Down from the Cross

by Joyce Livingston

  She lifted her big blue eyes to meet his, and once again he noticed how pretty her delicate features were, despite the huge knot on her forehead. Her complexion was flawless, giving those blue eyes a China doll quality.

  “Do you really want me to work for you, or are you just being kind?”

  “Of course I want you to work for me. I made the offer, didn’t I?” He hoped his smile was convincing.

  She returned his smile, although it seemed somewhat guarded. “Then, yes, I accept, but only until I’m able to get out of my cast and find another job.”

  He decided to push once more. “You’ll come to work for me, but you won’t accept my offer of a ride home?”

  Jane felt a flush of warmth rush to her cheeks, and she couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Keene Moray, the man whose voice echoed through her apartment nearly every night, was standing in front of her. The man she’d admired since she had been old enough to buy her own CDs. Most of her friends had laughed at her when she told them her favorite artist was an opera singer instead of a country music vocalist. Even Karen had laughed, but once she had visited Jane’s apartment, ridden in her car, and listened to his rich voice and elegant phrasing, she, too, had become hooked on the music of Keene Moray. When he’d recorded his Love album, featuring the most romantic songs of all time, both she and Karen bought two copies—one to play and one to save. She had dreamed about attending one of his operas or concerts someday, when she could afford it, seated in the front row, close enough to see his handsome face and watch his expressions. Now here he was—offering her not only a ride home but also a job! A real job! Though only a temporary one.

  “I’d like to, but—”

  “But you never accept rides from strangers, is that it? Even if they’ve demolished your car and put you in the hospital with a broken leg and a banged-up head?”

  “I–I have to admit I do feel a bit strange about it.” She felt her blush intensify. What a fool he must think her. And she certainly didn’t want him, the famous Keene Moray, to see the dingy, low-income apartment she lived in. “I–I hope you understand. I don’t mean to offend you.”

  He gave her a compassionate grin that made her feel a bit better. “Okay. Let’s strike a deal. If you refuse to let me take you home, at least let me pay for your taxi. Remember, it’s because of me and my carelessness that you’re not able to drive your car.”

  He was right about that. His carelessness had put her in this quandary. She was glad he acknowledged that fact. “Okay. I guess.”

  “Your taxi is here,” the receptionist said, gesturing toward the double glass doors.

  Jane allowed Mr. Moray and the orderly to help her through the doors, out of the wheelchair, and into the waiting taxi. She watched from the backseat as he spoke a few words to the driver and paid the man with a bill that would do far more than cover her trip across town. Waving at him through the window, she mouthed the words “thank you” and then settled back for her ride home, resting her injured leg on the cab’s leather seat. Good thing she’d worn a dress that day, instead of her good slacks or jeans; otherwise, they would have had to split them up the sides, and she certainly couldn’t afford to buy a new pair.

  When the car moved forward, she suddenly realized she had not even given him her phone number, and she had no idea how to call him. How could she go to work for him if neither one knew how to reach the other? Then she remembered he had taken care of her hospital bill. Perhaps he had written down the information from that.

  When they reached the exit from the parking lot, the driver pulled to one side and waited, holding his microphone and relaying the address she had given him to the dispatcher. Assuming he was waiting for a response, she was not surprised when he continued to wait before pulling out onto the street. After a few minutes, he nodded into the rearview mirror and pulled out into the line of traffic. Curious, she turned and glanced out the rear window.

  There, not more than twenty feet behind them, sat a dark blue BMW convertible, bearing a dent in its fender and hood, a broken headlamp, and a few scratches to its bumper, with Keene Moray at the wheel. He was following them! Surely, he would be turning off soon. He wouldn’t follow them all the way to her home, would he? Please, Lord. No! Even though I am thankful to have a roof over my head, I do not want him seeing where I live!

  Stealing a glance every so often, she kept close watch on the BMW, hoping the next time she looked it would be gone. It didn’t happen. Each time the taxi changed lanes or made a turn, the BMW did, too.

  “This it?” The driver pulled the taxi up in front of one of Providence’s low-cost housing development apartment buildings.

  With a final backward glance, she pointed to the group of apartments at the far end of the development. “There, just beyond the playground equipment, where the lady is standing beside the wheelchair.”

  He pulled up to the curb and waited while the friend Karen had called from the hospital helped her into the chair. After making sure the door was closed, the driver nodded and drove off, leaving her sitting at the curb with her friend when the BMW pulled up beside her.

  She watched, her heart pounding, as the handsome singer flashed her a smile that set her head reeling. He was even better looking in person than he was on the TV shows she had seen. “I–I didn’t know you were going to follow us,” she stammered, feeling utterly ridiculous.

  “Of course I followed you. That man was a stranger. You’d never ridden with him before.” The glint in his eye made her blush again. “I wanted to make sure you arrived home safely.”

  “This is my friend and neighbor, Ethel Cawkins,” she told him, gesturing toward the frail, white-haired woman standing beside her. “My friend called her before I left the hospital. She was kind enough to loan me her wheelchair now that she no longer needs it.”

  He gave the woman a pleasant nod. “How nice of you, Mrs. Cawkins.” Then, turning back to Jane and grasping the chair’s handles, he said, “I’ll help you to your door.”

  Panic set in. If he left that BMW convertible parked there with its top down for even five minutes, someone would no doubt remove the CD player and strip off the hubcaps, maybe even take more items. She had seen it happen before. “No, you can’t!”

  However, he was already pushing her toward the door with Mrs. Cawkins trailing behind. “Oh, but I must. A true gentleman always sees a lady to her door. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

  “But…”

  Ignoring her protest, he rolled her right up to the door. “Through here?”

  She stood her ground. “Wait! You don’t know what happens to fancy cars like yours. The hoodlums who live here can trash a car quicker than you can imagine. I can’t let that happen to you.”

  “But we have things to talk about.” He grabbed the door handle. “I need to know when you can come to work for me, a phone number where I can reach you, that sort of thing. And I want to make sure your car is taken care of properly and in a timely fashion. Until you have it back, or one to replace it, I am going to be your chauffeur! Take you wherever you want to go.”

  The Keene Moray? Her chauffeur? The thought actually made her want to giggle. Moving quickly, she yanked the handle on the right wheel, spinning the chair around so it blocked the doorway. “You can’t do that!”

  “Oh, but I want to. Or, if you prefer, I’ll rent you a car.”

  The latter offer had more appeal. She would not allow him to be her chauffeur, no matter how much he insisted.

  “My, but you’re a stubborn little thing. I can see by your expression you would rather be independent. Well, I cannot say that I blame you, although I would be happy to chauffeur you anywhere, at any time. Since you will not accept my offer of being your chauffeur, I will phone my car dealer and have him deliver a nice rental car to you. Is that acceptable?”

  This had to be the most thoughtful man she had ever met or ever hoped to meet. She did need a car to get around, and what he said was true. Through his carelessness, he had tak
en away her only means of transportation. “Yes, a rental car would be very nice, but you really don’t—”

  “I want to. I cannot bear the idea of you being without transportation. Besides, you’ll need a car to get to my office.” That grin again, and she nearly wilted.

  “This is far enough, Mr. Moray. Mrs. Cawkins will help me get into my apartment. Thank you for making sure I got home okay.”

  He raised a brow. “Are you sure? I’ll be happy to see you safely inside.”

  She shook her head. “No, this is fine.”

  With a slight shrug, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notepad. “If you insist.” He scribbled something on it and handed it to her. “This is my address and phone number. I don’t want to pressure you, but I could really use your help. Give me a call when you feel up to going to work.”

  “I’m sure I’ll feel up to it by next Monday. The doctor said I can begin walking on this leg in a few days, though I may need crutches or a walker for a while. Would Monday work for you?”

  “Monday will be fine.”

  He eyed the wheelchair.

  She nodded toward her neighbor. “Mrs. Cawkins has been kind enough to loan me her walker, too. I’m sure I’ll be able to manage without help.”

  “Good.” He seemed satisfied with her answer and backed away a step. “If you have any trouble, you give me a call. Why don’t you report for work about nine?”

  Work. How good that word sounds. God works in mysterious ways. If it hadn’t been for the accident, with the scarcity of jobs for unskilled workers, I might have been without a job for weeks. What would Mom and I have done then? The few hundred dollars I’ve managed to save for a rainy day sure wouldn’t have gone far.

  She gave him a broad smile. “Nine on Monday.”

  “I can count on that?”

  She laughed. “Yes.”

  They bid one another a friendly good-bye, and then Jane and Mrs. Cawkins moved into the dimly lit hallway. Instead of heading toward her apartment, which happened to be on the ground floor, she positioned her chair in a shadowy area off to one side of the door. A chill ran through her when the BMW moved out of sight. I am actually going to be working for Keene Moray! Quickly, she bowed her head, promising God she would do her best to be a testimony for Him to this man who didn’t believe in Him.

  The following Monday, with fear and trepidation and Karen at her side, Jane parked the rental car in the visitor parking lot of prestigious Kennewick Place and pulled out the walker Mrs. Cawkins had loaned her. She had tried to use a set of crutches another tenant offered, but they made her feel wobbly and hurt her armpits. She felt much more secure using the walker. She hobbled her way to the elegant entryway, questioning her sanity. Whatever made me accept his generous of fer?

  Despite its beautiful exterior, the elaborate building gave her the creeps. She had no business being in a place like this—for any reason—and she felt like an intruder. Kennewick Place reeked of opulence and wealth. With Karen’s help, she opened the door and moved inside. A brass-framed roster on the wall listed the names of the occupants, and she began to scan it for the name Keene Moray.

  “Wow, this is some place,” Karen said, surveying their beautiful surroundings. “I know you were afraid to come here alone your first time, before you had a chance to check things out, but are you sure he won’t be mad that I came with you?”

  “I hope not.” Finally locating his name, she pressed the button beside it and they waited. After what seemed an eternity, his magnificent baritone voice boomed out at her from the speaker.

  She identified herself, waited until the buzzer sounded, allowing the door’s lock to be released, then manipulated the walker carefully down the hallway and headed for his condo. She’d been leery about coming to a near stranger’s condo, but after he explained he was using it not only for a home but also as an office while he was in Providence, she’d felt much better about it.

  “Look, Karen. It’s plain and simple,” she said, hoping to convince herself even more than her friend. “I need a job and he needs an assistant. This is nothing more than a business arrangement. One of my friends, a secretary, has worked for an attorney who has his business office in his home for a long time, and it’s worked out very well for both of them.”

  Karen gave her hand an assuring pat. “I’m sure things will be just fine.”

  Jane’s heart raced at the idea of facing Keene Moray again. She had been so out of it the last time she saw him. Probably even giddy since the doctor had given her something to mask the pain in both her leg and head. Now it was even hard to remember the conversation they’d had. Had she made sense? She doubted it. Having never taken pain medication before, there was no telling how it had affected her. She didn’t even want to think about it.

  She closed her eyes and held her breath as each step took her closer to his condominium. What was she doing here anyway? She hoped this wasn’t a mistake.

  “Well, you made it! Come in.”

  Sucking in her fear, she looked up into Keene’s smiling face when he met her in the hallway. “Good… good morning, Mr. Moray,” she managed to mumble, nearly losing her balance manipulating the walker through the wide opening. “I asked Karen to come with me. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Hello again, Karen.” Turning his attention back to Jane, he said, “I hope that leg hasn’t caused you too much pain.” He gently took her arm and walked slowly beside her a few yards down the hall to an open door.

  Causing me much pain? It has been nearly impossible to get comfortable. “It hasn’t been too bad.”

  “How’s the head doing?”

  It’s really been hurting. “Not too bad. The doctor is going to take the stitches out Wednesday.”

  “And the rental car they brought you? Did it meet with your approval?”

  There was no reason for her to avoid the truth here. “My approval? Oh, yes! It’s the nicest car I’ve ever driven. Much nicer than my Aveo, and way bigger.”

  He laughed good-naturedly, stepping out of her way once they were inside. “Good, I’m glad you like it.”

  Karen grabbed a magazine from a stack on the coffee table and seated herself on the sofa. “I’ll sit here while you two talk.”

  Jane nodded. She was greatful her friend had come with her.

  Keene’s condominium astounded her. The living room was large and filled with sunlight from the long stretch of sliding glass doors that opened onto a huge balcony overflowing with potted flowers and palms. Both the walls and the sculptured carpets were off-white, with the furniture upholstered in shades of green and burgundy, and highlighted with touches of royal blue and rose. A grand piano stood in the far corner, an oversized vase on it filled with fresh flowers. It reminded her of a room from a movie set or an architectural magazine. Far more impressive than any she had ever been in before.

  “My place in New York City is a bit nicer, but this one will do. I’ll only be here for a few months. A friend of mine owns this condo, but he’s spending a year in Europe, so he’s been kind enough to loan it to me.” He clasped his hands together and raised his brows. “May I get you something to drink? Water, soft drink?”

  Jane shook her head, feeling like a country bumpkin for the way she allowed herself to stare at both him and the room. She couldn’t help it. It was all so grand. “Nothing, thank you.”

  He motioned toward a wide hallway. “Do you need to rest before I show you where you’ll be working? I’m sure it’s not easy getting around in that walker with your leg in a cast.”

  “Oh, no. I’m fine, but…” Although she was eager to see her working quarters, she paused, wanting to give him another chance to change his mind. The idea of her, a nobody, working for a famous opera star was ludicrous. “You were very kind to offer me this job, Mr. Moray, but if you’d like to back out—I’ll understand. I’m sure in time I can find another job.”

  He carefully nudged her on, his touch nearly melting her. “I won’t hear of
it! You need a job, and I need an assistant. I’m sure we’ll have a pleasant working relationship.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to help me. I can make it on my own. In fact, in a few days I hope to completely rid myself of this walker.” She tried to escape his grasp, but he wouldn’t allow it.

  “Just take your time. We’re in no hurry.”

  “Remember, I don’t have any office experience,” she reminded him.

  He stopped and stared at her, his demeanor light and teasing. “Office experience? How much office experience does it require to file things in alphabetical order?” He gave her a mischievous grin. “Didn’t you learn that little song when you were in kindergarten? You know the one I mean. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, and so on? The one that ends, ‘Now I’ve sung my ABCs. Tell me what you think of me.’ ”

  Even though it was a silly children’s song, Keene Moray had just sung those few words for her—personally, an audience of one! The idea made her head swim.

  “Well, did you?”

  “Yes,” she finally admitted, “only I have another version I like better.”

  “Oh? Sing it for me.” He moved to stand in front of her and waited.

  She nearly fainted at the thought. Me sing? For the great Keene Moray? Unthinkable! “No! No, I couldn’t do that.”

  He gave her arm a slight squeeze, sending icy chills through her body.

  “Come on. I insist. You do sing, don’t you?”

  “Yes, a little.”

  He tipped his head, eyeing her. “I’ll bet you sing at church.”

  “Yes.”

  “In the choir?” She nodded.

  “Then you must sing for me.”

  He waited expectantly, and she knew he was not going to give up until she had sung the little alphabet song for him. She swallowed a lump that had suddenly arisen in her throat and sent up a quick prayer. I promised You, God, I would be a testimony to this man. Make me brave enough to sing it for him.

  “Jane. Sing. I’m waiting. Come on. I sang mine for you.”