Then Steve watched as Leeza taunted Josh, and grabbed his crotch, and he could see that Josh’s reaction was immediate and responsive, because where do you go when there is nowhere to go but down? You follow the hedonistic instincts of the moment, and in the seconds it took for Leeza to grab him it was painfully evident that Josh was left bereft and hurting. Yet Leeza was there and so the exquisite night Jessie envisioned for her and Josh was left to the starlet that stole Charlie for a time, leaving Jessie lonely, and at the time opening the door of possibility through which Josh walked in the first place.
Josh let himself go to the powers that be that night, and he was glad of Leeza, or at least he told himself he was, for it was too much to think that Jessie was out there with Charlie somewhere, touching him, making love with him - marrying him? She had said she was going away when? Tomorrow?
Leeza was a Bandaid on an amputation. She couldn’t completely stop the bleeding. No one could. But at least Josh had someone to hang on to while he hurt, although in her state of drunkenness and disarray, Leeza thought he was laughing.
***
Chapter Eighteen
In the morning, Jessie packed and headed to the airport with Charles, who picked her up with Matt in tow. Charles wasn’t surprised at how tired she looked – Dee had told him she was going off to the wrap party at one in the morning when she left their home. But he was surprised at how sad she seemed – almost like the old Jessie – and that was worrisome. But oh well – her flight would be leaving soon and Dee was at the press conference, so there wasn’t much he could do now except fill Dee in later, and give Jessie a big hug and send her on her way.
In the car, Matt versed Jessie very strictly on security protocols for her trip, both for the flight as well as living in her summer residence. The singer had a way of avoiding certain protocols, and he was worried for her safety. Charles and Dee had shrugged off his worries – it was Matt’s job to be concerned. But they knew from their years of experience with Jessie that she would do what she wanted, when she wanted. Versing her on protocols was necessary but likely would not be extremely effective.
They got her through security, a baseball cap on her head, the smiley chucks on her feet, Tedsy hidden in her knapsack, and the Gibson in special baggage. She insisted on not flying the Keating jet. She wanted to be normal, and besides, there was the carbon footprint to worry about. Little did Jessie Wheeler know that no matter how hard she tried, she would never be normal. With a promise to text, call and email regularly, she whisked her forlorn smile off to the waiting area, and while she sat and ducked her head into a Chatelaine magazine while curious passengers stared in wonder, Dee was across town telling the world that her wedding to Charlie was off.
Matt and Charles walked back to their car and then drove to the Keating jet. They pulled some duffels out of the trunk, got settled in comfortable chairs inside, and then flew to Charleston, South Carolina.
***
Josh was driving down West Broadway towards Mountain Equipment Co-op to pick up some new kayak paddles when he heard one of Jessie’s songs on the radio. It broke his heart but he turned it up anyway, for he couldn’t resist his heart when it was fighting so hard to get him to listen. When the song ended, the announcers had a field day.
The big wedding was off. Jessie Wheeler and Charlie Deacon had called off their nuptials.
Screeching his tires, Josh almost ran into a parked car. He corrected at the last second and then quickly pulled into the first available parking slot.
According to the announcers, the press conference was held that morning in the lobby of the Keating building on Robson; no, neither Jessie nor Charlie were in attendance; and the reason for the break-up was cited as ‘irreconcilable differences’. The announcers, focusing mostly on Charlie and his notorious escapades, mostly left Jessie out of it, despite the famous viral video from the night of Terri’s passing.
Josh could feel his chest compressing and he gripped the steering wheel tightly. Then he revved up the engine, pulled out in front of an old silver Pontiac Sunfire, and sped all the way out to Langley to the Holy Oh. He pulled over on the side of the road near where the horses were grazing, and climbed out of the truck. He shut the door behind him, then stumbled to the grass by the paddock fence. He leaned into it and cried out, unrestrained, frightening the horses and causing them to run. He broke down for the second time in twelve hours.
The news was not a complete surprise - everyone on set was buzzing about the possibility that the wedding had been called off. Josh had been careful not to listen too closely to the gossip. Why get his hopes up? In the end, hearing that it was truly and officially not happening, he couldn’t believe his stupidity and lack of faith in not recognizing that maybe, just maybe, Jessie and Charlie had indeed broken up in Ashland; that even though she was drunk that night, she sure as hell knew what she had said to him, because he sure as hell remembered every second of their interchange last night at the wrap party, when he was the one who was practically passed out drunk.
He thought about it, what she had said to him and, as he regained some semblance of control and the horses calmed down, he put a foot up on the bottom rail of the fence and rested his arms on the top rail, and remained there for quite some time, pondering life and all its complexities, and the girl that might have gotten away. Then he turned and made his way back to the truck, drove back to MEC and bought some decent kayak paddles, motored home, and packed for the shoot in New Mexico.
***
When Jessie arrived at her destination, she was picked up by a local that Matt and Charles were told could be trusted, a greying, slightly stooped lady who often met and ‘hid’ celebrities who wanted to escape their harried lifestyles and spend some time in eastern Canada. Jessie was driven to a modernized century farmhouse with weathered grey-shingled siding and crimson red shutters. It was sheltered in the woods near South Rustico, Prince Edward Island, and was bordered by the roiling Gulf of St. Lawrence on the north side.
After ensuring Jessie’s comfort, that she had everything she needed, the kind older lady deposited fresh biscuits and homemade strawberry jam on the pine harvest table and left Jessie to her reminiscing. With a promise to check in regularly, she drove away under a plethora of twinkling stars. The Islander understood that the girl had endured a rough few weeks.
Jessie stood alone in the living room of the big old house. Here she was, on the island where she was born, where the glorious memories of her father teaching her to sing and play guitar were utmost in her mind, where her little family built sandcastles on the beach and, ultimately, where her father died and the nightmare of Jessie Wheeler’s life began. It was a heady lot of emotions, piled on top of everything else that had happened recently. She was glad she would be here for several weeks, purportedly to write the last few songs for her new album and to study scripts for potential future projects. She would need all the time she could get. If she got brave enough, she might even look up her mother. Jackie, Terri’s mother, had awakened something in her regarding moms and daughters and difficult relationships. Perhaps she had indeed been selfish. Perhaps, all this time, her mother was as dead and lost as Jessie herself after Sandy died. Perhaps it was time to forgive.
Sandy…Jessie still thought about her first love with remorse and regret, and decided that some day she would have to face what happened to him with courage. By not acting on the circumstances of his violent death, she was not serving Sandy well. Justice should be done. Sandy was a runaway like herself. Maybe she should find his parents, his family. Maybe all these years they were worrying and wondering. Perhaps Jessie could finally lay their minds to rest, although she would not be delivering the positive news they would hope to hear. But at least the conjecturing – the constant speculating - could end.
That terrible night, when in his own grand downtown Charleston home Deuce McCall violently stabbed Sandy in front of Jessie, a part of her died. She wanted to be fully dead. She loved the boy, and he loved her back. Th
e only grace she was able to give him on that horrific eve was permission to die in her arms, to ensure the last thing he saw on this earthly plane was the sea-pearl eyes of the girl he so happily spent his last few years with. When his soul cried out and finally let go, Jessie’s spirit, in many ways, surrendered too.
Her eyes flitted around the cozy room. It had a rustic summer cottage feel, with pine walls and little nautical mementoes here and there, like lighthouses and miniature lobster traps. Its aura was welcoming, warm; the salt of the ocean tickled her nose as she listened to the Atlantic’s call. Incessant waves frolicked and played outside her back door, reminding Jessie that no matter how hard she tried to push it away or to hide, time – or life - would just keep moseying along, like one wave after the next, some larger and more menacing than others, but all simply crying to be borne.
***
In Charleston, Matt and Charles had no trouble finding the swanky lounge where Jessie Wheeler worked when she was seventeen. They entered into the darkness, leaving the bright light of a hot summer day behind them, and ordered drinks at the bar. Casually, they chatted up the staff about the gentleman they knew to be the owner, a man named Deuce McCall. Later, they were led to an ornate office on the second floor, a place with a gargantuan glass desk and plush white carpet. McCall, sitting in a red leather chair behind the computer, working on the establishment’s expansive accounts, almost jumped when he looked up and saw Charles Keating enter the room.
He had no recourse but to pull himself together and extend a hand which Charles, and then Matt, shook officially. After the formal introductions, he waved an arm.
“Please sit, gentlemen,” he said courteously, his turbulent emotions masked with great determination.
“We won’t keep you,” Charles started, taking a seat on an old wooden banker’s chair in front of McCall’s desk. Matt perched comfortably on the leather couch on the side wall. “We have some questions about an employee of yours from about ten years ago. Jessie Wheeler?”
Forcing one hand over the other in order to keep from trembling, Deuce responded, “Sure. Jessie. She’s done well for herself.” He sat back, trying to look nonchalant. “She got her start here. Like The Beatles – she fine tuned her music and learned how to play for a crowd, right out there on the big stage. And how do you know her?”
“I produce her records,” Charles said matter-of-factly. “Matt here works with me in security.”
“I see.”
“She also had a friend that worked here? A girl by the name of Rachel?”
“Yes, yes. Tragedy, that was. She got into some hard drugs. Overdosed around the time of Jessie’s birthday, in July, as I do recall.”
Interesting, Charles thought. He knew Jessie didn’t like to celebrate her birthday on any grand level because her father had died the day she turned twelve, but he hadn’t realized she’d also lost a good friend around the same date.
“Do you remember a boyfriend?” Matt asked from the couch. “Sandy?”
Deuce McCall’s heart started to pound, intensely. But there was no way they could know about what had happened to Sandy, unless…unless Jessie herself had spilled the beans. It was possible, but improbable. He knew he had sent her running scared years ago. “Blonde kid, I think? Yes, vaguely. He was around a lot, watching her sing. Nice kid. I think he worked outdoors, maybe as a landscaper or something like that. I remember them joking about the snakes he’d find in peoples’ gardens. He wasn’t used to them. None of those kids were from here. They were all runaways from up north.” He was rambling.
“Do you tend to employ a lot of runaways, Mr. McCall?” Charles asked, not unkindly.
Deuce shrugged. “Sure. I believe in giving lost kids a chance to get their shit together. That little group was finishing high school, as I recall. My staff helps kids get registered in school - we even provide tutors.”
That was true, in fact. Deuce did what he could to cover up his shady activities.
Matt jumped in. He was a little more serious than Charles. He asked point blank, “What happened to Sandy?”
It was everything Deuce could do to keep a straight face. But he’d talked himself into believing he hadn’t killed the boy on purpose, that it had been an accident. He wrongly believed he had nothing to hide.
“I can’t really say,” he said. “I just assumed he left town with the Wheeler girl.”
Charles shifted in the hard wooden chair. His butt was falling asleep. “Have you ever been to Vancouver, Mr. McCall?”
Deuce employed an evasive tactic. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. He could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead. His knuckles were white. “Might you explain why y’all are here, Mr. Keating? Asking questions about kids who worked here ten years ago?” He gestured to his computer. “I have a business to run. I don’t have time for this…inquisition.”
“We are trying to ascertain your whereabouts a few weeks ago, sir. A young girl died. Jessie seems to, let’s say, be a little nervous about her association with you in the past. We want to put her mind at rest.”
Uh-huh. So they really know nothing about Sandy and how he died, unless they are stalling or practicing their poker faces. But Jessie has indeed spilled some beans about me. The question is, how many?
Deuce decided to take a firm stance. He stood. “I think our meeting is over, gentlemen. I don’t take kindly to strangers waltzing into my office and making accusations. If you need to know, yes, I have been to Vancouver many times. I regularly travel to various cities, including those in your frigid north. I was there twice this past month, in fact. But I think if you do your research you will find I was attending conferences both times, and that I am a busy, successful man who goes to church on Sundays and doesn’t make a habit of entertaining young girls.”
He knew they could prove he had crossed the border into Vancouver. But they would have no proof of any association with Jessie’s young friend Terri. He had registered for conferences while there – he just hadn’t attended most of the seminars or workshops. He did entertain young girls – but usually only the ones who wanted to be entertained. It was their fault if they got too messed up, he figured.
He stepped out from behind the desk and raised an arm to indicate the way out of his space, which had suddenly become claustrophobic.
As Charles stood, he apologized. “Our intention was not to accuse, Mr. McCall. We were in the city and wanted to see where Jessie got her start. And as I said, we wanted to put her mind at ease.” He thrust out a hand, which McCall accepted, hoping Charles would attribute his sweat to the warm day. “Thank you for believing in her back in the beginning.”
“She’s quite a talent. Take care of her.”
Matt followed them out of the room, stopping once to look back at McCall’s desk. The man seemed in every way a respectable businessman. The staff in his employ was relaxed and apparently happy. What was it that concerned Jessie? He would do some more research on the man when he got back to Vancouver.
After they left, from his window McCall watched them stroll down the street, and he felt a twinge of uneasiness in his groin. Then he sat back down and tried to focus on the accounts, but it wasn’t going well so he gave up, poured a brandy, and flipped on the radio. It wasn’t two minutes before he heard the news – the much-anticipated wedding was off. He sprang forward in his seat, breathing hard.
Something was amiss in Vancouver. Something was awry in Jessie Wheeler’s world. Something big had changed.
He wondered if Terri’s death had anything to do with it, and he grinned contemptuously. Oh, he was still the master, Deuce McCall was. He was still the puppeteer and Jessie was still a wooden doll, putty in his hands, subject to his expert maneuvers.
He could hardly wait until they once again – soon – met face to face.
He tipped back his chair and laughed, then clicked open YouTube and spent the afternoon drinking brandy and watching Jessie Wheeler’s music videos. He fell asleep in his chair as the w
arm sun stroked his hair in late afternoon, and did not wake up until eight p.m., as Matt and Charles boarded the Keating jet for the flight back to Vancouver.
***
Jessie sat embraced by pleasant sunshine on the hill overlooking the Southwest River, where years ago her father’s car unceremoniously carried him to his death. This was a stunningly beautiful Island, with its patchwork greens and reds, luscious potato and bright canola fields, and quaint fishing harbors. But, to Jessie, it would be a time before she could find a complete and lasting peace here in the place where her beloved father lost his life so cruelly and abruptly.
She lay back and watched the clouds float by, and was lazily trying to conjure up her father’s voice when her cell phone rang. She expected it was Dee, who had already called twice that day, worrying as usual for her girl.
Jessie hit answer without checking the caller ID.
“Hey,” said the husky voice on the other end.
She bolted up to a sitting position, and a slow smile spread over her face.
“Hey yourself,” she responded quietly as a pink flush colored her cheeks under the afternoon sun.
And the clouds tumbled by with their fluffy white messages of hope and peace; and the herons spread their great wings as they heralded her presence; and Jessie Wheeler stopped thinking about bad things like what had happened to her father and Sandy and Rachel and Terri, and instead she concentrated on the here and now and the so very good and, of course, that was because it was her close and sweet friend Josh Sawyer on the line.
A Song For Josh, Drifters Book One Page 35