Without thinking, Jimmy stepped back and whispered loud enough for his band to hear. “You are the finest band I’ve ever played with. Tonight we’ll show the world.” Then he returned to his place in front just as the curtains opened. He moved to the microphone and calmly addressed the thousand people in the audience.
“I’m Jim Buckman and this is my song, Peg.”
Benson silenced all murmurings with a thumping beat. Sonny hit a riff followed by a plaintive set of notes from Ted’s harmonica. Eugene played the signature backbeat on his bass and Melinda launched the melodic notes that summoned Jimmy’s voice. Whether it was their best performance didn’t matter. Peg was number one on the singles chart. Everyone watching from the seats out front and from their living rooms worldwide had anticipated this moment since the broadcast began. They knew the song, some knew its heritage and a small few knew the woman who inspired it. Jimmy held the Gibson high and sang the words from his heart for Peggy, for his new life, for George who had never heard it and probably didn’t hear it that night. Most of all, Jimmy sang it for Les. He searched the tables until he spotted her, smiling with encouraging attention to his every word. All thoughts of awards left him as he strummed and sang, seeking only to enjoy the moment. The moment he never dreamed would come.
When it was over no one heard the applause. It was there in the background somewhere, but as the curtains closed, technicians rushed onto the stage and began to tear down the wires and amplifiers while others took the instruments and carried them off to be stored. The band was ushered off the stage then down the short stairs and back to their tables. They settled into their seats just as the latest commercial break ended and the lights went down. Les put her arm around Jimmy’s shoulders as everyone at both tables turned their attention to what was to come.
Miles expected the first of the big five awards to be the least likely one that Jimmy might win. The competition in this category was stiff. The concert at Chapel Hill, though brilliantly brought to life by Alice Limoges, represented a smaller venue than all the others. The frontrunner for Best Live Performance was thought to be the most famous woman singer in the world, a Broadway star and Hollywood actress who had a decade of success that few had ever achieved. She already had twelve Grammy Awards under her belt with no end in sight. The others were two iconic 60s era rock bands still on their latest worldwide tours and selling out everywhere they went. The last was a dark horse group from Holland, widely loved on the continent and just beginning to receive acclaim in North America. Jim Buckman was a good live performer, but his legacy as Jimmy Button lingered in the minds of many. Most critics knew of his alcoholic descent in recent years. Some had written him off long ago.
But Alice summoned something few writers find from mere words on paper. She managed to capture the moment in a way that touched hearts. Everyone in the hushed room watched and waited as the sweet young country singer, whose backers had bought her way onto the stage as a presenter, to finish her poorly scripted monologue. Jimmy sat totally relaxed. He, like Miles, did not expect to win. Alice, much farther away at a table with other writers, searched the faces of a few critics at tables nearby. These were some of the voters given the privilege to decide who had delivered the year’s best live performance. As each nominee was announced, she studied their faces for a clue to their votes. She wanted Jimmy to win. She’d seen enough of the others to know he was the best.
When the envelope was torn open and Jimmy heard his name gleefully shouted from the podium, he could not move. Ellis rose in his chair, turning to hug his client in a burst of elation. Miles sat eyes wide, unable to speak as Mike Winfield struggled to shake his hand. Cindy quickly put her arm in his while nudging Les and screaming congratulations to Jimmy. Benson was already up and heading for the stage even as the rest of the band sat waiting, not sure if they were supposed to join him. Les’ eyes filled with tears. She held Jimmy’s trembling hand, equally unable to move and fearful of speaking lest she explode in a gush of joyful sobs. It was Sonny who broke through it all as the applause echoed all around.
“Time to go,” he said, in a raised voice. “You want us?”
“Absolutely!” Jimmy answered, turning to kiss Les on the cheek before he stood.
He thanked everyone, rattling off names in rapid fire, no different than all the winners who’d come before. No one was missed, including Alice who basked in delight as her fellow writers turned to smile at her. The discourse was a bit longer than the schedule allowed and the comedian host moved in to bring it to an end. Benson blocked him in his fight to wrestle the mike from Jimmy’s hand. He had something to say, something to get the spotlight.
“And remember,” he shouted, through the speakers. “My name is Benson LaSalle!” The august audience of notables heard this wanton conceit, but for the rest of the world he was too late. CBS had already cut to commercial.
From then on Blossom Records turned in a rout. Kate won Best Performance by a Female Vocalist for her stirring rendition of Rebellion’s signature song at the Beacon Theatre. Jimmy won Best Male Vocalist for Peg. Album of the Year went to Back and Blue. Like Jimmy, Kate made sure all of her Rebellion band mates joined her onstage. She faltered as she spoke, but soon regained her composure; rattling off many of the same names Jimmy had mentioned minutes earlier. But, as the host moved in to usher her from the podium, she quickly uttered one last name. “And finally to Jim Buckman who made it possible for me to sing that night. Without him making me understand that all audiences, no matter where they may be, are the same, I would not be holding this magnificent award in my hand.” She raised the tiny gramophone high above her head, “Thank-you, Jimmy!” Miles took note. One more proof of Jimmy’s value to Blossom Records.
As the final commercial break ended the great hall at CBS hushed one last time. Mike Winfield had left his seat minutes earlier to make his way backstage. Song of the Year, the most coveted and prestigious award, often went to newcomers. Miles had studied the lists from years gone by. Most of those who won went on to stardom. Certainly, there were some one-hit wonders, but the artists and their labels all did extremely well in the months and years that followed. He realized that Jimmy was not a newcomer, but he also had a feeling that those who voted in this category discounted his earlier incarnation under the name Button. He was sure Jimmy had a good chance.
Ellis thought so, too. The cameras did keep turning to Blossom’s tables even when Jimmy was absent onstage with his band. The big monitors, mirroring what the television viewers were seeing, frequently displayed the Blossom contingent, most often the two beautiful women seated to his left. Ellis had also carefully watched as Mike Winfield rose to leave. The DJ was calm and carried himself with confidence. His presence next to Miles McCabe signaled his alliance with the Blossom camp. And, as he brushed past, he touched Jimmy’s shoulder before continuing on.
Winfield spoke off the cuff, eschewing the script that scrolled on the small monitors at the foot of the stage. The space to his rear was darkened. This was the crowning moment. There would be no more performances. The eyes and ears of millions were focused solely on him. Slowly and deliberately he called out the five songs nominated as the year’s best, inserting anecdotes about each one that only his vast knowledge could recite. There were a few murmurs from the crowd as he built the anticipation with accolades, singling out each artist and pointing to their tables as the cameramen swiveled their heavy electronic eyes, following his lead. A drum roll accompanied the big moment as he peeled back the seal on the envelope and brought the long held secret to his eyes.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, for all who have fallen only to find a way to rise again, it gives me great pleasure to announce this year’s best song.” He waited a moment and gazed out directly at Jimmy, taking in a dramatic breath.
“PEG! By Jim Buckman!”
Jimmy was ready this time. He took in the applause as he turned in his seat to acknowledge the audience that rose to give him a standing ovation. He searched the secti
ons until his eyes found Alice, the one person in the room who understood the journey that brought him to that moment. Perhaps his music began with Kevin Royce, but this song began with two sisters in Newport, Vermont. He knew what Peggy was doing at that moment. He could see her crying with joy, wrapped in Joe’s arms as little Alice and Charlene danced in front of the television. Alice rose from her seat, smiling and clapping, but never taking her eyes from his as each one recognized the meaning of that moment, two people picturing a third absent far away in Vermont, but there with them in their hearts.
Fifty-Five
It was two hours after the close of the show before Jimmy was hustled away from the interview room to a waiting limousine. The endless questions did not register as he basked in the glory of the night. The other Grammy recipients also seemed to be caught in a smoky delirium as they were shuffled from reporter to reporter in a cascade of flashing lights. Kate joined him in the limo’s cavernous backseat, her chest heaving like she’d just finished a long sprint. It was one-thirty in the morning and both stars knew the night was just beginning. Dozens of parties were underway across the city. The winners would not go to all of them, but their presence was expected at some. The biggest soirée was at WAGZ. Mike Winfield had secured two floors above and below the station’s studio so the heavies of the industry would have room to do business. Jimmy thought of Les, wondering how long it would be before they could be alone. He looked at Kate, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the schedule that a CBS assistant producer had put there while he withstood the interviews. He scanned the list, counting down.
“Five stops before we get to WAGZ,” he said. “Fifteen minutes at each party. Then we can relax.”
They ran the gantlet together. Kate was back on her heals, clinging close to Jimmy as celebrities approached at each stop, greeting them like old friends and introducing them to their entourages. Fortunately, the time flew by and soon they could breath easily as the limo finally merged into the Broadway traffic on its way to Winfield’s big event. Jimmy loved Manhattan at night, all the more this time because he was headed, at last, to a rendezvous with Les. Kate, showing signs of nervous exhaustion, rested her head on the seatback, eyes closed as Jimmy took in the lights of the mammoth signage lining Times Square. The biggest video billboard rose up in front and there he was, singing Peg on the CBS stage, an endless looping of the night’s big news.
Two uniformed doormen held the heavy bronze doors as the two music stars exited the limo and made their approach. They smiled in recognition, congratulating Jimmy and Kate as they escorted them across the lobby to the elevators where they pressed the call button and waited for the doors to open.
More sentries were stationed in the hallway, leading to the party. As they came near, Jimmy guessed that more than two hundred had come to share the glory of Blossom’s triumph. A big hurrah rang out as Kate crossed into the throng followed by Jimmy who immediately began scanning the room for Les. His quest was frustrated when dozens of luminaries hurried to greet him, obscuring his view as they slapped him on the back. He was quickly surrounded and peppered with praise from people he vaguely recognized, but did not know. He doggedly worked his way through the mass of bodies, patiently smiling and responding as best he could. Kate soon disappeared, carried off by her Rebellion band mates.
Les spotted him from her position next to Cindy. They and the rest of the Blossom contingent, minus Miles McCabe, were mingling near the floor to ceiling windows at the opposite side of the room. Ellis, Nigel and Sonny noticed the crush encircling Jimmy. They placed their drinks on a small table and made their way toward him, jostling the tightly packed bodies in their path. When they reached him, they formed a new circle and pushed their way through until Les was able to get close. Nigel saw the look on her face and stepped aside, clearing an opening so she could come to Jimmy’s side. As she reached her arm around his waist, all tension left Jimmy’s body. He put his arm round her shoulders and let her lead him to a corner next to a table where five golden trophies, featuring the unmistakable gramophone, gleamed.
Immediately, a line formed from one end of the room to the table. The partiers waited in two’s and threes, approaching Jimmy and Kate who had been escorted to his side. After handshakes and a few words of congratulations, they moved on from the receiving line to admire the trophies. From out of nowhere Benson bore to the head of the line, tumblers of scotch in his hands. He forced his way between Jimmy and Kate, thrusting one of the tumblers at Jimmy who took it absently and brought it to his lips. Ellis reached across Les and snatched the glass away just as Jimmy realized what was happening. Only a drop made it to his tongue, sparking recognition, before the tumbler was replaced by a tall glass of soda and ice. Benson smirked at Ellis, but said nothing as he turned to greet the next group as if it was he who’d earned the night’s attention.
There was little opportunity to converse with Les over the next hour. Too many others demanded his notice. His hand smarted from all the handshakes. When the line began to thin, the dancing started. The session band Winfield hired for the evening was positioned on a platform in the opposite corner, playing instrumental selections from Blossom’s fast selling albums. When there was no one else to pay him tribute, Benson hooked arms with Nigel and wandered off. Sonny was already on the dance floor with Marsha, leaving Jimmy together with Ellis and Cindy, his arm still tightly wrapped around Les. A stunning black woman in a shimmering gold gown came into their group and wordlessly took Ellis by the hand. Before he allowed himself to be led away, he called over his shoulder to Jimmy.
“McCabe’s with Winfield in a conference room on the twenty-fourth floor. At some point we better go see what’s going on.” Then he was gone through the crowd.
Jimmy looked over at Cindy. “What’s he talking about?”
“Business,” she replied. “With Miles it’s always business.”
Les tugged at his arm. “Not now, Jimmy. Let it wait.”
He finally focused fully on her, reaching for her hand as he sought some place private. Cindy followed his gaze around the room knowingly.
“Over there.” She pointed. “Take the stairs down a few floors then catch the elevator.”
Outside, the night air was brisk. Despite the late hour, people occupied the sidewalks on both sides of the street, walking in different directions, paying no mind to the well-dressed couple that joined them. Jimmy leaned down to kiss Les before continuing at a slow pace. She nestled close, buttoning her coat.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said, as they halted at a cross street. “Tonight was magnificent.”
Jimmy knew Central Park was only a few blocks away. When the light changed he steered their locked bodies into the crosswalk. “We can’t stay away too long. How about a carriage ride?”
“This late?”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Two carriages remained stationed at the entrance to Central Park, no doubt hoping to snare a fare or two from among the tourists out late. They nestled into the first one eager to hold each other as the elegant horse drawn vehicle pulled into the thoroughfare.
“You’re in the big time now,” Les said, caressing his hand. “After Surfers Paradise I had feeling, but it’s still shocking to be here to witness it.”
“I’m in a haze. It won’t hit me until tomorrow.”
“Australia seems so far away.”
Ten men and five women enjoyed a private reception in the large conference room on the twenty-fourth floor. Winfield held court, introducing McCabe to everyone.
“There’s ten million here for the taking if we play our cards right,” he whispered, watching a young man and woman in their mid-twenties approach. Winfield broke into a broad smile, embracing each one as if they were his children. Then he grabbed McCabe’s elbow, bringing him forward for the introductions. “These people are from MTV,” he explained, “June Miller and Alan Sanchez.” Miles shook hands.
“Music Television,” Miller said, sensing McCabe’s uncert
ainty. “We launch the concept on cable next year. Videos. All things Rock and Pop.”
“We’d like to get your people involved,” Sanchez interjected.
Josh Callahan from Elektra Records cornered them. “We need to get behind these digital audio disks.”
“I showed him,” Winfield responded. “Miles? You’re onboard, right?”
McCabe could only nod, reeling from the power and money in the room. Callahan was a heavyweight.
Winfield continued making the rounds with Miles. Most of those assembled were promoters. With each introduction, pitches were made. Little was said about money, but the implication was clear. The bidding process had begun. Jimmy was the centerpiece, but Miles was gratified to hear pitches for Rebellion and even a few for Weak Knees although their first album was not doing as well as the others.
“Tell me more about Yarra.” A promoter approached. “I’m interested in newer talent. Is Whitehurst ready for a live audience?”
“Better than the record,” McCabe answered, surprised that Whitehurst’s just released debut album was on the minds of some.
“Let’s talk.” The promoter fixed his eyes earnestly on McCabe and then pulled Winfield aside for a private chat.
At five a.m. the party was over. Cindy hadn’t seen Miles for hours and finally gave up waiting. She accepted Jimmy’s offer to share a ride home in the limo. Ellis hung back, keen to catch McCabe and protect his interests. He knew something was up, especially when he stuck his head into the conference room and discovered Winfield deep in conversation with Blossom’s new owner. Both men gave him a look that said everything he needed to know.
Two days later, Jimmy sadly returned to JFK. After Les checked in, they ambled to a coffee shop to await the call for her flight. They held hands silently as the waitress placed their sandwich orders in front of them. She hesitated a moment, peering closely at Jimmy before moving off.
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