The Distant Shore (Stone Trilogy)

by Mariam Kobras

  He moved around so he could see her at the other end of the bed.

  “You sent that sheaf of lyrics to me in Los Angeles, and there was no letter or explanation to go with it, just a terse ‘sing this’. How Sal laughed! ‘This is one cool number,’ he said. And then into the lobby of that hotel walked the loveliest girl, the essence of all I had ever dreamed and written about, and she walked right up to me and I know I’ll have to make her mine, just like that, and, please God, hold on to her, because this is perfection, she is perfection, made for me.” He fell silent for a while, as if reliving that day.

  “Mine. My very own. And of course the next night, when you finally let me love you…”

  Naomi’s breath caught.

  “I knew there would be no way back once I had you in my arms,” Jon said. “I would just drown in the terrible need I felt for you, and it would hold me prisoner forever. Even back then, my love, back in Geneva, you could have asked anything of me. It would have been yours. I would have given up the music, my singing, and my life. I wanted you that badly.”

  She shook her head slightly, embarrassed by this unexpected outpouring, the way he put it, so final and dramatic.

  “I remember laying you down on that bed, you were so lovely and soft and virginal, I remember you were afraid, but also ready for me, oh, I know you were. And I remember that first time, oh God yes, and you moved toward me with those gentle sighs of yours and gave yourself over so unconditionally. It was like no other lovemaking I had ever experienced. It was so much more. It felt as if the universe itself had opened to welcome us into its embrace.” Jon tugged on her hands to get her to look at him.

  “It still feels that way to me, Naomi, every time we are together. It feels that way when you walk into a room and I see you. Now that I have you back, I feel the unbearable emptiness of those years without you. I was selfish and distracted and uncaring. You should never have had to endure what you did, and I should have fought a lot harder to find you again…” His words trailed off.

  Silence sat between them. Naomi did not want to talk about the loss again. The thought of all that wasted time was too much to bear.

  Jon shifted closer to her. “Come, Baby. Come and let me kiss you. Let me love you.” His eyes wandered to her lips. “Come to me.”

  It was so hard, and the compulsion so strong. Every fiber in her wanted to give in, but she resisted.

  “No. No. Singing before pleasure. We’ll see if you can convince me later. And it might not even be tonight.”

  “You’re killing me.” Jon sighed. “Really, Naomi. I so want you now.”

  “Not happening.” She slipped off the bed, but he looked so distraught that she gave him a peck on his brow before she left.

  She returned to the lobby to find Solveigh ordering Russ around as if he were nothing more than a bellboy, totally oblivious to the fact that he normally ordered around a host of people himself.

  “Your hair is down,” Naomi commented, “You never have your hair down.”

  “Well, now it is. Russ thinks it looks nice.” Solveigh fluffed her golden curls, as an engrossed Russ watched.

  Sal, coming out of the dining room with Sean, whistled at the sight of them.

  “You look exactly like you did that day in Geneva,” he said to Naomi, “What are you playing at here? Are there any girls left for me, or are Jon and Russ taking up all there is? What about me, the guy who makes the money for them? Left out in the cold as usual?”

  “To each what he deserves, Sal.”

  Solveigh laughed at her acerbic response, but the moment the words were out Naomi knew she had hurt him. Sal nodded slightly. He lit a cigarette and walked out into the street, where he stood watching the few clouds in the clear blue sky.

  Naomi followed him out into the biting air. “What’s wrong, Sal?”

  He took a moment to reply. “It’s okay, Naomi. I know you meant it as a joke. We don’t always get what we want in life, at least not all of us. And it’s okay, but sometimes we don’t find out what we want until it’s too late.”

  “But Sal…” Naomi was at a loss. “Then you need to say what it is you want. You always seem so tough and contained. What do you want?”

  He turned to look at her, smiling a little, his wild locks blowing in the breeze.

  “We’ll be hearing some great music tonight. Has Jon done some vocalizing? Is he prepared to sing?”

  She knew she was missing something, but she could not figure out what it was.

  He reached out to put a curl of her hair in order. “You look so good. I never thought I’d see you again. You were like a mirage…there and then gone.”

  “Sal.” Jon’s voice, cool, calm and distant.

  “You need to keep your soul,” Sal whispered so only she could hear him. “Keep it intact. Don’t give yourself away completely, no matter how seductive the prospect seems.”

  She heard his words, but she did not know what to do with them.

  The men stared at each other over her head. Jon had a dark, calculating expression that scared her.

  Sal walked away from them.

  “You’re jealous of Sal! I can’t believe it, Jon. You should know better! I just don’t believe it, shame on you!”

  It seemed as if he woke up from a disturbing dream when he looked at her and his face lit up a little.

  “Why are you out here?” she asked, “Everyone else is inside.”

  He looked at his watch. “Waiting. What people do when they’re standing outside a hotel. I’ve asked for another musician. Should be here any moment now, he just called.”

  After a moment she left him to it.

  There had been no announcement, but in a community as small as Halmar, word spread quickly that there were famous musicians staying at the hotel and that they would be performing that night.

  People began to drift in, settling down for a bite or a glass, happy to share the comfort and food of the restaurant and each other’s company. Being who they were—neighbors, shop owners, friends of hotel staff—they never even asked if they were welcome. They just hung around patiently, ordering one cup of coffee after another, or after a surreptitious glance at their watches, stronger drinks.

  “What’s the Jonman doing out there?” Sean asked when she joined them.

  Naomi threw up her hands. “Waiting. Smoking probably, and I don’t know what. Having stupid, unnecessary words with Sal, would you believe it, about Sal talking to me in a way he did not like, the jealous bastard. Really, Sean. Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?”

  “He’s afraid of losing what took him so long to get back, Sweetie. He isn’t sure of you yet. You were the only one to ever walk away from him. You were the only one he ever wanted to go after, and he had to wait a long, long time before he could. You don’t walk away from the Master.” The first slow melodies shaped themselves when his fingers moved over the piano keyboard.

  “The Master,” she repeated softly. “Like hell.”

  The music ended abruptly.

  Naomi heard Russ’ soft “Well, slap me sideways till I cry,” as he turned to look at the doorway, where a young man stood in the entrance, guitar case over his shoulder and travel bag in hand. It was Joshua, in a grey shirt and leather jacket just like Jon’s, his dark wavy hair a little too long, his stance so much like his father’s it was almost comical.

  There was pride in Jon’s eyes, and satisfaction. He watched Naomi embrace Joshua. His oldest friends were at his side, and they were on the verge of going out to play to an appreciative audience. He thought of the thick collection of new songs waiting on the piano downstairs and felt, for the first time in a long time—maybe for the first time in his life—complete. Everything came together for him in that moment. The feeling was one he had searched for in so many songs. Belonging.

  Sean began to play again, starting off with a lively song from their early days.

  Jon did not wait for a long introduction. He sang with the abandon and verve of a gl
ad heart, with the rhythm and easiness of long practice, the guitar coming to life in his hands.

  Sitting unceremoniously on the low coffee table in the lobby, Joshua unpacked his own instrument and began to tune it.

  “Dad phoned last night and told me he would send a plane, but I couldn’t get away sooner. There was a class this afternoon I could’nt miss. Sorry. But it was cool to be picked up in a car and then flown here in a private jet. He said he brought my grandparents here today as well, that he wanted them to get to know him. Wow, Mom, this is so cool. He’s much better like this, just listen! He doesn’t need a big stage. He goes all Hollywood in the concert hall, and here he’s so honest and…” he searched for the right word, “straightforward, yes?”

  “Dad?” Naomi repeated, “When did this Dad thing come about?”

  Joshua shrugged as he plucked a few experimental chords. “It’s what he is, right? I don’t like calling my parents by their first names, Mom. That’s fake coolness. I always wanted to know who my father was, but this is so much better than anything I could have dreamt up. Thank you, Mom.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He joined Jon and Sean, falling right into the song they were playing without missing a beat. He even sang along, his young voice a nice addition to Jon’s clear baritone. From where she stood, Naomi could see her parents sitting with Sal and Russ, her father staring out at the water, bored and impatient, her mother smiling at Joshua. She caught Sal gazing at her, but he looked away when their eyes met and poured himself another drink. Russ was busy with Solveigh. He even ignored Jon’s little introductory speech, totally smitten by her cloud of golden hair and sunny smile.

  From the piano came the solo she knew only too well, the River, and Sean was playing it just the way she remembered: cool, dry, jazzy, suggestive. Jon raised his chin at her, challenge in his smoldering stare, enough to make her hot with yearning.

  They performed well into the night.

  Jon thanked them gracefully after their last song, then came over and pulled Naomi down the hallway that led to her apartment. The light was dim and the noise of the restaurant seemed far away. Someone called after them, but he didn’t stop until they were nearly at the door to the guest room. Then he let go of her hand and spoke to her in a low, enticing voice.

  “My pretty lady, I saw you sitting there all by yourself, and I thought we might get to know each other a little better.”

  She stepped back against the wall as he used his body to corner her.

  “After all those songs, I need some love. I’d hate to go home alone on such a night.” Song lyrics, he had never used something like them on another woman. There had never been the need. “Let’s go somewhere quiet, and let me hold you. Come, my lovely dove, I can feel your need, your sweet lips are trembling with desire and I can hardly wait to taste them.”

  Naomi let the words hang between them for a few heartbeats.

  Then she said, “That’s not how it works.”

  Jon was speechless.

  “You don’t need the seduction routine to get me in your bed, Mr. Stone.”

  He had the eerie feeling of being in some venue after a show, with a strange girl he’d invited backstage for a few hours of mindless amusement.

  “You can have me wherever you want. I’ve been yours for so long I can’t even think of another.”

  He took her into the guest room with all its disorder, the faint smell of cigars still in the air, music sheets all over the place and a half-empty coffee mug on the bedside table.

  When he had her on the bed, he made love to her with the passion that had been building in him all day, along with the drive from the songs he had sung.

  “Tell me. Tell me you are mine alone.”

  Naomi gasped.

  “Tell me. I need to hear you say it. Tell me there’ll never be another for you!” His hand dug into her hair. “I want you to be mine. God, how long I’ve wanted this! To sing to you and then make love to you, pour all my love into you, imprint you with it. Mine, oh yes.”

  “I’m yours,” she managed. “You know I’ve always been yours. There has never been another.”

  “Oh, the thought is with me all the time.” His words came in a rough tumble; there was a raw vulnerability in them Naomi had never expected to hear from him. “I see you every morning, every day. You are real and you let me hold you and love you, and still I’m afraid I’ll wake up one day and you’ll not want me anymore, decide I don’t fit into your life, and send me away.”

  “That’s absurd. I’ve given you no reason to fear such a thing. You aren’t thinking I’m serious about Sean, are you?”

  He couldn’t tell if she was joking. “I saw you with Sal out there on the street, and I saw how he looks at you. It brought back the memory of how he was always around when I was too busy or too hyped for you.”

  She pushed him aside and sat up. “You can’t mean it! Do you really believe I would run off with Sal? Are you out of your mind?”

  There was no prompt reply. Tentatively Jon reached out to draw her back to him, but she retreated to the edge of the bed.

  “No, no, we’ll have this out now.”

  Jon watched as she pulled the bed sheet toward her but did not wrap it around herself, rather sitting before him in wonderful nakedness, her hair falling around her body like a dark curtain, its ends curling on the linen, her skin glowing softly in the dim light.

  “You are so beautiful, it breaks my heart just look at you. So lovely. Why aren’t there dozens of lovesick men around you? Why did they let you remain alone? Did no one ever try to pick you, my sweet rose?”

  A gentle silence descended on them. The beam of the lighthouse washed over the bay, and all was quiet.

  “Jon, don’t you know no one else could ever stand up to you? Didn’t I tell you clearly enough that no one could hold my heart, not as long as you are alive, not ever? I tried to love someone else a couple of times, but then there you were, your voice on the radio, somewhere, anywhere, and you would have me tied up again, unable to touch another. Yours. I was yours before we ever met. And you know it.”

  Gradually she came closer again, drawn by the need to be touched. He laid her back down, his hands on her body, finding places to caress and strokes that made her breath catch and her eyes close in bliss.

  Naomi sighed. “I love when you possess me with all your power and look down at me and I can’t move or breathe or think, and you, so strong, relentless, hard and forceful.”

  “I know, my little beast,” Jon whispered in her ear. “Oh God, yes I know. And how I love it. It drives me over the edge, the way you yield to me.”

  “Never doubt me again. Never.” She took hold of his chin and made him look into her eyes. “I should not have left that night. I was young and stupid and frightened and out of my mind. Now I would come after you, into your gritty little prison cell, and give you hell. And I would get Sal to hire a whole office of lawyers to sue the police department for seeing me naked while I made love to my man.”

  “All right, Baby. Tell me about it.” He smiled at the bravado in her voice.

  “I was only your little lovebird, and I never took a step out of that house without you. My life centered around you completely. I had no life of my own.”

  Jon thought about her words. He laid her head back on his chest and drew his fingers through her hair, smoothing it down.

  “This time,” Naomi went on, “it was my decision. I could have thrown you out right away. I could throw you out now, but I chose not to do so, I chose to cast my lot with you and your crazy life.” She sat up and gazed down at him. “I did not like the stunt you pulled on me with my father. For a moment there, I hated you and your arrogance. Oh, I appreciate the sentiment, but it was pushy and manipulative. I would have liked to have been informed. I like all those things about you in our lovemaking, but you overdo it with the money thing.”

  There was no reply. He merely watched her intently.

  “I know you are rich.
Of course you are. It would be a terrible shame if you weren’t. Of course I know I’ll get whatever I want from you and probably a lot more, but not like this. Don’t push your wealth at me. My love for you, it was never about wealth and fame. I wanted you, your songs, your music, the magic we can create together. You, in my bed. You, loving me the way you do…” Jon saw her face go soft and dreamy with the memory of their lovemaking. “And then you dare to question me, you miserable punk,” Naomi said, blasting the mood away. “You make love to me until I’m ready to scream, and then you have the nerve to demand promises and vows from me? Well, how’s this for a change: no more lovemaking until we are married!”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Jon sat up straight. “You aren’t serious! You can’t be! Tell me you aren’t serious. No, you’re joking.”

  A small, wicked smile appeared on her lips. “Well now that I see your reaction I think I am serious. It will be fun to watch you live with it.”

  “You’ll get yourself into trouble.” He caught her in his arms. “You might get kidnapped on your way to your apartment and be ravished in the hallway, or abducted to a strange bed and assaulted by a desperate, starving man.”

  “I might just take the risk for that experience.” Naomi mused. “It sounds like fun. I rather like being ravished by desperate men, being the Coca-Cola shareholder that I am.”

  “Oh, Miss Scarlett, don’t play games with me.” Jon kissed her wildly. “You know what happens when you do this.”

  “Yes.” Her arms went around his neck. “Cities get burned.”

  They were alone again. Only Russ and Sal had stayed behind to help Jon start work on the soundtrack, with Sean promising to be back in a few weeks.

  Naomi watched Jon escort Joshua to the water taxi, his hand firmly on the boy’s shoulder, talking to him in a low voice. Joshua laughed at what he said and even hugged him briefly before he climbed in.