AT 29

by D. P. Macbeth

  “It was nice to meet you, Jim,” Sister Marie called after him. “Please call me after you’ve met Nigel. And, give him my love.” He barely heard the nun’s parting request, an unwanted intrusion. He wanted nothing to interfere with his concentration. He could not take his eyes off Leslie.

  She led him down the stairs and through a large door that opened onto a field behind the building. A group of boys ran back and forth in full chase. He guessed their ages between six and twelve. One group precariously passed an oblong ball while the other group tried to wrestle it out of the air. It was chaos punctuated with laughter.

  “They’re playing with a footy,” Leslie said, “Not well, but it’s fun.”

  One of the boys looked up. He shouted something to the others and everyone stopped as if waiting to be summoned. They came over and gathered respectfully around where Leslie stood with Jimmy.

  “This is Mr. Buckman. He’s here from America. Do any of you know who he is?”

  One of the older boys stepped forward, holding the ball. “Peg. He’s the one who sings Peg.” He looked around at the other children in triumph.

  “That’s right. He’s a famous singer.”

  The children looked him up and down. Most smiled and nodded. Jimmy had little experience with youngsters, but something in the back of his mind prodded him forward. He went up to the first boy and held out his hand. “I’m honored that you know who I am.” His words surprised him, “Do you like my song?”

  The boy’s face brightened as he shook hands. “Yes, we all do.” He looked over his shoulder at the children nearest for confirmation. There were more nods.

  Without further prompting, Jimmy waded into the group, making sure to greet each child one by one. It didn’t take long and after five minutes, he was done. The children gradually returned to their game as Leslie turned to go inside.

  “That was nice,” she said, as she opened the door. “I’m sure they’ll be talking about you for days.”

  Jimmy followed her up the stairs taking stock. She had auburn hair in a pleasing style that wrapped about her face. He guessed her to be five foot six or seven, perfectly proportioned with a serene face that melted any animosity. She wore a white blouse and dark blue skirt cut at the knee. Her shoes were also blue and perfectly matched the rest of her outfit. She wore no jewelry, except for a gold claddagh on the ring finger of her right hand.

  “As you might guess, the younger ones are greatly influenced by the older boys,” she said, as they reached the first floor landing, “With Sister Marie’s copy of your album making the rounds, all the children know your songs. Peg was unofficially voted the best song they’ve ever heard.”

  “I’ll see that everyone receives copy.”

  “That would be very nice.”

  “You, too, if you like.”

  “No need. I bought one weeks ago.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “But you’ll autograph the cover for me?”

  “With pleasure.”

  The assembly room reminded him of Kendall Academy. It was about the same size with basketball hoops at either end. The backboards were shaped differently though, and the lines of the key narrowed sharply toward the end line. He remembered that his favorite sport sometimes had different rules in other parts of the world. Forty boys were gathered in groups, some sitting on rows of chairs reading, others talking. They were all dressed the same in white shirts and ties of light blue tucked into dark blue slacks. They ranged in age from thirteen to perhaps seventeen, although he could not be sure. Like the younger children outside, they stopped what they were doing when they saw Leslie.

  A burst of applause peppered with shouts went up the moment his name was announced. The boys closed in tightly as Leslie began to make the introductions. One by one she pointed to each boy, calling him by name and waving him forward to shake Jimmy’s hand. It was a masterful demonstration. Jimmy could not recall another instance when one person could call out forty others by name without the slightest hesitation. Not even Cindy, who had the finest interpersonal skills he’d ever witnessed.

  Each boy was polite, but clearly excited to shake the singer’s hand. Some spoke to him about a particular cut on Button’s Back and Blue, a question or a comment. He patiently replied, quite willing to stay all day if necessary. Leslie stood by his side, beaming at the obvious thrill the boys displayed. After the last handshake, she stepped toward the door, but a youth at the back of the group shouted, “Wait!” It was not a command as much as a plea. A path cleared and the teen came forward with a guitar. Jimmy accepted the instrument, thankful to have a chance to stay longer.

  Leslie seemed unsure, “You don’t have to…”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” He lifted the guitar to its familiar resting place high in his arms. “Just two questions before I start.” He sought out Leslie now surrounded by the boys. “How much time do I have and what would you like to hear?”

  “Examinations start tomorrow.” She looked around at the boys nearest, chuckling. “But, I’m sure we can spare an hour.” A chorus of shouts went up. Peg was the loudest. An hour later he finished the last cut from the album. The boys applauded and shouted for more, but Leslie shook her head, no. Upstairs, Sister Marie turned from the landing where she’d been listening. She had a smile on her face.

  Over lunch in the cafeteria Leslie produced a slip of paper with Nigel Whitehurst’s address. “He’s not always there. When the surfs up he hits the waves with his board. If you don’t find him go over to Willies Tavern on Green Street. He gets dinner there, sings for his supper so to speak.”

  Seated across from her, Jimmy’s heart pounded. Everything about her captured his attention. The movement of her hands, the way she held her fork between statements, even her voice, kind and engaging, so new and so familiar. He took the slip of paper and put it in his shirt pocket little interested in the purpose of his visit.

  “You’re American?”

  “Yes, from New Hampshire.”

  “I grew up in Massachusetts, Chillingham, if you know it.”

  “Sure. I wasn’t far away. Just over the line in a town called Amherst. Passed your exit many times to and from school in Boston.”

  “College?”

  “Yes, Bentley. Accounting and finance, but I went on to B. U. to get a Masters in History.”

  “How did you wind up here?”

  “I took a semester abroad my junior year, interned here at Saint Malachy’s. When I finished my Masters, Sister Marie invited me to come back. “

  “Circuitous route.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Finance and accounting then history. Here for a while and then back again.”

  She took this in, seeming to think. “Sister Marie said you had questions about the contract.”

  “Just that it seems odd that she signed it, too.”

  “She wants me to tell you the truth about this.” Leslie turned away briefly then came back to look at him. His heart pounded harder. “I sent the tape to Daisy Overton.”

  “I was going to ask about that. Do you know Daisy?”

  “We were roommates for a short time at Bentley.”

  “Short time?”

  “She only lasted one semester, flunked out.”

  “That would be Daisy.” He smiled. Leslie smiled back. “But you stayed in touch?”

  “She’s a bit older than me, but we got along well. When I’m in the States we get together. Missed her wedding, though. Did you go? I heard it was the talk of New York.”

  “No. I missed it, too.”

  “I made the tape one night at Willies. I brought it back so Sister Marie could hear it. I’d mentioned Blossom Records to her a few times. She’s the one who urged me to send it to Daisy.”

  “The rest is history. Here we are.”

  “Not quite.” She squeezed a napkin in her hands, fidgeting. “I don’t know the best way to explain this so I’ll just say it. He doesn’t know.”
r />   Jimmy looked for some sign, “Doesn’t know what?”

  Her face colored, “That you have a tape of him or that there’s a contract.”

  “He has to know. He’s been taking money from Blossom.”

  “He may have guessed, but that’s not his signature on the contract.”

  Jimmy sat up in his chair. “I don’t understand.”

  “After Daisy heard the tape she called me. She said she wanted to meet Nigel and get him under contract. I told her he didn’t know I’d sent the tape. I also explained that he might not be interested. The whole point was simply to make a tape for Sister Marie. She loves his singing. It was only supposed to be a gift to her, unbeknownst to him and no harm done. They don’t talk much because they always end up arguing. She doesn’t approve of his current lifestyle.”

  “Daisy never came. I know that much because she left Blossom to get married.”

  “That’s where it gets dicey. I want you to know we never intended for things to get out of hand.”

  “We?”

  “Sister Marie and me. She’s my boss and I love her dearly, but she can be devious when she wants something. She wants Nigel to sing. When Daisy decided to stay back in the States she called me again and said she was sending the contract to me. She asked me to take it to Nigel and get him to sign it. She said she would authorize a twenty thousand dollar signing bonus. I went to Sister Marie with Daisy’s request. I thought she’d tell me to say no, but she was all for it. As soon as the contract arrived she had me in a car to Aireys Inlet. Nigel brushed me off without even taking a look.

  “When I went back to Sister Marie she wrote a short note to Nigel. I don’t know what it said, but she had her name typed onto the signature page and signed it. Later, she told me she hoped he’d have a change of heart when he saw her name next to the line for his. Then she sent me back to Aireys Inlet.”

  “Maybe she wanted the signing bonus for the orphanage.”

  “Devious, but not greedy. Her signature was just a stamp of approval. Her way of saying please when she wants him to do something just for her.”

  “I take it he said no again.”

  “That’s right. He read her note, then read the contract. He made a joke about her signing it and gave it back to me with a shake of his head.”

  “So who signed his name?”

  “I’m afraid to say it was me, Sister’s idea. She hoped Nigel would come around once someone from Blossom reached out to him. We both thought our charade would be harmless. He’d see the forgery, hear Blossom’s pitch and either sign for real or walk away. Neither of us expected the whole deal to sit idle for two years.”

  After lunch she walked him to the entrance. Jimmy’s head was swimming.

  “So, what will you do now?” Leslie asked.

  “I’m not sure. I have to call the record label.”

  “Please don’t think ill of Sister Marie or me. We know it was a mistake.”

  “She didn’t seem to be too concerned.”

  “She still wants him to sing. She’s hoping you can change his mind.”

  “I’m not a businessman. I’m only here to evaluate his talent.”

  “If you see him will you come back and tell us what happened?”

  “I need to get back to the States. We’re due to release my album.”

  “You’ll be flying out of Melbourne?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you stop by before you leave?” She wasn’t pleading, but he sensed something.

  Thirty-Nine

  “It’s not his signature on the contract.” Jimmy had Miles on the phone as soon as he returned to the hotel.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was all a ploy by Sister Marie Bonaventuri to convince him to sing.” Jimmy explained everything he’d learned.

  “What kind of bush league operation was Daisy Overton running?”

  “Not her fault this time. She never knew.”

  “Even the tape is bogus?”

  “No, it’s him. He just doesn’t know we have it. I’m going to catch a plane.”

  “No, don’t do that.”

  “Look Miles, There’s no contract. You can take it up with the lawyers.”

  “I still want to know if he’s any good.”

  “Okay, let’s say he’s good. Then what?”

  “We convince him to sign a new contract. Just check him out. Then we’ll see.”

  “I’ve got Back and Blue coming out. I need to get ready.”

  “We have the album coming out,” Miles emphasized. “I have the east coast tour in the works. A few days won’t make a difference. Anyhow, I need more time to set everything up. Which, by the way, brings me to a question. Who is Benson LaSalle?”

  “Drummer in my old band. Why?”

  “He’s coming to see me with a lawyer. What do I need to know?”

  “Beats me. He quit the band after our last gig in Atlantic City.”

  “He knows you have an album coming out. He says he has a contract and wants in.” Jimmy looked around his empty hotel room, trying to understand. Miles spoke again. “Is he any good?”

  “He can play.”

  “You’re going to need someone on the drums.”

  “We haven’t spoken since Atlantic City.”

  “Then you don’t want him?” Jimmy paused. He knew Benson was talking to Sonny. He did need a drummer and he still felt guilty about what happened to The Jimmy Button Band. As difficult as Benson could be, he was reliable. He showed up for rehearsals and did an adequate job onstage. There was something else, too. Something George said. ‘It ain’t always about you.’ Deep down, Jimmy wanted to make amends, even with Benson. Miles broke into his thoughts. “I’m not worried about lawyers. It’s your call. I’ll play it any way you want. I can send him away.”

  “No, it’ll save time. Tell him I’ll be in touch when I get back.”

  His attempts at sleep were fitful. He dozed lightly only to wake up with thoughts of Leslie racing through his head. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Her face was stamped into his brain and he could hear her voice as he rewound every second of their time together. He tried everything to push her out of his head, knowing he needed to sleep before heading off to find Nigel Whitehurst in the morning. Still, it was his heart that ruled the odd emotion that came over him. He could feel the softness of her hand, see the shine of her hair and even smell her sweet fragrance. Sleep was impossible. He finally left his bed and walked over to the window overlooking the huge football stadium across the street. He remembered Fitzroy Gardens next door to the hotel. Suddenly, it seemed inviting despite the late hour. He dressed and left the room.

  It was midnight and no one was in the lobby. A friendly doorman addressed him as he stepped out into the warm night air.

  “Out for a walk on this beautiful night?” he asked, pleasantly.

  “I thought I’d take a stroll through the park.”

  “No worries. People do it all the time. A perfect cure for jetlag.”

  He walked for an hour, stopping briefly at Captain James Cook’s boyhood cottage, shipped from England as a gift to the Australian people in honor of his discovery of the land ‘Down Under’. Then he continued downtown to Flinders Street Railway Station and beyond, to the tiny park where Jonathan Whitehurst once told his story to the English reporter. The same park where his grandson, Aaron, waited before his doctor’s appointment. Occasionally, he saw others hustling home from the train station. Police cars angled down the streets at casual speed, but none took note of the American singer strolling, hands in his pockets, deep in thought ten thousand miles from his home. He could not banish Leslie from his mind.

  Back in his room, he gave up. He threw some clothes into an overnight bag and sat down on the bed, wondering what to do to idle the time until sunrise. The television held no interest. His last novel was long since finished. Even the Gibson could not tear him from his conflicted desire to dwell on Leslie. What he would do and say when he met N
igel Whitehurst never entered his mind. In desperation, he opened his wallet and took out Peggy’s telephone number in Vermont.

  “Did you get the album?”

  “It’s been playing non-stop for three days. Hubby has the words committed to memory, but I won’t let him sing a note in the house. He’s probably out in the barn serenading the cows right now. Wait a minute, Alice is here visiting, and she wants to talk to you.” There was a moment of silence then Jimmy heard shuffling as Alice came on the line.

  “Jimmy, it’s been a long time!”

  “Hello Alice.”

  “Your album’s soooo good, I can’t believe it!”

  Jimmy remembered Alice’s ebullient manner. “Thanks. Do you like Peg?”

  “Best song you’ve ever done. My sister’s in love with you!”

  “Are you still writing?”

  “Gotta eat. That’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Okay.” He drew out the word suspiciously.

  “I’ve already done a full review of Button’s Back and Blue for my editor. Now, I need an exclusive interview with you.”

  “It’s not out in the States yet.”

  “I know. When are you coming home?”

  “Alice, you’re getting ahead of things.”

  “This isn’t about promotion. I’m a reporter, remember?”

  “I’m not ready to do a stateside interview yet.”

  “C’mon, this is Alice you’re talking to. I want an exclusive. Besides, bootleg copies are already making the rounds in New York. The cat’s outta the bag.”

  “Tapes are making the rounds?” Jimmy was caught off guard.

  “Street vendors around Central Park and Herald Square, cassettes. Now, do you want to talk to me here on the phone or when you get back? Now’s better.”

  “What magazine?”

  “Backbeat, but I have a deal that says I can let the wire services in on it.”

  “I don’t know, Alice. I have to think this through.”

  “Jimmy, it’s not gonna wait too long.”