She hadn’t minded. The impending concert had made it easier to avoid him.
Since his kiss—just a lapse of vigilance on her part and incaution on his—she’d kept a wary eye peeled for further overtures, but he hadn’t made any. Of course, they were rarely together. He breakfasted with them mid-morning but didn’t return until they were asleep. She’d been careful since that ill-advised kiss to keep the conversation neutral, but he hadn’t seemed any more inclined than her to confront what had happened.
When she readied herself for the concert, she dismissed the real reason why she’d spent hours yesterday at Shawnee Bay searching for a powder blue outfit that precisely matched her eyes. She also ignored the wave of melancholy that swept her every time she thought of Jon’s departure next week.
As the sun dipped toward evening, Roy drove them to Sedalia. At the gates to the State Fair Grounds, Roy displayed a pass, and the guard waved them through. The children gaped at the throngs of people moving between the Exotic Animal Petting Zoo, the 4-H barns, the Pig Race, and dozens of other booths and exhibits. Melanie wrinkled her nose against the earthy smells drifting from the livestock corrals. A Ferris Wheel flashed above. The roar and screams from the Rocket Express shook their molars. Munching on a shared bag of kettle corn, a couple in matching overalls stared after the limo, but largely they received no attention. Roy wound around to a private drive where they received laminated neck tags. He dropped them near a long row of air-conditioned trailers behind a stage erected in front of the grandstand. Right now, the grandstand was deserted, but soon it would be packed.
The children scrambled out and stared. Scaffolding rose a good thirty feet into the air behind the stage, a huge network of catwalks and platforms and cables and swings. Grips wandered through the maze, slinging cable and calling orders. Amplifiers zinged and went still. A few backup dancers brushed by them, their faces mask-like under a heavy layer of makeup. Lil had thought a country concert would be a vignette reminiscent of good ol’ boys strumming and picking around a campfire. This was bewildering. She was relieved when Zeke approached, although he too looked unfamiliar, outfitted for the show in tailored, white satin, spangled with silver studs.
He smiled. “Something, isn’t it?”
Lil could only nod.
“Jon’s doing.” Zeke turned to stare at the intricate set. “Long time ago, he grasped the showmanship rock had already mastered. It’s a major reason for our crossover success.” He leaned down to the children and pointed. “See that?”
A round disk, only six feet wide, stood smack in the middle of the stage. “Everything will go dark before your daddy appears. Before it does, you find that circle and keep your eyes right there. While the stage is dark, your daddy’s going to step on the disk. If you listen real hard, you’ll hear some machinery start up, and it will raise him way up there.” Zeke indicated the top of the set. “Then it will lower him while he starts to sing.”
Melanie looked worried. Lil eyed the thing and prayed it would hold. Michael clapped. “Can I do it?”
Jostling her, a young man with a panicked expression dashed to the foot of the stage. The man waved his arms at a tattoo-riddled giant adjusting cables. She looked at Zeke.
Zeke smiled. “The choreographer. The cables are in the way. He doesn’t want us tripping over them.” He surveyed the scene. “Well, this is it. The last venue before we take off for distant shores. And”—he looked down at his boots and grimaced—“hopefully I’ll never again have to share a stage within three miles of a four-footed mammal.”
Following his gaze, Lil smiled. The boots showed signs of recent scraping, but some remnants of cow patty still remained.
Over the last weeks, she’d learned the Country Comeback tour had started at a June rodeo in Texas. As Mari had surmised, state fairs were smaller venues than Van Castle could command, but Jon had conceived the idea as a nod of appreciation and an attempt to recapture the band’s earliest fans who’d followed them at the beginning of their career to fairs, rodeos and tractor pulls. He’d done it. Arenas had sold out, recording sales from the tour had exploded. Once more, Van Castle was back on top.
Michael had been eying some electrical cable with great interest. He started to scoot off in that direction, but Zeke scooped him up first. “Unless you have a sudden yen for barbecue, my man, I think we’d better find you alternate entertainment.”
Michael’s eyes lit up at the mention of food, and he allowed Zeke to carry him to a white box of a trailer. Zeke rapped once and opened the door.
Inside, the trailer was sparsely furnished but laid with deep pile carpet. An easy chair, sofa and TV ranged along one wall. Zeke took the chair, and the children scattered toward an array of snacks lined up on a table against the other wall. Jon’s Fender sat on a stand. In the middle of the room, a carrot-topped man Lil recognized as the crew’s manager tried to engage Jon in conversation while Sidney, his mouth full of pins, tsk’d and fluttered around him, yanking at a vest of denim trimmed with glittering rhinestones. Jon wore it bare chested with nothing else on except a pair of boxers.
She blushed just as Jon glanced over, away, and then back again with widened eyes. Her blush deepened. Yesterday, she’d exchanged the ribbon in her hair for an upswept style that allowed wisps to frame her face. It wasn’t exactly Cosmopolitan but it was definitely less Seventeen. She’d also bought blue leggings and a matching tunic blouse. She hadn’t really felt the need to impress him. It had simply been time for a change, but she couldn’t help feeling gratified by his reaction.
Jon gave her a half smile, then turned his attention back to the crew manager. Sidney reached for a hanger, then eased Jon into denim trimmed with fringe and more rhinestones. It was as snug as a second skin. Lil gulped.
The door swung open and Roy stuck his head in. “Time to go.”
She looked at Jon, thought of the scaffolding. It hardly seemed appropriate, but she said it anyway. “Break a leg?”
He smiled. “That’ll do.” He seemed remarkably calm.
She gathered the children and followed Roy. He hadn’t appeared soon enough for her peace of mind.
Twilight had deepened, and the grandstand had filled. Catcalls and murmurs drifted around them. Some of the phosphorescent lights glaring against the night winked out, leaving the arena in partial darkness. As one, the crowd paused and looked toward the stage, a hitch in their shuffling feet and rustling programs. For a heartbeat, even the vendors hawking Van Castle music, T-shirts, posters and guitar picks fell silent. When nothing happened, the clamor resumed, this time vibrating with an undertone of expectation.
Roy led them to the base of bleachers that stacked up over the security offices and the press room. “Fellow’ll be here soon to take us up.” Roy stuck a toothpick in his mouth and lounged against a nearby wall
Lil hugged Michael and Melanie’s shoulders, giving Michael a reassuring wink when he tipped his head back to look up at her.
Talking in high, excited voices, eager to find their seats, stragglers hurried toward the stands from the draft-horse-sled pull over in the Coliseum. Roy watched them with hooded eyes, although in their hurry, nobody even glanced their direction. Under her fingertips, tension quivered in the children’s shoulders; they were exhilarated by their father’s concert but shy of so many strangers.
“Mrs. Van Castle? Your husband, he sent me to take you on up.”
It took a minute for her to realize the young security guard approaching them spoke to her. Mrs. Van Castle. She wasn’t used to it, and the little thrill that rippled through her was annoying. The guard switched on a flashlight and adopted an officious tone. “Watch your step, ma’am. Parts of the grandstand’s dark.”
She shepherded Melanie and Michael forward. Snagging the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, Roy pushed off the wall and shadowed them.
After their discussion at Surf’s Up, Jon had told Roy he was banished to Cordelia, at least for the duration of the tour. As she’d hoped, Roy had ad
mitted to her over one of their morning cups of coffee that he looked forward to it. “After the last few years, be like Walden Pond,” he said. She didn’t tell him she’d heard Walden Pond was stagnant. She loved Cordelia’s lazy nature, but she hoped Roy didn’t expire from boredom.
Though sorrow overlaid Jon’s departure—the children would miss him—she thrummed with anticipation over returning home. Back to her house, back to her gardens, by now probably parched scars in the earth, and back to Petunia. Her cat was undoubtedly peeved at being left in the care of a stranger, although Mari wasn’t exactly a stranger. She sighed. At least, she hadn’t been until this summer.
Lights swept the stage. Colored spots flicked on, then off, in one final check. As she and the children emerged from the bleachers, a roving, white spot glanced over them. In a double take, it stopped and returned, snaring them in brilliant light.
She shaded her eyes, blinded. The crowd hushed. Then a rumble grew to a roar as recognition dawned. She was the Cordelia hometown princess who’d found her Prince Charming, the Missouri local who’d made good and now lived their fantasies.
“Lil. Lil. Lil.”
The chanting began as a disorganized bleat and grew into a hammer of sound. Apparently sensing a golden opportunity, the technician kept the spot on her and dimmed the others.
Dismayed at the attention and trying to ignore the urge to bolt, she clutched the children’s hands and stumbled along, eyes pinned to the back of the security guard. Aware of his sudden importance, his chest puffed out. He flourished the flashlight like he was directing traffic, and barked at those who tried to touch her. Roy moved in close.
They climbed for an eternity to the VIP box. “Lil. Lil. Lil.” The noise shoved at her from every direction, catching and squeezing her chest until she could hardly breathe. Only the solid warmth of Roy’s hand on her back kept her moving.
The guard waved them into the front row of the box. She edged toward her seat, glimpsing members of her family. Even her mother had gotten into the act, clapping and yelling. Nearby, Alcea and Stan flanked their daughter, Alcea looked vaguely disapproving while Kathleen attempted to copy her expression. Baring his white teeth, Stan bellowed along with the rest.
Lydia and Peter Price sat shoulder to shoulder. Peter beamed at her like she’d arranged this sideshow for the band’s benefit. He’d hate to know her thoughts. If she’d ever wondered before, she now knew she definitely didn’t want the attention. Exhaling in relief, she reached the empty seats in front of her parents and started to sit.
Roy’s voice in her ear stopped her. “Bow.”
She looked at him, startled. She wasn’t part of the act.
He nudged his glistening bald head toward the crowd. “Bow. Curtsy. Wave. Whatever. Do something, and they’ll stop.”
Feeling not a little bit silly, she straightened and flapped a hand before she sat down. The crowd cheered, the spot winked out, and everyone looked around for another distraction.
From behind her, her mother squeezed her shoulder. “Never thought I’d be calling one of my own a star.”
“I’m not a star,” Lil murmured, settling the children.
Michael’s eyes gleamed like obsidian. He jounced in his seat, jostling his sister’s popcorn. Looking feverish, Melanie elbowed him. Lil sighed. The children didn’t need all this attention, either.
“Maybe you’re not, honeybunch, but, Lord, wasn’t that fun?” Zinnia sat back and popped a malt ball in her mouth, her glasses white mirrors in the glare from the lights. She leaned forward again. “Did I tell you we’ve a buyer for the cabin? Offered us more than even we thought the old place was worth.”
She knew Jon had finalized the papers on the sale of the O’Malley lake property this past week, but she pretended surprise. “So soon?”
“Isn’t it? Quite a stroke of luck finding a buyer that could pay that much so soon. And, whoever it was, he bought it through some representative. Didn’t want his name known. Pretty strange doings all together, wouldn’t you say?”
She directed a sharp look at her mother, but Zinnia leaned back and the lights played off her glasses again, hiding her eyes.
“I hope you’re not feeling too bad now that it’s gone. I mean, it’s been in the family for so long.” She wished she could just hand over the deed now, but it was still in Jon’s name and would be until the conclusion of their agreement. Besides, part of the bargain was strict secrecy. She squirmed a little, thinking of how she’d spilled everything to Seamus. Well, she wouldn’t repeat the mistake twice by telling her parents.
Her mother and father exchanged a half smile. Zinnia shrugged. “What’s meant to be is meant to be. We’re just happy for Patsy Lee’s sake. Not gonna hear anymore of that PicNic nonsense.”
A shower of popcorn interrupted them. Lil glanced down the row. Cradling her growing stomach, Patsy Lee threw her a sweet smile, oblivious to her daughter, Daisy, who was pelting the crowd. Next to Daisy, Hank gazed around in awe while Rose, dressed in her Sunday best, peeked out from her mother’s side.
A glow of satisfaction melted her discomfort. Patsy Lee’s needs and her parents’ future were secure. It was only a few years, and then she’d have the great satisfaction of giving them back the deed.
Curious about who else shared their box, she twisted to look and started. Mari sat behind her.
Her sister’s eyes flashed. “Have yourself quite the fan club, don’t you? Nice duds, by the way.”
Zinnia rifled a look at her. “Marigold McKenzie…”
Mari’s eyes slid away, and she stared stone-dead ahead.
Lil’s shoulders slumped. Once she returned to Cordelia and could see Mari more often, maybe she could mend the rip in their relationship.
The stadium went black. The crowd stilled. Her remorse over Mari melted away as she turned her attention to the stage. An eerie green glow shrouded in mist rose from the platform and silhouetted the five members of Fruit Stand.
Around her people settled back in various shades of skepticism. Touring with Van Castle could rocket record sales and increase radio time or it could dash a band’s fantasies. So far, Jon said, response to Fruit Stand had exceeded their hopes, but an opening act had to earn the crowd’s favor—they couldn’t assume it like the headliners.
Fruit Stand launched into their opening set, a whirlwind of eccentric rhythms and glistening harmonies. The crowd simmered. A few heads nodded, some fingers tapped arm rests and soon heels jogged along with the beat. By the end of their act, Fruit Stand had warmed the crowd and bowed themselves off the stage to a rollicking round of applause.
Again the stage blackened. She strained to hear the gears that signaled Jon’s journey to the top but heard nothing over the shuffling anticipation of the crowd. As the darkness lingered, the crowd grew edgy and the air electric. She leaned forward, muscles tense. Surely nothing had happened to him. Surely she’d hear something if a cable snapped, if a pulley broke—
A bright, white spot seared the night, striking its target. Jon hovered above the stage, muscled legs planted far apart, his Fender held at the ready, head dipped so his gleaming gold hair shadowed his face. He didn’t look at the crowd.
But the crowd was riveted on him and gasped, Lil gasped, and for three beats, there was dead silence.
Posing as still as the night air, hand primed above the strings, Jon prolonged the moment. Tension mounted. Expectation shifted toward anxiety. Then, with a mighty downstroke, he belted one chord. It pealed into the silence.
With a mighty whoosh, the crowd exhaled, then caught their breath again as all four corners of the stage erupted in fireworks. From the loudspeakers, an announcer bellowed, “Va-an Ca-astle!” Jon fingered the opening measures of Bella Linden, their signature hit. The crowd exploded.
His fingers moved like lightning over the frets, over the strings, his body hunched around his guitar, his concentration complete. He still didn’t look at the crowd. He was one with the guitar. One with the music. The platform desce
nded.
A cacophony of light, a phantasmagoria of sound, burst under his feet, highlighting the band who swung into his lead. Dancers gyrated from their perches on the scaffold, and trapeze artists whirled from swings in diaphanous gowns. Behind them, massive screens glowed with starbursts of color that morphed into flickering images of Van Castle on tour, Van Castle on video. The crowd roared its approval.
The platform slid to a halt. Hands still a blur over the body of his guitar, Jon strode to the edge of the stage and paused. The lights ceased pulsing. The music stopped. The sudden silence was deafening. The wall of energy he’d conjured gathered into a fist. In one sweeping movement, he faced his audience, threw his head back, arched his body and punched the air. The energy arced from him and walloped deep in her stomach.
The crowd hooted, screamed and pumped back. Lil stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled the loud piercing whistle her brother Henry had taught her eons ago. Michael laughed up at her, and Roy shot her a look of amusement. Feeling her face heat, she dropped her hand.
As the crowd’s frenzy peaked, Van Castle hurled themselves into a whirl of their classics. They pounded out dance hall thumpers and rollicking sing-alongs, voices melding in tightly stacked harmonies, then soaring in solos, backed by dancing fiddles, the grit of Zeke’s bass, Jon’s blazing guitar solos and the driving tattoo from Three-Ring’s drums.
Her eyes stuck to Jon. He worked one end of the stage to the other. He pranced. He strutted. He flirted. His rhinestones flashed with every stride, sweat glistened on his chest, his hair swirled in a shifting mirage of honey and amber. He rifled the neck of the Fender over the crowd until he’d mown them all down. When the set ended, the crowd slumped with exhaustion. They belonged to him.
SING ME HOME (Love Finds A Home - Book One) Page 20