Later, returning to the hotel, he’d stood in the lobby for a moment and observed the group of fans hanging out there, waiting for him and the band to show up, but their attention was focused toward the elevators, and for some reason he could not explain, this had made him feel even lonelier, as if he had dropped off the world the moment she’d gone.
It had been three weeks.
Three weeks since he’d let her go, watching with a heavy heart as she left their home, fleeing from their life and the aftermath of the shooting. He had tried to talk her out of it, had made her breakfast and hoped with every fiber of his heart that she would change her mind, but seeing her sitting at the kitchen table, head lowered in defeat, hands folded in her lap, omelet untouched, he’d told her to go. Very softly, so his voice wouldn’t crack, he’d told her to leave and find her peace. Naomi had looked at him, a small spark of hope in her eyes, and he knew it was the only thing to do.
She had not said where she was headed, and he had been too afraid to ask, too afraid to hear from her that it was none of his business and she would not be returning anyway. He had stood in the door as the car pulled out of the driveway and vanished into the early Los Angeles traffic, and then he stepped back inside, alone, desolate.
The house had seemed dead without her, an empty shell, and he had wandered through the many rooms, listening to their lonely echo. At last he’d found enough energy to make coffee, and while he was standing in the kitchen, dolefully watching it drip through the machine, the phone had rung.
“I’m at the airport,” Naomi said, her voice as normal as if she’d been calling from a shopping trip, asking what to buy for dinner, “I’m going to New York first, to see Joshua, and then I’ll go to one of my family’s hotels on the eastern shore to rest a bit.”
Jon had offered to join her, first to visit their son and then in her exile, but she had declined. She needed some time alone, to heal, and to regain her peace. And yes, she had promised, she would be in London when he started the tour.
So now, as the bus took drew close to the huge arena, he closed his and around the smooth surface of the apple.
“Your fans,” Sal said from behind him, “are faithful as ever. Do you feel like giving some autographs today?”
“Sure.” Jon didn’t care one way or the other. In fact, he didn’t even care about the concert. It had been meant for her, and she wasn’t here. He had dreamed of going on the stage, but never mind the ten thousand people in the audience; he wanted to sing only for her.
Once off the bus, he took the pen Sal held out to him and began walking toward the group of fans. Sal, Russ and Art were by his side, security surrounding them all. Jon was so used to doing this, the smile fell into place even before they had walked halfway across the parking lot. He was aware that he was still wearing the same shirt he’d put on that morning when he had gone on his little excursion downtown, and that it was a bit rumpled, not exactly suited for public snapshots, but he didn’t care.
Many of the fans in the crowd were wearing t-shirts with his picture on them. Somehow he had never gotten used to seeing his own face on other people’s clothes, and he even tried to get out of seeing the merchandise for the tours. When Sal pressed him, Jon would say he was not a piece of flesh for sale.
To which Sal would reply, “But you are, my friend. That’s just what you are. The solace of their lonely nights, the dream boy they talk to over their solitary breakfast, the guy they want to take along when they buy underwear at the discount store.” Sal could, after all their years together, say this like a mantra, always with the same acid inflection.
And now he was staring at a sea of middle-aged women in blue shirts with his face on their chests. As he stared in despair, he noticed a speck of red hidden behind the matrons holding out CDs for him to sign, and his heart skipped. He tried to see around them, take a closer look, and then she stepped forward.
He had, he realized bitterly, not expected to ever see her again. And yet here she stood, in a dress much like the one she’d worn that day he’d asked her to marry him, her braid falling over her shoulder, unchanged. Her lips curled into a small smile when she saw his stunned expression, and she moved forward to take his hand when he held it out.
“Forgive me,” Naomi whispered, so low only he could hear it. “Forgive me, and please take me back.”
There was nothing to forgive. He wanted somewhere quiet where they could be alone, if only for a moment, and he wanted the fans gone so he could kiss her right there and then.
She pressed his fingers slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Don’t stare, Jon. Let’s go.”
He heard the murmur of discontent from the waiting group of fans, but he couldn’t be bothered. There would be no more autographs today.
Russ led them inside, where they were greeted by representatives of the venue, the British tour management, and the press, but Jon waved them away and asked for his dressing room.
“Later,” he told them. “I promise..”
Sal stayed behind to answer some of their questions, and Jon closed and locked the dressing room door, relieved they would have at least a few minutes of solitude before he had to go and join the sound check.
“You’re here,” He said.
Again she smiled. “Of course I am. I promised. Did you forget?”
It was so hard to believe that she had really come. “And you stood out there with the fans. Just like you said you did last time, only then I walked by and didn’t see you.”
“Yes.” She sat on the corner of the dressing table and picked up the eyeliner. Carefully she pulled off the cap and drew a thin line on the tip of her finger. “I could hardly wait for you to find me. I was afraid you’d decide not to give autographs at all and I would have to call Sal to let me in. Then my surprise would have been wasted.”
Jon could hardly speak. Her composure was too much to bear, her cool, sensible words as close to a taunt as she had ever attempted.
“I’m rested,” Naomi went on, a little gentler. “I needed a break.”
The morning she had left came to his mind again, how she had sat at the table, staring at the steaming eggs like a prisoner, a captured animal, miserable, defeated and hopeless. He had let her go, sent her away, even though it broke his heart.
“I never wanted to put pressure on you,” he said. “Never. I only wanted to see you healed and well. I wanted our life back.” He balled his fists, his fury at what had happened to her boiling up again. “I wanted you to forget and be your real self again, not that broken husk on the verge of death.”
“I am myself,” Naomi said softy, “I’m okay now.”
It was a lie, Jon could see. She looked incredibly tired, and she was still too thin. “You should have stayed where you were,” he said. “It’s too early for you to come back.” He could hardly believe what he was saying. “You need more rest.”
Instantly he could see he had hurt her badly. Naomi lowered her head. She laid the eyeliner back on the table and stood up. With a shaking hand, she smoothed down her dress and tugged her jacket into place.
“I’m ready to cry, Jon. I’ve come all this way, I flew overnight to come to you, and you don’t even want me. I thought you had forgiven me, but it seems you are still angry that I had to go away for a while to gain some peace, when in truth all I wanted was to be with you.” She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “That was all I wanted. I couldn’t wait to be back with you again.”
“But baby…” Jon wanted to kiss her. He wanted it so badly he could feel his lips tingling, and he reached out to her. “Baby, I’m so happy you’re here! I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve missed you, how desolate I’ve felt without you, how scared I was that you’d never come back. Don’t you know how much I need you? But Naomi—”
“No buts, Jon. No more buts.” She pulled him to her and kissed him deeply.
He wanted to drown in that kiss, wanted her body close to his and feel the soft warmth of her ski
n under his hands. Three long weeks she had been away, and to him it felt like an eternity.
“I missed you so much,” Jon breathed into her mouth. “You have no idea. I wanted to go after you, find you and stay with you wherever you were hiding. I wanted to give up the tour, everything. Nothing makes any sense if you’re not there.”
From outside, he could hear Sal’s voice, not yet impatient but loud enough to remind him of where he was supposed to be.
“They’re waiting for me,” he said, but he didn’t let her go. It felt too good to have her in his arms again.
Naomi pushed against his chest. “In a moment, Sal is going to crash through the door, and that would be so awkward. I’ll be right here, darling. Give me a minute to drink a cup of coffee and then I’ll join you, I promise. But I’m just off the plane and I need to freshen up a bit before I meet the rest of the group.”
“But how will I be sure?” It sounded a little plaintive, and it made her smile.
“You’ll just have to trust me, I’m afraid. I’ll make Sal take me to hospitality and get me a backstage pass so I can move around without being a nuisance.” She rose on her toes. “But first, one more kiss.”
Jon did not want to let her go, too afraid she would be gone when he returned from the sound check. He wanted to keep her right there with him; he’d done it before, taken her with him onto the stage and sat her down next to Sean on the piano bench, just to make sure she wouldn’t vanish. He was very tempted to do it again now, but he was sure he would meet resistance.
There was a sharp knock, and he sighed.
“Go,” Naomi urged. “Don’t make them wait. I promise not to go anywhere.”
“I can’t.” His hands dug into her hair, loosening the braid, freeing the locks. “How can I, with you here, after not having you in my arms for a month?”
“Three weeks, Jon. Don’t exaggerate so. We talked on the phone all the time.” But she didn’t try to pull away.
“The phone,” he mumbled against her temple. “Can’t make love on the phone. Can’t feel your breath on my skin, can’t touch you. Can’t see you when I wake up.”
Her body softened against his, but only for a moment. “Jon.”
“Ah, Naomi, you’re breaking my heart. All I get is a moment’s solace, and then you send me off again. I’ve hardly had time to say hello to you.”
“And little wonder.” She undid her braid to put it in order. “You were too busy kissing me to speak in proper sentences.”
He had been on his way to the door, but now he turned and shot her a dangerous glance. “I haven’t even begun kissing you, my dear. Just wait until we’re back at the hotel.”
For the first time in his life, Jon didn’t want to get onstage.
He made his way slowly, carefully. At the bottom of the narrow stairway that would take him up to where he would make his entrance at the beginning of the concert, he stopped. One hand on the handrail, he looked back, dithering.
Sean had started the band. They were rehearsing the orchestral intro, a short piece from the movie soundtrack that had won them an Oscar only a few months ago. Jon could hear Sean giving directions to their sound engineer, Russ and Sal fiddling with the recording computers at the side of the scaffolding, and lighting people climbing along the crossbeams like monkeys. Their rope ladder dangled down onto the stage, almost exactly at the spot where he was supposed to be, right by his microphone stand.
Someone had set up his guitars for him, but not in the right order, and he cursed silently. His attention wavered. Part of him wanted to go back to Naomi so he could look at her and have her in his arms, but this bothered him.
Over the years they all had developed a routine full of small rituals. Now that someone had broken one of his, the obsessive part of him that lived in the music was upset. Calling for Sal, Jon jumped up the few steps. He pushed at the ladder hanging in his way and pointed at the guitars, a harangue on his lips. But Sal was already there, putting the instruments in their place.
“You are insufferable,” Sal grumbled. “You clearly can’t stand being here, so go back and smooch some more with the wife. Don’t dump your sour mood on us.”
Jon didn’t reply.
“You’ve wasted fifteen minutes,” Sal said. “You have another forty-five for the rehearsal, and then the press and the fan clubs will be here. You know we promised a press conference.”
As if he didn’t know, after a quarter century in the business. This was the first show of the tour, and they needed a good write-up. Everyone in the music world would be watching this concert. Everyone who was still thinking about buying a ticket for later performances would be watching too.
“Yeah,” Jon mumbled. He still didn’t feel like playing, let alone singing. Naomi had said she wanted coffee and would join him shortly, but she wasn’t here yet and it made him restless. “Let me just check if she’s alright.”
Sal sighed. “For heaven’s sake, Jon. She doesn’t need a babysitter. But fine, let me go and see what she’s up to. Just please, go do your job.”
Without waiting for a reply, he left.
The guitars were well polished, not a single fingerprint on their glossy surface, just the way he liked it. Lovingly, Jon ran his hand over the koa twelve-string, its bold grain and coloring like the curly auburn hair of a lovely woman. It was an old friend, as old as his career. How well he remembered playing it in the sun-drenched open-air stadium in Geneva all those years ago when he had met Naomi, and the turmoil of his feelings when he realized she was the one and only, the one girl he wanted for the rest of his life.
Beside it was the ebony acoustic, his lover, custom-made for him ten years ago. He had seen the black wood in the workshop, the fine, wavy red stripes like the highlights in Naomi’s hair, and he had known he wanted it. The sound of the instrument, when it was delivered, had first surprised and then almost hurt him. It was soft, melodious, with a sweet, mellow timbre and an echoing, haunting quality that reminded him so much of her he could only bear to play it when he was alone.
Now, of course, everything was different. She was back in his life and he could easily pick the guitar up during a concert, could even play their most intimate song, “The Secret Garden,” on it and not cry.
Sean launched into the opening chords.
Jon raised his head to look at the high ceiling, listened to the song and let it inundate him. He wanted to stretch out his arms and float on the melody, feel it carry him like a wave. It was his music, the extension of his soul into the real world, a shining cloud that always surrounded him, the fabric of his existence.
He picked up his twelve-string, swung it over his head, settled it into place against his body. The guitar pick in his raised hand, he waited for his cue and then dove into the ocean of his creation.
READING GROUP GUIDE
1. In the beginning of the story we see Jon, a famous rock star, living in a small house in an unfashionable part of LA. What drove him to live there when he owned a mansion in Malibu?
2. Jon tells Sal about his first meeting with Naomi and how he fell in love with her immediately. Do you believe in love at first sight?
3. When Jon leaves California to find Naomi, he insists on going on his own. Why was this so important for him?
4. Naomi agrees to marry Jon as soon as he proposes, but later she has doubts. What is her greatest fear?
5. Jon takes Naomi shopping in London and lavishes her with expensive gifts. Is there a deeper meaning, or was this just fun day on the town?
6. Naomi told Joshua he was the result of a brief affair after a concert, but when he and Jon meet, Jon explains that he and Naomi had been lovers for three years. How does this affect Jon and Joshua’s father/son relationship?
7. After Jon accepts the offer to write the movie soundtrack, he reads the book the movie is based on. He and Naomi then have a discussion about how far they would go to save their loved one’s life, and Naomi asks Jon if he would be prepared to kill her to spare her suffe
ring. Why do you think Naomi and Jon had such different reactions to this question? Was it just a male/female response, or something unique to their relationship? How far would you go for love?
8. How does Art’s arrival in Halmar change the atmosphere, and why? Do you think Art satisfied Naomi’s misgivings?
9. Why did Naomi pick Art to talk to when she was finally ready to discuss the night of the drug raid, rather than someone she is closer to, like Solveigh or Sean?
10. Naomi never confronts Jon after overhearing him talking to Sophie at the Hollywood party. Why not?
11. What do you think of Jon’s mother and sister? What about his relationship with them?
12. Why do you think New York holds such a strong appeal for Naomi?
13. It is Sal who unveils Naomi’s secrets. Why didn’t she tell Jon about her family and their business?
14. When Sophie shows up at the hotel and makes a scene, Naomi reacts by throwing away the lyrics she’d written. Jon thinks she is just jealous of Sophie. Do you agree? If not, what do you think were the reasons behind Naomi’s behavior?
15. Once she and Jon are back in LA, Naomi seems to accept her new life and even enjoy it. What made her change her mind about living there?
16. The ending of the book is ambiguous, and we don’t know if Naomi stays with Jon or not. What do you think will happen?
The Distant Shore (Stone Trilogy) Page 40