AT 29

by D. P. Macbeth

  “Oh, that’s minor. It isn’t what I mean. It’s time Saint Malachy’s had a younger person in charge. The day-to-day responsibilities will be too much for me. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  “You want me to take your place.”

  “Yes. To carry on as you have done in my absence. I see myself as your advisor.”

  Les expected this someday. It was no secret between them. One day, when the time was right, Sister Marie had told her that she would turn the reins over. Les just didn’t think it would come so soon.

  “The boys need you.”

  “That’s the most pressing reason why you must assume my position. They need someone who not only sees to their practical needs, but also their individual nurturing as well. I can no longer do that. That’s why I asked about your relationship with Jim.” She paused again. I know little about love between a man and a woman. It’s not something that has affected my life. In many ways, that has been a blessing. I have been free to devote myself to Saint Malachy’s.”

  “I love the boys.”

  “Yes, that has always been evident. Still, it would be easier for you if Jim were here. Fewer distractions, perhaps more peace in your heart.” She smiled. “Yes, I can see it. He’s on your mind constantly. You worry about him, wonder what’s happening in his life.”

  “Sister…”

  “It’s perfectly natural. If you chose to be with him I would understand. In the end, we must each follow our own path. It is very hard to balance competing needs.”

  “I need to be here.”

  “And, when his tour ends? What will you do?”

  Les hesitated. “That depends on him. I will stay here.”

  “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, you officially take my place.”

  ***

  As the concerts evolved, each of the players took turns soloing. Jimmy remained the focal point, but Sonny expanded his role, showing increasing expertise on his Stratocaster and delighting his growing fan base. Ted and Melinda dueled expertly on their instruments with Ted bringing his other skills to fore on the flute and piccolo. Melinda had a good voice. Jimmy encouraged her to sing whenever the opportunity emerged. Eugene was content to back them on bass.

  Only Benson was left out of the mix. He continued to scheme for the crowd’s attention, wearing his top hat and often rising from his obscurity behind the drums. He played well, but he chafed in his role, merely backing the others as they wowed the audience with their individual skills.

  “What gives?” he demanded between sets during one of the concerts.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When did you decide to give them so much play?”

  “It works well. I’m just mixing things up. That’s all.”

  “What about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “I want some solo time, too.”

  “On the drums? How does that fit?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the genius.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “Sure it will. Maybe not pounding away, I can sing something.”

  “You never sang before.”

  Benson gave Jimmy an angry look. “Because you never wrote anything for me.”

  “I didn’t write for the others, either.”

  “You wrote that Australian guy’s whole album.”

  “Three songs. The rest were collaborations. Sonny and the others developed their pieces on their own.”

  “Then I need to write something for myself?”

  “Forget it. Things are fine the way they are.”

  “Not for me. I want a bigger role.” The drummer strode off in a huff.

  Les was seething as she waited for the phone to ring. Alice’s latest article was spread open on her desk. Her usual cordiality was replaced by a sharp “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “Girls draped all over you?”

  Jimmy smiled with a measure of satisfaction on the other end of the line. “Jealous?”

  Les calmed down. “That depends on your answer.”

  “It’s only publicity. Believe me, the only one I think about is you.”

  “You can’t sing your songs without a bunch of women hanging around?”

  “The promoters hire them to make it look like it’s all a big party. It sells tickets.”

  “You don’t have to play along. Your music sells the tickets.”

  “Don’t worry. I pose for some pictures. Nothing more.”

  She wasn’t satisfied, but she let it go. “Where are you?”

  “Colorado Springs.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Good. Drummer’s getting a bit edgy, but that goes with the territory. Listen, I’ve got some news. Cindy is getting married to McCabe in June.”

  “I know.”

  Jimmy was caught off guard. “How?”

  “She told me?”

  “When?”

  “We alternate calls once a week. Girl talk. She’s ecstatic.”

  “I didn’t know you were so close.”

  “What did you expect after she saved my life at the Grammy Awards?”

  “Then you’re coming?”

  “I don’t know, Jimmy. I’m so busy here.”

  “She must have asked you to come.”

  “She’s sending an invitation. We’ll see.” She skirted over his hurt tone, still unsure after seeing all the women hanging over her love. “I have news, too. Sister Marie has asked me to take over Saint Malachy’s. I’m taking her place.” Jimmy went silent on the other end. Les continued. “She’s can’t do it anymore.”

  “Permanent?”

  “She’ll consult and advise, but, yes, permanent.” More silence. “Jimmy?”

  “What does this mean for us?”

  This time Les went silent as she tried to formulate a satisfactory answer. She loved him. She wanted to be with him. She could tell him that, but it wouldn’t be the whole truth. She feared his lifestyle. The pictures accompanying Alice’s articles stoked her insecurity. She feared committing to a man she could lose. She wanted him. She couldn’t bear sharing him with other women no matter how innocent the circumstance. Deep-seated apprehension prevented her from plunging headlong into the relationship they both wanted. She sensed that she would be left alone one day if she did.

  “Maybe after your tour we can make some plans.”

  “It sounds like you’ve already made the decision for both of us.”

  “You have your singing and I have my job. What do you want me to do? Follow you around? Give up my life so you can have yours?”

  “We’ve been through this before.”

  “Yes, and we still don’t know.”

  “I know. Come to the wedding. We need to see each other.”

  Benson went off the rails in Colorado. It was inevitable from Jimmy’s point of view. The moment his drummer began to lobby for a bigger role, he expected an escalating set of tantrums. It started with the Denver concert. Benson directed Chase to re-arrange the stage. Instead of the standard placements, Benson had his drums positioned out front in place of Melinda’s keyboards, which were put, without prior approval, to the rear where the drums should have been.

  “Put them back.” Jimmy faced off with Chase.

  “Benson wants them here.”

  “He doesn’t call the shots. I do.”

  Chase smiled derisively. “I’ll wait until he gets here.”

  Jimmy moved closer to the roadie. “Move them now or draw your last paycheck.”

  Chase didn’t back down and he didn’t move. Benson strolled onto the stage with Winfield. “How do you like the new set-up?”

  Jimmy ignored him, turning instead, to address Winfield. “I want the drums back where they belong, now.”

  Winfield looked at Chase. “Do what he says.”

  Benson took a seat behind the drums. “I like them here. People can see me.”

  Jimmy nodded toward Chase. “Get it done.” Then he began to wal
k away.

  Benson called out after him. “Of course, if I had a song to sing…”

  Jimmy didn’t look back. Over his shoulder he said, “My show, my rules.”

  It happened again in Cheyenne, then again in Boise. Each time, Jimmy went straight to Winfield who, with increasing reluctance, intervened. Everyone knew that Winfield was spending most of his off time with the drummer and his road crew friend. Meanwhile, Benson became more belligerent, threatening to jump into some of Jimmy’s songs uninvited.

  “I deserve a shot at the glory, too. All I want is a few lines.”

  In Seattle, Winfield came to Jimmy’s suite. “You need to make peace with him.”

  “We don’t need him in the mix.” Jimmy saw more than he wanted to see in Winfield’s bloodshot eyes. You’re partying too hard.”

  “Don’t worry about me. You need to pull your band together.”

  “Everybody’s satisfied. He’s the only one making problems.”

  “You can fit him in somewhere. Why not give him a little time?”

  “We get together in my suite between gigs. He’s never shown once.”

  “Just give him something. Can you do that?”

  “I want Chase gone.”

  “Now, wait a minute…”

  “He’s trouble. I don’t want him around anymore.”

  “Look, he’s Benson’s friend, that’s all. Everything will be cleared up if you let Benson have some show time. It’s not asking so much. Here’s what I’ll do. When we get our break for McCabe’s wedding I’ll sit them both down and straighten everything out. Meantime, you compromise a little bit.”

  Jimmy worked up a twist on Lulu, adding some chords and giving Benson the opening verses. They practiced before the Seattle show. Benson wanted more, but didn’t press. Chase smirked at Jimmy from offstage.

  ***

  The Memorial Day concert in Sacramento marked the end of Jimmy’s northern circuit. Nigel, who was now touring solo with his band, concluded his route through the heartland with a series of concerts in Wichita, Lincoln and Omaha. Rebellion had two shows in Albuquerque and Phoenix. All were sellouts.

  Alice sat next to Jimmy on the flight back to New York. She looked exhausted with the same rheumy eyes he’d noticed in Winfield and Benson. Her articles continued to bring attention to Blossom Presents, but gone were the insightful observations that marked her distinctive style. More and more she dwelled upon the fluff. Her words lacked the literary depth that her more knowledgeable readers came to expect. Still, she had a huge following, especially in the more sensational trades that craved glitter, splashy pictures of scantily clad young women and the occasional hint of controversy. She played to those desires with expert skill.

  “Did McCabe tell you about the numbers?”

  Jimmy was aware. “You mean the album sales?”

  “Yours and Whitehurst’s.”

  “Yes, we talked.” Back and Blue had slipped out of the top ten, still selling, but eclipsed by Yarra, which was at eleven on the charts and climbing. “We’re all making money.”

  “It should be something in two weeks when you all come together in LA.” The first of the Blossom Presents outdoor extravaganzas, involving its entire line-up, was scheduled for June 15 in the L.A. Coliseum. “I’m doing a series on Whitehurst when we get to New York.”

  “Good. He deserves the ink.”

  “I hear he’s something to see onstage.”

  “You should write about that.”

  “Don’t worry I will. I also hear he’s into his weed pretty good.” She studied Jimmy for a reaction. He didn’t take the bait.

  “You’re spending too much time with Benson and Winfield. It shows.”

  “There’s a time for work and a time for play.” She opened her notebook.

  “What kind of play?”

  She smiled coyly. “Big girls don’t tell.”

  Jimmy changed the subject. “Are you going to catch up with your family?”

  “Maybe after the wedding. You?”

  “Depends on Les. If she comes I won’t have time.”

  “Peggy will be disappointed.”

  “I sent her tickets for the September gig at Shea Stadium. Joe, too.”

  “Harvest might interfere.”

  “They already made arrangements.”

  “Wow. That’s something. Joe never did that before.”

  “Look, Alice, I’m serious about how you look. You need to stay away from that crew. Winfield is getting sloppy, too.”

  “You think I’m getting sloppy?”

  “I think you’re getting in over your head.”

  ***

  Miles met with Ellis and Cindy in his office. He had come to rely on them since Jimmy was unavailable on the road. With the wedding a week away and the tours temporarily taking a break, it was time to take stock and make any adjustments his advisors might suggest. Ellis always had a host of ideas. Cindy announced that this would be her last official business meeting until after her honeymoon. She had seven days to get ready. She would focus fulltime on the wedding arrangements from then on. She made sure Miles paid attention. It was his wedding, too.

  “Whitehurst is the best in the business already.” Ellis was full of energy. “You should see him work the crowds. The violin, it’s something to see! We need to get behind him in a big way, move him to bigger venues. He’s going to be huge!”

  “I’m working on it.” Cindy jumped in. “LA is all set for the big event, Chicago in July, Dallas, Washington DC and then Shea Stadium through September, Atlanta and Las Vegas in October. In between, we run the same separate routines for the three tours.”

  “What’s the news from Europe?” Ellis missed Weak Knees.

  McCabe read from one of his reports. “Smaller crowds, but sellouts nonetheless. Record sales have picked up. Hit gold a month ago and nearing five fifty. I’ll bring them back with everyone else at the end of the year. New albums and then we’ll see about a world tour.”

  Ellis sat back, satisfied. “Everything is working out. Anybody talk to Jimmy?”

  “He’s on a plane from Sacramento right now.”

  ***

  He called Les from his apartment. Lately, their conversations had become harder. Jimmy made no bones about his disappointment that she had taken the reins of Saint Malachy’s. It grated that he could think of no way to be together, neither short-term during his exhausting tour, nor long-term when he secretly hoped for her permanent return to America. For her part, Les was hesitant to commit. She no longer brought up Alice’s articles although, apart from their telephone calls, the writer’s words were her only links to what was happening in Jimmy’s life. Her heart ached with indecision. Neither one knew how to solve the dilemma of their separation. Neither one had the resolve to put the other first.

  Jimmy found himself increasingly isolated. His fame overtook his freedom. Millions knew his face. Everywhere he went was an exercise in subterfuge just so he could escape the paparazzi and the dozens of hangers on who camped out in anticipation of his every move. Winfield, when he wasn’t off somewhere doing what some had come to believe was cocaine, loved the publicity. He encouraged it, sometimes setting Jimmy up by alerting photographers in advance. In time, Jimmy caught on. He stopped sharing information, showing up only when absolutely necessary at promotional events long scheduled in advance and required under his contract. It was far easier for the others. Ted, Melinda, Sonny and Eugene could move more freely and the jam sessions gradually waned as they spent more time exploring the cities where they toured. Occasionally, Sonny stayed close, sharing room service with his friend who feared straying from his suite. The grind took hold.

  The Riland brothers had their own following, young girls, some not yet teenagers, who swelled the sidewalks in front of the hotels. They, too, began to weary of the nightly gantlets where their shirts were literally torn off their backs as they sprinted to the limos. In a small way, this proved useful. They spent more time with Jimmy who offered sag
e advice and a few good chords to improve their repertoire. He became a coach and a friend, chiding their bickering with a soft touch and guiding them back to the music.

  “Did you get your plane tickets?” he asked, as soon as Les came on the line.

  “Yes, but it’s only for a few days. We have new boys coming in.”

  This was typical of their recent conversations. She always had something pressing at the orphanage. Jimmy and his travails took a backseat. “How long?”

  “I arrive Friday and leave Monday.”

  Jimmy was crushed. “That gives us two days with a wedding taking up one of them. Why bother?”

  “Because Cindy wants me and I want to be there for her.”

  It might as well have been a knife through his heart. She had even less sympathy for his complaints about the road. She listened to his descriptions of the hordes that followed him with no comment. When he attempted to explain what it felt like to be limited to his hotel room day in and day out, she moved the conversation to something else. The months apart seemed to close her mind to his life. Like she didn’t want to know.

  “Seeing me is secondary?”

  “Jimmy don’t, you know I have to be here.”

  “And, if we were married? What would the excuse be then?”

  “Are you proposing? That’s a funny way to do it.”

  He knew he was being childish. He moved on. “Okay. I’ll pick you up at JFK. We’ll have to make the most of the time we have.”

  “When the tour is over come to Melbourne. It’s just not good for me to be away.”

  “You’d think with all the success, I’d be happy. Without you I’m miserable.”

  “It’s hard for me, too.” She told the truth.

  “It doesn’t seem that way to me.”

  “You’re tired. We’ll be together in a few days. Get some rest. Dream of me.”

  “Dreams are all I have of you.”

  “When I go to bed each night my last thought is of you. When I wake up your face is the first thing I see. I’m dreaming, too.”

  Despite his exploding success, Nigel was also struggling. Like Jimmy, he found himself surrounded wherever he went. He was unprepared for the constant crush of bodies. In many ways, it was harder for him. His old life was carefree. His new life was a prison, permitting little space, except when he sealed himself away in his suite. To soothe his spirits he turned increasingly to magic green. The sweet smell of pot permeated everywhere he went, his suites, the limos and his clothes. Benson was his connection, but he knew Chase supplied the goods. The roadie had a network in the cities Nigel visited, or close enough that a delivery could be arranged, always by hand in a tightly wrapped brown paper package left at the front desk by an anonymous courier. Nigel was totally dependent on the cherished weed and the shadowy Chase who provided it.