansas City, but he’d grin and bear it. Heck, he’d drive this bus to hell and back.
He’d been handed a boon that would afford him the opportunity to coax her back to her old self. The old Celeste that screamed his name even when he lost control during their love making, made him feel ten feet tall and loved him unconditionally.
“Need time to warm up?” Bigelow asked, his fingers playing over the ivory keys. Upon arriving in Kansas City, the troupe had headed straight to the Lincoln Theatre for dress rehearsals. With seating for fifteen hundred, the place was one of the largest and most lucrative on their tour. If they performed well, piquing demand, they could add additional nights.
“No, we can take it from the top.” Celeste took center stage.
“You okay?”
“Jim-dandy,” Celeste murmured. She hated the fact she was allowing Shane to get to her.
“You noticed it too?”
Celeste felt her pulse quicken. Had he seen something she hadn’t? Did utter denial keep her from seeing more than what was there? Celeste walked over to Bigelow and rested an arm on the piano. “What are you getting at, Big?”
“You didn’t notice the way Maybelline latched onto Mr. McAllister.” Bigelow chuckled. “Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance. That woman’s a barracuda.”
“More like a shark.” Celeste fisted her hands so tightly, her nails cut into her palms.
“If she keeps it up, we won’t have to look for a replacement vehicle. Heck, he might take us all the way to Atlantic City.” Bigelow played a little ditty. “Maybe you should talk to her, Celeste. Encourage her a little. It would allow us to walk home with more pocket change.”
They had more than enough pocket change. Half way through the tour they’d already found themselves in the black. Plus, there was no way she was going to pimp that heifer Maybelline to her own husband. She’d eat crow first.
Suddenly lightheaded, Celeste walked toward stage left. “C-can we take ten, Big. I’m not feeling well.”
“Sure, honey. Go on back to the hotel and rest up for tonight’s show.”
For the second time that day, Celeste refused to heed Bigelow’s advice. Instead of resting, she went back to the Street Hotel and used the time to scheme and plot.
Before they left Kansas City, she would get rid of her husband once and for all.
Celeste choreographed exactly four numbers for the tour. Each night she’d interchanged them so audiences would feel as if they’d experienced something new. For their last night in Kansas City, she’d opted to perform a special number that consisted of a duel of sorts between her and Bigelow with both of them trying to out do the other.
Completely improvised, the number was the hardest of her repertoire because it centered on technique, subtle accenting and varying degrees in volume and pitch.
Back and forth, she and Bigelow traded complimentary rhythms. His fingers flew up and down the musical scales, while her feet shaded every note. As expected, the audience went wild, stomping, whistling and a few even coming to their feet.
Celeste couldn’t wait for it to end. Of late she wasn’t finding the same pleasure being on stage had afforded her in the past. Her body went through the motions, executing each step perfectly and yet she didn’t experience that natural high which always came with performing before an audience. In all honesty her heart and soul weren’t in it and hadn’t been for some time.
Celeste blinked back tears.
If she didn’t have the stage, what did she have?
Shane allowed himself to be carried along by a pocket of performers from the troupe. After the show, they’d invited him to accompany them to the heart of Kansas City’s jazz district.
Under other circumstances, Shane would’ve begged off, preferring quieter pursuits. He tagged along only because he’d hoped Celeste would join the group, which seemed to blossom with more members of the troupe as the night wore on.
“Well look what the cat dragged in.” Buck Rhynes, half of Parker & Rhynes comedy act and unofficial leader of their group smacked his partner on the shoulder. “Boss Lady’s never pa
inted the town with us before.”
Like everyone else posted at the bar, Shane swiveled around.
Dipped in a gold dress that bared half of her back, Celeste looked like an exotic, hot house flower. The sight of her brought him up short, holding him spellbound.
“I wonder what’s up,” Parker took a swill of his bourbon. “She’s dressed to kill.”
Shane wondered as well as she sauntered between tables. With each step, her ample hips swung from side to side and her pert breasts quivered beneath the thin material of her dress. Shane wiped the drool from his mouth. Her body was a wonderland of infinite erotic delights. He ought to know he’d lost whole days trying to map every single inch of her.
Even though he had every right to walk over and stake his claim, Shane remained at the bar. He’d put his neck out there before and had it chopped off. She would need to make the first move, come to him of her own volition.
A noble thought and one almost tossed to the wind when her gaze wandered over to the bar. Their eyes met. She showed no surprise, not even anger. Had she finally forgiven him?
Shane’s heart soared as his cock pressed against his trouser buttons. Unfortunately, her next move knocked the wind out of his sails and sent him plunging back to reality.
“Want some company?”
Celeste pasted on her sweetest, doe-eyed expression when the young man looked up. Her smile widened when his jaw went slack and his mouth dropped open.
“S–s–sure,” he gushed.
Like riding a bike, Celeste mused. She hadn’t played the part of the seductress for some time, but it wasn’t so hard falling back into her old ways. Instead of taking the chair next to him, she parked her behind on his lap.
“What are you doing?” Celeste bit her lip to keep from cracking up. He looked as if he was about to have a seizure.