Love Lyrics

by Mary Haskell Curtis

“Are you going to look for another lyricist?”

  He studied her face for a minute, then replied. “Uh-uh. Not just yet.” She watched him as he left her apartment, his shoulders stopped.

  It had been one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to do, but once she’d gotten past the painful job of telling Matt she was working her way out of the theater, she felt unburdened, free to throw herself wholeheartedly into the wedding preparations and the steady stream of parties. It was June 12 when Ashley took an airplane to Boston to attend yet another set of parties, including one more bridal shower, this one given by Emily. As she winged through the skies, she wondered what in heaven’s name she could yet be given as a prenuptial gift that she didn’t already have at least one of.

  Taking advantage of the chance to get some rest, she sat back and closed her eyes. Within seconds, her mind began to wander. And, of course, it headed for home territory. Matt had been right about the theme of Stevenson’s book being up-to-date. Look at the lengths to which people went in the effort to improve themselves. Thousands of books were sold every year — no, probably millions! — on how to be better-adjusted, how to deal with anger, how to be your own best friend, how to rid yourself of bad habits. If someone came up with a way to encapsulate all one’s bad traits, so they could be let out just often enough to dispel their energy and would in no way reflect upon the person . . . Wow. But what would happen to a nineteenth-century Mr. Hyde if he were brought back, by mistake, to the present day? She grinned at the thought. The poor guy would have an awful time being evil enough to stand out! His surreptitious visits to the opium dens would be tame stuff next to the supposedly upright citizens who snorted, sniffed, smoked, injected and otherwise terrorized their own bodies with drugs! Now if a descendent of Dr. Jekyll’s who was, in the family tradition, a doctor happened upon his ancestor’s journal and, just for the heck of it, mixed the formula . . .

  Ashley sat bolt upright, her eyes wide with alarm. What in heaven’s name was she doing? She’d sworn she wouldn’t get started on another project for a year and, even then, that she’d fit it neatly into her and Zachary’s social schedule! Why, she should be taking this extra time to review the names of Zachary’s relatives whom she’d be seeing again. Let’s see, there was his Aunt Phoebe and her sister, Grace Poole, and . . . Great Uncle Casper and . . . she closed her eyes again and promptly fell asleep.

  When she saw Zach waiting for her inside the terminal at Logan, all stray thoughts vanished as she ran into his arms.

  “Zach, these days apart get longer and longer.”

  He hugged her so tightly her feet lifted off the ground.

  “They sure do; thank God they’re almost over.” He took her carry-on bag in one hand and her hand in the other.

  “I can hardly wait! Oh, what time is it?” She glanced at her watch and answered her own question. “Just after noon. Good. Your mother and I are going into town so I can try on my wedding dress.”

  “Mom is delighted that you ordered the bridal gear at Priscilla’s. I think she calls every day to make sure they’re on schedule with all the bridesmaids’ dresses, as well as yours. She’s having the time of her life.”

  “That was fun, going shopping for my gown with her and Emily. It made me feel very much a part of the family already.”

  “You are a part of the family already.”

  Ashley noticed that practically every woman they passed looked covetously at Zachary. She was so proud to be with him, proud of his straight, authoritative carriage, his patrician good looks, the bright flashing smile that appeared so often on his handsome face. Being the wife of a man like Zachary Jordan should be enough for any woman! She squeezed his hand. “How wonderful, to be getting so close to our wedding day! Now, tell me again what I’m in for this weekend, and who I’ll see that I should remember.”

  He grinned at her. “In for? You make it sound like an ordeal.” He was teasing her. Why did his words make her feel guilty? “Well, let’s see, tonight is dinner at the folks’ place. Just the family. The immediate family. Then tomorrow’s a biggee for you. Mom’s having all the more elderly relatives over for a soiree — which really means another shower — in the afternoon. She’ll review some of the names for you, but don’t worry about it, no one will expect you to remember except Aunt Prissy, who got that nickname for good reason. Then, tomorrow night is the dinner party my partners are giving us at the Algonquin Club. And, of course, on Sunday afternoon it’s Emily’s shower.”

  “Good grief, Zachary. What will we do with all that stuff? Your place is completely equipped already and so is mine.”

  “And when you close your apartment, we’ll have all that furniture to get rid of.”

  At the words “close your apartment,” she felt a sharp stab of anguish. She’d no longer have a home base in New York. It felt like she was about to have something amputated. “Where will we put my piano?”

  Zach looked at her and frowned. “I don’t know. It’s so big. We may have to put it in storage until we settle on a house.”

  Put her piano in storage? That would be like condemning a beloved pet to an indefinite incarceration in a kennel! “Well, at least we can be sure nobody will give me another one of those.”

  Zachary laughed, not noticing that she said it without a smile. “We can always store some of the gifts in Mom and Dad’s attic. The thing that’ll really throw you is the number of thank-you notes you’ll have to write.” He chuckled. “But that shouldn’t be any problem for you. After all, you’re an author.”

  She grit her teeth. She was the world’s worst correspondent, which was one reason her phone bill was always sky-high. She hated and detested writing letters, cards or, especially, thank-you notes. She started to suggest he could help her with them but hesitated. It was probably another item on the endless list of “women’s work.” She hadn’t yet finished the notes to all the people in Cedar Rapids, let alone those in New York. Of course with her New York friends, if she had time, she could just throw a big party and have giant placards made to hang all over the place saying “thanks for the gift!” Most of them were theater people who’d choose originality over conventionality any day.

  Oh, well, somehow she’d get through all of it. She still wished they could have had a quiet, family-only wedding. With the size of Zach’s family, that was quite enough. Her poor mother had been overwhelmed when she’d received the Jordans’ wedding-guest list. They’d had to find a bigger church for the ceremony, since the one her parents attended was much too small. It had also become quite clear that a home-based reception wouldn’t do for this crowd, so they’d arranged to rent a large room in the local country club, at which they were not members. Ashley had assured her mother that she and Zachary would cover the expenses. Although, she was sure, her folks would have gladly re-mortgaged the house to insure getting her safely married to Zach.

  By Sunday afternoon, Ashley’s smile felt stitched in place, and she wasn’t sure how she’d summon another “ooh” or “aah” or “It’s just what I needed!” She had described her wedding gown at least a hundred times in the last two days and effervesced over the convenience of a microwave oven and the sensibility of having at least one set of good sturdy pottery to use for everyday. By this time, she thought, they had to own at least eight sets, as well as more pieces of the fine china they’d chosen than anyone could use in two lifetimes.

  When all the gifts were opened and the lunch and dessert were consumed and everyone had settled in to chat, Ashley grasped the brief opportunity to sit back and be quiet, to let her mind go blank. These were all such nice people, and most of them were also interesting and entertaining. Why was she feeling so . . . well, bored? It had to be the natural comedown from her hectic pace of the past couple of years. She’d never been very comfortable with too much time outside the work mode. Somehow the art of relaxing was one she’d never quite mastered. She’d just have to apply herself
to a more steady demand on her social skills.

  As she sat, a pleasant smile and attentive expression glued in place, her unruly mind once again strayed. She could picture the scene. Young Dr. Jekyll — the fourth? the fifth? — in his private laboratory that he had at his house for a few of his pet research projects, reading the original Jekyll’s journal and, laughing at the foolish old myth, mixing the famous formula. An onstage explosion that knocks out the doctor. Then, out of the mist, appears Mr. Hyde. Not the ghoulish creature of the movie, but Mr. Hyde as he’d truly be if the doctor had created him as a part of himself, particularly the more “wicked” part of himself. Handsome, debonair. Probably fully dressed in a tuxedo. He’d walk to the front of the stage, give his top hat a couple of haughty taps and sing . . .

  She had it. The lyric. Her eyes flew around the room. Everyone was completely engrossed in conversation, with the exception of Zachary’s ancient grandmother, who’d fallen asleep in her chair. Her smile firmly in place, Ashley nodded her excuse to her immediate neighbors and headed for the bathroom. Once safely inside, she sat on the closed toilet lid, took her ever present spiral notebook and pen out of her purse and started to write:

  What a delightful surprise.

  Before your very eyes

  Every man’s dream of what he’d like to be . . .

  Me!

  She was into it now. The words jumbled up in her mind, impatient for their turn to be set on paper. She wrote as fast as she could, speeded on by the rush of adrenaline through her bloodstream, covering page after page.

  Dimly, through the creative medley in her head, she heard a faint tap on the door. “Ashley, dear. Are you in there?”

  She sat bolt upright, instantly aware of the passage of time. She looked at the large number of pages folded back after she’d written on them. “Ah, yes, I am.” She tried to sound like someone with a stomach disorder as opposed to a weakness in the head.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” God. It was Zachary’s mother!

  “I’m fine. Just a little upset stomach.” Hastily, she shoved the notebook into her purse, and unlocked the door, forcing a wan smile to her face. “It’s so kind of you to be concerned.”

  Mrs. Jordan, who had been the soul of kindness and friendliness ever since the engagement, looked genuinely worried. “Can I get you anything? We have several medications that might help.”

  “Oh, no! Thank you, but I think it’s over. Just nerves, I’m sure.” She waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal, managing to fling her unlatched purse to the floor, where it disgorged its contents.

  Before she could stoop to get them, Mrs. Jordan had picked up the various pieces. She handed the purse to Ashley, waiting until she had it open to give her the lipstick, the comb, the pen and . . . her eyes, quite naturally, saw the hastily scribbled notes. She was obviously embarrassed at having read the top page, which was complete with a time signature and key change. “Oh, my dear.” She handed the incriminating notebook to Ashley, then put a consoling hand on her arm.

  Ashley was mortified. How was she to explain this? “It’s just that, well, Matt came up with this brilliant idea, and my mind does go off on its own tangents. . . .”

  Mrs. Jordan put her arm around Ashley’s waist as they started to walk back toward the parlor. “You shouldn’t feel a need to apologize for your extraordinary gift, dear. Most people would give anything in the world to have your talent. Be proud of it.”

  “But, I promised Zachary . . .”

  “Be very, very sure you don’t agree to any terms my son has made that are going to cost you too much.”

  Ashley stared at her, at a complete loss for words. Finally she was able to speak through the tears that were forming in the base of her throat. “I love him, Mrs. Jordan. I can’t bear to lose him again.”

  The older woman stopped and turned to her. “True love, Ashley, should never have too high a price. Especially if only one person has to pay it.”

  Ashley could no longer blink back the tears. “Mrs. Jordan, would you please . . .”

  She held up her hand. “I would never discuss what happens, of necessity, in a bathroom.” With a smile, she kissed Ashley on the cheek. “Dry your eyes, child. It’s time to say goodbye to all these tiresome guests.”

  That evening, as she and Zachary sat slumped on his big, comfortable sofa, she lay her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I’m exhausted.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll bet you are. It’s a real strain, trying to be continually nice for three straight days.”

  Ashley nodded. “I’ll say. It’s all the smiling, I think, that does me in. I’m used to spending a lot of time alone when I’m working or with one other person who’s working with me. I’ve never mastered the art of small talk.” She straightened her head, her eyes lighting up. “Wouldn’t that make a cute scene, Zach? Have a large group of people at a cocktail party and do a whole number incorporating all the silly subjects that are covered over and over at a gathering like that?”

  There was a deadly silence. Then Zachary said, in a tone edged with impatience. “Lord, Ashley. Do you have to put everything on stage?”

  She wilted back into her former position. “It’s sort of automatic. I’ll work on it.” She foraged around in her mind for a more acceptable subject. “Everyone has sure been nice to me. I really like your relatives. They’re all so interesting and every one of them has seemed genuinely pleased about our marriage.”

  “Why wouldn’t they be? Look what a gem I’m getting!”

  She smiled and snuggled closer. “Your mom is wonderful. I’m so glad we’ve had a chance to get better acquainted. And of course Emily. She’s even more fun than I’d remembered.”

  “Yes. Emily’s special. She’s a real fan of yours, you know.” He pulled back suddenly, looking at her intently. “Speaking of Emily, I almost forgot something. She said you left the party for almost an hour. That Mom found you in the bathroom, ‘indisposed.’ How’re you feeling?”

  She stiffened. “Oh, I’m fine. Just one of those . . . stomach bouts. You know.”

  “Well, take it easy for a few days. There’s a lot of flu going around. Funny, Mom usually becomes a mother hen when someone’s under the weather. I’m surprised she didn’t slap you into bed.”

  “She was awfully kind. She really seemed to understand. . . .”

  “Understand?”

  Ashley gulped. She was getting flustered, she’d better slow down and think. “You know, too much rich food, all those desserts . . .”

  Zachary watched her, his eyes narrowing in concern. “Ashley, is something the matter? You seem terribly, well, uptight.”

  Oh, Lord, what did she say now? She’d never been able to keep anything from Zachary; he knew, the moment he walked into the same room, if she was upset or unhappy. They’d never lied to each other. In fact, lying to anyone was another thing at which she was a complete flop. Maybe she should just tell him what had happened. She knew herself well enough to know it wouldn’t be the last time. That compulsion to get an idea on paper would be hard to break, and he’d have to be patient. Anyway, it wasn’t as though she’d committed a sin or something.

  “Ashley?”

  She looked up at him, straightening her back. “Look, Zach, it wasn’t really an upset stomach. I got to thinking about the idea Matt came up with for a musical, and all of a sudden the flow began; and I just had to get it down on paper. It’s one of those things I’ll have to learn to control.”

  “So you left a party being given in your honor to go lock yourself in the john?” His eyes were still narrowed, but not with concern. “Then told my mother you had a bad stomach?”

  “Zachary, why do you sound so angry? I didn’t shoot somebody, I just wrote down some lyrics and story ideas. Your mother was very supportive.”

  “Mother? How did she know?”

  As
hley described the scene, including his mother’s kindly advice. “I was really touched. She was far more understanding than my own mother’s ever been.”

  Zachary stood up and crossed to the window that faced Marlborough Street, where he pulled back the curtain and looked out, obviously lost in thought. “Are you paying too high a price, Ashley?”

  She jumped up and went to him. “Zachary, I didn’t say that; it was your mother who did. I’m sorry it happened. But I’m used to working. All this partying, trying to think of things to talk about . . .”

  “It seems to me you’ve never had a shortage of parties in New York.”

  “Yes, but it’s different. They’re with my kind of people, who talk about all the things I’m interested in. You know, shows and pictures and who’s just sold a screenplay and — ” she closed her mouth. Too late, far too late.

  He turned to her, his face an unreadable mask. “Your kind of people. As opposed to my kind?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I like your friends and your relatives. It’s just, well, I don’t know them all that well, and it’s harder to keep a conversation going.”

  “I should think so, when you’re holed up in a bathroom!”

  “Zachary, damn it all! I’m trying to be what you want me to be, but you can’t expect me to change myself overnight! My whole life has been the theater, it’s hard to just turn it off like a faucet!” She was getting out of control and didn’t know why. The incident earlier in the day had evidently disturbed her more than she’d realized.

  “It just seems as though you could keep things in a little better perspective. How do you think my mother must have felt, to find that her future daughter-in-law had abandoned a party being given for her to write lyrics in a bathroom?”

  “Your mother said I should never have to apologize for my talent. Yet that’s what I seem to keep doing, over and over again. I’ve been apologizing to my parents most of my life and now to — ” Oh, God, her mouth had run wild!

  “To me. Might as well finish it.” He went back to the couch and sank into it. “Hell, Ashley. I haven’t asked you to sacrifice your soul for me! Just to tether a career, put it in a suitable time frame!”