Immediately belligerent and confrontational, James lit into her. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? How in the hell am I supposed to sleep without you taking up most of the bed?” He folded his arms across his bare chest and scowled. “It’s bloody cold in there.”
“At least I don’t snore.” She giggled, clapping a hand to her mouth.
He drew himself up, personally affronted. “I never, ever snore.”
Beth struggled to maintain her straight face. “I put all your stuff on Ebay,” she casually remarked, “and I’ve gotten some good bids so far, especially on your tighty whities. Who knew there was such a market for dirty underwear?” She pulled his bag closer to her, ignoring the low growl she got in response. Flashing the camera lens her best come hither smile, she tugged off the vest and peasant blouse of her gypsy costume. Shrugging out of her bra, she slowly pulled on his t-shirt from the day before, making sure he got a good eyeful before the large shirt hid her again. “I’m keeping this, though,” she smirked.
His expression was one of total disbelief. “You are an evil, evil woman and I suspect you’re doing this to me on purpose.” James snorted, shifting uncomfortably in his chair to better accommodate his growing interest.
“Just making sure you know where to go,” Beth shot back, “if you ever want to see this shirt alive again.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “I don’t think I’ve ever envied a shirt before, but damn if I’m not doing it now.” His smile, when it finally came, was wistful. “Wish it was me wrapped around you, darlin’.”
She answered softly. “Me too.”
He waited a moment before clearing his throat to speak again. “You didn’t really put my underwear on Ebay.”
She raised one shoulder in a shrug.
He leaned forward in his chair and studied her more closely. “No, I need to hear you tell me you didn’t.”
She smiled again, but said nothing. Sighing heavily, he ran his hands through his hair in utter exasperation but unable to maintain the facade he giggled. “Maybe I’ll start writing my name in them again. Should drive the price up, don’t you think?”
Beth burst into laughter. “I bet it will,” she crowed. “I may just have to buy you a sharpie…you dirty ‘em, I’ll market ‘em. We’ll be rich!”
* * * *
Outside James’s door, Aaron paused to listen, his ear pressed against the cool surface. He’s on the phone…no wait, there’s two voices. He’s got a woman in there. Good, he smiled and continued down the hall towards his room well pleased with himself. Those two little girls must have done the trick.
Aaron’s zen-like wellbeing lasted almost exactly two weeks before it crashed and burned. He slammed his iced tea glass down on the table in his hotel room hard enough to crack it. “I want to know why I wasn’t given the proofs before the inserts were printed up,” he demanded into the phone. “Goddamnit, those CDs are ready to ship.”
The printer representative at the other end had already tried both the efficient approach and the soothing approach. Unfortunately, neither had worked. He opted for taking the offensive and pulled out the heavy artillery. “You were given the proofs, Mr. Nicholson, and you okayed them,” he said firmly. “We wouldn’t have printed them otherwise.” He took a deep breath. “We have your signature stating you went over all layouts and they were found to be acceptable. The only thing changed was a slight last-minute rewording on one page. Since it didn’t warrant a type reset, we didn’t see the need to have you reapprove the entire layout and create an additional delay in the print schedule.”
Aaron gritted his teeth and tried his best to maintain a civil tone. “So have all the inserts been printed?”
“Yes, sir. And if you want them redone, it will be at your expense. This change was requested by an authorized employee of your organization and is not, unfortunately, our company’s error.”
“Never mind,” Aaron growled, slamming the receiver down. He placed a protective hand over his stomach, feeling another flare up of the Kelly ulcer coming on.
* * * *
Over the weeks following the Tampa concert, Beth kept up with James’s whereabouts by phone, computer and the postcards and gifts that continued to arrive. The tour was moving into the Midwest and on its last leg. Near the end of June Beth received a flat package and was delighted to find an advance copy of Horizon–All Our Best within. As promised, James had autographed hers. That afternoon when she went to work, she popped into the office for a moment before setting up for the evening. Lily waved her in and immediately asked, “Did you get the CD from James?” When Beth only smiled and nodded, Lily gave her the strangest look. “Well? What did you think?” she demanded.
Beth frowned. “I thought the cover art was pretty and I know all the songs…so it’s great?” She studied her friend. “What exactly are you fishing for, m’dear?”
Lily laughed. “She hasn’t seen it, Meg.”
Coming into the room with an armload of folders, Meg giggled with delight and gestured with her chin toward Dan’s desk. “There’s our copy. Back page, dear. You might want to sit down.”
Taking a seat of the sofa, Beth’s frown deepened as she opened the insert booklet filled with lyrics and band photos. She flipped through to the dedications on the last page and held her breath as she read.
Dedications
James Kelly. For my wonderful family– without their love, support, and occasional ass-kicking, I’d still be washing pint glasses and singing for tips, and for Lisbeth, my sweet gypsy–you gave me my joy back. I love you!
Beth stared at it for several moments then read it again just to make sure the first time wasn’t a mistake. Meg touched a delicate finger under Beth’s chin, gently closing her mouth. She cast a bemused glance heavenward and asked, “Now what is it about my eejit brothers that make their girls look like that?”
When she got back to her tent, she sent a quick message to James.
got the CD, thank you for the dedication
About an hour later, she got a response back.
my pleasure– do you like cats?
Beth looked at her phone and laughed, completely bewildered.
yes why?
The answer was swift.
good
“What mischief are you up to, Irish?” she said aloud.
There were no more messages after that. When she asked him about it later that night, he claimed complete ignorance of any messages and instead showed her the view of the San Diego skyline from his balcony.
The following morning, Beth rose a little later than usual and jumped into her household chores. Hating the complex laundry room with an all-consuming passion, she was now down to some pretty interesting wardrobe choices buried deep in the bottom drawers. She wore James’s shirt to bed every night so she could fall asleep with his spicy masculine scent surrounding her, so that one definitely wasn’t getting washed.
Throwing on a pair of cutoffs and an old high school gym class t-shirt–why the hell did she still have it–she plopped down on the couch to pull her Tarot card for the day. The Chariot. Gotta get moving. To get the ball rolling, she began singing a happy, loud and slightly off-key “Highway Star.” “Big fat tires and everything…” She danced around the apartment, picking up clothes to be washed and shooting them like basketballs into the waiting hamper.
“I want it, I need it…” Her impromptu one-on-one with the laundry basket was interrupted by an insistent ring of the doorbell. Smoothing her hair back, she bounded over to the door and peered through the peephole at her visitor. Looked normal enough. She slid the chain lock on the door and cracked it open. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Miss Lisbeth…Vargo?” the heavyset man asked, looking down at the clipboard. “I have a delivery for you from…” He puzzled for a moment over the unfamiliar first name. “See-muss Kelly.”
“Shay-mus,” she corrected, adding, “just a minute.” She closed the door, unfastened the chain lock and opened it again
.
A broad grin lit up the deliveryman’s blunt features. “Instructions are you’re to open the envelope first, then sign.”
She frowned. “Sign for what?”
He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Envelope first,” he said, handing her a manila envelope. She took it, hearing something rattling around inside. With a shrug, she tore the flap open and stuck her hand inside. Bypassing a bunch of papers, her fingers closed around metal and she pulled it out to look at it incredulously. It was a set of keys, and tied to the ring was a note in the familiar slanted handwriting:
please take care of my cat for me until I come home
I love you,
S.
She stared first at the keys, then the note and finally the delivery man, his grin growing even wider. “Sign here to accept delivery,” he prompted, thrusting the clipboard at her.
“Delivery of what?” she managed to squeak out. She turned her gaze to where his finger pointed and froze.
“That,” he said succinctly. He waved the go ahead and the driver slowly lowered the flatbed bearing the brand new Jaguar XKR convertible. “The color matches your hair,” the man laughed.
Bet it matches my cheeks too, she thought, watching them back the crimson sports car down the ramp and into the parking space next to her old Saturn. Numbly, she signed the clipboard and the deliveryman congratulated her on the acquisition of such a fine car before leaving.
She went back into the apartment, the envelope falling to the floor, and snatched up her cell phone. James answered on the second ring. “Yes, my darlin’?”
“Seamus, someone just turned up at my doorstep bearing car keys and a note to take care of your cat. Would you be knowing anything about that, lad?” she said, mimicking his brogue as she walked back outside to look at it again. “Seriously, you know I can’t drive a car like that. It’s too…too…it’s just too.”
“I’m afraid I must insist, sweet, you’ll make that car look good. Your car, much as you love it, is circling the drain. It’s going to leave you stranded some dark night and I…I can’t have that.”
“What did you see, Seamus?”
“All the paperwork should be there in the envelope. Insurance and everything’s already taken care of. Let me know how it drives,” he said then dropped his voice to a whisper. “I gotta go. I love you, mo chroi.” The line went dead.
Beth looked at the phone in disbelief then turned her gaze back to the beautiful, sleek convertible. Shaking her head, she went back inside her apartment and upon locking the door did the happy dance for a full five minutes before collapsing laughing and breathless on the couch.
16
James stared at the phone for a moment before sliding it back in his pocket. He cleared his throat and glared across the glossy table of the hotel conference room at the two suit clad attorneys. With piles of official looking documents and folders strewn in front of them like a protective barrier, they wore matching bleak expressions.
“Now then, gentlemen. Where were we?” he said amiably. Bypassing the complimentary kolaches, he poured himself a glass of water from the faux crystal pitcher and drained it in one gulp. “Right, you were telling me all about how you didn’t read the fine print in my contract before you had me sign it.” James tried to keep his voice mild, but from the looks on the attorney’s faces they were bracing for the worst. As well they should, in his opinion.
“Mr. Kelly, the language used is straight boilerplate from your very first contract. It’s carried over each time you renewed it, and you’ve never questioned it before…” the older man offered lamely.
James cut him off. “I’m a singer, not a bloody attorney. That’s what I pay you lot for, and it seems to me that I’m paying way too much money for you to be making bullshit mistakes like this.” He leaned back in his chair and gestured toward the nearest pile of documents. “So now let me see if I understand this,” he continued. “Buried way back in a part of the contract that you apparently didn’t see the fucking need to review, there is a clause stating that if a compilation is released, I am obligated to tour to support it. Six months, isn’t that what you said?” He leaned forward and hissed, “Six more months of my fucking life, and you didn’t see the need to review it?”
He poured another glass of water and drank it, then took a deep breath and pressed the heel of his hand to his chest. “Fine. Here’s my take on it, gents. You’re the ones who banjaxed it, you fix it. No tour!” He slammed both palms on the tabletop for emphasis, the loud crack echoing like gunshot around the large room.
Visibly startled, the two men glanced sideways at each other. The younger attorney spoke first. “Of course, we can research it further to see if there are any loopholes that would…”
His voice grew fainter as he looked for help to the senior attorney, who chimed in with “…provide us with legitimate reason to break the existing contract without incurring any unnecessary or…unpleasant legal repercussions.”
“You do that,” James said, shooting to his feet, “and I expect it to be your first priority.” Without another word he turned and strode toward the door, his hand creeping up toward his chest again.
“Mr. Kelly?” the older man called after him. “Are you feeling well, sir?” James didn’t answer as he shoved his way out the door, slamming it hard enough to vibrate.
In the elevator on the way up, James’s battle plan took form. When he stepped out onto the band floor, he met Bryce wobbling his way back from the hospitality suite with a plate piled high with sandwiches and sodas tucked under each arm. Together the two quickly rounded up the rest of the band, recruiting a stray roadie to stand as lookout for their clandestine meeting in Bryce’s room.
James spoke first. “Gentlemen, I have just found out that we are contractually obligated to tour to support this compilation release.”
There were groans all around. Bryce’s eyes narrowed as he appraised James. “You’re not having us on, are you” he said in disbelief then looked down sadly at his plate of uneaten sandwiches. “There goes my bloody appetite.”
James shook his head. “And I don’t think it’s going to come as a shock to any of you that I’m fucking fuming about it. I’m needing a break and I know the rest of you are too.” There were nods and murmurs of agreement all around.
“Why hasn’t Aaron mentioned it yet?” DJ wondered aloud. He shook his head vigorously, making the long black curls bounce. “I mean, he has to know about this, right?”
Mike’s eyes narrowed, his Asian features hardening. “It’s all about the money, Sherlock,” the rhythm guitarist snapped, giving DJ an affectionate cuff on the back of the head. “He’s gotta pay off that new car. Thinks he’ll buy a football team.” He sang the last of that sentence to the tune of Pink Floyd’s Money.
Bryce made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “That greedy bastard,” he snorted. “He knows we’re all looking to take some time off and he don’t want to hear no guff about it from any of us. He’s a…James, mate. All right, there?”
James opened his mouth to speak but again thumped his hand against his chest as he drew in a deep breath. “I must have eaten something that’s trying to eat me back,” he joked before continuing in a more serious tone. “I wanted the rest of you to know where I’m at about it. I’m not deserting the band, but I don’t want to do another tour. I want some time off. I need some time off, and I’m going to do everything in my power to keep from going.”
Randy shook his head, his mouth set in a firm line. “I don’t want to do it either.” The rest murmured to each other, affirming reluctance to spend any more time on the road.
“So it’s settled then. No tour. My attorneys are after finding a way to get us out of this bloody mess. I suggest you get yours on it as well.” James turned and laughed over his shoulder, “Secret meeting adjourned, lads.”
The young roadie standing guard in the hallway grinned at the musicians slinking out of the room, but his face immediately filled with concern when
his eyes targeted James. “Dude, you look…” he began, but the end of that sentence fell on deaf ears as James sank slowly to the floor.
* * * *
With Bella the cat anchored like a furry barnacle to his side, Ian sprawled upon the couch, sketchbook open in front of him. On TV, the news channel recapped the top of the hour stories in a steady drone of background noise. He glanced up in time to see Lily come in, bearing a steaming mug. “How’s your headache?” she asked, handing him his tea and smoothing a curl out of his eyes.
He took a sip of the chamomile before answering. “Better,” he nodded. “I feel strange, though. Light-headed. Must be love,” he teased, looking up at the mantle clock just striking midnight. “I’m due for some medicine, though. Then I believe I’ll be off to bed.”
After gently relocating the sleeping cat, Ian set about tidying up. He turned off the TV with the remote then gathered up his sketches, tapping the edges on the tabletop and froze. Suddenly uneasy, he stared at the now black screen, his hand drifting up to press against his pounding chest. Without a second thought, he snatched up his phone and began pressing numbers frantically. Lily walked back into the room and cried, “Ian? What’s the matter?”
“Dunno,” he muttered, “but I’m after finding out.”
He didn’t have long to wait. Meg answered on the first ring. “You feel it too,” she said.
“Are you well? Is it the baby?” Ian demanded.
“I’m fine. I just woke up,” she assured him. “You call Ma and James. I’ll call Sean and Heather.”
Without another word he disconnected and hit the speed dial to call Moire. Busy signal. He pulled up the menu again but before he could press James’s number, his call waiting buzzed. Seamus, he breathed, answering at once. “Where the hell are you?” Ian growled. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay. Everything’s fine,” James said. “I wanted to call and tell you not to worry. I heard it made the news.”
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