The Candy Bar Complete - 4 book box set: Candy Bar Series

by Patrice Wilton

  “I understand.” He stood and moved toward me. “But I do. Deep down I want you to be happy and have a singing career, or anything else you want. I really care about you, Fran. Until now, I didn’t realize how much. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You already have.” I bit my bottom lip. “It’s okay. You never wanted a woman in your life. You can go back to being a bitter old bachelor.”

  “Ouch.” He forced a smile. “You really know how to hurt a guy.”

  “It’s better this way. You’ll have your charter business, and I’ll do heaven knows what. If I do well in the auditions, I have no idea what will come next. But at least I’ll be ready for it and not feel tied down here. To you.”

  “What if you don’t win?”

  “Nothing. I’ll just keep trying. Success doesn’t happen overnight. Sometimes, it takes years. Sometimes, no matter how hard you work, or dream, or want something, it never happens. I can deal with that. At least I’ll know I wasn’t too afraid to try.”

  “You’re the best person I know, Fran.” His eyes bored into mine. “You’re courageous and strong, and more beautiful than Carrie Underwood. At least to me.”

  I felt a tug in my heart, but I couldn’t buckle now. “Thanks, John. Maybe one day we can be friends.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Me too.” I headed for the bathroom. “Let me freshen up my makeup then you can take me to the ballgame.”

  Stephen was seated in the stands when we arrived. He looked at both our faces then gave me another hug. “Glad you came.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  I sat next to Stephen, John on the other side. It was a long three hours but I felt a thrill every time Sean caught the ball or got up to bat. When they won by two runs, I stood and cheered and clapped as loud as anyone. No one would ever know my heart had once again withered and died.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  FRAN

  Once the show was over, I returned to the hotel with John. Coldness settled inside me, making my movements awkward and clumsy. I quickly packed my bag and turned to leave.

  Before I made it to the door, John stepped in front of me and put a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, Fran. I wish I could take it back.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. If that’s how you truly feel, it’s better out in the open.”

  “It’s not. I just said it because the boys were in awe over Jay Carpenter and I was jealous. Pure and simple.”

  “You have nothing to be jealous about.”

  “I’m a jerk. What can I say?”

  “Yes, you are, but now you get what you always wanted—me to leave you alone. Hooray, you achieved your goal.”

  “I don’t want that anymore.”

  “Too bad because I do.” I pushed past him. I had nothing left to say and no feelings either way. I felt like a big chip of ice—frozen, alone, numb from emotion.

  John didn’t reply and let me go.

  When I’d returned from the park after dinner, I’d gone straight to the front desk and booked another room. I had the new key in my handbag and took it out, waiting for the elevator. “Hurry up”, I told it. I didn’t want to have a meltdown in the corridor.

  I sniffed back tears and punched the down button again. I was nearly ready to give up and take the stairs when the door slid open. I stepped inside and let out a deep, agonizing sob.

  The moment I stepped into the new room, I ran a hot bath and didn’t bother to unpack. I took off my clothes, folded them on a chair, and stepped into the steaming, foamy bath.

  The tears slid down my cheeks, and I let them come. After tonight, I wouldn’t shed one more tear for John Hanley, not a one. When my tears stopped and the tub water cooled, I stepped out, dried off, and slipped under the covers, only to toss and turn until the wee hours of the morning.

  I ordered coffee and toast to the room and called the airline again to see if I could change my flight home. I had to be on standby, but I was willing to take the chance. I checked out of the hotel and got to the airport before eight. Luckily, I didn’t see John again. That chapter in my life was over, I told myself firmly. Onwards and upwards.

  Sitting in the passenger lounge, I waited impatiently for my name to be called. My name was last but I was so glad I didn’t even mind being squished in the middle seat. Home before noon, I decided to pop into the office and stayed until closing. Lydia came in to see me, and I told her quickly what happened.

  “Fran. I’m so sorry. Why don’t you come over tonight and have dinner with Jed and me. You haven’t seen Kyle in a few months.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I miss the little guy but not tonight, Lyd. I’d be lousy company.”

  “I understand.” She rubbed my shoulders. “Are you going to be okay seeing John at the wedding?”

  “What choice do I have?” I answered dully.

  “None, I suppose. But we’ll make sure you’re not seated anywhere near him, and you’ll have us girls surrounding you most of the night.”

  I smiled. “What would I do without my friends?”

  “That’s one thing you never have to worry about.”

  I told her I was leaving Saturday morning for Tampa. “Jay Carpenter is letting me sing one number, and he’s helping me prep for America Love’s Country. It’s coming up in less than a month and I haven’t a clue what song I want to sing.”

  “You’ll figure it out, and I’m sure whatever you choose will bring the house down.”

  “Do you think I’m too old? Maybe John’s right. They’re looking for the full package, and I’m certainly not that.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.” She lifted my chin. “You have an incredible voice. They are looking for talent and you have plenty of that.” Smiling, she added, “Remember Susan Boyle. She didn’t win, but she made it big. Not that I’m comparing you to her, but this isn’t a beauty contest, it’s a talent show. Fran Sherman, you have more internal fortitude and heart, than anyone I know. You can do this.”

  “Thanks, Lyd. Give Kyle a kiss for me, and tell Jed I’ll be over for his Cajun stew very soon.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Flowers, Fran,” the receptionist said. “Where should I put them?”

  “In the garbage,” I suggested.

  “Don’t you want to see who they’re from?” she asked, searching for the card.

  “I know who they’re from and I don’t want them.” I glanced at Lydia. “You take them. It’s a beautiful arrangement.”

  “You’re not going to shove them off on me.” Lydia replied, shaking her head. “Why don’t you leave the arrangement in the reception area?” she told the young woman. “They will be more appreciated there.”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.” She looked at me. “But wow. If someone sent these to me, I’d be all over him.”

  “Apology flowers. No thanks.”

  I got up and didn’t even glance at the bouquet in passing. “I’ll see you all tomorrow. Do what you want with them, just get them out of here.”

  When I finally got home, I felt zapped. I made a big fuss over Pepe and Milo and gave them extra treats and affection, which didn’t go over big with either one. I nuked a frozen dinner, poured a glass of wine, and ate in front of the evening news. John called a couple of times, but I didn’t pick up. By nine o’clock, I was in bed.

  The next morning, I returned to work and spotted the flower arrangement on the receptionist’s desk. “Good morning,” I called to her and hurried to my office.

  I busied myself throughout the day with meeting the partner’s demands, maintaining a measure of peace amongst the office workers, mostly hormonal females, and listening to their complaints with a deaf ear.

  A box of chocolate strawberries was delivered around two, and I quickly dispersed them among the staff, refusing to indulge myself. Flowers, chocolates—did he really think my forgiveness could be bought so cheaply?

  I don’t think so buddy. How
could I possibly forgive him for saying something he truly meant? Impossible. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have a change of heart. John did not believe I had talent. Plain and simple.

  I would show him. I would show everybody.

  That night I wrote a new song and couldn’t wait to hear Jay’s opinion. I trusted him and knew he wouldn’t steer me wrong. The next morning, I hit the road early, eager to get to Tampa and start rehearsing with Jay and his band.

  He’d given me the name of the motel and I found it quick enough. It was half-past nine when I knocked on his door.

  A pretty blonde opened the door, wearing a thin T-shirt and a pair of tight short shorts. “Hi. You looking for Jay?”

  “I am. Tell him it’s Fran.”

  He came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his middle. His hair was wet, his skin still damp. “Hi, Fran. Come on in. This is Megan, a good friend of mine.”

  “Megan. Nice to meet you.” I gave Jay an assessing look. “How long have you two known each other?”

  “Six months,” she answered, eyeing Jay as if he was a stick of candy, and she had a thing for lollipops.

  “That’s right. We met last fall, around Halloween.” He slipped an arm around her waist and gave her an affectionate kiss. “She’s a lingerie model, aren’t you babe?”

  “Not Victoria Secret, but I do catalogue stuff.” She shrugged. “It’s a living.”

  “Jay, I’ll see you later.” I backed out of the room. “What time are you going to rehearsal?”

  “Eleven. What room are you in? I’ll pick you up.”

  I gave him the number, left in a hurry, and wondered what the hell I was doing. How could I hang with Jay and his cute little number and not tell Candy?

  I remembered his words—“What happens in Tampa, stays in Tampa.” He knew I’d meet Megan, and he trusted me not to say anything.

  I was so screwed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  FRAN

  Jay loved my new song and suggested I sing it tonight along with another one. We spent a couple of hours going over old favorites and stopped when we came to Blue Bayou, by Linda Ronstadt. The heart-breaking melody was perfect for me, and after my break-up with John, I knew I could do it justice.

  After the rehearsal, we grabbed lunch at the nearest pub.

  “What’s wrong?” Jay searched my eyes. “You can’t be worried about tonight. Is it Megan? Is that bothering you?”

  “Yeah, I don’t like it. You made me promise not to say anything to Candy and that’s just wrong.” I frowned. “She’s a very good friend of mine, and if it were me, I’d want to know.”

  “Look, Candy knows I see other women. It’s no big secret. If she asks you, you can admit I was with someone, but hopefully, she won’t ask. We aren’t in a committed relationship, so why should she care?”

  “Maybe because she really likes you,” I snapped. “Maybe because it’s supposed to mean something.”

  He took a big bite from his hamburger, swallowed hard, then muttered, “Men can do it without getting their emotions involved. Women can’t.”

  I wanted to shake him I was so mad. “Sex with multiple partners—I don’t get it. I mean if you have sex with a person you should respect them, right?”

  “Right. I respect Megan. And Candy. I like both women very much.”

  “Well, I’m awfully glad to hear that.” I took a slug of beer. “Why are men so heartless?”

  Jay wiped his mouth and shot me another look. “I’ve got a feeling that something’s bugging your ass, and it isn’t me.”

  “Men are jerks. You included. I know you’ve been good to me, and you don’t think you’re hurting the women you’re involved with, but you are.” My voice grew louder. “You are.”

  “They both know the score. If they want to be with me, then they have to accept that. I’m not holding a gun to their head.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to see Candy get hurt.”

  “That’s up to her.”

  I swallowed hard. “That’s cruel.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s honest, and that’s what I’ve been from the start. She’s a big girl and knows what she’s doing. I like being with her, but I also enjoy Megan. I’m not ready to settle down, and with my lifestyle, it would be difficult to remain faithful to just one woman.”

  “Then I hope you never marry.”

  He shrugged and spoke calmly. “I won’t until that day comes.”

  I nodded and ate a fry. “I guess that’s fair.”

  “So what’s bugging you?” He picked up his hamburger and it was halfway to his mouth, when he guessed, “You and John?”

  Tears stung the back of my eyes, and I kept my head lowered. “Number one jerk. Told me I’m too old and too plain and that I couldn’t possibly have a music career.”

  “He said that?”

  “Not in those exact words, but yes, that was his meaning. Compared me to Carrie Underwood, can you imagine?” I shot him a look. “Not favorably, either.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to make him eat those words, won’t we?”

  “You think we can do that?”

  “If I wasn’t sure of it, you wouldn’t be here.”

  I smiled. “You know something? In spite of everything, I still like you.”

  “Good, because we’re going to have some fun tonight. You want some backup for that new song of yours?”

  “Wow—I’d love it.” I bumped his shoulder. “Okay, you’re not a jerk. Just a male slut.”

  “You do say the nicest things.” He finished the last of his fries, drained his beer, and pushed the plate away. “I’ll drop you back and then I’m going over to Megan’s. With or without your approval.”

  “Without,” I said without malice. “Hope you get the crabs.”

  He laughed, and pulled out his wallet to pay the bill. “I don’t mind a girl scratching an itch, but not giving me one.”

  We walked out and he was still chuckling to himself.

  * * *

  Summer concerts are very popular in Tampa, and big-name singers like Keith Urban and Brad Paisley were doing world tours and performing in June at the Amphitheatre. I was glad to see that Jay had a smaller venue at the Florida Fairgrounds and that we still sang to a sold-out crowd. It was a warm, breezy night and the place was popping with energy.

  Several bands lined up for the two-day event. It was half past nine before we took the stage, and Jay sang two of his big hits then beckoned me forward. After a brief introduction, he told the audience I would be singing my new hit, “Where Love Goes Wrong.”

  I flashed a smile and a friendly wave to the crowd then turned to Jay. “Let’s do it.”

  Although I wasn’t upbeat when I wrote this song, it had a fast, catchy beat, and soon, people were stomping their feet and clapping to the chorus. Jay took the lead and I quickly followed. He gave me a wink, and after the song ended, two thumbs up. I knew I had a winner on my hands. He backed away as the band began the introduction to Blue Bayou.

  I crooned the lyrics, and the haunting music gave me wings and made me soar.

  The thunderous applause gave me the validation I so badly needed. Be damned, John Hanley. I am a singer, whether you believe in me or not.

  It was a wild night and Jay, Megan, and I stayed up far too late, drinking too much, but I had an adrenalin buzz, and needed to celebrate my brief moment of fame.

  The next morning, I got up, feeling woozy, and swore I’d never drink again. I sucked back two cups of coffee and ate dry toast, then got back in my car for the long drive home.

  I had two hours to reflect on the night, on my life, and one thing was sparkling clear. I had started down a path I needed to follow. It was exciting and lifted me higher than anything I’d ever known. I might stumble and fall flat on my face, and John could say ‘I told you so’, but the thought of failure wouldn’t stop me.

  I had to do this. For me. For the Fran Sherman who lost her baby, lost her dear husband, lost her joy,
and lived in a vacuum until cancer came along and scared the shit out of her.

  This Fran had to discover how far she could fly.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  JOHN

  Okay, I’ve called her everyday, and she refuses to speak to me. I’ve sent her flowers, chocolate strawberries, and today, a teddy bear with a balloon that says “I love you.” What more can a man do to make amends? I want her to forgive me. I never meant to hurt her. She wasn’t supposed to hear my unflattering comment. It wasn’t meant for her ears. And now, it’s causing me severe grief.

  My stomach’s acting up, bowels too. I’m not sleeping properly, my appetite’s off, and I feel lousy. Sonofabitch! No wonder I never wanted to get involved with a woman. I hadn’t felt this bad in years. I miss that she-devil, and I want her back.

  What right did she have to seduce me, to charm me with her lack of guile, and to worm her way into my affections with the sweetness of her smile? Damn fool woman. She didn’t leave me alone—pestered me until she had me just where she wanted me, then one mistake on my part, and she dumps me cold.

  Heartless woman. The least she could do is listen to me beg and grovel. You’d think she’d like that, after all, she’s a woman, and what woman could resist the urge to sharpen her tongue and harp when she’s in the right and the guy’s in the wrong? Fran’s wasting a perfect opportunity to make me feel even crummier than I do now. Another one might not come up for years.

  Hey, maybe I should call her and tell her that.

  I did, leaving her a long message, telling her that I was here anytime she wanted to call and tell me what an asshole I am, and how much I hoped she would. I know I sounded like an idiot, and I really should have more pride, but to hell with it. I wanted Fran back, and I’d damn well eat shit if I had to.