by Homer Hickam
“I never expected to see you here,” the governor said, flashing her perfect pearly whites.
“I think that’s my line,” Song replied while pulling on her coat. “This is where I live. You live in the hills of West Virginia. Yes?”
The governor’s smile was locked in place, like an ivory trap that had been sprung. “Of course, darling. But I always come up for the Delgossis’ autumnal party. It’s a little reward I give myself.”
“Good for you.”
The governor sniffed the air. “I must say your perfume has improved.”
Song thought of a cutting reply about the governor’s perfect, no doubt surgically bobbed nose, but dismissed it as unworthy of her wit. “If you’ll excuse me . . .” Song tried to brush by her to get to the door.
“The Delgossis told me all about you,” the governor said, moving to stand in the way. She clearly wanted a confrontation.
Song raised her eyebrows. “Did they?”
“I received your entire bio. Your ups and downs, in business as well as romance. I must say I was quite surprised. And here I thought you were some college-aged trollop Cable had picked up on the rebound from me! You Orientals have such wonderful genes. It’s nearly impossible to tell how old you are.”
“I could say the same for you,” Song replied. “But it would have nothing to do with your genes.”
Godfrey laughed a big open-mouthed laugh. “The surgeon is a white girl’s best friend, darling. Now, is what I was told true? You are the daughter of the great silver fox himself, Joe Hawkins? Such a life of privilege you’ve known!”
“I’ve made my own way. You might want to read Fortune magazine next month. I’ll be on the cover.”
“Too bad my subscription ran out. Shall I tell Cable you said hello? We’ve recently been spending a great deal of time together. He is such a lovely man, but sometimes, like all men, he can be foolish. I mean, marrying someone such as yourself so unsuitable to West Virginia, after all! It was obviously a cry for help. And Cable is so cute when he gets that hangdog look about him, don’t you agree?” She opened her hands, better to reveal her voluptuous body. “It just makes me want to give him . . . well, whatever I have to give. As often as I can.”
“I guess Cable’s developed a taste for big women,” Song replied
The governor was not fazed. “No, honey, that’s not it. Unhappily for you, West Virginia men simply don’t like runts.”
“This conversation is useless. I’m leaving now,” Song said.
The governor opened the door for her. “I suggest you stay in New York from now on, dear. Tough places like West Virginia, and strong men like Cable, are simply too much for you young, pampered city girls.”
Song slammed the door behind her, then jabbed the elevator button repeatedly until its doors opened. Visions of Cable and Michelle Godfrey flitted through her mind. She imagined them at Hillcrest, in the high-ceilinged bedroom where she and Cable had made the sweetest love. How could he have betrayed her so, and with such a woman? She wanted to go to Highcoal, confront him, make him look at her as she really was, a strong woman, not the one who’d run away.
Once on the street, Song hailed a cab as only a seasoned New Yorker could, then climbed inside. When the driver asked her where she wanted to go, she burst into tears. Where she wanted to go was one thing. Where she could go was quite another.
Sixteen
Song stared through the rain-streaked window in her office and watched the sky and the streets and the buildings blend into the nasty gray paste that meant New York was having a bad weather day. She was holding a telephone to her ear, talking to her lawyer. It was two weeks since the Delgossi party and Cable still had not signed and returned the annulment papers. If he and Michelle Godfrey were such a hot couple again, she did not understand why he was dragging things out.
“I’d be happy to light a fire under him,” lawyer Saul was saying. “One of my associates can call him every hour, or I can even send someone to West Virginia to stand over him until he signs. Have you ever thought he might be holding out in the hopes of getting his mitts on some of your money?”
Song considered that idea, then dismissed it. “Cable’s got his flaws but a gold digger he isn’t. As for sending someone to Highcoal, I’m not ready to harass him. Let’s wait awhile longer.”
Song could imagine Saul rolling his eyes. “All right. If that’s what you want. But I wouldn’t give him more than another week. After that we need to force the issue.”
Song reluctantly agreed, then hung up. She looked at the stacks of paperwork she needed to wade through, and it made her angry that Cable’s failure to sign the annulment was keeping her off balance. What was wrong with that coalmining idiot?
“There are some things a woman simply has to do for herself,” she declared and picked up the phone and dialed the number at Cable’s mine. As expected, Mole answered and Song pictured him in his office as she’d last seen him, his pristine black helmet perched on the back of his head, a sardonic expression on his face.
“Let me speak to Cable,” she barked. “This is Song. His wife, as you may recall.”
“Oh, hey, ma’am,” Mole cheerfully replied. “Cable’s inside the mine. Can I take a message?”
Song’s eyes narrowed. “Here’s my message, Mole.” She still couldn’t quite get over the fact she was talking to a man named Mole. She took a breath and continued. “You tell him to sign the annulment papers or I’m going to send a man named Vinny to fit him into a pair of concrete boots.”
There was a slight pause, then Mole chuckled, and said, “Oh, I get it. Like The Sopranos, huh? I think I seen the annulment on his desk. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t read it yet.”
“How about you? Have you read it?”
“Sure have! It’s pretty dull, mostly, but there are some good parts too. Just like a Grisham novel.”
Song held her head. “I’ll tell my lawyer. Maybe it will encourage him to moonlight as a novelist. Who else has read it?”
Mole produced a giggle that had the effect on Song of someone dragging their fingernails over a blackboard. “Nobody, just me,” he said, “but I told nearly everybody in town what was in it. Well, I told Mrs. Williams, which is like telling everybody. Fraud as grounds is interesting. You got that from Renée Zellwegger and Kenny Chesney, right? Considering they also got themselves married in St. John, there is more than a little irony in your choice.”
Talking to Mole was like talking to a backwoods frat boy. “Do me a favor, Mole. Tell Cable to stop wasting time and sign!”
“Well, ma’am,” he replied, lowering his voice to a confidential level, “if you want me to do some work for you, I mean with Cable and all, I guess I could. I mean, for a consideration.”
Song sighed. “You want me to pay you?”
“A man usually gets paid when he does something for somebody else what ain’t necessarily a friend, if you get my meaning.”
“Blackmail,” Song muttered.
“Technically, I’d put it closer to extortion,” Mole replied, after a moment of thought.
Song had to chuckle. “Consider myself extorted. There’s a hundred dollars in it if you get Cable to sign within a week.”
“One thousand dollars,” Mole instantly counteroffered. “It ought to be worth that much to you.”
“I don’t think I want to do business with you after all, Mole.”
“Suit yourself, ma’am. Have a nice day.” He hung up.
Song angrily thumbed the off button on her phone, then, after looking it up on her computer, punched in the number for the Cardinal Hotel, got Rosita, and asked for Rhonda. “Well, ain’t this a surprise!” Rhonda said as soon as she picked up. “How you doing, honey?”
“Fine,” Song said. “No, better than fine. In fact, I’m living the life of the rich and famous up here in the big city. Every day is nothing but limos, love, and laughter.”
“That bad, huh?” Rhonda chuckled. “What’s up?”
“N
othing, really. It’s just that I left so quickly . . . I should have at least thanked the people who were nice to me. That’s been on my mind lately. You were one of them, Rhonda. So, from me to you, thank you.”
“Well, thanks, sweetie, but I wasn’t nice to you at all. I gossiped about you, even called you snotty. That wasn’t even close to true. You showed that by going up against Bashful and standin’ up for Squirrel on Harper Mountain. I was impressed by that, and I should have told you. I’m real sorry about what I said, and if it had anything to do with you leaving, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“It wasn’t you or anybody else. It was just me and Cable.”
“Ah, the travails of romance. That Cable. He can be, well, such a man.”
“You can say that again. How’s Young Henry?”
“Getting taller, mostly. I can’t keep him in pants, he’s growing so fast. He’s outside, playing touch football, only I think they’re doing some tackle too.”
“Sounds rough.”
“It is. He might come in with a bloody nose, but that’s what happens to boys. It’s good for them. Do you want to hear about what Cable’s up to these days?”
Song stared through the window as the rain beat harder on it. “No,” she said. “I don’t care anything about him.”
“Lady, you don’t fib too good,” Rhonda replied. “He’s working too much, of course. He’s still missing his quota on that coal bound for India. But he has lots of orders besides that one. Gosh, the world is hungry for West Virginia coal these days. Who’d a thunk it? Anyway, most of the miners are doubling back nearly every shift. Old Squirrel even started mining coal again, only it turned out his back hurt too much to go inside and work under that low roof. So Cable put him in the preparation plant. That freed up a man to go underground. Here’s some news. Cable’s going to start a red cap class soon. He’s only got four applicants, so I heard, which is too bad. He could use about twenty new miners.”
Song watched the lowering clouds of the storm. The tops of the buildings just across the city canyon were obscured with a gray, ugly mist, and a cold wind was blowing raindrops sideways across her window. They sounded like wet bullets. “I’m sorry he’s having such a tough time.”
“Want me to tell him you called?” Rhonda asked.
“Rhonda,” Song said, “this is a lot to ask, but is there some way you could get Cable to sign our annulment papers?”
“He hasn’t signed them yet? And you claiming it was all your fault too!”
“Mrs. Williams told you, right?”
“Actually it was Mrs. Carlisle, but she heard it from Mrs. Williams who heard it from Mole. Anyway, I’ll tell Cable to sign, but I imagine it’s nothing he wants to hear. Truth is, I ain’t seen him smiling much since you left. I do believe you broke his heart, darlin’.”
“The only thing that could break Cable’s heart is his coal mine.” Then, letting her guard down for an instant, she said, “I guess I haven’t been smiling much either.”
“Well, there you go,” Rhonda said. “What you ought to do, you want Cable’s attention, you come back down here and get in that red cap class.”
Song’s laugh was bitter. “You might be onto something.”
“I was just joking, honey.”
“I know. Would you tell Young Henry I miss him? It’s funny. I was only there for a few days, but I often think of him and Preacher and Doctor K and Squirrel. Even Omar, though he got me drunk.”
“Well, I guess Highcoal’s got its share of memorable characters,” Rhonda said. “By the by, I’ve been working on recipes for low-fat, low-calorie meals. You ever come back, I’ll try them out on you.”
“I’m never coming back.” The fury of the storm rattled Song’s window. “I can’t,” she added in a small voice.
Rhonda was quiet for a moment, then said, “Governor Godfrey roared back into town the other day. She’s been here quite a bit. She surely has an interest in this town. Or someone in it.”
Song felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “Good for her,” she managed.
“Sorry, honey. Just so you know the situation. You want to do something about it? Get your butt down here.”
“I just can’t,” Song said.
“Suit yourself. Got to feed some hungry miners now. I’ll tell Cable to do the right thing and sign those papers. Anything else I can do for you?”
“How about taking a baseball bat to the governor’s bleached teeth?”
Song hung up to Rhonda’s chuckle, then sat with her heart aching as she imagined Cable and the pneumatic blonde politician together. She looked at the paperwork on her desk, then swept it all away, the papers fluttering to her carpet. Norman, her assistant, stuck his head in, gawked at the mess, then said, “Your father called while you were on the phone. He’d like for you to visit him today if you can spare the time.”
Song considered the litter on the floor. She needed cheering up, and there was no one who could do that so well as her father. “Call my driver; tell him to meet me at the door right away.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then clean this mess up.”
It felt good to order a man around, even if it was only Norman. She rose from her desk, grabbed her coat and umbrella, and swept majestically out of her office. Then she stopped and went back. Norman was crouched by her desk, carefully picking up the documents and sorting them as he went along.
“Thank you, Norman.”
He looked up at her and smiled. “You’re welcome, Miss Hawkins.”
Song headed out again. Cable had broken her heart; Michael had broken her heart; every man she’d ever gotten close to except her father had broken her heart. But she wasn’t going to let past history cause her to hate all men. Song was going to endure, and somewhere out there, she was certain there was a man for her, one that would love her for who she really was. She just needed to hang on and not settle for less of a man than she deserved. “Good-bye, Cable,” she muttered in the elevator on the way down to the street. “Good-bye, good-bye, goodbye, and good riddance!” This, she swore, would be her mantra until that man’s undeniably handsome face disappeared forever from her mind. She recalled the song Jim Brickman had sung for her and Cable on the beach at St. John:
You and I were meant to be.
With all my heart and soul,
I give my love to have and hold.
And as far as I can see,
You were always meant to be . . . my destiny.
“Oh, sure, Jim,” she growled. “Easy for you to say.”
She hit the street and her limo pulled up to the curb, right on time. The driver must have been reading her mind because as soon as she slid into the back seat, he asked, “Want to hear some Brickman on the way out, Miss Hawkins?” She often requested him on longer drives. It always relaxed her.
But not today. Perhaps never again.
“I don’t want to listen to anything. Just drive.” She slumped into the seat and stared morosely at the gray rain.
JOE HAWKINS’S ESTATE was in Long Island’s toniest neighborhood, locally known as the Gold Coast. She considered calling him on the way out, then decided to give herself some quiet time. The gray clouds matched her mood, and she settled down to wallow in a little honest misery.
Her father met her at the door, hugged her, then walked with her into the great room and had her sit down, while snapping his fingers at the beautiful young maid who whisked out of sight, quickly returning with two steaming cups of coffee, well laced with brandy. “Thank you, Miranda,” he said, and provided her a wink as she curtsied and fled the room.
“You old dog,” Song said, to her father’s healthy laugh.
“She’s a very good maid,” he said, with an eyebrow cocked toward the door through which she’d disappeared.
“Russian?” Song asked.
“Hungarian, actually,” Hawkins said. “She hopes to make it on Broadway. She’s also quite a good singer and dancer.”
“I’m sure,” So
ng said dryly. The coffee and brandy were excellent, perfect in the midst of the raging storm outside.
Through a huge, reinforced double-paned window, Song could see the ocean rolling beneath the wind, foam flying off the waves and hurtling across the sand. Song had a feeling that her father had something to tell her that was going to be as tumultuous as the sea. Something was up. Something big.
Hawkins sat across from her, smiled, and ran a finger across his silver mustache, then cleared his throat a couple of times.
“What is it, Dad?”
He cleared his throat again. He was nervous, something rare for him. “Rumor has it you’re going through a tough time,” he said.
“Who’ve you been talking to?”
“The Delgossis.”
Song puffed her disdain. “Ah. I just had a little dust-up with Michael, that’s all, and then the governor of West Virginia. It made their party that much more interesting, I’m sure.”
Her father rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. He did that long enough she was about to tell him to stop it. Then he abruptly said, “I love you, Song.”
Song studied him. “Well, I love you too, Daddy. So what’s this all about? You’ve got something to tell me. I’m here. I’m ready. Let’s hear it.”
Hawkins stopped rubbing his chin. “Since you came back from West Virginia, you’ve been more successful than ever. It’s amazing what you’ve done, all the money you’ve made our company. I’d like to celebrate. Stay for dinner. We’ll have champagne.”
“I left a lot of work at the office,” she said. “I need to get back to it.”
“All work and no play makes my Song off-key.”
She smiled. It was something he used to say when she was a child. She was always so serious about everything she did, her studies, her violin lessons, her chemistry set.
“I’m not off-key,” she replied. “If you’d like to get into it—which I don’t, really—I just feel unhappy with myself about what happened in Highcoal. I didn’t handle it very well. Cable didn’t handle it very well either, but . . .” She shook her head. “You know me, Dad, I understand business. But there I was, in a company town, and I not only didn’t understand it, I made no attempt to figure it out. I just let my marriage unravel.”