Perfect Timing

by Spinella, Laura

  “Not quite that archaic.”

  “Seriously? You think he’ll read fine print, but you don’t think he’d see through something that . . . accidental?”

  “What difference would it make after the fact? The point is Aidan’s persistent sense of right and wrong, that loyalty we spoke about. In my experience, it’s never been in step with today’s easy standards.” He shrugged. “It came in handy enough when he thought Miss October was in peril. Think about using it to your advantage, that’s all I’m suggesting.”

  Incredulous or curious, either way, her expression was awed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never . . .” She paused. “On the other hand, he certainly had an aversion to living together less a marriage license. Who even thinks like that nowadays? Maybe you have a—”

  A ringing phone interrupted. “There he is,” he said, mashing a finger into the speaker button. “Aidan, where the hell are you? You were supposed to be in my office a half hour ago!”

  “Sorry about that, Fitz. Something came up, we’ll have to reschedule.”

  Anne inched forward in her seat. “Aidan, I don’t understand. The plan was for us to meet this morning, have dinner this evening. I have all the contracts here, ready to review.”

  “I’ve already done that. There are details we need to discuss, but we can do that later.” Fitz shot Anne an I-told-you-so look, the two of them leaning closer. “While I was on the phone with you last night my mother left a message.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yes, she’d been on an extended trip to Hawaii with some friends. You know, Fitz, that crowd of ladies that makes it to every show we do on a swing through Florida.”

  “Not really, but if you say so. What’s the problem, Aidan? Is she ill?” A few seconds of crackling silence passed.

  “No, nothing like that, but thanks for the concern. Instead of heading home, she decided to take a detour, Big Sur, Monterey. Seems she’s always wanted to do the tourist thing. I decided to drive up and spend a few days.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No, I’m not,” he replied in a lazy, “Why is this a problem?” tone. Over the years, more so in recent ones, he’d used it for what seemed like the express purpose of annoying the living hell out of Fitz. “It’s the perfect opportunity with the break in my schedule.” As Fitz shook his head, Anne’s posture slumped dejectedly. “Hang on, there’s some traffic.”

  “You’re driving yourself?” she asked, jerking upright. “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “Anne, you worry too much. I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course, I didn’t mean—”

  “Never mind that,” Fitz said, a hard glare passing across the desk. “Aidan, you want to postpone signing your C-Note contracts so you can take a personal day?”

  “No, I am postponing signing for a personal day.” Fitz’s arms lifted into the air, acknowledging how little hands-on control he had over Aidan Royce. “Besides, those contracts aren’t due for a couple of weeks. What’s the rush? My relationship with C-Note and you is solid, right?”

  “Absolutely, very solid, but that’s not the point. We’re busy people, the three of us. It’s not easy to coordinate a meeting like this.”

  “I suppose. But out of the three of us, you’d have to concede that I’m the busiest—certainly the most in demand.”

  Anne held up a hand, calming Fitz’s protruding veins. “Yes, of course we understand. You’re Aidan Royce. How, um . . . how long do you expect to be away?”

  “Just a few days. You’ll hardly have time to miss me. Promise.”

  Calming hand or not, Fitz couldn’t be stopped. “That’s just great, Aidan, fucking great. I leave for Europe tomorrow. I won’t be back until the end of the month—”

  “Hey, Fitz, I can barely hear you. Kai has my calendar, Anne’s right there, put your heads together and come up with a new date. I’ll be there to sign. No problem. But, really, you’re fading. And I shouldn’t be talking on my cell while I’m driving.”

  He hung up. Fitz and Anne were left with unsigned contracts and the real-life spin of an irreverent, iconic rock star.

  “EXCUSE, MR. ROYCE, BUT DID YOU JUST SAY YOU WERE DRIVING WHILE ON YOUR CELL PHONE?”

  Aidan grinned, dropping his phone onto the seat next to him. “Yeah, I guess I did. Sleight of hand I learned courtesy of Fitz Landrey. At the moment, I need a high-profile life to fly very under the radar.”

  “I know privacy is paramount to you,” he said, filling Aidan’s coffee cup. “Speaking of flying, the pilots estimate a late-afternoon landing.” Henry was his in-flight Kai, more formal but friendly, handling anything that his employer might need while en route on his private jet. He lingered for a moment, finally remarking to a still-grinning Aidan, “If I may say, you do seem rather upbeat today.”

  “I am, Henry. I definitely am.” He took the steaming cup, sipping it, pausing. “I don’t mind telling you, I’ve logged a lot of hours on this plane, in this life. Parts of it have been an incredible wild ride. I’d never claim otherwise. But always,” he said, his gaze drifting toward the window, “something huge has been missing.”

  “I’d have to agree.” Aidan looked back, surprised by a feeling he assumed was well guarded. “It’s my job to observe, Mr. Royce, to anticipate needs. I’ve worked for you for a while now, watched you spend a great deal of time staring out that very window,” he said, pointing. “Whatever’s missing, I’ve always suspected it was far removed from fame, well beyond anything a staff member could deliver.”

  Aidan nodded, breathing deep. He cleared his throat, needing to change the subject. “Tell me, how’s your sister doing?”

  “Kara’s doing beautifully, thanks to you. She has her son back; she has a job. Every time I see her, she asks me to thank you. My family asks me to thank you. We never could have afforded a treatment program like that.”

  “I’ve seen the toll drugs take, especially heroin. It’s bad news. I’m glad I was in a position to help.” Aidan’s eyes traveled the opulent interior of the aircraft. “And what I did, it’s not as selfless as it sounds.”

  “Sir?” he said, gathering the lunch Aidan didn’t eat.

  “The good life, Henry. It’s not a simple thing to justify. It carries a lot of burden for a guy whose job it is to carry a tune. Doing things like helping your sister . . . Well, it doesn’t balance out, but it lets me sleep a little better at night.”

  “For the record, Mr. Royce, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.” Sipping his coffee, Aidan offered a curious glance. “But I am a jack-of-all-trades. My previous employers, all well-known, well-to-do people, demanded as much. Allow me to assure you, you should sleep well.”

  Henry retreated to the forward cabin, a place normally jammed with the Royce entourage. Aidan remained where he usually did, in the rear section of the aircraft, a private space that was off-limits to just about every other human being. He squinted into a pre-painted canvas, mountains of cumulous clouds drilled with telltale signs of light. On any ordinary day, the heavens unearthed might be inspiration. Enough to pick up a guitar and sell his soul for three minutes and thirty seconds while keeping it radio friendly. Not today. Today he picked up his phone and dialed his voicemail. As he told Fitz and Anne, his mother had called, like he told Henry, the need for privacy was paramount.

  “Hey, sweet boy, I’m home. The girls and I had a wonderful trip—private tours, the best hotels . . . You’re spoiling me, son! But listen, sweetie, that’s not why I called. I had a message here, on the house phone. It was from Isabel. Surprised the devil out of me! Anyway, it was just a short message, saying it was her, and that she needed to get in touch—that it was important. I . . . I know you don’t like to talk about her, Aidan, but you know how I feel. It sounded like she really needed you. Of course, truth be told, I’ve always thought of that as the other way around.”
/>   And this, Aidan knew, was the truest statement of his life. In the midst of an Asian tour, on a balcony in Kuala Lumpur, from the pit that was the bottom of alone, Aidan finally let it in. He finally accepted that his divorce from Isabel was a complete and utter mistake. The feeling had chased him across continents, since the moment a story in the Boston Globe triggered an avalanche of emotion. In the end, it was her noted place of employment that provided a serendipitous fact. And from that Far East balcony, he put in motion an acquisition that was meant to be a symbolic gesture. Silently, anonymously, without Isabel ever knowing, he’d be a part of her life—even from as far away as Kuala Lumpur. It was a way to let her go, bringing closure to a tumultuous past. He had no hope of winning her back. What he’d done to her on their wedding night made it a certainty. It was his intention to move on. The fact that he was engaged to another woman gave the concept credibility. But the gesture had turned on him, his feelings fucking up the best-laid plans. When Aidan returned stateside, the tour over, he found himself fixated on his new acquisition, curious as to how it might translate into common ground. And for every second Aidan spent telling himself that it was an absurd fantasy, he spent one more pursuing the prospect. His purchase put him in the ballpark, but he needed a reason to get in the game.

  That’s when Aidan began to wonder what might happen if Isabel needed him. Maybe nothing. Maybe she’d reach out. And before he knew it, Aidan was turning gesture into possibility. He made the executive decision that 98.6—The Normal FM for Easy Listening change its format, giving the outrageous order that the radio station prove itself with an on-demand audience. In turn, it made him the only viable solution to the problem. It was an incredible risk. Aidan couldn’t fathom the devastation if Isabel rejected any notion of him coming to her aid. The waiting had left him on edge, his ridiculous arrest the last thing he wanted on Isabel’s mind. He shifted restlessly, thinking he should have been more direct. Maybe he should have showed up on her doorstep with his heart and a mega check in hand. Why not? It seemed like a slam-dunk move. Slam-dunk if it was anyone but Isabel. She’d see it as a flashy attempt to buy her, and arguably she would be right. Dropping in on her life would have led to a lopsided ten-second opportunity to reconnect. He needed to be invited. And much to his amazement, according to his mother, he had been. He understood that it was just an opportunity. That he could end up doing nothing more than performing a benefit concert and Isabel writing him a lovely thank-you note. There was a man named Nate Potter, someone who, in a heartbeat, could render him meaningless. He sucked in a breath, the image harsh in his head. Aidan rubbed a hand around the snake, expecting to find an ink-stained hand. It wasn’t the obvious that haunted him: body art, marketing tool, branding, sexy fodder, a universal danger sign in the world of rock ’n’ roll, but the symbolism about which he’d been warned. Neither the snake nor Isabel was ever going away. Aidan was aware of the uncharted future. For a guy who’d never suffered a bout of stage fright, the approaching moment was wildly unnerving. He couldn’t recall the last time anything had sparked such a buzz in his soul. It was never money or fame or even thousands of people screaming his name—it was always Isabel. Exactly as he’d told her. As the plane pushed east, on a physical course bound for Providence, Aidan leaned back and closed his eyes, praying for the same destination.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Providence, Rhode Island

  NORMALLY, TANYA AND MARY LOUISE WOULD BE GONE BY FIVE O’CLOCK, but they’d hung around, recapping the last of the 104.7 brainstorming ideas. A few minutes after five, they unanimously agreed that every reasonable option had been exhausted. At the very least, they would go down together.

  “I guess that’s it,” Mary Louise said, straightening an unusually disheveled desk. “I’m going to tell Joe everything tonight.” She smiled at Isabel. “Did I tell you that his brother’s fishing business in Florida has really taken off? Maybe tonight we can talk about how nice it would be to spend next winter there.”

  “Florida. That means you’d have to move.”

  “It’s just an idea, Isabel.”

  “But Joe gets seasick, which is why he stuck to building boats, and you fry like a lobster,” she said, a hand flailing at Mary Louise’s ghostly skin.

  “There’s always Dramamine and 80-plus sunblock. We’re only exploring our options, even if it means relocating. Maybe this is for the best. I happen to know a gem of a guy who’d love it if you changed your address.”

  Finishing a cup of coffee, a hum rang from Isabel’s throat. Before she could add words, Tanya cleared hers, drawing their attention. “I, um, meant to say something before, Isabel. I’m sorry my theory about Aidan was so off the mark. I just thought . . . Well, we all know I’m the last person who should be tossing around her two-bit theories on romance.”

  “It’s okay, Tanya. Obviously, I couldn’t have been more wrong about him—across the board. No harm done.” Isabel turned in her chair, round-filing scraps of paper where hope had been scribbled.

  “I’ve got to get going too. Big Eddie has all three kids. He’s been a huge help with the midnight oil we’ve been burning. He really was the best of the lot.”

  “He was,” agreed Mary Louise. “If only he could have quit taking the rent money to Foxwoods.”

  “If only,” Tanya wondered, her romantic ideals decidedly intact.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot,” Mary Louise said, moving a stack of papers. “Patrick called while you were in with Rudy.” Another hum radiated out of Isabel, having delivered their epic fail to a dismayed station manager. “He asked if you’d call him back on his cell.”

  It barely registered. Her mind was still reeling from the letdown of not coming through. “Okay, I’ll call him.” Retrieving her cell phone from her purse, Isabel saw three missed calls from Patrick. “Damn,” she murmured, “how did this end up on silent?” Isabel sat up straighter, trading an anxious glance with Mary Louise. “With everything going on here, I haven’t talked to my dad since early last week. Patrick probably just wants to know what’s up.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably it,” Tanya said, smoothing a crumpled Dunkin’ Donuts napkin. “I’m sorry; I forgot too. He called this morning. I was here early thinking my contact from JMX-Classic Rock in Dallas might have left a message. I wasn’t awake.” She handed her the chocolate-smeared napkin, Isabel reaching for a more reliable landline. A call to Patrick went straight to voicemail. A call to her father brought the same result. She dialed Nate. When that went to voicemail, she tried his apartment. He was supposed to be off after spending the weekend on call. She almost hung up when a woman answered. There was a brief exchange, Nate having mentioned that Jenny would be in town. She’d spent the last year living out of a duffel bag, and she was coming by to collect the rest of her things. After identifying one another, she said that Nate had returned to the hospital early that morning. It was all Isabel needed to hear.

  “I can stay,” Mary Louise said. But her tote bag was in one hand, a pile of Sunday circulars that Tanya brought in bulk stacked in the other. With three children to gather, Tanya was already at the door.

  “No, it’s okay.” Dialing Patrick, she missed a number and started over.

  Mary Louise turned as she exited the office. “Call if you need me. You know . . .” she said, backing out the door. But before Isabel could reply or dial she heard Tanya gasp. It was like she’d seen a ghost or a unicorn or maybe a snake. Waxy circulars flew through the air, wafting around the doorway. There was an audible “Oh my God!” from Mary Louise as Isabel rushed to the door. Crouched outside were three bodies, one wearing a ball cap. It was a tight huddle, everyone grabbing for the loose pages of Sunday circulars.

  “Here, sorry, let me help. I didn’t see you ladies coming.” Isabel propelled backward—about seven years—one, two, three giant steps, until her backside was pinned against the desk. She summoned every form of apathy. But the voice in the air was having none of
that, challenging indifference. “I’m looking for Isabel . . . Isabel Lang.”

  “There . . . in there,” Mary Louise squeaked.

  Isabel’s fingers gripped the desk’s edge. Her heart pounded out an old coded rhythm, her brain insisting it was residual and passé. A thought flashed through her head, something about running away to Las Vegas or Boston. But before she could breathe another breath, or locate a safe exit, it happened. She and Aidan were face-to-face.

  His eyes were brighter than she remembered or maybe it was the Dodger blue of the ball cap he wore. It struck her as odd. Isabel didn’t recall Aidan being the ball-cap-wearing type. He grinned, revealing something she did recognize, a feature stitched to that runaway rhythm. “Hello, Isabel.”

  “Aidan,” she said, though it came out raspy and unsure.

  “Sounds like you haven’t said that in years, or maybe even thought it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, glancing at documentation that confessed as much. She wanted to burn the evidence. Clearly, old habits died hard.

  “My, um . . . Stella . . .” She watched him draw a deep breath. She couldn’t read him, like a forgotten parlor trick, and she hung tighter to the cold metal edge of the desk. “My mother gave me your message.” Before she could reply with, “That’s okay, I already got the one from Anne,” he changed the subject. “You look . . . You’re as pretty as the night of the gala.” There was a slight bob to her head. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding as if he’d come all that way to say as much. “I never told you that night, and I should have.”

  “Didn’t you?” she said, lying. “Well, nothing really went as expected that night. Did it?” He smiled at humor that seemed to have lost its rhythm. “Your mother, how is she . . . Stella?”

  “She’s great. She lives in Boca Raton.”

  “I know. I mean, I thought of it after I tried Catswallow information. I remembered that she talked about Boca, that your dad left her the condo. It was a shot in the dark. There weren’t too many ways of getting a hold of you. You, um, changed your cell number.”