AT 29

by D. P. Macbeth

  Hillary worried about her second daughter more than anyone knew, except Red. She was all too aware of Alice’s penchant for excitement, partying ways and overactive libido. Sometimes, she rued ever letting her leave the farm after that failed first year at Syracuse University, but for a while, at least, everything settled down during her four years at McGill. Still, the rock scene played to her daughter’s weaknesses. She feared a fall. Intuition told her it could happen anytime.

  The package came by air express two days after Alice’s call. Hillary pulled it from the battered mailbox and carried it into the house. It was unusual for Alice to seek her mother’s opinion. She was thrilled. It meant her daughter needed her. A mother lived for that.

  Despite her lifelong devotion to the farm, Hillary Limoges was well respected among literary circles. Poetry was her forte and she had earned plenty of awards. Opportunities to travel where she could read from her works and lecture aspiring poets came often. Rarely did she accept these offers, preferring to stay close to Red, the rock upon which she had built her life. But she had her contacts, not only in the world of verse, but also among the titans of prose, those men and women on the frontlines of publishing who judged the merits of others.

  She settled behind her tattered old desk in the den, opened the envelope and began to read her daughter’s latest creation. As her eyes took in each word she slipped into her habit of re-phrasing. Always she looked for ways to make a sentence better. To her, the written word was like music with its own rhythms. Some words sounded better with others. With her vast depth she could summon better phrases easily. That’s how she taught her daughters to write, constantly imploring them to see what she could see, to sound out the prose, over and over, until the right words clicked together in a rhythmic combination. It took her an hour to finish Alice’s piece, sometimes reading sections aloud and often re-reading specific sentences.

  When she was done, she removed her reading glasses and looked out the window at the fields. She knew Alice had always competed with her. From the very beginning, as a precocious youngster, she fought against her mother’s insistence that she ‘do it over until it was right.’ She recognized that Alice had the same gift. In time, her second daughter came around, realizing that Hillary was only trying to help her bring her innate skill to perfection. By high school, Alice had read everything her mother had ever written, not because she had a particular interest in poetry, but because she aimed to be her mother’s equal with pen and paper, to one day hear her mother say, ‘I wouldn’t change a thing.’ A happy tear slid down the rugged woman’s cheek. Today was the day.

  ***

  Fifty thousand was the capacity of Comisky Park in Chicago. On July 20 the White Sox ended a two-week home stand and headed to California for a west coast swing. Mike Winfield surveyed the construction of the stage, bleary eyed, unsteady on his feet, but clear-headed enough to enjoy the satisfaction of an impending sold-out concert. It didn’t matter where his tour took him, Nigel Whitehurst was the hottest act in the country and the crowds were huge. Yarra remained at number one on the charts. Paradise, written by Jim Buckman, was the number one single for the fourth straight week, nearing a record. Another single from the best selling album, simply titled Number Twelve, also written by Buckman, had just entered the top ten. Winfield mused about Jimmy Button, now Buckman, the singer/songwriter who wrote better songs for others.

  The girls were all lined up, twenty-five of them now, dressed in tight jeans and skimpy halter tops of varying colors. Blondes, brunettes and redheads, his favorite, carefully selected to sway and swoon for the cameras as Whitehurst shook the stage with his violin and magnificent vocals. Mike had done plenty of concerts, seen the best rockers in the world, and befriended them for his own fame and profit, but Whitehurst was the best he’d ever encountered. Each show was a masterpiece.

  Benson was a problem. His outfits and ridiculous top hats looked absurd, particularly when he tried to outshine the real star with his weak voice. Goes with the territory, the DJ decided. There’s one in every group, a decent backup with visions of grandeur that had to be tolerated. He was also getting rambunctious off the stage. The man never backed down from anyone. The parties were beginning to take on a rough edge. Some of the bikers who showed up uninvited egged the drummer on, particularly when the coke kicked in. Chase’s friends delivered an endless supply of the white stuff. Good thing. Otherwise, Winfield knew he’d be scrambling to keep enough on hand for his own use. Nice enticement for the girls, too, and Alice, she was into it big time. Nigel liked his weed, but she was sleeping with him often. Ever since the wedding the joints weren’t enough. No matter, the gigs were all good despite the drugs. Too bad Winfield didn’t hide it well from his wife. The latest court order meant he wouldn’t be seeing his daughters for a while.

  Loren was getting irritated with her on-air partner. The daily call-ins that Winfield was supposed to make came less often. She didn’t mind carrying the show. She was a competent DJ in her own right, but Winfield was the draw. It was his responsibility to do the show from wherever he was on the road. He had obligations to the advertisers. Ratings had slipped. She hated to admit it, but she was pretty sure he was back to his old ways. WAGZ-FM was his baby. The drugs were jeopardizing everything.

  ***

  Nicky grabbed Les’ hand and held it tight as they walked to the small garden. It was early morning, their appointed hour together before the other boys finished breakfast and prepared for classes. Nicky still wasn’t ready to join them, but he was making progress. She adored the little boy. He was speaking now, but only to her as she read to him and pointed out trees, flowers and birds so he would think of other things, things more pleasant than the tortures of his short life. His concentration was better. He studied the pictures accompanying each of the stories she read aloud. When he grunted, she gently chided him, encouraging him to sound out the words that represented the things he pointed to. He had his favorites, stories about gentle animals. So, she scoured the library for tales that included these favorites, taking personal pleasure in the interest he showed. He eagerly climbed upon her lap as she opened the books.

  He recognized when his clothes were not right, another small step. He still needed guidance, but the uniforms made it simpler. Everyday, the same colors, coordinated and easy to identify. He was eating better, too. This was Les’ biggest thrill, to see him try new things, even a vegetable now and then. In the six weeks since his arrival he had gained weight, still not where he should be, but far better than the scrawny urchin Social Services left at the door. It became harder for her to leave him at the end of their times together. Sister Marie insisted that he become indoctrinated into the routines of the other children, even if he wasn’t quite ready to join them. Besides, Les had so much else to do. She ran Saint Malachy’s. Sister Marie merely provided guidance.

  The morning air was cool, but the rising sun promised warmth as it cast rays of light across the cobblestones. Les talked to Nicky in soothing tones as they made their way to the bench that had become their special place. She held a new book in her hand, one of those thin children’s books with brightly colored pictures on each page above the words. This book was about whales, blue whales that once filled the waters of the Southern Ocean. She found it in the library by chance when she was searching for more stories about puppies, but this one captured her imagination. She knew about whales and whaling ships. It was her special interest about which she’d written her Masters thesis. If Nicky had questions she could paint word pictures for him.

  They read the story together, stopping on each page so Les could point to the pictures and encourage his interest. To her delight, he showed true excitement. He dipped his head close to each page, studying it and then looking up to her as she explained what he saw. When it was finished, he begged her to read it again, another breakthrough she jumped to fulfill, anxious to maintain his concentration. After the second reading, he took the book from her hands and squeezed it to his chest. Then he
looked up at her and smiled. Les’ heart melted. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him to her breasts, kissing his cheeks and rocking him gently with a kind of love she had never known before.

  ***

  The Chicago show enjoyed the kind of warm summer night that only those who called the city home could understand. With the one exception of Jimmy coming onstage ahead of Nigel, it followed the same format as the first Blossom Presents extravaganza in LA. The bigger Illinois crowd rocked the stadium from song to song, urging each band to kick up the sound and jam long and loud. By now, Jimmy was accustomed to the reverie. It no longer astounded him to be cheered on as he sang each word, but he enjoyed it just the same. The other groups were veterans now, just like him. The Riland Brothers Band and Danny MacGregor each had their own followings, a raucous young cadre of youth that screamed in unison at the top their lungs each time one of their well-known riffs bounded through the speakers. Rebellion, with Kate out front, was an established draw. Their separate shows, now traversing mid-America, rivaled the crowds Jimmy drew.

  But it was Whitehurst and Yarra that overshadowed all the others in Blossom’s stable. An orchestra backed him now, just as Jimmy once suggested to McCabe when they talked by telephone from Australia. It was a natural complement to the big Australian’s brilliant vocals. Violins, horns, flutes and kettledrums slid in seamlessly behind Nigel’s lead, whether he was singing one of Jimmy’s creations or energetically running his bow across the strings of his fiddle. Everyone marveled at Whitehurst’s progress to stardom. He held the fifty thousand onlookers in the palm of his hand, as good a live performer as any of them had ever seen. When the show was over the crowd did not leave immediately. Instead, they stood and cheered, gradually slipping over the railings and onto the field where they approached the massive stage and mingled in celebration of the summer night.

  Jimmy called Les from his changing room. She wasn’t always available to take his calls like before. He understood. She was busy now that she’d taken over for Sister Marie, but he longed to hear her voice. Apart from a few hours with Travis and Eugene, he knew his only path was back to the rented house in Oakton just outside the city. There, to sit alone as he waited for her to call him back. Tonight he’d have to wait again. He left a message.

  Kate strode into the changing room, taking no notice of Travis and Eugene who were half naked as they changed into their street clothes. She made straight for Jimmy as he hung up the phone.

  “I need a date,” she announced, slipping her arm into his. “Party’s at Winfield’s digs.”

  “No thanks,” Jimmy demurred.

  “Not the right answer,” she said, smiling. “I need to make a man jealous.”

  Jimmy thought about the offer for a moment. He stopped going to Winfield’s parties when they were traveling together. Now that the DJ was moving around the country with Nigel, he’d heard the parties were getting more rowdy, but Kate’s invitation suddenly made him realize he didn’t want to be alone. Waiting for Les to return his call was less appealing than a chance to mix and mingle with familiar faces.

  “I’m not easy.” he joked, moving toward the door.

  “I said a date. You’re taken, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be seen with me.”

  Winfield had his arm around Alice when he met them at the door, a half empty bottle of vodka in his other hand. Jimmy looked from one to the other, recognizing instantly that they were both stoned. The DJ waved them in, pulling back from the entry and guiding a dreamy Alice, clearly unable navigate on her own.

  “You okay?” Jimmy asked, as he brushed by. Alice looked at him with a silly, uncomprehending smile.

  “She’s fine,” Winfield slurred. “Just getting started. Booze is over there.” He pointed to a table at the far side of the room. “Better stuff in that room.” He pointed to a closed door to his left. “See Chase if you want something.”

  Jimmy surveyed the big room. An unseen stereo was playing Yarra loudly. Dozens of people were milling about with drinks and joints in hand. He recognized some of the young women Winfield hired for the show. They were dancing with some men he didn’t know in black leather jackets. Benson and Chase were by the bar, talking to two very young girls. Jimmy was sure they were underage. All of the bands were also scattered around the room, all that is, except the core of Jimmy’s band. Sonny, Ted, Melinda, and Eugene were absent. Travis was holding hands with a girl and talking to the Riland brothers in a corner.

  ***

  Ellis sat with Miles in his Millburn office. They watched the television screen where a video was playing. The agent was mildly irritated to be re-routed away from the Chicago show. McCabe called at the last minute, insisting that he change his flight and get back to New Jersey as quickly as possible. The video was a surprise to both of them, a full rendition of the LA Blossom Presents concert, professionally done and slickly packaged.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked, staring at the screen.

  “Alan Sanchez, the kid from MTV. He said he picked it up in London last week. He wanted to know if I’d license it for the network’s debut in few months.”

  “I didn’t know you taped the show.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “So, who?”

  “No clue. Copies are selling for twenty bucks in London, possibly in other cities.”

  “Somebody’s making money off Blossom Presents.”

  “Looks like it.” McCabe picked up the remote and turned the television off.

  “I’m smelling another lawsuit.” Ellis turned to look at McCabe.

  “First, we’ve got to get them out of the stores. I need to know who’s behind it.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “You, me and Sanchez.”

  Ellis waved his hand. “What’s it got to do with me?”

  McCabe opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a document. He handed it to Ellis. “Here’s a cease and desist order. I want you to go over there and deliver it to every outlet that’s carrying this video. Collect every copy that you find and track down whoever is behind it.”

  “I think I already know.”

  “Winfield?”

  “You bet.”

  “That’s what I want to know for sure.”

  “What about the tour?”

  “I’ll send Cindy out with Rebellion until you get back.”

  Ellis didn’t mind. He liked London. “When do you want me to leave?”

  “Today.”

  ***

  A tall, good-looking guy who spotted her the second she came through the door, carried Kate away. It was clear they knew each other by the way she smiled and let him take her hand. Jimmy watched them move off then searched the room for a sign of Nigel. Smoke from an assortment of joints and cigarettes obscured his view, but just as he was about to give up, the door to the room Winfield had pointed out opened slightly and he noticed a group of people inside. He pulled the door wide to find another smaller party underway among several couples. Jimmy noticed three tough looking men, also in black leather jackets and heavy boots, standing in the center, each with one of Winfield’s hired girls draped over his shoulder. The men were boisterous with a hard look, but one of them noticed Jimmy and beckoned him inside.

  “C’mon in. We got anything you need, booze, coke, girls. You name it.”

  Jimmy crossed into the room and was immediately hooked by a strikingly attractive woman in her late twenties wearing a blue micro skirt with a white see through blouse and no bra.

  “I’m Tammy,” she said, with a bright smile as she tightened her arm inside the crook of his elbow. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time.” For a brief second, Jimmy felt a rush of desire. He wanted to have a good time. Tammy looked like the perfect segue to a night of pleasure. The three bikers looked on approvingly as Tammy pulled Jimmy deeper into the room. “What are you in the mood for?” she asked, inviting him to follow her eyes around the room to a table set up with dozens of bottles of liquor. Then she
nodded to another smaller table with a jar of white powder, a box of cigarette papers and a tray with a large mound of pot.

  Just then, Nigel stood up at the back of the room. He had two women, one on each side, hovering close and laughing as he rubbed his nose and blinked his eyes as if rising from slumber. The bikers let out a roar of laughter when they saw him. “Over here, mate.” They mocked in a futile attempt to mimic an Australian accent. Whitehurst acknowledged their hail then spotted Jimmy and grinned. He hurried over with the two women hanging close.

  “Gidday, mate,” he said, taking Jimmy’s hand and shaking it in an exaggerated way like they hadn’t seen each other for a long time.

  Tammy leaned close to Jimmy’s ear. “Likes the powder.”

  He didn’t need her explanation. He could see the signs as Nigel rocked on his heels, using the bodies of the two women at his side to steady himself. Jimmy disentangled from Tammy and took the Australian by the arm, guiding him away from the girls to a corner and two empty chairs. Once seated, he met Nigel’s gaze with a question.

  “How long have you been doing coke?” The question caught Whitehurst off-guard. He looked at Jimmy like an accuser before softening his facial muscles.

  “Chase and his mates bring it in. Better than magic green.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. Since Benson and Mike came onboard. What’s the difference?”

  “Benson had a problem with it. Looks like you’re headed in the same direction.”

  “No, no worries, a few snorts, nothing more.”

  “How often?”

  “Are you a lawyer? I said no worries. Let’s just have a good time.”

  Jimmy decided to let it go. He wasn’t in the mood to act as a judge. He looked up and saw Tammy and the other girls watching them. They came over. Nigel stood to make the introductions.

  “I see you’ve met Tammy. This is Bridget and next to her is Victoria.”