“Well, I gotta think on this some more. C’mon, sis. Time to show off your to-die-for gown!”
Chapter Fourteen
Eva recalled vividly the hopeful but troubled look in Matt’s face that evening. She knew he was considering D.J.’s words seriously, but the compulsion to come to terms with his father was also strong. She could imagine the courage it took for Matt to come out of the closet with them. His blood was up for it.
There were turning points in everyone’s life. Maybe in every family’s dynamics. She just hoped and prayed that Matt would put his father’s health and peace of mind before his own needs. Especially that evening.
* * * *
Sitting at the long dinner table, adorned with Liz’s best china and crystal, the candelabras all ablaze, the Venetian chandelier brilliantly iridescent with refracted light, I was almost blinded by the opulence and beauty. Garlands of greenery, sparkling with Tivoli stars, graced the table and hung in holiday festoons on the dining room’s gilt-mirrored walls. Servers in black and white uniforms glided around silently, depositing platters and bowls, clearing others, and refreshing goblets with wine for the adults and sparkling cider for the children.
Their positions at tonight’s Christmas table—indicated by place cards—were a reflection of their current status with the patriarch and matriarch, I knew, having been relegated with D.J. at the far end of the table from Big Jim and Liz for the last two Christmases. Evidently, our status had improved this Christmas with the birth of Big Jim’s grandson and we were now seated closer to Big Jim, at mid table.
To Eva’s left sat D.J., his visage occasionally glum but for the most part subdued, in counterpoint to the joy and cheer around us. Every now and then, he’d sneak a look down the table to his brother, Matt, casting him a warning frown. Whenever he snared my glance, D.J. would smile and sneak a kiss, sharing with me our happy secret. Evidently, he was waiting for the right time to make our announcement, sidling occasional looks at his father all during their feast of a meal.
Next to D.J. sat Liz McKay to Big Jim’s right. Purposely, I thought, she’d sat next to her husband rather than at the other end of the table, with the McKay granddaughters. Something was afoot, maybe a grand announcement of some kind that Liz McKay wanted to share in. Or maybe she just wanted to sit near her husband on what was probably their last Christmas together. McKay family politics were something to study, all right. And although Big Jim was Speaker of the House, Liz McKay was ad hoc President and Commander in Chief. If she declared war on you—like she’d done to me almost eight years ago—watch out!
On the patriarch’s left sat the eldest son, Jim, as big and now as paunchy as his father used to be. Jim was forty-one and just as garrulous and outgoing as his father. His resemblance was striking, too, in his Irish coloring and strong jaw line.
Animated, I chatted gaily with the next eldest brother, John, to my right. He was an interesting man, who hid his love of culture and the arts from his father. He never missed one of my debut performances and I was grateful to him and his wife for their support of D.J.’s and my career.
Tonight at the McKays’ was like opera, I thought, although the melodrama was kept below the surface. In keeping with my admonition to Matt, to keep an illusion going of family Christmas cheer, I made light references to all things shallow: The excellent smoked duck appetizer in marsala and cherry sauce, the mango and black bean salad laced with lime-cilantro dressing, the cioppino-style soup followed by the honey-glazed ham, wild rice-and-cranberry casserole and asparagus almandine. I oohed and aahed over every dish and drink the caterers presented as if I’d never before seen such a divine banquet. Not that I wasn’t appreciative of it all. Good heavens! This gorgeous Christmas feast was one of the many upsides to marrying into the McKay family.
I caught Big Jim’s eye a few times and smiled prettily for him, basking in the still admiring twinkle of his blue eyes. In all sincerity, I complimented my sisters-in-law on their outfits and new jewelry, gifts from their generous husbands, both of whom prospered in the various McKay enterprises. Real estate ventures, mostly commercial, were their main business concerns and Jim, the eldest, was now CEO of McKay Enterprises, Incorporated. John, an economist by training, was CFO and, of course, Matt was in line to head the corporation’s legal team once the current attorney retired in two years.
John was giving me over dinner a capsulized version of their latest corporate deals. For tonight, I steered clear of discussing D.J.’s and my musical esoterica and encouraged the McKay men to talk shop. Over cocktails in the living room earlier, I’d asked Big Jim about the ranch. That was HIS big love and he spent every chance he could—when he wasn’t getting chemo treatments in Austin—consulting with his ranch manager and foreman over the bahia grass on one pasture, the coastal bermuda on another, the size of his prized Black Angus herd, the stud fees for the Arabian-Morgan crossbreed stallions he’d purchased three years before.
His mind was still sharp and clear despite the increased pain he was enduring. His looks had sadly undergone a shocking change. He was seventy but looked ten years older. Gone was his middle-aged paunch and most of his once thick shock of graying light-brown hair. Gone, also, was the fiery, defiant air and swaggering
arrogance of a wealthy man on top of the world.
I felt tremendous compassion, even pity for the man. He reminded me of my father when he knew he was dying. In their eyes, you could see despair and anger, and there was not a damned thing you could do about it. Except maybe pretend a miracle would happen and they were going to live forever. Or take their minds off their impending fate with momentary distractions. Looking haggard and pale from being indoors more than he’d like, Big Jim was nevertheless the respected and formidable patriarch of the McKay family. He was holding on as hard as he could.
Nearing the conclusion of our banquet, as the adults were treated to chocolate mint truffle squares and lemon-raspberry fantasy cake to go with our coffee, the children—the four granddaughters, Jim’s two and John’s two—exclaimed over their gingerbread ice cream with buttery caramel sauce and devoured their full goblets. Little Jamie had already been wished goodnight hours ago and was sleeping soundly, I hoped, upstairs in the crib set up in the nanny’s bedroom.
Watching the McKay girls coo and sigh over their dishes of ice cream, I thought of my daughter, Sarah, and how she’d delight in this evening. I missed the little girl wholeheartedly and hoped for the thousandth time that she was enjoying herself with David and his new wife. In one week, she was due back from London, where her father and stepmother now lived. Back to school—first grade, already!—in Kingwood where she had made some good friends. When I called her later that evening, I’d remind her to bring back souvenir gifts for her two close friends.
Matt was standing up, trying to catch everyone’s attention. The family, still in good humor and filled to the brim, turned lazy heads his way. Big Jim smiled at Matt and indulged his wish by bellowing out a loud, “Hush, y’all! Matt’s got another toast going, I betcha.” Liz McKay was covering her mouth, as if in shock. No one else had a clue. D.J. and I glanced at each other, our eyes widening in horror. The look on Matt’s face was unmistakable. He was going to blow the evening sky high!
D.J. lurched to his feet a split second later like his pants were on fire! Both brothers were speaking at the same time but D.J. was the loudest, his tenor’s voice projecting above Matt’s, drowning him out completely.
“Matt’s trying to beat me to the punch here, said he’d do it for me if I waited too long. I gotta do this myself. The news is just too good to wait any longer!”
By now, all faces were turned up to D.J. He was radiating excitement and pleasure but I knew some of this emotion was exaggerated for the sake of keeping the spotlight fixed on him and not Matt. Not the least bit surprised by my husband’s bold interruption of Matt’s announcement, I couldn’t help but wonder if Matt would defy his younger brother and ignore my advice. I closed my eyes for a moment and pray
ed that Matt would keep silent. When I opened them, my gaze swept down the table to encounter Matt’s. With a downcast look, he acquiesced, palms upward, and sat down.
“Evie and I,” D.J. went on, apparently relieved that his brother had conceded the field, “are happy to announce that we are expecting our second child in…” He paused to query me.
“In July,” I supplied, skimming over the smiling McKay faces to rest my gaze on Big Jim. The old man’s gaunt, lined face split into a wide grin and out of his mouth came a booming WHOOP! He half-stood and leaned over to shake D.J.’s hand, then blew me a kiss of congratulations.
Well-wishing erupted from up and down the table, Jim and John both hugging me lightly and shaking their youngest brother’s hands. Their wives got up briefly to give D.J. and me hugs and air-kisses. Even Liz McKay, never one of my fans, nodded to me and smiled broadly. Well done, her smile seemed to say. Take Big Jim’s mind off his mortality. He’ll live on in his grandsons. That’s what he needs to hear.
“Betcha it’ll be another boy!” roared Big Jim, slapping the table with both hands. Calling one of the servers, he ordered the man to bring his cigar case from his study, then pointedly stared down his wife who was on the brink of objecting, that he was breaking her rule of banning cigars at the dinner table. Liz McKay snapped her mouth shut, placating her husband this time.
Behind my napkin, I concealed my smile, then flicked a glance D.J.’s way. We nodded at each other, sharing a tacit understanding that his announcement was well timed. Whether Matt had agreed to keep his revelations to himself as a result of D.J.’s and my words of caution or for how long, we couldn’t tell. It was a night to be selfless and to think of Big Jim, not himself and his own needs. For agreeing with him, D.J. leveled my way a look of such deep gratitude and love that I was embarrassed. Inwardly, though, I basked in its warmth. In D.J.’s look, also, was a promise of gratitude and love in another more erotic form.
In unison, we glanced down the table at Matt. He lifted one shoulder in a kind of compliant shrug. So he was conceding temporary defeat? Maybe keeping his revelations to himself or maybe just informing the brothers? We didn’t know. His look seemed to say so. D.J. sat back in his high-backed chair, appearing more relaxed than he’d looked all day. The tension vanished from his handsome face.
The table quieted, even the four granddaughters went silent as Big Jim heaved himself to his feet. He was about to ring his crystal goblet with a knife when Liz stopped him, for fear he’d break the delicate glass. After a few attempts to call for silence, the patriarch’s voice gave out in a gravelly, guttural croak and the job fell to Liz McKay. She stood, elegantly dressed in a black silk top and red-and-black-plaid, taffeta hostess skirt, the neckline of her beaded blouse open to the pearl and diamond choker at her throat. She fluttered her beringed hands about her head dramatically.
“Children! Your father—and grandfather—would like to speak, please.”
When she finished, Liz turned to D.J., patted his arm and smiled conspiratorially. Then both she and Big Jim captured D.J.’s complacent gaze. I was right, I thought to myself uneasily, something was afoot. And it concerned US. What D.J. started to tell me earlier—
“Thank you, my dear. My voice isn’t what it used to be.” He was interrupted by the server bearing his wooden box of fresh cigars. Waving impatiently for the man to place them on the table, Big Jim cleared his throat. When the server did as ordered and withdrew from the room, the patriarch continued, his voice gradually losing its hoarseness as it was exercised. “For several months now, I’ve given a matter of great concern to myself and my wife a good deal of serious thought.” He paused to look at his eldest son. “Jim’s MY right-hand man, has been for some time, and he’s doing a bang-up job as CEO of McKay Enterprises. John’s HIS right-hand man and, from all reports, is keeping the money flowing, more in than out.”
My brothers-in-laws and sisters-in-laws chuckled appreciatively, the wives especially glancing at each other in affirmation of their husbands’ successes. Jim and John were staring at their beloved father, their faces flushed with pride and gratitude. Both D.J. and his mother, however, had eyes glued to the tablecloth and yet both were smiling, too. I was mystified.
“Matt is point man for our legal team, doing a very competent job of keeping the litigious wolves at bay, making sure we minimize our liabilities. I’m as proud of him as I am of all my sons.”
A quick glance down the table again and I observed the tears that began to stream down Matt’s face. He looked askance as he wiped his cheeks with a napkin. Oh God, I wondered, were D.J. and I right in advising him to stay silent? I hoped and prayed we were and that someday Matt would understand and forgive us.
“D.J. here, the singer of the bunch—” Big Jim halted and snorted softly. His demeanor returned to its usual gruffness but by now I knew that was just an act. “When he said he was going to be an opera singer, I told him first, he was crazy. No son of mine was going to put on faggoty pantyhose, makeup and wigs, dress up like a queer and make a fool of himself in public—don’t care how great of a voice he has.”
There was a low tittering and tsking all about her. Big Jim seemed not to notice but I cast D.J. a sympathetic glance. My husband’s face had colored but he was smiling ruefully, as though forgiving the old man’s prejudices were part of what it meant to be one of Big Jim’s privileged sons.
“But I had to admit his voice is exceptional. Maybe a gift from God, maybe he was born to sing…like Eva. I don’t know but the boy was set on it. So I told him if he was set on such a career, to be the best damned—oops, pardon your ol’ grandpa, girls—the best darned opera singer he could be. As y’ all well know, he’s surpassed even his mother’s expectations. From what I’m told, his album is doing well, he’s got more bookings than he can fill. He’s even going to sing the National Anthem at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California on New Year’s Day. Can you imagine that? We’re all going to watch him on television singing the National Anthem. Now THAT makes me so damned—oops, uh, darned proud, I could bust a gut.”
Exclamations of surprise and delight ensued from those who hadn’t heard of D.J.’s gig at the Rose Bowl. Of course, it was especially exciting because UT Longhorns were playing against the champs, the USC Spartans. I had no doubt that every TV in Texas would be tuned into the game!
I had to laugh inwardly. D.J. could sing Othello in a command performance for Queen Elizabeth II at Covent Garden’s in London but the McKay men would only remember the time he sang the National Anthem at the Rose Bowl.
Jim and John, all UT graduates, exchanged with D.J. the waggle-fisted Longhorn salute and laughed out loud. They cheered D.J.’s career coup.
“Go Longhorns!” Jim shouted.
“Yeah, man! Smash those Spartans!” John joined in. Even Jim’s two daughters, both preteens, held up their hands and wiggled them in the Longhorn salute.
The table guests erupted in UT salutes, teasing Matt and his Aggie affiliation. I smiled at all the football nuts at the table, then over at D.J., happy that he was at last getting some recognition from his father. Of course, Liz had always understood how important D.J.’s singing career was to him. Even to the point of interfering with our relationship that one time when the woman had sent me those photos of D.J. and that model, indirectly contributing to our breakup nearly eight years ago.
Fortunately, the woman had stayed out of our way since then.
“Yeah, we’re sure proud of you, D.J. And the company’s doing fine, thanks to my three older sons. Now D.J. wants to help with the Circle M. The ranch has been neglected a bit, especially since my…illness. I don’t think I’ll be able to supervise it much longer—” Big Jim broke off as his voice cracked with emotion.
Immediately, tears welled behind my eyes. Oh, whatever his announcement is, it’ll be tough going. Big Jim was making a public attempt to pass the reins on to his sons…but D.J.?? D.J. wanted to help with the Circle M ranch? Since when? Why didn’t he say anything to me, hi
s wife…?
Dammit to hell! Our life was in Kingwood, my career in Houston!
I saw Liz McKay touch her husband’s arm, smiling up at him with encouragement. She might be the Dragon Lady, but her love and devotion to Big Jim were genuine. Indeed, she loved her entire family…well, except perhaps for myself and Sara, who wasn’t of McKay blood. What could I do? I’d tried making friends with Liz but had found it impossible to bridge that emotional distance or bury entirely my residual resentment.
With difficulty, the patriarch was crumpling his face, twisting his features in a pitiable attempt to compose himself. I looked over at D.J., who appeared on the verge of tears, himself. This might be a long, heartbreaking evening after all. In his own way, Big Jim was saying goodbye.
“The Circle M needs caretaking, prudent management and constant supervision,” the man continued, his voice steadier now, “Someone who loves the place and wants to make it home. God knows, it’s a handful. Two thousand acres of prime grazing land, hard woods and pines, lakes and streams. It’s been my home these seventy years and I’ve loved every minute of my time here. Now I know Jim, John and Matt love city life—guess they get that from their mother, who’d rather be in Austin or Dallas, doing lunch and plays with her girlfriends and overseeing the McKay Foundation for the Arts. Which, by the way, I’m proud to say was recognized by the mayor of Austin and our esteemed governor for its contribution to civic life. Your mother was presented with the key to the great city of Austin by the mayor, himself, and a ‘Citizen of the Year’ plaque from Governor Richards. As you know, D.J. and Eva did a great job launching the Foundation with their successful run of ‘The Merry Widow’ two years ago.”
Born to Sing, no. 1 Page 21