AT 29

by D. P. Macbeth

  Sixty-Five

  “Where did she go?” Jimmy faced Sister Marie in the sitting room on the first floor. He slept some on the plane from Bangkok, but ate little. He had showered, shaved and put on fresh clothes. His last scotch was three hours in the past.

  “I don’t know.” Sister Marie leaned across the desk, hands folded. “She became distraught when she learned of the child’s death, inconsolable.”

  “But she left her things. Do you think she’ll come back?”

  “That’s my hope, but it has been twenty-four hours.”

  Jimmy studied the nun as he pondered what to do. Sister Marie appeared frail and lost in thought. She described the tragedy with as little emotion as she could muster, but it was plain to see that she, too, was unnerved. He wanted to ask her about Les’ relationship with the boy, but he held back for fear that the religious leader could not cope.

  “Do you have any ideas? I mean where I can look for her?”

  She shook her head and looked down at her hands. “She has always lived here with us. I know little of her personal life outside of Saint Malachy’s. Until she met you, she rarely went out on the town. She devoted herself to Saint Malachy’s and our boys. I know she enjoyed traveling along the Great Ocean Road, but that was early on.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Pray, Jim. Wait and pray for her safe return.”

  The answer failed to satisfy. He dropped his head, trying to think. He had precious little time, only two days before he must go to Sydney. The stitches in his bandaged hand were still fresh. It would be more than a week before they could be removed. That meant he had couldn’t play guitar during the last two concerts. Both Australian performances needed to be reworked.

  Les’ disappearance worried him more. He found himself absent, unable to be with the most important person in his life at the very moment when he was needed most. Les was the woman of his dreams, with whom he meant to spend the rest of his life. Now, she was alone at a crossroads. He should be with her to help her find her way. Sister Marie seemed to read his mind although her face continued to display painful resignation.

  “She blames herself. Now, you blame yourself as well. She told me you love her.” Jimmy didn’t answer. The nun continued. “When she returns, I will call you right away.”

  He stood to leave. “What if she doesn’t come back?”

  “Then I hope you will find her.”

  He spent the next two days walking the city. It was an aimless search among the avenues, restaurants and parks they’d traversed together hand in hand. He had no idea where else to look. He called Saint Malachy’s several times each day. Les had not returned and did not communicate with Sister Marie.

  Cindy convinced Miles that Australia required his presence. She argued that it was unfair to foist the preparations on Ellis, especially in his banged up state. McCabe refused to go without his wife. They boarded a plane one week after the Marvel Island disaster. As he settled into his seat, he mused about all that happened.

  The Riland brothers were dispatched back to their home in California. Before departing, they spent an hour with Felix who read them the riot act in no uncertain terms. The two fifteen year-old girls were jailbait. Statutory rape was a serious offense. Being in the presence of drugs and the men who furnished them was also a serious offense. The youths, already cowed by Miles nine months earlier, took the tongue-lashing to heart. Unsettled by the viciousness of the bikers, they were only too ready to get as far away as they could. All they desired was a break from the road, a chance to heal and play in the sun and surf. In time, they knew they would be summoned back to Millburn to start work on a new album. In the meantime they intended to lay low.

  MacGregor was also gone. Safely hidden away on Prince Edward Island. Unlike the Riland brothers, he was regarded as an innocent bystander, caught up in something he neither sought nor shared complicity for. He suffered no scold from Felix, only an admonition from Miles to keep quiet and prepare for the next tour months off, but one that would feature him as a headliner.

  Tammy got a pass from Felix, too. Ellis interceded on her behalf, describing her actions during the night of the brawl. She was banned from ever setting foot near a Blossom performance again. She disappeared quickly.

  Mike Winfield remained secreted away in a private room in Memorial Hospital in a suburb of Miami. The gunshot nicked his thighbone. It would be months before the DJ would walk without aid. Methadone kept him from going off the deep end, but he was in for a long recovery and only if he entered rehab once again. Miles was determined to cash his partner out.

  Felix came by the office in Millburn the day after both men learned that Alice Limoges was in the hospital. He was comfortable that the writer would not write about Marvel Island. He was less certain of her health. She didn’t look good when he put her in the taxi at LaGuardia.

  “I think it might be serious,” he told Miles. “Not our issue, I suppose, but she’s tight with your crew. Someone ought to keep an eye on her situation.”

  The visit had other purposes as well. The mansion was repaired quickly, just as the retired FBI team leader promised. The cost was lower than estimated, seventy-five grand, bringing the total outlay for the night’s quiet clean up to $275,000 when the services of the eight former lawmen were added. A heavy price to be sure, but it had to be paid. Of equal relief, there were no rumblings from the house’s corporate owners or the realtor who underwrote the short-term lease to Winfield. The repair cost was to come out of Winfield’s share of the tour’s proceeds. Miles would eat the rest. Felix thanked his boss for getting the cash to his colleagues quickly. He also wanted to know how he could get his hands on the flight itineraries of Benson and Chase.

  “They’re already in Sydney.” Miles countered.

  “No, I want to know where they’re going after the last show in Melbourne.”

  “Why?”

  “Best you stay out of it.”

  “I suppose they’ll come back with everybody else.”

  “No. You need to make sure they travel separately.”

  “Why, Felix? What’s behind this?”

  “No questions. Just see what you can find out and let me know.”

  Miles wrote a note for himself. Then he broached the subject of Felix joining Blossom fulltime. The veteran lawman didn’t respond right away. He stayed on the subject of what happened in Miami.

  “There’s talk. We did all we could to keep it quiet, but something was bound to get out.”

  “I haven’t seen anything in the papers.”

  “No, just whispers, club talk, things that get passed around. My buddies are plugged into the authorities down there. The police got wind of it just after the work crew finished fixing the house. They sent a detective over to check it out. He didn’t find anything. There will be more talk going around. As long as your people aren’t around to answer questions, it should die down in a month or so.”

  “Good. That’s what we want.”

  “I’ll give your offer some thought.” Felix stood to leave. “If I agree to take the job, I want you understand something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I will never break the law for you or your company again.”

  Miles took him at his word.

  As for dumping things on Ellis, Miles wasn’t as rattled as Cindy. Long before Miami, as far back as the Atlanta show, he had set the plans in motion for Australia. A new set was ordered, as big as the one ferried around on tractor-trailers in the states, but the electronics were better. He intended this new staging as a test for the Blossom Presents world tour that no longer seemed likely. The acoustics played to Whitehurst’s strengths, the fiddle, his backup orchestra and most of all his otherworldly vocals. America knew the big man as a consummate showman, able to thrill any audience. The new set was built to enhance his talents. It was already in-place and ready to go. The world would see him even better. As far as Miles knew, Ellis needed only to shepherd the three groups, Rebellion
, Buckman and Whitehurst, onto the stage at the appointed times. Maybe Jim couldn’t play his guitar, but Ellis could handle that complication. He had confidence in the man.

  Whitehurst concerned him. He was raking in money for Blossom. Now, he was hooked on drugs. Miles had zero experience with that. He didn’t know what it might mean for his biggest star’s future and, in turn, for his company’s prospects. Could Nigel kick the habit? Felix said six months of addiction is better than six years, easier to get clean and stay that way, but he would have to seek treatment. After the Melbourne show, McCabe decided, I’ll confront him then.

  And, Cindy, unwilling to harbor a secret from her husband, let slip that Jim was drinking again. To Miles that was equally serious. He cared little for the clause in Buckman’s contract. Jim’s loyalty to Blossom deserved fairer treatment. He was second only to Whitehurst in the company’s money stream. But, unlike Whitehurst, McCabe felt a personal obligation to his first star. She said Jim intended to get back on the wagon once he reunited with his girlfriend in Australia. He crossed his fingers. Let’s hope he does.

  Jimmy checked out of his hotel. Ellis called the night before, demanding that he get on a plane right away.

  “You’ve got to rehearse with the band!”

  “Les is missing.”

  Ellis paused, hearing the worry in his client’s voice. “She’ll turn up. Maybe she’s here in Sydney. Have you considered that?” No, Jimmy hadn’t thought of that. Ellis could be right. He boarded the plane with renewed hope.

  Ellis picked him up at the airport, paying close attention to his client and friend’s physical and emotional state. Upon close inspection, he was relieved to find Jimmy sober and, if not single-minded in his mental preparation for these last two concerts, willing to be guided. On the ride to the hotel he exuberantly detailed his ideas. Jimmy’s rhythm guitar would be covered by the fill-in he secured from a local cover band. Yes, many Australian bands were covering Back and Blue. His injuries were no problem. All that was needed were a few hours of rehearsal. Kate and Rebellion would take the stage first.

  “Jimmy boy, you gotta see the setup. McCabe had a new stage created just for these two shows. The lighting and acoustics are fantastic!”

  Jimmy nodded and sometimes smiled, knowing it was expected. Ellis’ cool-headed heroics of a week earlier remained fresh in his mind. It took courage to do what he did to forestall the bikers. Jimmy would not detract from his agent’s enthusiasm by being distant. But his thoughts were far away, consumed with impatience to finish the last two shows so he could resume his search for Les.

  “You come next followed by Whitehurst like we did in the states.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Much better now that he’s back on his own soil. Felix gave him something to replace the big H. He must have said something, too because Nigel’s following orders. He’s as upbeat as we’ve seen him in months, driving everybody nuts with rehearsal after rehearsal like it’s his big coming out or something.”

  “It is. His countrymen are seeing their rock star for the first time.”

  “You’re right, but he seems to be focused on something else. Keyed up about something or someone.”

  Jimmy didn’t understand so he let it go.

  For different reasons Jimmy and Nigel swore off their addictions. With his worries about Les, Jimmy wasn’t about to let scotch fog his brain. Nigel seemed to be driven by some unspoken goal. Each band went through its set morning and afternoon before the day of the show. The replacement rhythm guitarist held his own, drawing sighs of relief from the rest of Jimmy’s group. It was hard for its leader though. In all the years since that freshman performance at Saint Virgil’s College, Jimmy had never been without his guitar. Now, he had to adjust to doing vocals empty-handed. Gestures, stances, what to do during the jams, it all had to be choreographed. It didn’t come easy.

  The last rehearsal went outside on McCabe’s new stage. Ellis insisted. He wanted no mistakes born from an unfamiliar setting, a far cry from Mike Winfield’s hands-off management during the last stages of the stateside tour. The venue was Australia’s best, in the Forecourt on the grass next to the nation’s international symbol, the Sydney Opera House. Throughout each day and late into the night, thousands of tourists and not a few of Sydney’s residents passed by the site and wandered along Circular Quay and Sydney Harbor, looking out to the equally iconic Harbor Bridge. The risk was great. Too many casual observers would see and hear the show before its real performance the next night. Ellis had an answer for that. The Forecourt stage was enclosed on three sides by massive canvas tenting that shielded the bands from view. The instruments were also unplugged, except for three short periods during the run throughs when the sound system was tested. The biggest benefit, and the one that assured Ellis that few of the nearby tourists would get an advance look, was the heavy rain.

  In a nod to their hosts, Ellis opened the dress rehearsal to the employees of the Opera House, both performers and staff. With opera, theater, ballet and symphony productions taking place nearly everyday year round, the massive building was constantly a buzz. Despite the rain, a large contingent took places on the grass, most with umbrellas opened wide.

  As the three groups went through their sets, often stopping and starting to get aspects of each performance just right, Jimmy found himself searching the faces beneath the umbrellas, hoping to see Les. It was futile, he realized, she had no association with the Opera House, but he gazed at the small crowd anyway, hoping. Whitehurst did the same. His constant study of the audience was far more noticeable. It began as soon as the first few employees made their way onto the grass and continued unabated throughout all three run throughs. The Australian star all but ignored Ellis and his instructions as he sang a few bars from each song. He ignored his backups as well, concentrating every ounce of his attention solely on the waterlogged onlookers who braved the rain. If he wasn’t concentrated on his own search and so worried about his lost love, Jimmy might have discerned the motive that stole Nigel’s devotion from the task at hand. He missed it though, as did everyone else. Whitehurst pursued his unknown quest without comment.

  The McCabes arrived at their Sydney hotel just after six a.m. Fortunately, the rarely booked suite was ready when they checked-in, enabling them to catch a few hours of sleep before rousing in late morning to prepare for the concert. Ellis met them for lunch at a café overlooking the harbor. McCabe filled him in on the Vultures’ arrest in New York. The agent smiled with satisfaction.

  Jimmy booked a room in the Tulip Hotel overlooking the harbor. It was not his place of residence while in Sydney. Rather, it was something he’d spotted the day before, after the rehearsal, a vantage point, affording a perfect view of the people who walked and milled about the harbor from Circular Quay to Bennelong Point, upon which the Opera House and its Forecourt were situated. At noon on the day of the performance, with newly purchased binoculars in hand, he took the elevator to the top floor, entered the room he’d booked for twenty-four hours and took a position on the balcony.

  Miles strolled the Circular Quay hand in hand with Cindy. They talked little, preferring to take in the sights on their first trip abroad since they were married. He had things to think about. The concert that night would be different from the other Blossom Presents shows in the U.S. Most notably, the crowd would be far smaller, only a tenth the size. The Forecourt was too small to accommodate an audience of more than sixty five hundred. The take would be tiny, not even covering half the cost of the new stage. This did not trouble him. The show was sold out. Tickets ran out within minutes of going on sale. In all, some seventy thousand people had queued up to make a purchase. The newspapers blasted the show’s sponsors for selecting a venue too small. McCabe took the critics in stride. It was only a test for the world tour. Yarra was Australia’s best selling album by far. It was Nigel’s homecoming, but he’d be back again.

  On the plane he made a decision. The world tour would be tabled for later. The
re were too many complications that could mar its success, not least Whitehurst’s drug problem and possibly Jim’s return to the bottle. It bothered him to postpone his ambitious plans, but he knew it would be a financial disaster if his two biggest moneymakers flopped because they couldn’t overcome their addictions. On those two fronts it was best to wait and see. In the meantime, he had plenty to keep his growing label busy. Five new talents were hard at work in the studios. He hired the best songwriters, arrangers and mixers in the business to supply endless repertoires that were being fashioned into debut albums. He had big plans for the Canadian, even bigger plans for The Riland Brothers, both of whom had proven they could draw fans of their own. Jimmy’s lead guitarist also had a following. Cindy would take personal charge of him. Sonny would have an album in the stores in six months. Kate didn’t need Rebellion anymore. He was on the fence about what to do. He leaned toward putting her on the road as a single, maybe crisscrossing Europe for a few months. Test the waters, so to speak. If well received, then he’d get her back in the studio with new material and bring her out under her own name for good. Rebellion could be repackaged without her. Ellis would have a hand in that decision. Weak Knees would never be big in the States. He didn’t know the answer to that one. Sometimes, he guessed, it just wasn’t meant to be. Still, they did well on the continent and especially in the U.K. That’s where they would stay, forming the foundation of a new Blossom formula over there. He’d get them new material. Gone were his money worries. Just Whitehurst and Buckman. How to straighten them out and fortify their fame, protect the revenue stream they produced for his company.

  It was a stunning late spring day, the opposite of the previous one. The Circular Quay crowds were typically large. Jimmy kept the binoculars to his eyes as he scanned the face of every woman bearing a resemblance to Les. He was beyond reason, unaware of the oddity of his actions. Stalking, voyeurism, obsession, none of these descriptions entered his mind. By three o’clock, the initial outline of a procession began to form one hundred meters short of the majestic steps fronting the Opera House. Two hours later it stretched back around the harbor, people in twos, threes and fours, mostly young, but with a few middle-agers sprinkled in. The sun was high, bright and hot, one of those dry afternoon furnaces that the continent was noted for. Jimmy stayed at his post for as long as he could, hope fading with each passing minute as she failed to grace his lenses. At five, he gave up. He was already late. Although the show would not start until seven, his presence was expected along with everyone else.