AT 29

by D. P. Macbeth

  ***

  Cindy returned to Millburn satisfied that the Rebellion/MacGregor tandem were in good hands. Miles picked her up at Newark Airport, smiling broadly as he met her at the luggage carousel. He kissed her lips then reached for her suitcase as they hustled, arm in arm, to the door. Their bond had strengthened to the point where neither of them cared to be apart for long periods. Conversation came easily as did the desire to touch.

  “Home or office?” he asked.

  “Office for now. You said you wanted to talk.”

  “Okay. Do you mind if I make a few stops along the way?”

  “Anything.” She squeezed his hand. “Just so we’re together.”

  As they exited the airport, Miles filled her in on the financials. “The take is good across the board. Back and Blue is close to double platinum. Rebellion hit a million two days ago and is still selling out. Weak Knees might hit gold in Europe next week. The Riland Brothers are starting to take off, fifty thousand, riding Jimmy’s coattails. MacGregor isn’t far behind. All in all, things couldn’t be better.” He waited as if expecting her to catch on that something or someone was left out. She took the cue.

  “Yarra?”

  McCabe turned to look at her with a satisfied expression. “Gold and climbing. I can’t press enough. Distributors are demanding more everyday. Ellis has called me ten times this week. Whitehurst is eclipsing Weak Knees at every stop. He wants to make him the headliner. I’m inclined to do it.”

  “That could create some jealousy.”

  “I know. I’m thinking of pulling Weak Knees and sending them across the pond. They’re doing well over there. Whitehurst can go on alone. Everybody would be happy.” His first stop was a car dealership. “I picked out a new Lincoln. I just need your help with the color.”

  “A new car?”

  “It’s about time. I’m making money. We all are.”

  It didn’t take long. The salesman met them in the showroom. It was plain to see that McCabe had been there earlier. “I’m thinking black. What do you say?”

  Cindy nodded, happy to see McCabe happy. He huddled briefly with the salesman, signing some papers and writing a check while Cindy wandered the showroom.

  Next, McCabe drove into Millburn. He steered slowly down Main Street then turned left under the railroad bridge. He continued for a mile, past the Paper Mill Playhouse and up a steep hill into a residential area of stately homes. The homes were set back, surrounded by broad lawns with mature, meticulously pruned trees. It was a lovely setting, peaceful and inviting, only minutes from the bustle of downtown. Deeper into the neighborhood, he turned left into a cul de sac where the homes were even larger, set further back and higher with views out to the valley below. At the end he came to a stop in front of the largest house, brand new with a for sale sign that had a placard diagonally mounted on top ‘Under Contract’. Cindy stared, realization dawning.

  “What are we doing here?” she asked, heart beating faster.

  “I’ve always had a house.” he answered, matter of factly, as he opened his door. “This one will do nicely.”

  Cindy didn’t move. “We have my apartment in New York.”

  “I can’t mooch off you anymore. Besides, I need something closer to the office.” He came around and opened her door. “Let me show you inside.”

  She stared straight ahead, refusing to get out of the car, anxiety rising. “You’re buying a house?”

  “I need my own place, Cindy. You’ll still have your apartment.”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears. “No. That’s not what I mean. You’re moving out?”

  “Just let me show you. I want your opinion.”

  She reluctantly stepped onto the pavement, forcing back tears. The long driveway, neatly bordered with Belgian blocks, led to a three-car garage and a perfectly symmetrical brick walkway to the double front doors. Miles fumbled in his pocket for the key. He turned the shiny brass knob, opening the doors wide to a large foyer. A magnificent crystal chandelier hung brilliantly in its center. Cindy let Miles walk her through the rooms, pointing out all of the features. It was far larger than he needed, but that was the least of her alarm as she fought to keep from showing how deeply hurt she felt. Without the slightest concern for her feelings, he was going ahead with his new life, leaving her to wonder what would become of their relationship. He callously walked her through his new home without so much as a mention of all that had happened between them in the preceding months. She didn’t merely rescue him on that Christmas night. She gave herself to him body and soul. She thought it was the same for him. Now, she realized it wasn’t. Anger welled up. Deep anger, mixed with such heart wrenching anguish that she could barely keep from screaming. But she said nothing, letting him talk as they wandered from room to room, thinking about how happy she mistakenly thought their life had become in her New York apartment.

  Miles sensed her reluctance. He began to worry that his plan was unraveling. This was supposed to be a delightful surprise. He had no intention of disrupting her city life. He understood how important New York was to the woman he loved. But he was honest when he told her he needed something closer to where he worked. Now, he had the money to enjoy both worlds. He almost gave up on his plan when he saw the look in her eyes. He couldn’t bear to hurt her. Not after all that she had done to help him put his life back together. He loved her with all his heart. He wanted them to be together always. He was sure she loved him. He had to believe she would understand his intentions, but showing her the house was looking like a mistake.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “What’s not to like? It’s magnificent.” There was no enthusiasm in her voice.

  “I mean I want you to approve.”

  “Why, Miles? It’s your home. You don’t need me to tell you it’s nice.”

  “I can see you aren’t ready for this. I shouldn’t have shown it to you.” Cindy didn’t reply. “Let’s table this for later.” Miles decided to forge ahead. “One more stop then we can go back to the office and talk about the future.”

  “Whose future?” She asked, sarcastically under her breath.

  They drove into town. The silence was palpable. Cindy stared straight-ahead, deep in thought. Miles was not the man she thought he was when she succumbed to her feelings for him. Jimmy, now Miles, was she so gullible that she could not see the difference between real love and being used? A few short months and already he was moving on. Well, she would move on, too. She couldn’t possibly stay.

  Miles gambled on silence. He was not brave in matters of love, but he wanted to do something they both would remember. He was so certain that she would see the signals. He laid it out weeks ago, even mentioning on the telephone that they needed to talk once she returned from the road. All the women he’d ever admired were smart. He had never once been able to carry off a big surprise. Cindy was the smartest of them all, like his wife, intuitive to a fault. Now, he wondered and worried. If she understood his intentions, and she must, then what he was about to do would end sadly. Her every mannerism said no.

  He parked the car, Cindy’s car, on Main Street suddenly empty of all the confidence he felt when he picked her up at the airport. Feldman’s was a block away. The owner was waiting for them, the choices ready just behind the counter. Miles’ hand shook as he came around and opened Cindy’s door. She looked at him blankly then exited. He took her arm, unable to talk, no longer sure of himself, no longer sure of her.

  Cindy allowed him to escort her along the sidewalk. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to run away, but she couldn’t. Miles had made his decision. She had no choice, but to accept it. No, she decided, I won’t leave Blossom. It was foolish to believe he would stay with her in the New York apartment forever. From the start it was going to be temporary. He sold his home and all that he once owned to buy the label. She always knew he would make it work. Now, he had the money to rebuild his personal life. He was right to want his own car and a home of his own close to the office.
There is nothing wrong with that. He didn’t say it was over between them. Maybe he needs his own space. She could deal with that. Steady, Cindy. He’s a man. He has his ways. Don’t think the worst. Don’t give up.

  Miles decided he should have done it differently. Showing her the house was the wrong approach. Of course, she wouldn’t understand. He should have just bought the damn thing at Feldman’s, taken her out to dinner, done it the traditional way. But she has a right to decide on her own, doesn’t she? What if she likes things the way they are? I’m almost twice her age, too old for her no matter what she says. She might want children. She might already be tired of me. He stopped outside the jewelry store. Cindy glanced at the sign.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” he said. “I just need your thoughts on one more matter.” He opened the door. “Just say the first thing that comes to your mind. Don’t worry, I’ll understand no matter what.”

  “What are we doing here, Miles?”

  Asa Feldman stood behind the counter as Miles led his love into the ornate shop. They made straight for where the proprietor was positioned with three tiny boxes, side by side, on a velvet display directly under high intensity lamps. Cindy looked from one man to the other, beginning to hope in a way she had never dared hope before. Miles let go of her hand and stepped to the side as Asa gestured for her to come closer. He carefully lifted the cover from each box.

  “Mr. McCabe picked these three, but if you don’t like them I have many more to choose from.”

  Miles moved in closer. His voice was low and halting. “Remember, just the first thing that comes to your mind. I’ll understand.” Then he tried to step away again, but Cindy caught his arm and pulled him back, not taking her eyes off the choices on the counter.

  “Say it, Miles. Tell me, ask me, please.”

  “I won’t buy the house if it’s not what you want.”

  “Miles!”

  “Will you marry me?”

  Fifty-Eight

  The tour hit its stride in mid-May. Winfield’s murderous pace kept everyone busy with constant promotional interviews, personal appearances and, as always, post concert parties. The DJ turned promoter hired a bevy of pretty girls at every stop. Decked out in alluring party garb, the girls, numbering a dozen, took strategic positions in a line directly in front of the stage. There, they followed Winfield’s instructions to flout their sexiness while swooning to every song. When not gyrating to the beat, the girls waved their bare arms provocatively, urging those in the audience to sing and clap, all under the guise of being adoring fans like those who had actually purchased tickets. The ploy worked well. After the shows, Winfield invited the girls to party with the bands and, naturally, joined in the revelry, selecting one and sometimes two willing young things to sleep in late in his suite. Sometimes, Benson joined him with a girl of his own. Chase, too, when his promise of drugs provided sufficient incentive for the least self-confident girl to endure his pleasures.

  Jimmy was obliged to participate in the parties. He was the one everyone wanted to know. Winfield made sure he was seen. Pictures were taken, depicting the genius behind Back and Blue with a legion of beautiful women, their arms draped over his shoulders as he signed autographs or danced with beer in hand. The following day the pictures were splashed across the newspapers of the next city’s gig, free publicity that kept the sellouts coming. Alice also used them for her Dispatches From the Road, detailed portrayals of rock ‘n’ roll glamour that had become increasingly sought after by the trade magazines. Her earlier articles concentrated on the hard work, but lately she skimmed over those mundane details, focusing on the glitz her readers demanded.

  On those nights when there was no concert and, therefore, no carefully staged Winfield party, Sonny, Melinda, Ted and Eugene took to killing time with Jimmy in his suite. What began as talk about the tour soon evolved into jam sessions, unplugged but energized. Ted brought an assortment of wind instruments that added a new flair to Jimmy’s songs. Sonny tinkered with riffs, even consulting Jimmy with songs of his own, a new twist since he’d never written anything when he was part of the old Jimmy Button Band. In time, the jams found their way into the stage shows. In time, they became a key feature of every gig. Eugene would never be a master musician, but the others clearly were. The bassist tagged along ably, nevertheless.

  The Riland Brothers were caught in between. No one looked after them so they wavered between the increasing debauchery of Winfield’s tagalong friends and the discipline of Jimmy and his band mates. Despite their sibling rivalry, Jeff and Randy cared deeply for their music. They wanted to get better. They, too, sought Jimmy’s opinion of their work. Sometimes, they joined the jam sessions. Other times, they succumbed to the charms of Winfield’s girls.

  Felix stopped into the Millburn offices once or twice a week. His open-ended role was part-time. The first set of background checks revealed little to worry about.

  “Promoters check out okay. There are a few things, a couple of lawsuits still working their way through the courts, small time, nothing criminal. Somebody thinks they got short changed, so they sued. That’s all.”

  “That’s exactly what I want to know,” McCabe countered. “I don’t want anybody doing that to me.”

  “I wouldn’t worry. You keep tabs on the numbers better than anyone I know. There’s no way they can pull the wool over your eyes.”

  “Okay, if you think so. What’s next?”

  “I thought I’d look into the rest of the people. Everybody else; drivers, road crews, it shouldn’t take much effort.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Nothing in particular, but if you want to be thorough, it can’t hurt. Like you said, it’s easier to deal with a problem before it gets out of hand.”

  ***

  Sister Marie Bonaventuri was released from rehab not quite fully recovered, but far from the frightening debilitation that had many fearing for her survival. She walked with a cane, slowly, but able to use both legs with unequal strength. The daily routine with all manner of resistance tools, had built up her muscles so that she could withstand the routine demands of movement; getting dressed, reaching for objects, writing, even breaking a fall if it should happen. Relearning how to speak was, for the nun, the most difficult task. Her impatience was an impediment. She could think far faster than her mouth could form words. Consequently, her brain was several sentences ahead of her quivering lips. The frustration was overwhelming. Still, the therapists decided it would be better for her to be back at the orphanage where she would be most contented. Eventually, she would learn to slow down. The words would come better. Her physical capacities would catch up to her mental ones. All in all, everyone was delighted with her progress, especially Les, who welcomed her back with open arms.

  Each morning the two administrators met for an hour. Les reviewed the financials together with the routine matters that occupied the daily running of the orphanage. She waited patiently as Sister Marie laboriously formed words into sentences, questions that clarified details. The arcane issue that hovered, unaddressed, was finally broached three weeks after the nun’s return. Sister Marie approached it in a roundabout way.

  “You have done well in my absence.”

  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Fanny told me about the gala.”

  Les sat up in her chair, remembering the divorced Olympic skier turned entrepreneur who aided her during the auction. “I was nervous without you. She helped me get things under control.”

  “Jim Buckman came to be with you? All the way from America?”

  “Yes.”

  Sister Marie absently arranged some items on her desk. “I came to a decision in the hospital. Inevitable, I’m afraid.” Les did not respond, preferring to let her mentor continue. “Fanny is very direct. I admire that in her. She tells me there is something special between you and Jim. Is that true?”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  �
�Yes.” There was no other way to answer.

  “Forgive me if it seems that I’m prying. I have to consider what’s best for Saint Malachy’s. And, he is in love with you?”

  “I believe he is, yes.”

  “Has he told you that he loves you?”

  “Yes.”

  Sister Marie paused for a moment, eyeing Les. “You are unsure?”

  “He’s so far away.”

  “Fanny told me about the awards he received. Now, he’s touring in America?”

  “Yes. Nigel is touring, too. His album is doing quite well.”

  “I’d like to listen to it.”

  “I have it in my office. I’ll bring it to you later.”

  Sister Marie formed a smile. “Finally, he’s doing something worthwhile.”

  “Jimmy’s songs helped him.”

  “Indeed. He is a gifted young man. Have the two of you made any plans?”

  “I don’t know what you mean?” Les was only slightly ashamed of her white lie.

  “The distance. Have you decided how to deal with it?”

  “It’s not settled. It will be months before we will see each other again.”

  “Too soon to think of marriage I suppose.”

  “We’ve been together only a few times.”

  “Long enough to believe you’re in love, but unsure of what comes next. Have you considered leaving Saint Malachy’s so the two of you can be together?”

  “He suggested it. I said no.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “My life is here. His is there.”

  Sister Marie didn’t speak for an uncomfortably long period. She looked around her office then back at Les, who was lost in thoughts of her own.

  “I’ve decided that my turn at the helm of Saint Malachy’s must end.”

  Les looked up in surprise. “You’re getting better everyday.”

  “Yes dear, thank the Lord, but I will never be as I was. I struggle to speak. The climb up the stairs to this office is exhausting.”

  “We can make arrangements so you don’t have to use the stairs.”