by Jackie Black
She had kept up Daniel Farrell’s subscription to The New England Journal of Medicine, and now she decided to catch up on what she’d missed while the Freaky Foursome had been on tour rather than read one of the medical tomes of her father’s she normally studied.
By the time she surfaced again several hours later and stood to stretch the kinks out of her body, it was dinnertime, and Elizabeth looked forward to hearing whether Danny had made any progress on his auditions that day. But when she entered the kitchen, she found only a casserole Maude had prepared along with a note explaining that Danny had called saying he and Jay wouldn’t be home for dinner.
“Damn!” she muttered, flinging the note aside before placing her hands on her slender hips in an attitude of disgust. “Danny Farrell, I don’t trust you one little bit anymore,” she voiced her thoughts with narrowed eyes. “I’ll bet the family silver you no more auditioned any singers today than I did!”
But having voiced her conclusion aloud, Elizabeth was struck by an idea it aroused. If Danny wasn’t going to look for a replacement for her, why couldn’t she do it herself? A few ads in the trade papers . . . discreet ones, of course ... a few secret hours when she could get away for interviews . . . why not?
And feeling excited by the idea, Elizabeth slipped the casserole in the oven, then sat down at the kitchen table to begin drafting an ad for a singer who had just the right voice, and was just the right size, to fool anyone into thinking she was the past, present, and future Vixen. Of course, she wouldn’t tell any candidates exactly what they were auditioning for until she was satisfied they could do it, and would be willing to keep their mouths shut in exchange for the chance to make it big on the rock scene.
By the time Elizabeth went to bed that night, Danny and Jay hadn’t come home. But Elizabeth was decidedly optimistic that she would eventually foil her brother’s plan to keep her chained to the Freaky Foursome for the rest of her natural life. She could be as sneaky as Danny when circumstances called for it, and she was certainly as determined to lead her own life as Danny was to co-opt it.
Sometime later, Danny and Jay cruised slowly by the Farrell home with Danny at the wheel of his brand new black Mondial Ferrari.
“The lights are out. Looks like she’s gone to bed,” Jay said over a big yawn. “Come on . . . park it, Danny. I’m ready for some sleep.” “Yeah, me, too.” Danny nodded as he made a quick U-turn and pulled into the driveway of his family home. “Especially since I’m going to have to get up early again tomorrow and get out of the house before she wakes up and wants to know if I found anyone today.” Jay chuckled. “This could be hard on your health,” he joked. “Nah.” Danny shrugged. “I’ll just go down to the studio and sack out on the couch for a couple of hours before I start work.”
“Start work on what?” Jay asked as he and Danny got out of the car and started for the back door. “Everything’s all set for the album now, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but I always like to have a little something in reserve,” Danny replied, his expression serious. “You never know when you’re going to need it.”
“Hell,” Jay scoffed in a whisper as Danny opened the back door as quietly as possible. “You’re just a workaholic, Danny. You couldn’t stop writing songs if you had a million of them in reserve.”
Danny just smiled, and the two of them tiptoed upstairs to their rooms, exchanging a whispered good night on the landing before each disappeared to get as much sleep as possible before Elizabeth woke up and got on the warpath.
Several blocks away, Sonny Strotherton, feeling like an adolescent idiot on the prowl, checked to make sure his daughter was securely asleep before he slipped down to the family den, retrieved a record album he had bought on impulse that day from where he’d hidden it, donned the stereo headphones, and settled back to prove to himself that the song the Vixen had sung at the concert the night before was just another song . . . that there was nothing special about it.
Half an hour later, he went to bed feeling half-angry, half-bewildered that one voice out of thousands, singing words that were really pretty mundane love song stuff, could reach right down into his gut and create havoc.
I'm telling you, you need a vacation, he told himself as he slammed a fist into his pillow, feeling grimly resentful that he had given in to the urge to buy the album that was now safely hidden away again. Either that or one of these days you're going to start accepting some of those invitations the nurses practically print on their foreheads whenever they see you coming, and you've got a rule about that, remember?
As he stared at the dark ceiling over his head hoping the hunger in his body which the Vixen’s song had aroused would quiet down soon so he could get some sleep, Sonny wished wholeheartedly, and not for the first time, that he wasn’t in the situation in which he found himself.
After his wife’s death, when he’d finally started dating again, he had quickly found out that he couldn’t date any woman more than twice before Maggie found some way to sabotage the romance. So far, he’d let her get away with it because it just so happened that he hadn’t found anyone he wanted to date more than twice. When he did, he planned to get around Maggie somehow. He’d figure out how when he needed to. And because of his own rigid ideas about relationships in the workplace, he had stayed clear of any involvements with nurses, though without being unduly egotistical, he was positive he was considered the biggest catch on the market.
Meanwhile, however, he was left with no outlet for his very normal, increasingly urgent male needs, and he considered his long-term celibacy was at the root of his highly unusual reaction to his daughter’s heroine, the Vixen ... or rather to that dumb song she sang so convincingly. Trampy-looking rock stars just weren’t his style . . . never had been, even in his younger days. So how else explain why he had gone out and bought that silly album, sneaked around like a fugitive to play it, and sat there becoming increasingly aroused while he listened to it?
I’ll see if I can arrange my schedule to take off a week next month, he thought as he began to grow sleepy at last. It ’11 be cold and nasty here by then, and a trip to a Club Med somewhere will be just the thing to ease my problems for a while. I can sample charms all day long and all night long if I want to, then walk away with no complications to worry about.
It was only an instant before he fell asleep that he wondered why the thought of no complications left him feeling lonelier than ever. Fortunately, he was too tired to dwell on the question, and the next morning, as usual, he had too many other things on his mind to think about his emotional well-being ... or lack of it.
Chapter Three
On the last day of taping their album in New York, Lissa was grateful that everything went smoothly and they were able to finish early. That would give her a few hours to audition singers in the small studio she’d rented before she had to appear with the Foursome at a nightclub that night.
As Lissa put on her coat and gloves, she was amused by how quickly Danny disappeared out of sight so that she couldn’t tackle him about the auditions he was supposed to be holding. She was positive now that Danny had no intention of finding anyone to replace her, but she went through the motions of prodding him about it so that he wouldn’t suspect she’d taken things into her own hands.
Half an hour later, Lissa strode into the anteroom of the studio she was using and was pleased to find half a dozen women waiting for her.
“Hello.” She nodded and smiled at the applicants, her eyes scanning them quickly in an effort to discard those who were obviously unsuitable. She didn’t have a lot of time to waste, and there was no sense sitting through auditions with singers who were either too small or too large to fool anyone that they were the Vixen.
“I’m Mary Hope,” Lissa introduced herself, using the fictitious name she had picked in a spirit of ironic humor to conceal her real identity. She was beginning to think she should have picked “Nary a Hope,” since she had already auditioned over a hundred singers and as yet hadn’t found
even a single one who fit her requirements.
There was a murmur of greeting from the varied group, who were all eyeing her with expressions of hope of their own.
“I’m sorry,” Lissa said as she drew off her gloves and stuffed them in the side pocket of her purse, “but there are certain physical requirements for this job as well as singing talent, and I’m afraid you and you—” she pointed to two of the women, “don’t fit the bill.”
Immediately, the expressions of the two women who were being discarded before they ever had a chance to sing showed first disappointment, then belligerence.
“What is this gig?” one of them said with sneering anger. “A little private party where we’re expected to do more than sing?”
Lissa understood the woman’s disappointment, as well as the attempt she was making to put doubts into the minds of the other applicants.
“I assure you,” she said, reaching into her purse to withdraw some money, “this job is nothing like that. Here,” she added, offering each of the two women she’d rejected out of hand enough money for cab fare. “I know you’re disappointed, so let me pay your transportation at least.”
One of the women took the money gratefully, though she still looked disappointed, but the one who’d spoken merely curled her lip, grabbed her coat, and stomped out the door.
When the two were gone, Lissa turned to the other four, noting that a couple of them had become disturbed by the possibility that the outspoken rejectee might have been right about the nature of the job.
“The job really isn’t anything at all as she suggested,” Lissa said with convincing sincerity, and was gratified when most of the doubts seemed to disappear.
“So why do we have to have a certain look?” one of the remaining women asked curiously, however.
“I can’t explain that until I’ve determined whether any of you has the right voice for the job,” Lissa said, a slight apology in her voice. “Now,” she continued as she shrugged out of her coat and opened the door to the studio which contained a piano. “May I see you one at a time?”
The woman nearest the studio door quickly stood up and followed Lissa inside where Lissa tossed her coat over a chair before seating herself at the piano.
“Do you know this one?” she asked, playing a few bars of “You’re the Only Man for Me.”
“Sure.” The woman shrugged as she came to lean against the piano.
It took no more than a minute for Lissa to know that the woman’s voice was entirely wrong, but while she would have preferred to end the audition then and there, her innate courtesy made her allow the singer to finish the song.
“How’d I do?” Lissa was asked when she stood up from the piano.
Lissa hated these continual rejections she had to dole out, both from the standpoint that she was frustrated on her own behalf, and because she sympathized with the rejectees. However, there was no point in giving false hope to anyone, so she performed her task as gently as possible.
“You have a lovely voice,” she said sincerely as she directed the singer to the door, “but I’m afraid it just isn’t right for this particular job.” And as the woman’s face reflected her disappointment, Lissa handed her cabfare as she’d done for the first two applicants. Though she knew it wasn’t necessary, it made her feel better about having to turn people down.
It didn’t take long to reject the next two women either, and Lissa was feeling depressed by the time the last applicant joined her in the studio.
“Darla Simmons,” the woman introduced herself informally as she set her coat and purse aside.
“It’s nice to meet you, Darla,” Lissa replied, her mood lightening somewhat as she eyed the other woman. At least this one was exactly the right size, and even her eyes were a similar color to Lissa’s. The difference in hair color and complexion—Darla was a blonde—didn’t matter since Lissa had never appeared on stage without a wig and heavy, concealing makeup. Now if Darla could only sing . . .
“You want me to do the song you’ve been having all the others sing?” Darla inquired, her gaze speculative, as though she was wondering why that particular song had been chosen. “I could hear through the door,” she added as Lissa looked at her in surprise. “Oh,” Lissa relaxed a little. “Well, yes. If you know it . . . ?”
“Everybody knows it,” Darla said with a shrug. “You can’t turn on a radio without hearing it fifty times a day.”
Lissa gazed at Darla curiously. “It sounds as though you don’t like it,” she suggested.
Darla shrugged again, a wry smile tugging at her well-shaped lips. “Oh, I like it,” she said. “I’m just jealous of the Vixen’s popularity, I guess.” Now, she grinned, and Lissa found herself liking that grin. “It may sound egotistical,” she admitted, “but I think I’m as good as the Vixen, and I sure dress better.”
Lissa grinned back, liking Darla better every minute. She hated the costumes she had to wear herself, but the audience seemed to like them, and they were absolutely necessary to conceal her identity. Of course, if Darla could really sing, she would have to get over her aversion to the Vixen’s style of dress, but it was too soon to even think about that yet.
Seating herself at the piano, Lissa played an introduction, and then nodded at Darla when it was time for her to come in.
Darla did so without nervousness or hesitation, and Lissa felt a little thrill of hope dart through her as the first few words rang out in the small room. Darla sang all the words rather than half-speaking them at first the way Lissa did, but there was definitely a similarity in her tone and phrasing.
Lissa let her go all the way through the song, exulting when she heard Darla sing the parts where Lissa normally sang rather than spoke herself, for Darla’s voice, except for a few minor variations, was the closest to her own Lissa had yet heard.
When the song was over, Lissa tried to keep her excitement out of her voice as she said, “That was good, Darla. Now do it like the Vixen does . . . speak the first lines rather than sing them.”
Again, Darla gave Lissa that speculative look that made Lissa feel uneasy. Lissa was further alarmed when Darla said, “I’ve got my own style, you know. I don’t like to copycat.”
“I understand,” Lissa responded, and she did. But she also thought that if Darla were willing to compromise at first, eventually she could start interjecting that style of hers without it causing any comment. “But do it the Vixen’s way for now, all right?” she requested in a casual way.
Darla shrugged. “Okay,” she agreed, though she didn’t sound particularly happy about it.
By the time they’d gone through the song a second time, Lissa was having to clamp down hard on her excitement. Darla’s imitation of the Vixen wasn’t perfect, but with a little work, Lissa thought it could be so close as not to matter. Now she needed to know if Darla’s voice would blend with Danny’s and if it did, Lissa faced the task of trying to ascertain if Darla would be willing to carry out the deception.
Lissa now got out a tape recorder which contained a tape of Danny singing alone.
“See if you can harmonize with this,” she said, neglecting to mention who the male singer was as she played the tape through once. From the look on Darla’s face, however, Lissa began to suspect that Darla knew who was on the tape, as well as actively speculating about the meaning of this whole audition.
Darla said nothing about what she was thinking, however, as she began to try to pick out the proper way to harmonize with Danny’s unusual voice. This was a new song of Danny’s that Lissa had taped secretly, so Darla also had to learn the words. Lissa was delighted that Darla was such a quick study when after a couple of times through the song, she finally found the proper key, had the words memorized, and belted out the song along with Danny’s taped voice in a way that convinced Lissa she’d finally found her replacement . . . that is, if Darla was willing to take the job.
When the song was over, however, before Lissa could say anything, Darla fixed her with a some
what grim stare and said, “All right . . . what’s this all about? Have you got some idea of forming a group to imitate the Freaky Foursome? Because if you do, you can count me out. I don’t go for that kind of piggybacking. I wouldn’t like it if I were a star, and I don’t think it’s fair to . .
Darla fell silent as Lissa shook her head and held up a hand.
“That’s not what I have in mind at all,” Lissa said, then bit her lip as she faced the fact that she was going to have to tell Darla the truth now, which could prove dangerous if Darla turned the offer down and then spilled everything she knew to the press. Lissa knew that Danny, Jay, and Jerry would never forgive her if that happened.
Darla was eyeing Lissa suspiciously, waiting for her to continue, and Lissa took a deep breath.
“I’d like what I’m about to say to remain confidential,” she started with simple honesty as she looked Darla straight in the eyes. “Would you be willing to give me your promise that you won’t reveal to anyone what I’m about to tell you?”
Darla frowned, her expression puzzled. “Sure, I can promise you that,” she said with blunt forthrightness, “but you’d be silly to take me at my word. In this business, promises don’t always mean much.” Lissa was torn, but something about Darla’s statement and attitude convinced her that Darla was different from the sort of person she was warning Lissa about.
“Maybe I am silly to trust you,” she said with a shrug, “but I don’t think so. You don’t appear to me to have so little character. Besides,” she added with a wry smile, “I have little choice. I have to trust you.” At that, Darla relaxed and pulled up a chair. When she was settled, she smiled at Lissa in a warmer manner. “All right,” she said with a nod, “I’ll keep your secret, whatever it is. It’s nice to find someone in this city who isn’t a complete cynic. And you’ve got me so curious now . . .” She grinned mischievously. “. . . that I’m about to burst. I’d promise just about anything to find out what you’re doing.”