Down from the Cross

by Joyce Livingston

  “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”

  “I promise,” he said, sobering and crossing his heart with his index finger.

  She began, hoping she had started in the right key. “A, B, C, D, E, F, G. Jesus died for you and me. H, I, J, K, L, M, N. Jesus died for sinful men, a-men! O, P, Q, R, S, T, U. I believe God’s Word is true. U, V, W. God has promised you. X, Y, Z. A home e–ter–nal–ly.”

  The ridiculing look she expected to see on his face did not happen. Instead, the faintest of smiles appeared as Keene seemed to be assessing her words. “That’s pretty cute. Great way to learn the alphabet. Did you make it up?”

  She could not help but smile back. Every child who had ever attended her church had learned that little song. And they had sung it at every youth camp she ever attended. “No, I didn’t, but I wish I could take credit for it. Everything it says is true.”

  “You have a nice voice,” he said, leading the way down the hall and pushing open the door that led to his office.

  She couldn’t be sure if his compliment was sincere or merely polite, but she was grateful for it anyway. Thank You, Lord!

  “How long have you been singing in your church choir?”

  She followed him into the room, trying to keep her mind on his question instead of the magnificent office that surrounded her. She had nearly forgotten about Karen waiting in the living room. “Since my first year of high school, but I’ve belonged to the junior choir since fifth grade.”

  He motioned her toward an upholstered chair in front of a wide cherrywood desk and then seated himself in a chair next to it. “Ever done any solos?”

  She sat down in the comfortable chair and swiveled it to face him, lifting her foot and resting it on the edge of a heavy metal wastebasket. “Yes, a number of them, although I’m not that good. They only call on me when they’re desperate or someone is out sick.”

  He gave her an accusing grin. “I doubt that. I think you are just being modest. From the little bit I just heard, I’ll bet you’re very good.”

  “Is… is this where I’ll be working?” she asked. This time it was she who wanted to change the subject. Discussing singing with Keene Moray was like racing a rowboat against a cruise ship, and it made her ill at ease.

  “Yes.” He turned and pointed to a pile of boxes lined up along the wall. “Those are what I need filed. Most of it is sheet music. Some are contracts. The rest is a conglomeration of letters, clippings, research, and I can’t even remember what else. I had all that stuff shipped here to Providence, hoping to find someone like you who could go through it, sort it all out, and set up a filing system for me.” His finger pointed toward a row of boxes piled on top of one another. “Those boxes are all empty filing boxes. I figure once they are filled, it will be easy to ship them to my office in New York. And those boxes are filled with office supplies,” he said, pointing to a few boxes at the far end. “Mostly file folders, labels, envelopes, staplers, that sort of thing. If I missed anything you need, we’ll get it.”

  He pointed to a big box on the credenza behind the desk. “That’s fan mail that needs to be sorted and answered. I guess I could write out a simple letter, have it duplicated, and send it to everyone, like many of my artist friends do, but I like to respond to my fan mail with a personal note to each person who has taken the time to write me. From the looks of things piled around here, you can tell I have gotten way behind. I’ll need you to take care of those for me, too.” He gestured again toward the stack of mail. “Maybe you could start with those fan letters. That way you wouldn’t have to walk around very much. I don’t want you overdoing it.”

  She stared at the boxes, taking them in one by one. “What if I have questions? Will you be here to answer them?”

  He threw back his head with a raucous laugh. “Oh, yes. I will be here, but you’ll probably wish I wasn’t! I’ll be learning and practicing a new opera for next year’s season, and I’m afraid at times I get very loud.” He sent her a toothy grin. “Perhaps I should provide earplugs for you.”

  Earplugs? To block out that fabulous baritone voice? Never! “I won’t need earplugs, Mr. Moray. I’ll love hearing you practice.”

  A deep frown creased his brow, and she feared she had said something wrong.

  “Look, if you and I are going to be working together, you’ll have to quit calling me Mr. Moray. Call me Keene. That is my name, you know. My real name, I might add. Not a stage name.”

  Her flattened palm went to her chest and her eyes widened in awe. “I can’t—”

  “Oh, yes, you can. You must call me Keene. I insist.” His smile returned. “And I can assure you I get pretty testy when I don’t get my way.” He pointed to her walking cast again. “By the way, when did the doctor say you could get rid of that thing?”

  “Hopefully in five to six weeks. I’m ready to start work if you’ll show me what to do. But first I’d better tell Karen she can go on home.”

  He rose, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Fine! Let’s get at it.”

  “You’re sure you don’t need me to stay?” Karen asked when Jane hobbled into the living room. “Can you really trust that guy?”

  Jane smiled. “Yes, I’m sure I can. Go on now, and I’ll call you tonight.”

  “Good thing we each drove our own car,” Karen added with a nod toward the hallway. “Call if you need me.”

  Jane assured her she would. Once the door closed behind her friend, she headed back down the hall, confident she was perfectly safe with her new boss.

  For the next three hours, they worked side by side with Keene opening the boxes containing all the items he had mentioned, going over the contents in detail, and telling her how he wanted them sorted. At noon, he called for sandwiches to be delivered by a nearby deli. Although the sandwiches were delicious, Jane found it hard to swallow. Just being in the presence of this famous man made her stomach quiver and her hands shake with delight. His kindness toward her was amazing. He stopped her from doing anything that would hurt her leg or cause her discomfort.

  They worked until three when Keene suggested they call it a day. When the door closed behind her, Jane leaned against the foyer wall and breathed a deep sigh. She had gotten through her first day of working for Keene Moray, and it hadn’t been half bad. It fact, it had been extremely pleasant. Now if she could just come down off cloud nine and get home without tripping over something.

  As soon as Keene heard the door close, he moved into his office and phoned the garage where they had towed Jane’s car. “You are going to repair it as good as new, aren’t you?” he asked Biff Hogan, the job manager.

  “Depends on how much your insurance company wants us to do,” the man said. “That’s a pretty light little car. That BMW of yours banged it up real good.”

  “Perhaps it’d be better to replace it. From what the owner said, I assume it’s around six months old, and I doubt she’s put very many miles on it.”

  “You’re right about that. She’s chalked up less than four thousand miles.” There was a pause on the other end. “I doubt your insurance company will replace it. They rarely do, but the costs to repair it back to its original state are going to be pretty hefty.”

  Keene pondered his words carefully. Somehow it didn’t seem right to repair something that had been nearly new before he damaged it. “I’ll be right over. I want to take a look at it myself before you do anything, okay?”

  “Sure. You’re the boss.”

  All the way to the garage, Keene’s thoughts were on Jane and the misery and inconvenience he had caused her, and how sweet she had been about the whole thing. He thought about the time the two of them had spent together that day, going through the boxes, setting up the filing system, and eating lunch together. Although he regretted meeting her by running into her car and causing her injuries, it seemed fate had brought her to him. She was exactly the kind of person he’d hoped to find to fill the temporary assistant position during the time he would be in Providence. Even with t
hat cast on her leg slowing her down, he knew she’d do the job efficiently, and it would be nice to have someone with her pleasant disposition around the condo, not to mention the strain it would remove by having someone to field his incoming calls.

  He smiled to himself. Especially the calls from the many women he had dated while in New York and even those who often called from Paris—beautiful, well-educated women who knew and appreciated good music. He loved having a beautiful woman on his arm when he attended the many social functions required of him as a performer, but there wasn’t one among them he would ever want to marry. No. When, and if, he ever married, it would not be to some debutante who had more interest in maintaining her figure and keeping her artificial nails in perfect condition than in being a loving mate to her husband and bearing his children. It would be to a real woman. One who would put him first, and if God allowed—

  If God allowed? He laughed out loud. God? There is no God. I merely quoted a figure of speech! Like talking about the tooth fairy or Mother Nature.

  He pulled into a parking stall in front of the automotive shop and turned off the ignition, for the first time realizing he had been humming to himself. A tune he couldn’t place at first. Then it hit him, and he began to sing aloud. “A, B, C, D, E, F, G. Jesus died for you and me.” An audible huff escaped his lips. Jesus? Jesus never actually lived. He was a fable—a myth, just like God! Nothing but a silly myth!

  Biff walked toward him and stuck out his hand as Keene entered the building. “Looks like you’re gonna have to have that little Chevy Aveo repaired instead of replacing it. Your insurance company won’t go for the whole ball of wax,” the man shouted over the loud noise of grinders and sanders. “Come on into my office!”

  Keene shook the man’s hand and followed him into the office, seating himself across from Biff’s beat-up old desk. He looked the man directly in the eye. “Tell me, Biff. If this were your daughter’s car and you could either fix it or replace it, without any insurance company being involved, and you were the one responsible for wrecking it, what would you do?”

  The man remained silent for a minute, then grinned. “Well, as the owner of this body shop, I’d say I’d fix it up.”

  “And as a father?”

  Biff Hogan rubbed his fingers across his cheek, roughing up the small amount of stubble that had grown there since his morning shave. “If I were the father, I guess I’d have to say replace it. Wouldn’t seem fair to pawn off a repaired car to replace one that had been nearly new and without a scratch before I banged it up.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly. Haul that Aveo over to the General Motors dealer and tell him to get in touch with me with a price for a new one—exactly like it, using this one as a trade-in. Okay? It’s the only fair thing to do.”

  Two days later, at the end of their workday, Keene led Jane through the Kennewick Place lobby to the parking lot, where a red Aveo was parked.

  “My car!” She rushed over to it and then realized something was different. Peering in the window, she noted both the dashboard and the upholstery were a different color than hers. Backing away quickly, she felt a flush of embarrassment rush to her cheeks. “I–I guess I made a mistake, but it looked like my car.”

  Without a word but smiling broadly, Keene reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “It is your car, Jane. A brandnew one. Here, try this key in the lock.”

  Puzzled, she stared at him. “But your insurance agent said my old car could be fixed up to look like new.”

  “Look like new—that’s the operative word, but your car would always bear signs of being wrecked. If not on the surface, at least underneath. If you ever tried to sell it or trade it in, it would depreciate the value. I couldn’t let that happen. I caused the wreck. I had to replace it with one that had not been wrecked. I–I hope you like it. I told the dealer I wanted it to be as close in appearance as possible.” He stepped forward and rested a hand on the car’s top. “If it isn’t right, or you’d rather have another color, I told—”

  “No! It’s perfect just as it is, but I never expected you to buy me a new car!”

  “I only paid the difference between what my insurance paid and the selling price of a new one. I’m just glad you like it. Now,” he said, still holding on to the key, “go on and enjoy your evening. I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t worry about the rental car. They’ll be picking it up this evening.”

  After taking the key and opening the door, Jane smiled at him with tears in her eyes. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Keene.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s just say you bring out the best in me.” He rested his palms on the top of the car after she climbed inside and rolled down the window. “I’ve never met anyone like you either.”

  His words made her tingle all over. She hoped they were a compliment. At least, she was going to take them that way. She handed him the key to the rental car, said another sincere thank-you, then a quick good-bye, rolled up the window, and turned the key in the ignition. Taking in the fresh smell of her new car, she backed out of the parking space and headed for the exit. If she could have her pick of men, it would be a man like Keene Moray.

  The next few weeks flew by as Jane worked at a whirlwind pace, trying to put things in order the way Keene wanted them. At times she felt frustrated when her walking cast kept her from moving as quickly as she would like, making certain projects tedious and laborious, but he never seemed to mind the delay and was more than patient with her.

  That patience was tested the day before the doctor was to remove her cast. In her excitement, she accidentally knocked a file box off a chair. It contained the sheet music Keene was using to rehearse for the next season, and every piece ended in a heap in the middle of the floor, mixed up and scattered. Knowing how important the order of his music was to Keene, she began to cry as she knelt and tried to gather them up, barely able to read the titles and page numbers through her tears.

  When he entered the room and realized what had happened, he waved his arms and spouted a few profanities, which only made her feel worse. Unable to deal with her self-recrimination, much less his fury, she collapsed into a heap beside the mess she’d made, weeping her heart out, her cast sticking out awkwardly in front of her. She had wanted so badly to please him.

  He crossed the room slowly, coming to stand beside her, wringing his hands as if he had no idea what to do or say. Finally, he knelt on one knee and wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “I’m… I’m sorry, Jane. For a moment there, I lost my head. I’m not mad at you. Seeing everything on the floor like this upset me because I knew how much work you’d put into filing that box full of sheet music.”

  She lifted her eyes to his, tears cascading down her face. “I–I thought you cursed because you… you were mad at me! Maybe now that I’m getting rid of this cast, it’s time for me to get out of your way and look for another job.”

  “No! Like I said, I’m not mad at you! Things happen. I have done far worse than spilling a box of mere paper, and I wasn’t even wearing a cast. Look what I did to you and your car. I know how hard you’ve worked to get everything in that box in order!” He stroked her hair gently then wiped a thumb across her damp cheek, clearing away a tear. Tilting her face up to his, he gazed at her, his deep brown eyes filled with regret. “I apologize for my language. I am sure you are not used to hearing words like those. And don’t you even talk about finding another job. I would like you to stay on right here until I am ready to leave Rhode Island. I–I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  She had a hard time finding her voice with him so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. She wanted to say something profound, something that would convince him of his lack of reverence for God, but the words wouldn’t come. Lord, help me! I promised to tell Keene about You and Your saving grace, and I’m making such a mess of things!

  Her boss gave her a gentle smile. “For your sake, I’ll try to have better control over my mouth in the future, but old habits are hard to br
eak. You may have to remind me occasionally. Give me a swift kick. But I really want you to stay. Promise me you will?”

  “I–I’d like to stay, if you’re sure you want me,” she murmured, dazzled by his touch and enjoying being near him.

  “I said I did, didn’t I?” He gave her a warm smile. After searching the room for a larger empty box, he helped her put the fallen items into it. “You can refile these when you have time. Why don’t you quit and go on home? This will wait until tomorrow,” he said once everything had been picked up from the floor. “Besides, I have a dinner engagement, so I’ll be leaving early myself.”

  Her heart sank. Even though she was nothing more than a temporary employee, it hurt to think of another woman sitting beside him, smiling at him over some exotic candlelight dinner at a swanky restaurant. She had never considered the fact that he may have a girlfriend in Providence. Of course he would! This was Keene Moray, the singing idol of thousands of women throughout the world. Somehow, the thought filled her with jealousy, a feeling completely foreign to her. Realizing the fallacy of her thoughts, she snickered.

  “What?” He pulled away from her and rose. “What’s so funny?”

  Embarrassed and unable to think of one reasonable excuse to explain her silly actions, she simply gave him a blank stare. “Ah… it was nothing. Your… your statement about having dinner reminded me of something, that’s all.”

  He tilted his head and lifted a brow. “Oh, you have a hot dinner date, too?”

  His choice of the word hot distressed her almost as much as the word too. Her face probably showed it. She had never used the word hot in that context, let alone had a hot dinner date of her own. “No, Mr. Mor… Keene, I don’t have a dinner date. I’m planning on reading a book tonight.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry.” He placed a placating hand on her wrist. “I never meant to offend you, Jane. Hot was just a figure of speech. You know—like exciting—no, not exciting. Interesting. Special.”

  Keene Moray actually looked—embarrassed? If she hadn’t been offended by his use of words, she would have enjoyed it.