by Roscoe James
“Yes. Marcella. My daughter. A beautiful woman, isn't she?”
“Yes she is.” Jessie blushed and tried to decide which part of her salad she should mess up first.
“She's a prodigy, you know? Someone gave her one of those little plastic pianos with butterflies and bumblebees on it for her third birthday. Two weeks later she was playing something she'd heard on the radio. Turned out it was 'Canon in D' by Pachelbel. All with thirteen keys…”
Jessie listened, laughed, and was slowly drawn in by Mr. Dionysius. By the time chocolate mousse was whipped up at their table, she was smiling as much as he was. Dessert was set out, and the chef and his entourage left pulling the double doors shut with an expensive-sounding click.
“And here I am taking up all your time with silly stories. I believe you came here for a reason.”
“I came here to…” Nothing worked. Ask for your daughter's hand? Declare my undying love and devotion to one of the most beautiful, captivating women I've ever met? Try to save my sorry soul and beg Marci's forgiveness? Jessie didn't feel comfortable with any of those. She decided nothing more and nothing less than what Marci had requested she do that night at the restaurant was the best place to start. She cleared her throat and started a second time. “I've come to tell you that I'm in love with your daughter.”
“Ah. L'amour.”
She was floored again. She'd steeled herself for outrage and instead got a whimsical admonition.
“Jessica? May I call you Jessica? I would think questions of the heart should be discussed on a first-name basis. Don't you?”
“Well…sure.”
“Good. And you may call me Alexander if you wish. Or Alex. Would you mind if I enjoy a cigar? Cognac?”
“Ah. No. Go ahead.” Jessie dug her cigarettes out of her purse.
“So. You think you're in love with my daughter. We won't pursue the how of knowing such a thing. Poets have been doing that for centuries, and I doubt they've come close yet. Would you agree?”
Jessie pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Marci's father, Alex, walked to a cabinet and pulled out a box of cigars. Two ashtrays as well. For the first time since she'd entered the man's office, she was scared. Philosophy and smokes was the last thing she'd anticipated after she dropped the bomb.
“Sure. I guess you could say love and broken hearts are my business. See, I'm a—”
“Blues singer. Yes, Marcella told me.”
Jessie watched the man snip the end of his cigar off and light the thing. She couldn't put her finger on what was happening, but she didn't feel like stepping on a landmine and waited quietly.
“Well. She is a lovely woman. I guess I'm not surprised. But let me ask you this, Jessica. Why now? Why here? Why was it necessary to come to my office and, well, declare your love for my daughter? I mean, isn't that really something between the two of you?”
Jessie fidgeted and looked at street signs in her head. She had no map. What road to take was completely up to her.
“Because Marci asked me to. I think—”
“You spoke to my daughter recently?” The man seemed surprised or concerned.
“No. No. We haven't talked since that night at the restaurant…” She let the word trail off. A picture of an upset or perturbed Marci going back into the restaurant alone flashed in her mind.
“Yes. The restaurant. Quite unfortunate that. So I must insist. Why now? Why today? I mean you didn't then. What's happened?”
Jessie was tired of fencing. She knew no other way to do things. She ground the butt of her cigarette into the bottom of the heavy crystal ashtray and sat on the edge of her chair. She thought she might be stepping into a trap, but she couldn't recall the last time she let that stop her.
“Look, Mr. Dionysius—”
“Alex. Please. I mean, we're practically family. Right?”
Jessie blanched. She could feel the teeth of the trap closing on her neck.
“Alex. I came here because Marci wanted me to tell you. She begged me to. She—” Jessie shut her mouth with an audible snap. Her world tumbled around her like a house of cards. Marci's words that night in bed in Jessie's hotel room came rushing back. My father doesn't know. She realized that Marci's father might not even know his daughter was gay. That the trap was exactly that. The man was insisting that she out his daughter. She had no idea what would happen then.
Fuck! I've fucked up big time. Shit! Damn!
Jessie wanted to jump up and run. She was scared for Marci. She slumped back in her chair and stared, wide-eyed, at Mr. Dionysius. The man got up and went to the cabinet a second time. A crystal bottle of amber liquid and two snifters appeared. He poured and set one in front of Jessie before returning to his end of the playing field with his own.
“I'm trying to figure you out, Jessica. You obviously came here with something of great importance to share with me, yet you're afraid to say it. I'm pretty good at these sorts of things. If you give me a minute, I can probably figure this conundrum out.”
Jessie pushed up from her chair and searched for her purse.
“Really. Please. Wait. I insist… Ah! I see it now. You're afraid you're telling me something you shouldn't. Something you thought I knew but now you realize I may not know. You're afraid you might hurt Marcella by telling me these things. That's it, isn't it?”
“Listen, Mr. Dio—Alex. Maybe I should go. I don't know what I was doing. I can be a little…”
“Passionate? Yes. That's what Marcella told me that night before her recital. That she was in love with a beautiful, passionate woman. A songbird I believe she called you. Someone who plays the guitar as if she'd sold her soul to the devil.” The man sounded whimsical.
Jessie was flabbergasted.
“I was going to say impetuous.” She slumped back into her seat and tried to read the man sitting across the table enjoying his cigar and cognac.
“Now I get it. You thought I didn't know she's…right. Okay. Well. She told me. Now you can have your say. There are no secrets here.”
Jessie was exhausted. Between being up all night and fencing with Marci's father, all the energy she'd brought with her was gone. She pulled the snifter over, drew a whiff, and took a heavy hit. She steeled herself.
“Marci asked me to do this. That night outside the restaurant, she begged me to go back inside and tell you. To explain that I love her. So that's what I'm doing. I came here to tell you I'm in love with your daughter.”
The man smiled and took a long draw on his cigar. Jessie pulled out her cigarettes and lit another. Her fingers shook. Finally he spoke.
“Why would she ask you to do that?”
“I…well. I'm not sure. I think it was a test of some kind.”
“A test of your love? Beautiful, isn't it? That feeling. The uncertainty. The excitement. All the emotion. At least that's what I felt for Marcella's mother. I've gotta say, it was scary as hell. But I must insist. You didn't come back in the restaurant that night. You didn't declare your love then when you say my daughter begged you to. Some might say you failed the test. Failed her.”
Touché… You win. I'm not worthy. Jessie was ready to leave again.
“So why now?”
Because I'm an idiot. You aren't getting that vibe yet?
“Maybe because I know I hurt Marci, and I want to make up for it somehow.” Jessie ground out her second smoke, sat up straight, and stared Alexander Dionysius in the eye. “No. I came here because I was a fool. Because I messed things up and I want to make it right. I came here because I love your daughter.”
“And those are all virtuous reasons, and I salute you, but there must have been a catalyst. What would that be?”
“More than loving your daughter? I don't know what you're talking about. What else is there?”
“Forgive my being insistent as well as seeming obtuse, but why today? Why not tomorrow or next week? Five months from now when Marcella returns? There must be a reason. Something sent you to my receptions desk this morning t
o fight with my security guards. What was it?”
“I…” Jessie tried to see where the man was headed. Finally she surrendered. “I guess it's because I have to make a decision that could affect Marci…both of us. I just wanted to get this off my chest before I call her. I need to find her. Talk to her. I also thought you could tell me how to get in touch.”
“I can have my assistant get her itinerary and phone numbers if you'd like. And may I ask? You say this decision could affect both of you. What it is? Maybe I can help.”
“I don't think so. Just something about me. Well, something I might do.”
“Look, Jessica. I feel you don't trust me. I'm not sure why. I mean it when I say I might be able to help. Give me a chance.”
Jessie glanced at her watch. It was already after two in the afternoon on the east coast. Nothing had gone as planned, but that was probably because she'd had no plan to start with. Just a burning need to fulfill Marci's wish. She pushed up, looked around until she found her purse, pulled out the envelope Judy Lewiston had given her, and placed it on the table in front of Mr. Dionysius.
“I've been offered an opportunity. Actually, a pretty important one. It would take up a lot of my time. A lot. I just wanted to talk to Marci. I don't want to… I don't want to take it if there won't be time for us.”
“Very noble. May I look?”
“Sure. Go ahead. Whatever. But there's a time limit. I need to decide fast.”
“Umm.” Reading glasses appeared.
Jessie walked around looking at photos of ships and buildings. She had no idea what Dionysius Enterprises did, but she guessed it had something to do with ships and buildings. And lots of money.
“Judy Lewiston. I know of her. If you need I can give her a call.” It came out like an afterthought. Before Jessica could respond, he went on. “Okay. So. You're under the gun and you need to make a decision.”
“I've done what I wanted. I just need to get in touch—”
“Give me enough time to go through the contract. That's all I'm asking.”
The man was an enigma wrapped in a riddle sitting in a glass tower where they served great food.
“Why not?” Jessie settled back and sipped whatever was in her snifter. Marci's father read and flipped pages. Fifteen minutes later his reading glasses came off.
“I'm impressed. Really. I'm just a businessman, and I must confess I know very little about this kind of music. You truly are a valuable talent. I'm standing in the presence of greatness and I'm not saying that lightly. All you have to do is sign on the dotted line, and fame and fortune is yours. One word of advice, though. They're low-balling your advance. I'd hold out for three hundred at least.”
Jessie had no idea what was supposed to happen now. She just wanted to talk to Marci.
“Thanks, Alex. Listen, maybe I could call Marci. I really would like to talk to her.”
“And I can see why. This really is the kind of career decision a couple should make together. Just indulge me one more question.”
“Why not? Like you said. No secrets here.”
“I'm glad you see things that way. I know you think you love my daughter. You wouldn't have gone through all this if you didn't. But tell me how much you love her.”
“What? I don't get it. You mean like more than cherry pie and less than—”
“Please. Tell me how much.”
“I didn't know how much until she was gone. She's everything to me. I don't know what you want me to say.”
“Do you love her enough to give this up?” She watched him pick up the contract and hold it between his fingers.
“I don't know if I need to or not. That's why I'd really like to find Marci and talk to her.”
“But I'm asking you. Here. Now. And let me make it a little more difficult.” Jessie watched her contract drop to the top of the desk and heard Mr. Dionysius ask someone on the telephone to come to his office. Jessie sat there and stared at the woman trying to figure out what the hell she had to do with anything.
“Did you find out what I asked you?”
“Yes, sir. I did. We have the funds available. They can be in Miss Butler's account tomorrow morning when the banks open.”
“That's all. Thanks.” The man shoved Jessie's contract across the desk. “I am prepared to deposit a million dollars in your bank account tomorrow. You can sign your contract and become an American icon. You can have more than you ever dreamed of. The only thing you can't have is my daughter. You have to agree to never see or talk to Marcella again. Ever. For the rest of your life. What do you say?”
Jessie thought she'd pass out from the instant shot of rage.
“You'd give me a million dollars to never see your daughter again?” She was furious.
“Or you tear this contract up right now. I'll give you, both of you, my blessing.”
“Are you nuts? Why the hell would I tear the contract up?”
“To prove to me how much you love my daughter. Love is about sacrifice. I want to see what you're willing to sacrifice for the woman you love. Show me, Jessica.”
“What kind of a twisted person are you? What the hell does throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime prove? That I'm an idiot?”
“And you're not. I know you're not. Think about it, Jessica. What about children? How can there ever be children? What about God? It's a sin.” The man who ruled an empire of ships and buildings and probably stared down presidents and kings over cocktails finally cracked. “It's just not right. Don't you see that? I tried to talk to Marcella. I tried to explain. She just wouldn't listen. But if you say no, if you're gone, then she will see that this was just an infatuation. Some childish experimentation she can survive.”
Jessie almost felt sorry for him when he dropped his elbows on his desk and hung his head in his hands. But almost wasn't enough.
“God? What about God? What do you know about God? Last I heard he loves everyone. Doesn't matter what color you are or whom you might love. He said we should love one another, and I plan on doing just that.”
She dug in her pocket and pulled her cigarette lighter out. She pushed up from her chair, dangled her contract from her fingers, and lit the bottom corner. When Marci's father looked up, she explained. “Doesn't matter anyway. I wouldn't have signed without talking to Marci first. That's what people in love do. They talk about things. They try to work things out. You know who taught me that, Mr. Dionysius?”
The man watched the paper turn black and rain ash on his desk. He said nothing.
“Marci did. Well, she tried to. I wouldn't let her. But I get it now.”
“Don't do this—”
“Or you'll what?” Jessie leaned across the desk and stuck her finger in the middle of the mess she'd made. “I'm a lesbian, Alex. I'm a daughter of Sappho from the Greek isle of Lesbos. You're Greek. Maybe you've heard of the place. I'm a card-carrying member of the Dykes-R-Us Club. I'm gay. And you're a man, so the size of your dick or your pocketbook doesn't impress me. It may take me a while, but I'll find Marci. And if she'll still have me, I'll take her away from you. And then we'll see who never gets to talk to her the rest of his life. Asshole.”
Jessie threw the doors open and marched past Mr. Dionysius's ladies in waiting. One of the secretaries waved a piece of paper.
“I'm supposed to give this to you, Miss Butler.”
“Shove it up the head prick's ass!”
Jessie did what she always did, but this time it felt different.
She ran.
She jogged down the long wood-wrapped hallway toward the elevator, and for the first time in her life she was scared out of her wits. She only hoped she knew where she was going.
Chapter Ten
Jessie bid good riddance to Cali-fuckin'-fornia, its surfer boys and alien girls, its palm trees and million-dollar sugar daddies, and flipped her last smoke at a passing car in front of LAX. She lucked out and made a connection through Atlanta that would get her back to Nashville in time for her second se
t. She called Johnnie, apologized, and promised to be there before eleven.
“Some woman's been calling here for you. Lowenstein or somethin' like that. Said it was real important.” Johnnie gave her the news as soon as she walked in the door.
“Lewiston. Don't worry about it, Johnnie.”
“She's been calling every hour. What do I tell her when she calls back?”
Jessie hesitated. It was still there. The dream was still alive.
“Tell her…” She stared into her future and saw nothing without Marci. “Tell her I hear SoHo has some really great blues joints. Maybe she should check them out.”
With that, Jessie strapped her Gibson on and took the stage. She convinced herself she didn't harbor sadness for letting the opportunity of a lifetime slip away.
The next morning Jessie went to the post office and applied for a passport. She watched the polyester-clad guy with his ruddy complexion and empty eyes dig out the form she wanted. She tussled the rest of the day with walking up to Marci in some strange country, pulling her into her arms, and telling her how much she loved her.
She consigned Isabella to some lesser role in her play.
Sure. An extra. No lines. So sorry, bitch.
She found an Internet café and started searching. The guy at the post office had said two to three weeks. She looked at Marci's concert schedule and worked out the days. She had no idea what else she needed to find Marci.
The next day she called her sister.
“Hey, Short Stuff. How's that nephew of mine doin' in the oven?”
They talked for an hour. Her sister sounded happy, and Jessie was glad. She invited Jessie up for Thanksgiving, and Jessie told her she'd think about it.
“Listen. I wanted to see if you knew any way to get in touch with Marci?”
“She's on tour. Somewhere in Europe.”