by Marcia Ware
“Oh, what am I doing?” she said, shaking her head. She was getting way ahead of herself, and she knew it. Those things would come, in time. Even though she could still sense some sort of feeling for Maggie on Joe’s part; in the nearly two months that she’d been in the studio, Sissy was making sure that she was the one that held Joe’s attention.
As one of the two executive producers, Sissy’s MO was simple: stretch out the creative process of Maggie’s project for as long as possible without arousing suspicion or wasting too much money. She began by bringing in a succession of players and singers whom she knew wouldn’t meet Fabian’s standards. It took an extra week and a half to find the people that were perfect for the job. When questioned, she‘d simply smile, convincing her superiors that she ultimately had Maggie’s best interests at heart.
Sissy settled back and allowed the voluminous couch cushions to envelop her as she finished her wine. In the distance, she could hear the shower water running. Dispatching the last of her drink, she rose and helped herself to the glass that Joe had left on the countertop.
She was surprised at how little guilt she felt over her machinations. Perhaps it was all those years in the music industry game; doing what she had to do to get where and what she needed, with little concern for where it left others in her wake.
Tonight, as it had been for many nights, that thing she felt she needed was Joe Buchanan.
Of course there was no joy in the fact that she had to lose her sister to have this opportunity. But the fact of the matter was that Grace was indeed dead; and for Sissy, looking back was never a good use of her energy. As cold as it might seem, it was time for all of them to move on.
She was pleased with how she’d let Joe fester with the possibility that Maggie could actually take up with someone like Fabian - a man with whom she clearly had more in common. And now that the seed had been planted, it was only a matter of time before she would make her move.
Slowly, Sissy ascended the stairs, stopping at the door to the master bedroom. On a table next to the door, there was the old cotton shirt with the frayed collar she loved to wear when she stayed the night.
Lifting it to her nose, Sissy buried her face in the fabric and inhaled deeply. Her senses were slowly succumbing to the intense vibration that the wine was creating. Turning her head to the side, she leaned against the door, closed her eyes and smiled at the sound of Joe’s slightly off-key hum of a pop song as the water continued to run. With a clear picture of Joe in her mind, she thought, Tonight‘s the night. It’s time.
Chapter 12
Joe stepped through the door; a gust of wind hitting his face, momentarily taking his breath away. Looking out into the vast waving field before him, he saw her. He smiled as he descended the steps, his pace increasing with every stride.
Adorned in white, Maggie’s soft curls floated in the breeze as she turned to face him. Her skin glowed with the color of burnished gold, her smile, impossibly radiant. The breeze lifted the gauzy material of her dress around her, as if she were seated in the center of a cloud. She extended her hand to him, and he eagerly accepted. With his other hand, Joe encircled Maggie’s waist. He slowly began his contact with soft kisses on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.
As the wind whipped around them, they began their embrace. Their kiss deepening, they took no notice of the darkening skies above them. The intensity of their passion equaled the frenzy of the growing storm.
A crash of thunder, a flash of lightning, the wind quickly gained strength, the sky now ominous shades of green and grey. Suddenly, the power of the storm ripped them apart, spinning Joe around and disorienting him. Gaining his bearings, he realized that Maggie was nowhere to be found.
His calls to her futilely lost in the fury of the storm, Joe began to panic. He searched for the door from which he came, but there was nothing but open space, violent winds and angry ribbons of lightning splitting the sky.
A hand touched his shoulder from behind. As hope returned to his heart, and with Maggie’s name on his lips, he was stunned into silence to see standing before him a woman of smaller carriage; sable-brown hair and the same gauzy white dress flying freely in the fearsome storm. His face now ashen, Joe can barely speak her name.
“Grace?”
She was barely visible beyond the flashing of the lightning, but he was most certainly looking into the face of his wife. Grace reached up and snaked one hand around to the back of his head, drawing him down to her. Familiarity replaced fear as his kiss deepened, separating only to breathlessly repeat her name.
“Grace…Grace…oh Grace…”
“Joe…I love you so much Joe,” he could hear her say. “I’ll always be here for you. I’ll never leave you. I love you, Joe…”
It took several minutes for him to open his eyes and allow reality to take shape. The feminine tones of her voice became deeper, throatier, and somewhat slurred. “Oh Joe, tell me you love me, Joe…”
The strawberry blonde silk of Sissy’s hair swept over his face, jarring him back to consciousness. With all the energy his body could muster, Joe twisted from beneath her, causing him to tumble from the bed.
“Sissy!” he whisper-shouted. “What is wrong with you, woman? What are you doing?”
Gathering the comforter around her, his sudden move left Sissy startled and dumbfounded. “I…I…I don’t…” she stammered as she quickly began to sober.
She could see herself standing outside his bedroom door earlier that night, simply waiting for him to crawl into bed and fall asleep before she would join him. That was her plan…but somewhere in the waiting, the wine took over, and she fell asleep by the door. When she awoke, she was still slightly woozy from the wine, and had no idea how much time had passed. When she opened the door to Joe’s bedroom, the steady rhythm of his breathing convinced her that he was asleep.
Doffing her shirt, she carelessly tossed it to the end of the bed and slipped beneath the sheets. The combination of the cool of the sheets and the musky warmth of Joe’s body on her skin was exhilarating.
Shaking her head at the memory of her behavior, all she could manage to do was utter a weak, “Joe, I’m…I’m so…”
In any other scenario, Sissy would have made a fetching sight. Her perfectly conditioned hair had just enough seductive chaos to it; her lips pouting and full, her freckled skin a glowing ivory.
But it was in that terrifying moment that Joe realized their state of undress: him in boxer-briefs and Sissy wearing even less. Scrambling for his robe, he simultaneously tossed her the shirt that lay crumpled at the foot of the bed.
“Please put this on,” he said, exasperated.
Mortified for totally different reasons, they turned their backs to one another as they quickly dressed. “I’m gonna ask you again,” Joe said as he scrubbed his fingers through his hair and stared out the window. “What did you think we were going to do?”
Embarrassed and dejected, Sissy softly began to cry. “I’m sorry, Joe. I’m just so sorry.”
The sound of her sobs triggered a sense of pity within him. He slowly walked to his side of the bed and sat down. The distance he kept was close enough to communicate care without sending any misleading signals. Her back still to him, she tried in vain to explain herself.
“When you kissed me back, I thought you knew it was me.”
“Sissy, I was asleep,” Joe said, “and if you don‘t mind my saying, you downed quite a bit of wine tonight.”
Rising quickly, a humiliated Sissy ran for the door. “Sis,” Joe pleaded. “C’mon. Talk to me. We are family, right? You’re like my sister.”
Stopping at the door, her hand on the knob, she paused momentarily. Hearing him say she was like a sister brought with it a nauseating familiarity. His use of the exact word that kept her nemesis on the outside looking in gave her the strength she needed to reconsider her escape. But the old bedroom door was stuck, and in her weakened state, proved difficult to open “I can’t, Joe. I’m sorry. I’m gonna leave. I
have to leave”
“No way you’re leaving this house in the shape you‘re in,” Joe said, walking toward her. “Go upstairs, sleep this off and we’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?”
Sissy’s nod was barely perceptible as she finally pulled the door open quickly and shut it behind her.
As her heard her footsteps softly ascending the stairs, his cell began to ring. Looking at the clock on his nightstand, he saw the time was 11:05. Joe knew that it was Maggie on the phone. His nerves still frayed, he debated whether or not he should answer.
Joe knew he was merely a victim of circumstance; yet his body’s response to Sissy left him feeling a tremendous amount of guilt and anguish. He decided to take the call, but after a heavy intake of air, Joe answered his phone with perhaps a bit too much gusto.
“Hey there Mags!” he exclaimed. “What’s going on with you? Me? Nothing, just hanging out, not doing anything at all. What do you mean I sound weird? No, no, you didn’t wake me.”
At least that was the truth.
The house was silent as Sissy crept down the stairs. She decided to stay out of the way until Joe and the children had left for the morning before heading for home herself.
The scent of coffee beckoned her to the kitchen where a mug, a glass of water, two aspirin and two vitamin B tablets on a napkin were sitting on the countertop. A nearby note read: “to cure what is probably ailing you. Joe.” She grimaced at his attempt at humor.
She took the vitamins, finished the water and sat at the kitchen table with the mug of coffee, churning with anger and humiliation. At herself for being so reckless. At Joe for not realizing a good thing when he had it right in front of him. At Maggie for her constant presence in Sissy’s life.
“Ugh!” Sissy exclaimed as her head went into her hands. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the garage door open. Before she was able to escape the kitchen for the bonus room, Joe came through the back door.
“Hey, hey, whoa,” he said as she started to get up.
“Joe, I am so sorry. I’ll be out of here in just a minute…
“Sissy, wait, please! Seriously, let’s talk about last night. I want to understand.”
Sissy stopped in the doorway and turned reluctantly to face him. He motioned toward the kitchen table where they both took a seat.
Joe sprang back up to fix himself some coffee as a realization hit Sissy. “I thought you had back to back classes this morning,” she said, her head still down.
Joe turned to look at her and chuckled out loud. “Um, I did. I came back to grab an early lunch. It’s 11 am, Sis.”
Sissy looked at the clock, returned her head to her hands and groaned. Joe laughed a little louder.
“Shhh…” she pleaded. “That’s too loud.”
“I take it the aspirin hasn’t kicked in yet?”
“No,” she moaned. “I just took it. We can talk. Just softly, okay?”
“So tell me, what in the world is going on with you?”
“I don’t know, Joe,” she began. “I think I’m just lonely. I’ve spent so many years married to my work, to this industry. When I moved back here from California, I wanted a fresh start. And you’ve always been so kind to me…”
“Well of course,” Joe interjected. “You’re Grace’s sister, and the children’s aunt. Why wouldn’t I be good to you?”
“I know, I know. I think I just lost my head in all that wine. I’m sorry. I hope that you don’t hold this against me,” she said earnestly.
“Not in the least,” he said, smiling. “I’m sorry if my actions misled you. I really do care about you, but right now, that’s the best I can give.”
A sharp pang of disappointment worked its way through Sissy’s chest as the truth was finally laid out onto the table. Yet within the finality of his words, she still somehow managed to feel a small spark of hope…right now, that’s the best I can give.
Stubbornly, she determined within herself that this small statement kept her foot squarely in the door. This was now officially a waiting game; but Joe was worth it. She would just have to find another approach.
“Okay,” she said. She rose from her place and poured the remainder of her coffee in the sink. “Well, since I’ve slept away most of the morning, I should probably see what I can do about the rest of my day. I’m sure my office is coming completely unhinged.” The two of them laughed. Fumbling at the belt of the bathrobe, Sissy extended her hand to shake Joe’s.
Joe took her hand and gave her a loving look. “We’re cool, right,” he asked.
“Of course we are.”
Their hands still joined, she leaned in to kiss him chastely on the cheek. With his back to the door, only Sissy was able to see the figure standing outside preparing to come in. As her lips met the side of Joe’s face, her eyes connected with those of a dumbfounded Maggie; whose arm was still raised to knock on the door.
Maggie had been surfing around on Facebook over breakfast when she came upon a post she’d read that morning on Joe’s page about heading home for an early lunch. “Not sure which is more dangerous,” it read. “Cafeteria food or what comes out of my own kitchen. Better stick with the devil you know.”
She decided to surprise him with some sandwiches she’d picked up, hoping to steal some time with him before heading into the studio to work. The surprise, as it would seem, was definitely on Maggie.
Frozen, she watched helplessly as Sissy, clothed in a robe that was obviously Joes, slipped her arm around Joe’s neck in a warm embrace. As the two women locked eyes, Maggie could see a definite look of triumph glowing from Sissy’s face. In the distance, a neighbor’s dog barked, snapping Maggie from her trance. She backed away from the door slowly, and ran down the footpath back to her car.
Hands shaking, Maggie struggled not to cry. Finally getting the key in the ignition, she tore out onto the highway with the speed of a NASCAR champion.
“That explains why you sounded so strange last night,” she muttered to the air. “I guess I would sound strange too if someone were in my bed…”
In his profession, Blake Fabian had pretty much seen it all, both on stage and off. From marital spats to lovers’ quarrels; inebriated musicians and coked-out groupies, there was little to nothing in the world of entertainment that fazed him.
Nashville was always a breath of fresh air to him. Although the seedy underbelly of the music scene existed just as readily as it did anywhere else, in Tennessee it was less inclined to rear its head right away. The prevailing ethic seemed to be: work first, party later. Nashville’s charm always reminded him of why he got into this business in the first place. He could do his job without the stereotypical distractions of the fast lane…while still finding those avenues to pick up a little action ‘off the clock’ should he ever feel the need to cut loose.
He considered that January invitation from Lanie to helm a Music City project a total lark. While he valued Lanie’s opinion, he questioned her judgment when she directed him toward the website of a studio singer named Maggie West. Before even heading to her site, his first thoughts were of an aging wannabe.
But all preconceived notions diminished when he clicked on the icon that housed samples of her work. This woman was no wannabe. A little long in the tooth by industry standards to be sure; but the face, the voice…there was no escaping that “it factor.”
“Looks like that sheila’s really got me over a barrel this time,” he laughed as he continued to envelope himself in the smoothness of Maggie’s sound. All the while, he couldn’t stop staring at a simple yet dramatic black and white of Maggie sitting backward on a chair. “There is no escaping this.”
From that moment on, Blake Fabian became a man obsessed. He could not get to Nashville quickly enough.
And just as he’d hoped, the ride was better than he’d ever dreamed. Maggie and Blake were a match made in musical heaven. He produced her, coached her, offered suggestions for her songs that she had never considered, all the while entertaining insights of her
own that proved to be sheer genius. They both knew that each and every song had moved beyond the potential to be radio friendly hits, into the realm of complete works of art.
Maggie herself felt as though she were floating above a surreal situation. She couldn’t believe how well the two of them clicked both professionally and personally. She laughed openly at Blake’s persistent flirtations, never taking them seriously, yet basking in every word. The playful give and take of her witty refusals to what Blake considered some of his smoothest moves kept the atmosphere light and fun, while still getting the necessary work completed.
The time flew by, and while Maggie hated to see it end, the thing that fueled her fire was the thought of having regular time with Joe again. Though the process was exhilarating, she’d missed him and the children terribly.
But on what should have been a celebratory final afternoon of recording, there was a perceptible shift in Maggie’s demeanor. It wasn’t lost on anyone in the room - least of all, Blake Fabian.
“Hey Gregg, cut her mic for me, would ya, buddy?” Blake asked as he headed into the booth where she sat quietly.
With long, purposeful strides, he entered the dimly-lit area and sat on a stool in front of her, resting his hands on his knees. The green of his eyes deepened as his gaze narrowed with genuine concern.
“Well, there was a little bit of magic here and there, but I’m really not liking the idea of piecing together stuff from all these different tracks. What’s up with my little one-take wonder?”
Maggie found it difficult to spell out exactly what she was feeling at the time. As she opened her mouth to speak, she noticed Sissy had entered the studio. She was dressed in a smart khaki colored mini skirt with a matching jacket that Maggie was fairly certain she’d worn the day before. The only difference was the emerald green cotton shirt she wore underneath. Given what Maggie had witnessed just a few hours before, she would have bet her next paycheck that the shirt Sissy wore was borrowed…from Joe.