Love Lyrics

by Mary Haskell Curtis

  She slid her arms around his waist. “I think that’s an excellent idea. After all, we want to be fair.”

  “Oh yes, that we do.”

  The reception was on the tiled patio outside a large ballroom. They heard the music of the band as they walked around the lovely oval pool, holding hands and smiling happily at the star-bedecked night. Soft lights shone out of the room, and flaming torches surrounded the terrace. Zachary put his arm around Ashley and leaned to whisper, “This is the last time I share you with anyone for the next eight days.”

  She raised her face to his, tantalizingly close. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  They crossed the patio to greet Carlos and offer their appreciation of the beautiful suite. From that moment on, Ashley experienced a phenomenon she hadn’t encountered for some time — almost total anonymity. In this setting, Zachary was the star, and, with the exception of two Americans who were somewhat acquainted with the musical theater, she was simply the woman with Zachary. She spent the evening smiling sweetly as they were introduced to Carlos’s friends, listening to repeated rave reviews about Zachary’s prowess in the legal field. On several occasions, she was addressed as Mrs. Jordan and was amazed at how good it felt to be taken for Zachary’s wife. She mentally relaxed into the role, pretending, in her heart, it was so. It was a temptingly attractive part to play. . . .

  As she danced with Zach after dinner, held close in his arms, Ashley was enveloped in a happiness so encompassing, so complete, that nothing else seemed remotely important. How had she thought it mattered, any of the rest of it, as long as she had a love like this? She snuggled more closely and whispered, “I’m so happy. At this very moment, life feels entirely complete.”

  He rubbed his chin against her hair. “Yes. I feel that, too. Ashley, you’re becoming as necessary to me as the air I breathe.”

  There was a long pause and Ashley was certain that he must be, as she was, recalling their vow to avoid serious issues. Just as well, she thought, because if he asked her to marry him right now, she’d say yes without hesitation. And how could she know for sure how much her answer would be based on lasting certainties and how much on the aura of unreality, the absence of obligations and the hypnotic beat of the music?

  The song ended, and Carlos came to claim Ashley for a dance, ending, for the time being, any such speculations.

  The days flowed into one another, each an extension of perfection. Ashley and Zachary bartered their way through the old town, honing their bargaining skills by buying colorful shirts and gauzy dresses and cheaply made jewelry, all of which they knew they’d never use, but had great fun purchasing. They had a fascinating tour of the ruins of Chinchen Itzi, managing to survive the trip with minimal sunburn. They danced at the local nightclub and ate fresh fish and drank margueritas. They swam and snorkeled and sailed. And made love. The delicious sort of lovemaking born of having no demands on their time other than the complete enjoyment of giving and receiving pleasure. Each rediscovered the delight of the other’s steady company, and as the end of the week encroached, they were both thoroughly convinced they belonged together. Which left them with only two unspoken questions: where and how.

  Ashley stood on their balcony, watching the waves rise and curl. “Tomorrow. It doesn’t seem possible.” She glanced over her shoulder as Zach came outside to join her. “Couldn’t we stay here forever?”

  “I suppose we could. I could have some money transferred to one of the local banks, and we could buy a hacienda of our own and set up housekeeping.”

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful!”

  His tone was sober. “I don’t know. I’ve had several clients who tried to turn vacation magic into everyday reality. It was, in each case, a terrible mistake.”

  She leaned her head back against his chest. “Why does everything seem so much clearer, so much simpler, when you’re away from home?”

  “That’s why people take vacations, to put aside their problems for a while and give themselves retrenching time.” His fingers closed around her arms. “It’s been so good, Ashley. I wish it could go on forever.”

  She turned into his embrace. “You haven’t asked me to marry you since we got here. I was sort of wishing you would.” The words seemed to have slipped past her screening process, bursting out without the restrictions of practical consideration. Now what, Ashley? she asked herself; if he does ask you, what do you say? She shivered, suddenly chilled.

  Zachary watched the swift changes of expression on her face and knew what was causing them. The brief flood of hopeful joy her words had brought quickly ebbed, leaving him saddened. “I think we’d best avoid the mistake those clients of mine made,” he said quietly. “I’ll ask you after we get home, when you can look your life square in its workaday face. I don’t want an answer you’ll regret as soon as the plane touches down in New York.”

  She lay her cheek on his chest. “Why do you have to be so darned practical? Can’t you just sweep me off my feet and drag me off to the justice of the peace? It’d be so much easier if I had no choice.”

  He chuckled. “I’d have to polish my armor plating and saddle my white charger.”

  She laughed. “That reminds me of the time Matt said you should have thrown me over your shoulder and carried me off into the sunset, and I told him that only happened in Western movies, and besides, if you had, he’d have had to find a new lyricist.”

  “And what did Matt say to that?”

  “That I’d probably steal your horse and ride back to town in time to write the next show.” The moment she said it, she could have bitten off her tongue.

  Zachary stiffened, ever so slightly. “And there, as the bard put it, lies the rub.” He stepped back, dropping his arms. Her whole body felt bereft. “We’d better get going. It’s almost time for our dinner reservation.”

  She sighed. Suddenly it felt as if their vacation was already over. Time — the archcriminal of intrusion. But there was another, just as bad: reality.

  Chapter Twelve

  They were on a direct flight back to New York. Ashley moved closer to Zachary and lay her head against his shoulder. “I wish you didn’t have to fly right on to Boston. It’s going to be awful to kiss you goodbye on the plane and leave with you still sitting in your seat.”

  “I know. It’s a hell of a way to run a love affair.” In response to his tone, she lifted her head to look at him. He was frowning.

  “If you weren’t going to be so busy, I could come to Boston for a visit.”

  “That’s tempting, but it wouldn’t do much good. I’ll spend a couple of days in the office catching up, then hit the road again. Have to see clients in Toronto and Chicago.”

  “Now, see? You’re always talking about my schedule, and you have a pretty busy one yourself.” She said it in a teasing voice but knew, the moment he replied, that it had triggered thoughts that were far from frivolous.

  “Ashley, I’ve used up an inordinate amount of what should have been working time traveling back and forth to New York and taking days off to be with you. I do have a full professional life of my own that’s been sorely neglected lately, and I’m a little young for retirement.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to question the importance of your career.”

  “I know you didn’t. I’m just feeling a little edgy. It’s hard, after being together constantly, to think about going back on that damned ‘now and again’ schedule.”

  They were teetering perilously close to a subject she wasn’t at all eager to address. She seemed always to be the one with her defenses up. She was at the top of the heap in a profession she loved. Why was it automatically she who was expected to back away from her career to solve a conflict?

  “You’re awfully quiet.” He took hold of her hand. “What’re you thinking about?”

  “About my going home to my place in New York and you to you
rs in Boston. And what we’re going to do about it.” There, it was said. Laid out on the bargaining table. Careful, she warned herself, he’s an expert in the field of arbitration. God, she made them sound like a couple of antagonists struggling for supremacy.

  “Yes. We can’t dance around it much longer, can we?”

  “I suppose not. But the alternative scares me to death.”

  “Is the alternative that certain?” He looked at her, his eyes deep wells of unreadable messages.

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” Wasn’t it? “Zachary, why can’t we just keep on the way we are for a while longer, give ourselves time to figure something out.”

  “And what is time going to tell us that we don’t already know? That it’s a hell of a long way from Beacon Street to Broadway?”

  “It’s only an hour’s plane ride.” It sounded so feeble, that statement, so beside the point. It was. But she couldn’t bear looking in the direction the real point led them.

  “Ashley, we can’t both hang in some sort of dating limbo forever. At least, I can’t. I want to have a family. And I sure don’t want to start one at the age of fifty. I know you’re not as keen as I am about having children . . .”

  “Zachary, I’d love to have children. It’s just . . .”

  “That it would interfere with your career?”

  It was too late to hedge, to try to tiptoe around the issue to safer ground. She turned in her seat, facing him squarely. “If we lived in New York, it wouldn’t interfere all that much. I’d be able to do my work and have a family too. But I don’t see how I could do it from Boston.”

  He nodded. “You probably couldn’t. And I have to tell you, I don’t want a part-time family. I can’t see having to make an appointment to spend an evening with my wife and flying to another state to visit my children.”

  She leaned her head against the backrest. “Oh, damn! It always comes back to the same place, doesn’t it?”

  “It seems to.” He squeezed her fingers. “I told you I’d ask that special question after we got home. We’d better both give a lot of thought to what the answer should be. If there is one.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, suddenly almost as tired as she’d been during rehearsals. More accurately, she had to give a lot of thought to the answer. Because from what Zachary had just said, if they were to marry she was the one whose life would change drastically. She opened her eyes and looked over at him, conscious of her fingers intertwined with his. “I love you, Zachary.”

  “And I love you. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Why does it have to be so damned hard?”

  She shook her head, unable to come up with a single reason.

  The ride from the airport passed in a blur of swirling thoughts and feelings. When she reached her apartment, she thanked the doorman for helping her with her luggage, closed and locked the door and headed straight for the bathroom for a shower and shampoo. Maybe that would help refresh her flagging spirits.

  When she came out, a towel wrapped around her wet head, she went to the kitchen to put on water for a cup of tea. It was then that she noticed the red light flashing on the answering machine on the small desk in the corner. Before listening to the recordings, she waited for the water to boil and then for her tea to steep. She found an unopened package of Pepperidge Farm cookies in the cupboard and took a couple of them, along with her steaming cup, to the desk. When she was comfortably settled, with a pencil and paper ready, she pushed the rewind lever, then Play.

  “Ashley, this is Jerry. I know you’re on vacation. Just thought I’d let you know we’ve already had inquiries about foreign performances of the play. No great hurry, but call me.”

  She wrote, “Call Jerry.”

  “Hi, babe. Welcome home. Amy and I are either coming back on April twenty-sixth or never, haven’t decided yet. Got an incredible idea for a musical. If we return I’ll tell you about it. Love ya.”

  “Send flowers to Matt & Amy on April 26th.” She wondered what the idea was, and why Matt was thinking about business on his honeymoon. Her curiosity wasn’t overly piqued. She and Matt usually made their way through quite a number of possibilities before a subject felt just right, and heaven knows she was far from ready to dive into another project.

  She took a sip of her tea and a bite of cookie while the tape wore on. A few beeps, followed by a dial tone — people who still wouldn’t talk to a machine.

  “Ashley, hon. This is Audrey.” Ashley straightened up. Audrey never called her; it was always her brother Jim who made contact. “This is Thursday. Get back to me as soon as you can.”

  Ashley switched off the machine and reached for the phone in the same movement. She dropped the receiver and bent to pick it up. Something was wrong. She knew it.

  “Hello?”

  “Audrey, this is Ashley. I just got home.”

  “Oh, Ashley, I’m so glad you’re back. Uh, something’s happened . . .”

  “What is it, Audrey? Dad, Mother, Jim?”

  “No. It’s Johnny, honey. He’s had a bad accident. Something about a net out of place when he jumped from a roof.”

  Oh God, no. Not Johnny. Not her brother. “Is it bad?”

  “Yes,” The word cut straight through. “Your parents are out there and so is Jim. Johnny’s holding on, but nothing’s certain yet.”

  Ashley could barely breathe. Johnny. Oh, God. “Where is he?” Her fingers shook as she wrote the name of the hospital and the hotel her family was staying in. “Audrey, thanks. I’m going to hang up so I can call the airport.”

  “Yes, of course. Good luck, Ashley, and give him my love.”

  There was a plane leaving at six-thirty, exactly two hours away. She booked a seat, called for a room reservation and flew into motion. Ignoring the stack of still packed suitcases, she threw some necessities into a duffel bag and called a cab. Before she had time to think twice about it, she was back in the air, heading west.

  By the time they landed in Los Angeles, Ashley’s nerves were poking holes in her skin. The accumulation of hours of flight and escalating tension had her as taut as a high-pitched bow string. The moment the engines were turned off, she grabbed her bag from beneath the seat and made for the door. It wasn’t until she was in a taxi that she took a deep breath and considered her options. Even by California time, it was close to 11:00 p.m. The chances of her getting in to see Johnny were exceedingly slim, but she had to go to the hospital just to be near him, to try to find out how he was.

  When she stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor and saw the sign directing the way to the intensive care unit, her heart hung in her chest, feeling too heavy to beat. For as long as she could remember, she and Johnny had clung together, mavericks in their own ways, both of them creative, dramatic and just different enough to suffer the strange loneliness that was the price of being out of the ordinary. They’d used the telephone to insure that their closeness would never be damaged by the miles between them. The thought of a Johnny-less world seemed too dismal to be borne.

  The nurse on duty was sweet and very helpful. She pulled Johnny’s chart and scanned it, her face struggling to remain impassive. “His condition is . . . holding.” Ashley’s breath caught at the hesitation. She could read the sympathy in the other woman’s eyes when she glanced up.

  “Is there any chance I could just peek in at him? I’d be very quiet.”

  The nurse bit her lip, her eyes scanning the hall. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in at night, but what the heck. You’ve come such a long way, and I don’t see what harm it can do. He’s in a private room.” Mumbling her thanks several times, Ashley followed her down the corridor, frightening in its stark whiteness. They stopped in front of room 435. “Remember, he’s in a full cast, and he slips in and out of consciousness. Don’t expect too much.” Her
eyes were gentle and her voice cautionary. Ashley got the message. He’s in bad shape. Be prepared.

  When she stepped inside the room, she had to stifle a gasp. Every inch of him was covered in white plaster except his face and his hands, and even they looked like survivors of a cat fight. “Oh, God.”

  The nurse patted her on the arm, then left her alone with the still form of her brother.

  Ashley sat on the chair by the bed and reached for the limp fingers. Could this really be her brother, the one who had never been able to stay still more than a few seconds? Would all those awful tubes sustain his life? If he was to be too severely damaged, she said a silent prayer that they wouldn’t. She knew Johnny wasn’t afraid of death. She also knew how terrified he was of physical impairment.

  She sat there for about an hour, holding his hand and praying, until the nurse came to tell her she’d have to leave before the resident made his late rounds.

  When she got to the hotel, she left a message for her parents, telling them she was there, then went up to her room, undressed quickly and fell into bed. She was asleep almost instantly.

  The shrill ring of the telephone awakened her. Still groggy, she fumbled for the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Ashley, darling.”

  “Mom. Hi.” She struggled to a sitting position and looked at the bedside clock. Nine-fifteen. They’d let her sleep in. Her parents were always awake by six.

  “We’re so glad you’re here, dear. I’m sorry to wake you up.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Well, we’re about to go down to breakfast, and thought you might want to join us.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ll get dressed as fast as I can. Shall I meet you downstairs?”