Judd felt Tom watching him. He purposely made his expression bland. “Sure she will. Probably got the jitters.”
“I guess that’s possible, although she didn’t act nervous while you were there. I’d have thought it’d be the other way around, that she’d be less nervous when you left the booth.”
Judd dropped his gaze. “Yeah, well, I screwed up, Tom. She told me a little while ago that when I left so quickly she thought I hated what I’d heard.”
Tom nodded slowly. “It was a pretty fast exit.”
“Pretty stupid, too. I’ve apologized to her, so I think tomorrow will be better. We’ll run through some complete sets, get her ready for her club gigs.”
“Sounds good.” Tom continued to gaze at him.
Judd couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Okay, Tom, what’s on your mind?”
“Are you even aware that she has a huge crush on you?”
A wave of heat washed over him. “You have an overactive imagination, Tom. Always have. That’s why you’re so damned creative.”
“Ignore me if you want, but she was on fire with those first two numbers, and I think she was singing them just for you.”
Judd didn’t want to hear that. “Good technique, that’s all. And then she thought I didn’t like it, and I’m the head honcho, so she freaked out. Perfectly natural.”
“Yeah, that could be one explanation.” Tom slapped his palms on his knees and stood. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow, huh? That is, if you don’t sit in.”
“I have meetings all day tomorrow.” And he’d keep on having meetings, Judd decided as Tom left the office. Gridley from marketing could take her to her gigs, and he’d stay completely in the background. If she had a crush on him he didn’t want to know. He was having enough trouble dealing with his own libido, without factoring in hers.
* * *
KERRY OPENED a can of tuna with her Swiss army knife and ate it with a plastic fork before she put on her cocktail dress. Undoubtedly there would be food at the reception, but with her luck she’d be so nervous she’d spill something on John Mellencamp or whatever luminary would be there, so she didn’t plan to eat. Judd had mentioned a late dinner, but Kerry was used to eating at a normal time, and she was starving. This sort of schedule would take some getting used to. In the meantime she blessed her mother for insisting on the cans of tuna. Nobody would know her secret except the maid, she thought, dropping the empty can delicately in the trash.
She washed her hands and brushed her teeth before she took the cocktail dress out of its plastic bag. Made of red satin, strictly dry-cleanable, it had to last the length of her stay.
When she’d tried it on in the back room of Emma Webster’s shop, she’d felt like a star. A slit up one side to midthigh revealed a tantalizing bit of leg without being gauche. The bodice hugged her curves and dipped just enough in front and back to be sensual, not tacky. Red satin pumps and a necklace and earrings of Austrian crystal were also on loan from Emma’s shop. When Emma had dressed her, with her mother and Aunt June looking on, Kerry had felt like Cinderella being prepared for the ball. She still felt that way tonight. Her hair, swept up on top of her head, contributed to the illusion.
She turned once in front of the mirror. Maybe her coach would change into a pumpkin at midnight, but until then she’d enjoy an evening with the prince.
The phone rang and her heartbeat quickened. She held the receiver to her ear and swallowed.
“I’m in the lobby,” Judd said.
“I’ll be right down.” Perhaps she shouldn’t sound so eager, she thought as she replaced the receiver and reached for the beaded evening bag Emma had included with the package. A true New Yorker might have requested a few more minutes. But Kerry couldn’t stay in her hotel room another second, knowing Judd was downstairs waiting for her. Let him think what he wanted.
She stepped off the elevator and paused to take in the splendor of Judd in a midnight dark tux and pleated white shirt. He truly looked like a prince tonight.
He stepped forward, his gaze intense. “The lady in red,” he murmured, offering her his arm. “There doesn’t seem to be a color you can’t wear.”
She linked her bare arm through his jacketed one and her fingers closed over the muscles of his forearm. A current of awareness zinged through her, making her vibrate like a tuning fork. “I look pretty awful in orange.”
“You’d have to prove it to me.” He led her past the uniformed doorman, who tipped his hat and smiled.
Kerry smiled back. She’d never felt this high. Ahead of them Zorba waited, also in uniform for the occasion, his hand on the open door of the gray limo. “Hello, Zorba,” she said, flashing another smile.
“Hello, Miss Muldoon.” His expression was grave, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. Did he believe now that she wasn’t just another hopeful soon to be discarded?
Judd handed her into the cool interior, where the tinted windows filtered out the daylight that remained on this warm summer night. She slid across the seat and he slipped in next to her. An open bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket on the console in front of them. Kerry glanced to the front of the limo. If Zorba drove the way he had that afternoon, they’d both be covered in champagne inside of five seconds.
To her surprise Zorba allowed the limo to idle at the curb while Judd poured two flutes of the bubbly liquid.
He handed one to her. “Accept this as my apology for throwing you a curve today.”
She gazed at him, dazzled beyond words.
“Here’s to a rewarding career,” he said, touching the rim of his glass to hers.
“Thank you.” The words came out a whisper. She raised the glass to her lips and drank as Zorba eased the limo into traffic like a dolphin gliding seamlessly into an ocean wave. None of this seemed real to Kerry, who expected any minute to wake up in the four-poster antique bed in her rented colonial.
“I also have to apologize for starving you to death,” Judd said. “I should have told you to order from room service if you got hungry.”
Kerry glanced at him, so magnificent in his tux, so elegant and sophisticated. In her overwhelmed state, she blurted out the story about the tuna. To her relief he laughed.
“A Swiss army knife?” he asked, grinning at her. “Are you packing it in that little bag right now?”
“Goodness, no.”
“Too bad. You never can tell what we’ll encounter between here and the Village. By the way, how did you make out with the taxi this afternoon?”
“It took me six tries, but I finally found someone smaller than me I could shove out of the way so I could nab one.”
Judd laughed again. “I think you’re turning into a New Yorker, at that.” He leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “I’ve never met a woman who carries a Swiss army knife,” he said, glancing at her over the rim of his champagne flute. “Any more surprises I should know about?”
Kerry liked him best when he relaxed. He was pretty virile and exciting as the take-charge CEO of Lighthouse Records, but when he dropped the air of authority a little, he made her heart turn over. “Well, one of my ancestors on my mother’s side was hanged as a witch,” she said.
“No kidding? In Salem?”
“No. Connecticut. The poor woman wouldn’t confess, so they strung her up.”
“And was she a witch, do you think?”
Kerry gazed at him. “Depends on whether you believe in witches.”
7
AT THAT MOMENT Judd believed completely in witches. Green-eyed ones in heart-stopping red dresses who made him forget every resolution he’d made to stay clear of Kerry Muldoon.
Selfishly, he no longer wanted to go to the reception. An intimate little jazz club in the Village held far more appeal—the wail of a sax, candlelight, a bottle of wine and afterward, those tempting lips against his, the slide of satin under his fingers….
“I don’t know about witches,” he said, “but I believe in spells.”
She
held his gaze, her glass halfway to her lips. “Aye, and the wee people?” she asked in that enchanting brogue he’d heard her use before. He knew she’d lived in Massachusetts all her life, knew the brogue was more playful than authentic, but it charmed him, anyway.
“Sometimes.”
She gave him a sly look. “Sure and I would’ve taken you for a more practical man.”
“I was a musician before I was a businessman, and you know what they say about musicians.”
Her emerald eyes gleamed. “You were a wild and crazy lad when you were younger, then?”
He thought of the gigs until two in the morning, the after-hours jam sessions that lasted till dawn. He hadn’t touched his sax for years, but he could still taste the bamboo reed flavored with scotch, smell the smoke in the clubs, an equal mix of tobacco and pot. And he could still see Suzanne crooning into the mike, her smoky voice bringing the band whatever acclaim it had ever had. He’d loved her more than the music, but she’d loved the music more than him. She’d considered him a hindrance to her career, so she’d dumped him. She might have made it big, if the drugs that had apparently replaced their passion hadn’t killed her.
“I’m sorry.” Kerry touched his sleeve, her Irish accent abandoned. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
He gazed at her. “Tom asked me today if you knew how rough it is out there.”
“I can guess.”
“You’d never guess, Kerry. It’s a catch-22. You have to have the drive and ambition to make it, but that kind of single-mindedness will change you. Some things are lost along the way. Sometimes very important things.”
“Yet every day you encourage people along that path.”
“Maybe I like making money.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe it’s only about money.”
“No.” He sipped his champagne. “We need music. Inspired or sentimental, funny or crazy. It taps into our subconscious, brings out what gets buried under the garbage.”
“I couldn’t live without music.”
He glanced at her. “Neither could I. But the people who give it to us are sometimes consumed by the gift.” He swallowed the last of his champagne. “Well that’s enough amateur philosophy for one night. We’re almost there. Tonight will begin the word-of-mouth campaign that an exciting new talent’s in town. I’ve booked you for the next three nights at Compulsions, and over the weekend at the Besotted Fox. Try to drop that into the conversation whenever you can.”
“Okay.” Her eyes were wide, her breathing shallow.
“Does the idea of performing in a New York club scare you?”
“It petrifies me.”
“You, the lady with the Swiss army knife?”
Her answering smile was weak. “I suppose I could threaten to slash the audience to ribbons if they didn’t clap loud enough.”
Instinctively, he covered her hand with his. “You’ll be fine.” Her soft hand trembled under his. His grip tightened and he fought the urge to lean over and taste those softly parted lips.
“Will you be there?”
Warnings sounded in his head and he released her hand. “No, I…have some things to do tomorrow night.”
“Of course. There I go again. Sorry.” She looked away and sipped her champagne.
He felt like the worst kind of heel. She needed his support, and he was denying it. But he had to. Even now, her perfume swirled through his senses and it took all his restraint not to crush her to him. “Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Henry Gridley, director of our marketing department.” And he’s also single, Judd suddenly remembered with dread. “He’ll go with you. We wouldn’t toss you out there alone.”
“I must seem like a baby,” she said, still not looking at him.
Not even close, he thought, following the smooth line of her throat down to the graceful curve of crystals encircling her neck. “Most people would be nervous jumping into the club scene, but I’m afraid it’s necessary. My people always feel better if they can see new talent in a club setting.”
“People? You mean others from Lighthouse will be there besides Mr. Gridley?”
“You’ll never know it. They’ll just slip in and out.”
She took a deep breath. “No pressure, right?”
“Hey, once you get over being nervous, you’ll be fine, no matter who’s watching. You’re a born performer, Kerry. We both know that.”
She turned back to him, her expression open and trusting. Her voice was soft. “But will I be consumed by the gift, Judd?”
* * *
IF THERE WAS a special spot in heaven for musicians, this loft in Greenwich Village would do nicely as a prototype, Kerry thought. She became giddy from being in the same room with so many stars she’d admired. Other than a few artfully hung cascades of white silk and strategic lighting, the loft was bare, allowing the space to be decorated with people, instead of objects. Within ten minutes Kerry met Bruce Springsteen, who seemed to be very good friends with Judd, Michael Bolton and Linda Ronstadt.
Once in a while a camera flashed, but the photographers were unobtrusive. Kerry suspected they’d been carefully chosen so that the event would get some publicity but not turn into a feeding frenzy for the media.
A combo played in one corner, and every once in a while a guest would wander over and take a turn with one of the instruments or sing one of his or her old standards to enthusiastic applause from their peers. Food was exotic and plentiful, but Kerry stuck to her vow of not eating, on the chance she’d ruin her precious red dress. She sipped mineral water, instead of wine, not wanting anything to cloud her memory of tonight. She tried to turn herself into a human video camera to capture it all for the benefit of everyone back in Eternity.
Somewhere along the way she lost Judd in the crowd, but people were so nice to her she didn’t feel deserted in the least. Many were curious about Eternity, and several said they’d plan their next marriage in the chapel, to improve their usually dismal odds for marital success. Kerry began to understand what her stardom could mean for the town. Several merchants had banded together to form Weddings, Inc., a complete wedding planning service. A few famous entertainers using the service would ensure its success.
Kerry was congratulating herself on how well she was handling the pressures of hobnobbing with the stars when Judd put a hand on her shoulder. “Several people have asked if you’d sing.”
Kerry spilled half her glass of mineral water down his shirt. “Now?”
He took out a handkerchief and mopped at his shirt. “I take it you’re not crazy about the proposal.”
Kerry’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. “But Judd, everybody’s here.”
He tucked the handkerchief into his jacket pocket. “That’s the idea.” His golden gaze challenged her. “What are you made of, Muldoon? Are you the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow or are you the Blarney stone?”
“Don’t throw that Irish malarkey at me at a time like this. I need that handkerchief.”
He retrieved it and handed it to her.
She dabbed at her damp temples and wiped her sweating palms. “You mean right now?”
“I figured you’d do ‘New York, New York.’ I know you don’t need music for it. If you want I’ll get a few people to imitate sea gulls.”
“You are not funny.”
“That’s too bad, because if you’d laugh, you’d release that tension in your diaphragm and you just might be able to pull this off.”
She gazed into his eyes.
“It’s the chance of a lifetime, Kerry. I have people under contract at Lighthouse who would give their firstborn to perform in front of this group.”
She started to hyperventilate. “I…just didn’t… expect…”
“Great. Now you’re turning blue.” He took her glass. “Cup your hands and blow into them.”
She followed his advice and the room stopped spinning.
“Shall I tell the band you’ll do that number?”
She swallowed.
>
“Pretend they’re a bunch of well-dressed sea gulls. You can even take your shoes off if that would help. I’d truck in a load of sand, but I think people would get tired of waiting for your number.”
She took a long, shaky breath. “I’ll do it.”
“Good. Now don’t pass out on me while I tell the band. What key?”
She told him and he walked away. Her head buzzed, but she kept taking deep breaths and thinking of how much this would mean to her town. Everyone there had been so good to her. She must not fail them now. She walked to the small raised platform where the combo had been performing all evening. The man playing the bass fiddle smiled at her. She smiled back, although the effort made her feel as if her skin would crack.
A flock of sea gulls. That’s what she would pretend the audience was, as Judd had suggested. The band played the introduction and she took the mike out of its stand. A flock of sea gulls. Except for Judd. She needed to see his face. She scanned the gathering, blotting out recognition of anyone else. Finally she found him over to her left, his smile soft. He nodded gently. A small stream of confidence flowed into her, and she began.
At first she sang without moving, but as the music filled her, years of training took over and she began to deliver the song as she’d practiced so many times on the beach. The slit up one side of her dress allowed her enough freedom to swing her hips and stride back and forth across the small platform.
The audience began to sway in time with her, and then to clap in rhythm. She had them. She had them! The smile she flashed at Judd felt like it had enough wattage to light up Radio City Music Hall. As she approached the climactic ending of the song, she made a decision. Once again she changed the words and flung herself into the final phrase with a rousing, “It’s up to you, Judd Roarke, Judd Roarke!”
The hoots of laughter and enthusiastic applause splashed over her like a shower of glittering confetti, and she joined in the laughter out of sheer joy. She’d done it. New York was her town!
Wedding Song Page 7