Tender Deception: A Novel of Romance

by Beckman, Patti

  Jimmy’s face clouded. “You really wouldn’t do that, would you, Lilly? It would put the band in a tough spot. We’ve got a big crowd tonight. And you’d have the union on your back something fierce for walking off a bandstand without notice.”

  Lilly’s bright-eyed look of anger softened. “No, Jimmy, of course I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  He hugged her, grinning down at her. “That’s my girl.” He kissed her lightly and whatever anger was left in her melted in a rush of emotion.

  Jimmy said, “No matter what Kirk says, I can’t kick you off the stand without notice. Let’s go play the heck out of those new arrangements. I know when Kirk hears them, he’s going to hire you as a full-time arranger.”

  “All right,” Lilly said reluctantly. “But, Jimmy, I do think it’s unfair for Kirk to tell you how to run your band. I think you’re right—he’s jealous because you’re the one with all the talent.”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Maybe so. Anyway, at this point we’re all pretty dependent on Kirk’s money. Jazz has never been a very commercial product. Right now it’s the rock groups and the country western stars who are raking in the big money and making the million dollar record sales. Some of the greatest jazz musicians died broke, forgotten and alone in some charity ward. So, I guess we’re lucky having someone like Kirk with his money and influence behind us. I keep reminding myself of that. With Kirk, we might make it big some day—records, jazz festivals, European tours.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m around Kirk. I’ll smile sweetly and bite my tongue—for your sake.”

  Jimmy kissed her again. “Thanks, sweetheart. Now let’s go out there and blow old Kirk out of the joint with those great arrangements of yours.”

  Intoxicated by Jimmy’s kisses, Lilly returned to the bandstand and played as she had never played before.

  * * * * * * *

  Lilly was under a strain for the rest of that week. She dreaded looking over the crowd in the small nightclub; she knew she would see Kirk Remington. He was there every night at a private table in the shadows against a wall. He appeared immobile, lost in contemplation, his attention never wavering from the band.

  Lilly took out her frustration and anger at the ruthless man by throwing her energy at the piano. She played jazz solos with thundering chords that made the instrument shake. Jimmy grinned at her after one of her onslaughts at the keyboard. “Don’t break it, honey. It ain’t paid for.”

  She sang her Bessie Smith type blues numbers with all her soul, belting them out from the tips of her toes.

  She sang Gimme a Pig’s Foot and a Bottle of Beer with a powerful delivery that didn’t seem possible from such a slender girl. She felt Remington’s eyes on her, twin smoldering, dark orbs, searching her out, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

  When they finished the band’s theme song at four in the morning on the last night of Lilly’s job with the band, she saw Kirk Remington take Jimmy aside, speak with him briefly, then stride out of the club.

  Jimmy gave Lilly her paycheck for the week. He told her, “I have a message for you. Kirk wants you to have dinner with him this evening.”

  Lilly’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Kirk wants to have dinner with you,” Jimmy repeated.

  Her eyes reflected disbelief, then suspicion. “What on earth for?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “I don’t know, Lilly.”

  “Well, I won’t do it!” she retorted stormily.

  “Better not be too hasty about turning him down,” Jimmy suggested. “I have a hunch he wants to talk to you about a permanent job in the band.”

  Lilly’s anger abated somewhat. “Do you really think so, Jimmy?”

  “I can’t say for sure. He didn’t say why, just told me to tell you to be ready for him to pick you up at seven-thirty tonight. It’s hard to know what the guy is thinking.”

  Lilly’s innermost reaction to Remington’s imperious order that she be at his beck and call was fresh anger piled on her already fuming dislike of the man. But she was willing to suffer almost any indignation if it would mean she could go on being close to Jimmy. She sighed and nodded, “All right. I’ll be ready.”

  That evening, she selected the best outfit she owned from her meager wardrobe. It was a rust colored, pleated dress she had found on sale for twenty-four dollars back in her college town. The knit was a pullover style with a self-fabric button closing to the waist. The V-neck stopped short of being revealing. The dress had a shawl collar, shirred drop front shoulder line and long sleeves. The skirt portion was pleated all around and it had a self-fabric sash-belt.

  She turned slowly in front of the mirror in her dingy little hotel room. It was a presentable dress, flattering her figure, yet with a modest and conservative effect that afforded her a degree of security. She expected to be polite to Kirk Remington, but cool and distant.

  A smile teased her lips when she thought about the irony of going out with the rich, high and mighty Kirk Remington in her twenty-four dollar bargain basement dress. No doubt the women Kirk Remington took to dinner wore designer originals from Paris or Rome. But, what the heck—she wasn’t out to impress the man. He knew she was just a poor musician. One look at this third-rate hotel room when he came to pick her up would be evidence enough of her financial status.

  The dingy room didn’t bother her very much. True, it was not much larger than a walk-in closet. A single bed, a battered dresser and one chair left very little room to move about. The rug was threadbare, the wallpaper streaked and faded. But there was a tiny balcony overlooking a typical French Quarter courtyard filled with banana trees and tropical plants. And for that, Lilly forgave the room all its other shortcomings.

  She slipped on her brown trench coat and stepped out on her minuscule balcony. She felt the cold touch of the wrought-iron grillwork under her palms as she leaned against the railing, looking down at the courtyard, then across the rooftops of the Vieux Carré. The sunset filled the sky with blood red streaks. Again a damp mist was in the air, lending a soft aura to the ancient buildings. She felt the chilling touch of the mist on her cheeks.

  More than that, she felt the mood of the city, the heartbeat of this ancient setting with its character of fun and wickedness. She was acutely aware of the mingling of time, of past and present. She could hear the clop-clop of a horse-drawn sightseer’s carriage down the mist slick cobblestone streets and imagined it was carrying caped and gowned aristocrats of another century past street corner gas lights to the French Opera House. The ghosts of slaves, freebooters, plantation owners, dashing Confederate cavalry officers, and Storyville harlots moved wraith-like in the early fog that swirled in across the levee from the Mississippi. They mingled with twentieth century artists, tourists, merchant seamen, jazz musicians, nightclub strippers and antique-shop owners.

  She watched as night fell and the mist created soft halos around the street lights. She had the eerie feeling that a single incantation from a voodoo queen could evaporate the present, and she would find herself back in the wicked days of the Storyville red light district. She could almost hear Jelly Roll Morton playing in one of the bordellos and see the beautiful octoroon ladies-of-the-evening in the mahogany paneled rooms of Lulu White’s sporting house.

  A strange mood possessed her. It was as if she were having an out-of-body experience, leaving the limitations of time and space behind. She saw herself and Jimmy LaCross, walking together down the streets of this romantic city in other times and places. Had they been lovers before, in another lifetime? Was that why she was eager to give her heart to him now, subconsciously remembering the passion they had shared in another existence?

  Perhaps she had been a southern Creole belle, and he a dashing Confederate cavalry officer home on leave. Their last hours together had been intense, snatched from a fate that would take him back into battle. They had shared passionate kisses and embraces. They might have known each other intimately in a bed in this very room. Her face warmed with a blush at tha
t fantasy.

  Or, maybe he had been a musician playing in the honky-tonks of the old Storyville red light district and she had been his woman.

  But the face of her lover in the fantasies became confused with another. The image of Kirk Remington began to intrude, to take over her daydream. He became a Rhett Butler, a blockade runner and freebooter, striding through the streets on a mission of international intrigue. They met secretly, and he rode with her over the cobblestone streets in a carriage that took them to a secret meeting place...

  Her face became scarlet at the erotic fantasies filling her mind. Why had Kirk taken over her dreams? She felt a stab of guilt that she had been unfaithful to Jimmy even in her fantasy. But Kirk had such an overpowering personality that he could not easily be dismissed.

  She was taken from her reverie by a knock at her door. She stood there a moment longer, reluctant to release the dream. She withdrew from it slowly, then turned with a sigh back to the world of reality, a reality dominated tonight by Kirk Remington.

  She closed and locked the balcony door. “Just a minute,” she called. She gave her makeup a quick inspection, removing traces of her tears. Then she unlocked the hotel door.

  Kirk Remington stood in the hallway, tall, broad-shouldered, looking elegant in a dark overcoat and white scarf. She felt the impact of his presence with the force of an electric jolt. The man was a walking charge of magnetism. His dark eyes raked over her with a force that electrified the air. His gaze blinded and disconcerted her.

  “I’ve made dinner reservations,” he murmured. He named one of the famous and most expensive Vieux Carré restaurants. “Will that be all right?”

  “Of course,” she murmured, feeling a flicker of amusement. Surely she wouldn’t object to being taken to a place where a meal would cost as much as her father used to earn in a month’s salary!

  The feeling of unreality came over her again. It was as if she were standing aside, a slightly amused spectator, watching Lilly Parker being escorted from the building by the oil and shipping tycoon. The situation was too incongruous to be real. The Lilly Parkers of this world did not go out on dinner dates to famous restaurants with men like Kirk Remington. The Lilly Parkers ate in fast-food joints with guys who drove old Chevrolets.

  Kirk had little to say to her on the way to the restaurant, which added to the strained feeling between them. He asked if she minded walking since the restaurant was but a few short blocks from her hotel. She said she didn’t mind at all, and that ended any exchange between them until they entered the restaurant.

  The maître d’ instantly recognized Kirk Remington and they were seated with a flourish, at a choice table.

  As was the case with many of the famous, old restaurants in New Orleans’ French Quarter, this room was right out of the nineteenth century. The paneled walls were mellowed with age. The gas lights had been replaced by chandeliers with electric bulbs, but otherwise nothing had changed in a hundred years. There were indentations in the tile floor worn by the shoes of several generations of waiters bearing trays of exquisitely prepared food from the kitchen.

  Kirk ordered cocktails for them, then conferred with the waiter in French over the menu.

  Lilly thought it was a shame that such sumptuous food would be wasted on her tonight. She was too nervous to do much more than pick at her meal. Questions were racing through her mind, turning her stomach into knots. Why had Kirk chosen such an elaborate way to discuss her future with Jimmy’s band? Did he think firing her would be made easy by treating her to an expensive meal? Perhaps it was his way of soothing his conscience.

  He broke the awkward silence at last, talking about his interest in music, the research he had done into the history of American jazz, discussing books he had on the subject, famous musicians he had known personally here and abroad, his record library. Despite her feeling of resentment toward the man, Lilly was impressed by his extensive knowledge of jazz and of music in general. Granted, he might be a dilettante, but at least he had a genuine sensitivity and appreciation for music. Her judgment of him softened slightly.

  He talked about his plans and ambitions for Jimmy’s band, and that further melted her chilled response to him. Then he abruptly switched the conversation to her. By then they had finished the meal.

  Lilly’s attention became acute. Her fingers clenched the napkin on her lap.

  “I’ve been impressed by your musical ability, Lilly,” Kirk began. “I’ll admit that at first I was totally negative about keeping you in the band. I didn’t think it would be good for Jimmy’s group. Besides, I didn’t think you were in the same league with them. I changed my mind after hearing the band every night this week. I admit it. I was wrong. You are a remarkably talented young woman.”

  Lilly’s heart leaped. “Then I can stay in the band?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you certainly may.”

  Her eyes sparkled. Her heart flooded with joy. Suddenly, Jimmy’s older brother ceased being a horned ogre. He was, in fact, a strikingly handsome man, poised, confident, self-assured. Yet, he was quite reserved, too. She did not yet feel she knew him very well. But now that he had praised her musical ability so warmly and agreed she could stay in Jimmy’s band, she felt much more relaxed with him.

  He signed the check with his Diners Club card and then escorted her from the restaurant. “The evening is not over yet,” he said mysteriously. “I have something to show you.”

  They walked together a few blocks to a parking garage where he had left his Mercedes. They drove out of the city’s old quarter onto Canal Street. It was like leaving the nineteenth century for today’s world of bright lights and honking traffic. He sped across town to an elegant apartment tower. An elevator whisked them to the penthouse floor.

  Lilly entered his apartment feeling nervous and on guard.

  His living quarters were lavish. Costly paintings decorated the richly paneled walls. The furnishings were starkly modern, the carpets luxurious.

  He removed his topcoat and helped her take off her trench coat, hanging them both in a closet.

  “You—you live in a beautiful apartment,” Lilly murmured, keeping a safe distance from him.

  “I keep this place for the times I’m in New Orleans. But this is what I wanted to show you.” He led her across the living room. “I just had it installed.”

  Lilly stared at the sound system. Her eyes grew wide as she read the top-of-the-line brand names on the turntable, amplifier, tuner, tape deck. It was obviously worth a fortune.

  “What do you think, Lilly?”

  She glanced at him, suddenly realizing that he was looking at her with a concerned expression as if anxiously hoping for her approval. Her nervousness evaporated in a rush of concealed amusement. The aloof, cold, austere Kirk Remington actually had a human side! He wasn’t a hundred percent sure of himself after all. For some reason he wanted very much to impress her with his new sound system, not unlike a high school boy showing off his hot rod to an important date.

  She decided to take advantage of the situation. “Well,” she said doubtfully, suppressing a wicked grin, “it looks impressive. But I’d have to hear how it sounds.”

  “Of course.”

  He carefully placed a record on the turntable. The rich harmonies of Duke Ellington’s band flooded the room with a river of sound pouring from the stereophonic speakers.

  Lilly sat on a couch, curling her feet under her, letting her senses become drenched with the experience of pure sound. She closed her eyes, and the band was in the room with them.

  When the record ended, she looked up at Kirk, who was waiting expectantly for her reaction. She was tempted to pay him back for the suspense he’d caused her over her job with Jimmy’s band. But she couldn’t restrain her enthusiasm. “It’s fabulous. The best I’ve ever heard!”

  He looked extremely pleased. He mixed drinks at a bar, handed her one of the glasses and sat beside her. “It sounded good to me, but I’m not all that sure of my ear.” He gazed
at her for a moment, then added, “I really envy your musical talent and perfect ear, Lilly.”

  “You do?” She glanced around at the richly furnished apartment. “I wouldn’t think you’d have to envy anybody anything.”

  “There are things money won’t buy. Jimmy is really the rich one in the family. To be able to play a horn like that—” His voice faltered. A wistful emotion filled his eyes and he looked away.

  “I—I had the impression you two don’t get along so well,” Lilly said.

  “Don’t pay too much attention to our squabbling,” he said, bringing his attention back to her. “I do lose patience with Jimmy. He can be scatterbrained about business at times. And he resents my suggestions about how the band should be run. But we’re still brothers, and I love Jimmy. I feel guilty about leaving home when he was so young, although it appears he did all right on his own.” He gazed at her in a way that gave his words a double meaning and made her blush.

  “I—I think Jimmy is really fond of you, too, Kirk,” she said.

  She stole a glance at him, increasingly aware of his physical appeal. He kept his body lean and hard. His dark skin glowed with health. He had a clean, firm jaw.

  There was a slight touch of premature gray in the temples of his otherwise coal black hair. He moved with the lithe ease of a cat. When he rose and walked over to the sound system to put on a new record, she noticed the compact lines of his hips. His posterior had the firm, rounded contours of that of a high school boy. She blushed at her unexpected physical response to what she saw.

  “Do you like classical music, Lilly?”

  “I certainly do. Every bit as much as I like jazz.”

  “Do you? So do I, depending on the mood I’m in. I thought I might like to hear a bit of Tchaikovsky, if that’s all right.”

  “Yes,” she nodded, aware that he had chosen one of the romantic composers.

  He mixed fresh drinks as the poignant strains of the music enveloped them.

  “Tell me about yourself, Lilly,” he said as he rejoined her on the couch, handing her one of the drinks. “I can’t seem to place your family back home. Did you have any older brothers or sisters I might have gone to school with?”