He had so many questions, but he couldn’t risk talking about their unique situation any further. The best thing to do was get to the limo, then work out this whole mess. The bottom line was that he cared about her, no matter what she’d put him through, and he had to know what fueled her desperation.
“There you are. I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye.” Alaina popped up beside them.
“Of course not.” Brett cursed silently. In all of the drama, he’d forgotten about Alaina.
“Are you doing anything tonight?”
Mrs. DeBarr gave him a scolding look as she talked with two other guests. “My…mother and I have other plans.”
“Oh, I see.” Alaina fidgeted with an emerald ring on her second finger, probably thinking of some way to prolong their conversation. Damn, she looked cute. “I had a nice time today.”
“Me, too.” Brett wished he could stay.
She brought out her phone. “By the way, I need a number to call you about our plans.”
A number? Great. All he had was his apartment number, which could be traced right down to the dingy brick building on the other side of town. “Why don’t I call you?”
Alaina frowned. “Sure. You still have my card, right?” She raised one eyebrow skeptically.
“Right on my desk.” That was not a lie. He’d looked at the card every morning when he got up and every night before he fell asleep.
“We must be going.” Mrs. DeBarr gave Alaina a curt smile.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Alaina stepped back. She turned to Brett. “I’ll see you later.”
“You can count on it.” He watched Alaina leave, hoping his lie with Mrs. DeBarr wouldn’t get him and Alaina.
“She’s a little too pushy for my tastes.” Mrs. DeBarr adjusted her scarf over her coat.
“You could have been nicer.” She reminded him of his own mom- no girl was ever good enough.
“Pushy means nosey, which could mean trouble.” Mrs. DeBarr gestured toward the door. “Our limo awaits.”
They drove to the Lower Manhattan Hospital in silence. Mrs. DeBarr seemed preoccupied, playing with the pearls around her neck and staring out the window. Brett wasn’t about to ask questions. He’d get his answers soon enough.
At the hospital they took the elevator to a room in the corner. An older man with wispy white hair, black eyebrows and a prominent, boney nose lay with a curtain of plastic all around him. A breathing tube had been hooked up to his mouth, and several tubes sprouted from his arms. He wore a hospital gown. A white sheet covered his legs.
Compassion overwhelmed Brett. The man looked so fragile, so small. Brett never had a chance to see his parents’ age. It would have been hard to see them like this. He couldn’t decide which was worse – to have them disappear overnight, or waste away one breath at a time. “I’m sorry.”
Mrs. DeBarr touched the side of the plastic gently. “They’ve slowed his heart rate, his breathing, and all his bodily systems to slow the progression of the cancer.”
She trailed her fingers along the glass. “It’s a new research program they’re trying. We could have had a few months with him awake, or a year or two with him asleep while they try to find a cure.”
“How long’s it been?”
“Six months. I’ve invested all I could in research of all kinds. But, it’s going to take a lot more money, effort, and awareness than I have to find a cure.”
All at once, he understood her desperation in making him impersonate her son and bringing him to the luncheon. If that was his dad, his mom, or his love in there, he’d fundraise every penny he could.
“How does the real Lance feel about this?”
“You have to know Lance- he’s practical and gets right down to business. Sure, he’s upset. But, he believes it’s his dad’s time to go. He thinks I’m crazy for stretching out the inevitable, for trying too hard.”
Brett took her hands. “You’re not crazy. You’re in love.”
Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “So you won’t tell Alaina?”
Did he have a choice? He couldn’t turn this old woman in. He just had to make sure Alaina would understand. He had to give their relationship more time, then he could tell her the truth. “I’ll hold off, for a little while.”
She sighed with relief. “And the next luncheon?”
He glanced away. There was only so many of these things he could go to before people started asking questions or someone who knew the real Lance would cry wolf. “One more.”
“Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
He had an idea. He’d lost people, too. But, he wasn’t about to talk about it now. “No problem. Anything I can do to help.”
The fancy façade she usually wore broke down, revealing a vulnerable side he’d only glimpsed at before. “You’ve already helped me so much, not only appearing at these functions, but by spending time with me.” She reached out and touched his arm. “It’s like I have my son back.”
Compassion poured through him, and for the first time, he felt like a son again. How could he deny her anything now? Brett placed a hand on hers. “Whatever you need, I’ll be there.”
She kissed the plastic and they exited the room.
Brett looked in the other rooms they passed seeing family members at the foot of each bed. Would it have been easier for him if he’d gotten a chance to say goodbye to his parents?
“I can understand the need for research.”
She nodded. “Only when it happens to someone you care about you begin to understand.”
Helping people raise money for cancer research was all good, but lying to do it still didn’t sit right with him. “What would Lance say if he found out I was running around impersonating him?”
She waved her hand. “To tell you the truth, he’s so involved in his business, I don’t think he’d care. I told him you took his place at the auction, and he didn’t bat an eye. He’d probably thank you for keeping me busy. You know how many of these things I’ve bugged him about coming to?”
Brett shook his head. If he ever met the real Lance, he’d have a thing or two to say.
***
Alaina woke up Monday morning and checked her phone. No call. All weekend. What kind of a guy goes so hot and cold all the time? It drove her crazy. So crazy she almost thought about marching into his office and knocking on his door.
It had something to do with his mother. The way they talked so hushed all the time was strange, like they were spies against the world. Was she controlling him?
If so, did Alaina want a mama’s boy?
She thought back to their date at the lodge in Maine. Never had a man gone to such lengths to impress her. All the musicians she’d dated had simply invited her to their concert. It was so hard to get away from the classical music world and do something different. She could do that with Lance. He showed her the world outside of concert life in the quiet isolation of the deep forest. Sure, she’d have to get used to the rocks and the bugs, but she always liked a challenge. Lance was modest and a laid back; completely different to all the other guys she’d ever dated. He was a breath of fresh air in more ways than one. And their chemistry was amazing. Like rocket science on steroids.
So what if he was a mama’s boy? If she could take Bianca’s flak, then she could take a controlling mother-in-law.
It wasn’t like his mother could follow them everywhere. All Alaina needed to do was get him alone again- and they’d have that time this coming weekend. She had to keep busy until then. He’d call. He said he would.
Alaina took a cab to Heart House. She opened her classroom door to loud chatter. She was about to shout for everyone to be quiet when she heard some of the conversations.
“My hero is going to be a rock star.” John sat next to the girl with the Yankee’s cap. Did she ever take it off?
“Yeah, well, my villain is going to be a pirate who chops off people’s heads.” She chewed a wad of bubblegum as she p
oked a whole in her desk.
“That’s silly. You’re copying the opera Ms. Amaldi talked about.” John fired back.
Alaina positioned herself in front of their desks. “It’s not silly at all.”
The room quieted.
“This assignment is purely creative. Nothing will be called silly.” She pointed her finger at the girl. “Not rock stars, or even pirates who chop off heads.”
Jackie actually raised her hand from the back of the room. One of her long sleeves fell down, and ugly red scratch marks covered her wrist. Alaina’s chest tightened. Had she done that to herself? “Yes, Jackie?”
Jackie lowered her arm and her sleeve covered the scars. “What are we doing today?”
Alaina blinked, trying to focus. She couldn’t call this girl’s problems out in front of the whole class. “Today we’re talking about plot. A lot of times, the plot in an opera is so convoluted and complex, it takes several sittings to make sense. Maybe the composers did it on purpose- to get people to come back again and again.”
A few kids laughed. Good. At least some of them were paying attention.
She continued, pacing the room. “Anyway, that’s the fun of it. For instance, in the opera I’m singing in now, my character is Pamina. Pamina is abducted by the evil Sarastro and his slave, Monostatos. The opera opens with the prince, Tamino, being pursued by a monstrous serpent. Three ladies in the service of the Queen of the night, A.K.A. my character’s mother, save him. When they leave to tell the queen, a bird catcher named Papageno appears and boasts that he killed the creature. The ladies come back, show Tamino a picture of Pamina and he falls in love at first sight. The Queen of the Night asks him to save Pamina, but she’s really using her daughter to get at Sarastro. She hands Tamino a magic flute and Papageno some magic bells. While Tamino’s looking for Pamina, Papageno saves her and learns from a high priest that the Queen of the night is actually the evil one. And that’s only the beginning.”
Most of their eyes glazed over. John shook his head, and Jackie crinkled her eyebrows. This time she didn’t raise her hand. “That makes no sense.”
Alaina spread both hands like she’d performed a magic trick. “That’s the fun of it. Now, get your pencils out. During this class, I want you to come up with your own ludicrous stories- the crazier the better. I’ll come around and help you out individually.”
Alaina gave them a few minutes, and then started her rounds. When she got to Jackie, she tried not to glance at her wrists. “So what do you have?”
Jackie tapped her pencil on her desk. “I don’t know. Something about a baroness in a British castle.” She handed Alaina a piece of ripped notebook paper.
Lady Elizabeth Delacorte learns, after the untimely death of her husband, that he squandered all of their money on gambling. In order to keep her castle, she must win the hand of the older, brooding Lord of Yorkshire, but she secretly loves, Philip Sweeny, her chimney sweep.
Alaina nodded, impressed and gave her back the paper. “This is very good.”
“Thanks.” Jackie tore off a piece of the ratty paper. “I thought it up this morning after a dream I had.”
“You have creative dreams.”
Jackie shrugged like it didn’t matter. But it did. Everyone’s dreams mattered.
“I have time after school today if you’d like to sing for me. I’d love to hear you.” Before, she would have done everything to her power to get out of that school as soon as possible and get back to her own life. Now, it was more important to her to keep these kids dreaming big and believing they could achieve something.
Jackie shrugged again. She lost some of her earlier hootspa. Was she worried Alaina would put her down? “I don’t know. My mom wants me to get her cigarettes at the corner store.”
“You’re not old enough to buy cigarettes.”
“The guy who owns the store knows me.”
Alaina shook her head. What kind of seven-eleven manager sells cigarettes to a kid? What kind of mother sends her daughter out to get them for her? What was this world coming to? Her parents supported every whim she’d had, whether it was singing, tap dancing, or acting in commercials. Without them, she wouldn’t be here today, singing at the Met and teaching music.
This kid needed a mom who supported her talents, not used her as a cigarette mobile.
Alaina put both hands on her hips. “You told me you would, so you can’t back out. I’m not taking no for an answer. It will only take five minutes.”
“Okay.” Jackie nodded but looked away.
Alaina pointed a finger at her as she moved to the next desk. “If you don’t show up, I’ll have you sing in front of class.”
But Jackie did show up, right on time when the bell hit two fifty five.
Alaina pushed the books to the side of her desk. She’d already prepared herself for the worst. No matter what came out of that girl’s mouth, she’d say something positive. “Let’s hear it.”
Jackie dropped her backpack on the floor and started to sing some pop song Alaina had never heard of. But she wasn’t listening to the words.
The girl had a bold and beautiful voice with a sweet vibrato that reminded Alaina of herself at that age. Her vocal range was impressive, and her center of pitch remained through the whole song. Her tone had true heart and soul, making Alaina wish she knew what the song was about.
After Jackie finished, Alaina stood and clapped. “You are marvelous.”
“Really?”
Alaina nodded. “And I’m not just saying that either.”
“A lot of good it does, being able to sing.” Jackie picked up her backpack and turned to leave. A hopeless feeling washed over Alaina. Did her praise even matter?
“Where are you going?”
“To get my mom’s cigarettes, remember?”
Alaina stood, pushing her chair back behind her. “Wait a second. Don’t you want to take lessons, learn some real classical stuff, you know prepare for college auditions?”
“Pft.” Jackie waved her off. “We don’t have money for lessons, never mind college.”
“But your mom has money for cigarettes.”
“Cigarettes are cheap.” She’d almost made it to the door.
Not if you bought them every day. That added up over time. Anger built inside her. She called after the girl. “You tell your mom you’ll be coming home a half hour later sometimes.”
Jackie turned around with attitude. “Why? Do I have some type of detention?”
Alaina crossed her arms, determination hardening inside her. If this cigarette mom wasn’t going to take an interest in her daughter’s talents, than she would. “No. Vocal lessons. I’m going to teach you myself. For free.”
CHAPTER TEN
From Riches to Rags
Brett’s muscles burned as he hauled a large plank to the workmen. It felt good to be working outside with his own two hands instead of schmoozing with New York’s elite. This work was black and white. You followed the instructions, and rebuilt the building from the ground up. No shady, in-between half-truths or slippery slopes of moral dilemmas. It all made his head hurt.
“Have a good weekend?” Phil punched him in the shoulder.
“You could say that.” He didn’t want to go into all the nitty gritty details with Phil. His friend wasn’t the most sensitive guy. He’d probably tell him to ditch the old lady and go for the girl. “You?”
“Naw.” Phil drunk from a coffee mug that could have been a gas tank. He took one long sip, then wiped his chin. He looked five years older than when Brett had last seen him. His salty white-brown hair was tussled and greasy, and dark circles hung under his eyes.
Brett set down the plank and rubbed his hands on his jeans to get the sawdust off. “Why not?”
“Kept thinking about Sarah. I couldn’t sleep. That, and I think I ate too much Chinese.”
“Spare me the details.” He took a seat next to Phil. “Why didn’t you give her a call?”
“I did. Twice last wee
k after work. She didn’t answer.”
A coworker stopped drilling in the background, and Brett lowered his voice. “Did you leave a message like I told you to?”
Phil glanced away into the traffic. “I had nothing to say.”
Frustration surged up inside him. Phil was a great builder, but when it came to communication, he lacked willpower. “Course you have something to say. Tell her how much you’ve been thinking about her, or how you want to visit that museum with her.”
Phil shrugged. “There’s no point. What we had ended a long time ago. She’s probably found someone else by now.”
“What’s the message on the machine say? Any other names?”
“No.”
“There’s your answer.” Brett stood, picked up a bag of equipment and slung it over his shoulder. If Phil wasn’t going to do anything about it, then this conversation had finished. Then, an idea brightened in his mind. “Give me your phone.”
“Why? Need another swanky getaway?”
“No. Just give it to me.”
Phil reached in his back pocket and handed Brett the phone.
Brett scrolled through the call log. Bingo. He hit the talk button and handed Phil the phone.
“What are you doing?” Phil’s eyes widened when he saw who he was calling. “Not right now.”
“Why not? You’re on a break. If she’s not home at night, maybe she’s home during the day.”
Phil blinked in surprise as he clutched the phone to his ear. “Hello, Sarah? It’s Phil.” He scurried behind the building where the drilling wasn’t as loud.
Brett crossed his arms feeling smug. Phil might want to kill him later, but he’d probably thank him in the long run. If only his own problem was as easy to deal with.
He walked back to the sidewalk, where a team was flattening the new pavement. Pedestrians walked around the work crew in an area he’d sectioned off from the street. In the crowd, a blonde head emerged with a bright pink headband.
Bianca?
A Diva in Manhattan Page 8