Last Chance at Love

by Gwynne Forster

  After enjoying his dinner, he finished dressing, put on the old felt hat, got his guitar, and headed for Blues Alley. Buddy met him as he stepped in the back door.

  “Man, you should see that crowd out there tonight. They’re standing in the back. The manager’s after me to get you here full-time as a regular member of the band, but I told him, ‘Don’t even dream it.’” His face bore an expression of hope. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “You know my situation, man. I’ll be here when I can.”

  Buddy reached up to slap Jake on the back. “And any time you can get here rocks with me, you know that.”

  He got a glass of tea, which he used to suggest whiskey, took his seat onstage, put the tea on the floor beside him, and waited for the curtain to rise and the lights to dim.

  * * *

  “Want to go with Mark and me to Blues Alley tonight? According to The Tribune, Mac will be there,” Connie said to Allison when they talked that afternoon.

  “Great. What are you wearing? I know you’ll dress up if you’re with Mark.”

  “A simple street-length navy blue dress and a necklace. I have to, because Mark always wears a business suit and doesn’t even own a pair of jeans.”

  “Okay. I’ll wear my red wool dress with jewel neckline and long sleeves. Prim as Mary McLeod Bethune.”

  “Well, you don’t have to go overboard. Meet you there at a quarter of eight. If you’re late, come to our table. Mark’s last name is Reddaway.”

  “Is this serious, Connie? You two seem inseparable.”

  Connie’s voice softened, and she spoke in lowered tones. “We’re serious, Allison. I didn’t believe I could be so happy. What’s going on with you and the author?”

  “I’ll know for sure when the tour is over, Connie. We still have a lot of stuff to clear away, but I’m praying we’ll make it.”

  “I’ll send up one for you, girl. See you later.”

  * * *

  “How did you get a front-row table?” Allison asked Mark after greeting Connie and him. “This is wonderful.”

  “What would you like to drink?” Mark asked them.

  “Gin and tonic for me,” Connie said, causing Allison to raise an eyebrow. When the two of them went out together, Connie didn’t drink anything stronger than Dr Pepper.

  “White wine, please,” Allison said, deciding that if she couldn’t be with Jake, she might as well enjoy herself.

  When the lights dimmed and the curtain went up, Allison expected Connie to comment on their closeness to Mac, but her friend sat there stonily as if they had never discussed the man. Mark one down for you, Connie, she said to herself.

  “Mac’s in the house tonight,” Buddy Dee told the patrons. “Give it up for Mac.” She noticed that Mac barely tipped his hat, glanced over the audience, and nodded to Buddy, who gave the downbeat. She sat back in her chair, ignoring Mark and Connie, and suddenly it occurred to her that, for the first time, she was not listening to the music, but focusing solely on Mac Connelly.

  This is strange, she thought. He manages not to look at this table, and we’re directly in his line of vision, right in front of him.

  At the end of the piece, while the applause thundered, she saw him rub across his chin with his left hand. Hmm. She looked at his shoes—brown Gucci loafers—and swallowed hard.

  It can’t be, she told herself. It’s impossible.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight, Allison,” Connie said. “I wonder why.”

  “He’s in his orbit tonight. I don’t think I ever heard him play like this, as if he broke out of jail and is enjoying his freedom. He’s really on tonight,” Mark said, relieving her of the need to answer Connie.

  They sat through the first and second sets, but when the lights dimmed at the end, Allison didn’t go up to speak with him. She knew he wouldn’t be there, that he would elude her just as he did when she sent him a note asking for an interview.

  She declined to go for a late supper with her friends, went home, got a handful of gingersnaps and a glass of milk, and turned on the television. But she couldn’t focus on the television fare; her mind stayed with Mac Connelly. Same complexion, same long tapered fingers, and probably the same height and size. Same brown shoes. And he hadn’t looked at her. Not once. Her right hand skimmed her jaw as she mused over the similarities.

  “That’s it,” she said, jumping up from the chair. “That’s it. A right-handed guitarist rubbing his chin with his left hand when he has both hands free.” Jake always fingered his chin with his left hand, and she had so often wondered why he didn’t rub it with his right hand. Jake Covington was Mac Connelly. She went to the phone and dialed his home phone number, and as she expected, got no answer.

  What about that book proposal he’s writing? Wait till I—

  What about your own secret? the voice of her conscience demanded. He’s not keeping secrets from you any more than you are withholding a secret from him.

  What was she supposed to do with this knowledge? She’d sworn never again to withhold vital information about a person on whom she was assigned to report, not even if that person was a man she loved.

  I’ll keep it to myself, and maybe he’ll tell me about this and the reasons for his sudden disappearances. She dropped back down into the chair. Washed out. Indignant. And not a little hurt. She didn’t know how long she sat there reliving her every experience with him. Finally, she got up, checked the front door and the windows, and went upstairs. Nobody could convince her that Jacob Covington was anything but honest and honorable.

  “I’ll just have to see how it plays out.”

  * * *

  “Damn the luck,” Jake said, walking into his house and pitching the hat and brown tweed jacket to the back of the closet floor. “Sitting right in front of me and looking like a million bucks. I hope she didn’t recognize me.” However, it perplexed him that she didn’t try to contact him as she’d done before. He brushed his left hand over his chin and lifted his shoulder in a slight shrug. Perhaps she left with her friends. In any case, he’d know sooner or later.

  He rang her bell at four Sunday afternoon, and her dazzling smile bewitched him. Surely she wouldn’t greet him so warmly if she had detected Mac Connelly’s identity. His arms encircled her, and she offered him her lips.

  “Go easy, honey,” he said, unable to hold back a grin, “otherwise I’ll be in trouble.” He allowed himself the pleasure of flicking his tongue along the seam of her lips and letting her slowly draw him into her mouth. At once, his blood rushed toward his loins, and he broke the kiss. “Baby, you pack a wallop.”

  “You’re the one who pours it on; I just react.”

  His lower lip dropped, and he imagined his face had become one big question mark. “Next you’ll tell me Adam seduced Eve.”

  With the look of an innocent, she said, “Of course he did. Walking around without even a fig leaf on, what would anybody expect poor Eve to do? Like that G-string you wear for bathing trunks. I didn’t seduce you that morning in Idlewild, because I was so shocked at seeing you that I lost my wits.”

  “You won’t convince me that you lost your wits. You might have been short on nerve, but wits, never. Ready to go?”

  “You think I’m all right?”

  He let his gaze drift over her black leather pants, skintight, her red silk-knit sweater, and her three-quarter-length leather coat. “All right? You could be on the cover of Vogue. From head to foot, perfect.”

  He could see that his words pleased her, and her softly uttered thanks let him know that she valued his approval.

  Justine met them at the door. “I’m so glad to meet you, Allison. Jake promised he’d bring you, and we’ve been looking forward to this. Duncan’s on the deck, grilling the dinner,” she said to Jake. “Come on in.”

  They walked thro
ugh the house and found Duncan on his knees looking for the grilling tongs. He found them, stood, and greeted Allison. “Thank you for coming, Allison. I’ve wanted to meet the woman who clipped this guy’s wings.”

  She turned to him. “Is that what I did, Jake?”

  “That’s what he says, but he likes to exaggerate.”

  “Man, you hit the jackpot,” Duncan said, “and that is definitely not an exaggeration.”

  Justine joined them, followed by Tonya, who ran to Jake for a hug. “Uncle Jake, I have a new friend. He’s studying the violin, and I’m studying the piano, and my daddy says it’s all right if we get married but we have to wait until I finish college.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, temporarily nonplussed. “Uh... How old are you, Tonya?”

  “I’m four, and I’m going to be five.”

  “I see. And how old is this violinist?”

  A smile brightened her face. “He’s already five.”

  “I see. These things took a bit longer when I was growing up. Your daddy is a very wise man.” He introduced her to Allison.

  “Uncle Jake says I’m his best girl,” Tonya informed her.

  “I don’t mind,” Allison said. “You are a charming little girl.”

  “Thank you, Miss Allison. Next time you come, I’ll ask my mummy and my daddy if I can play for you.”

  Allison hunkered before the little girl and put her arms around her, hugged her and said, “I’ll be looking forward to hearing you play.”

  Seeing her holding that little girl brought to his mind pictures of her nurturing his own child, and it cost him a lot not to get on his knees and fold them both in his arms. How different it is from the time I was last here, he thought time and again. He had only to touch her to know that she held a piece of himself and always would. He ate the grilled food and drank the wine without giving them much thought. One more week, and the tour would be over. Ten days, and he would know the direction his life would take.

  Chapter 12

  At the airport that Monday morning, Allison called her boss. She adopted the habit of telling him at the airport where the tour would take her during the week so as to prevent his interference. He had asked to see the schedule, but she deliberately forgot to give it to him, fearing that he might add on an assignment for her that would cause her to miss one of Jake’s lectures or a book signing.

  “Montreal?” he asked, when she told him where she was headed. “I thought they spoke French up there. What are you laying on me? I’m not paying for hanky-panky; if you two want to get it on, let him pay for—”

  “Bill, if you’re concerned about my going to Montreal, why don’t you check the tour schedule with Covington’s publisher? I don’t have to go all the way to Canada for what you’re suggesting. The United States is a huge country.”

  “All right, all right. But this is costing me a fortune. Just bring me something good, I mean first-class. You get that? This is a last chance for you.”

  In more ways than one, she said to herself. To him, she said, “Bill, I can only do my best.”

  “That’s all I’m asking. Just don’t short me. If you find out he chases women, put it in there. And if he’s lazy, doesn’t show up for appointments, you’d better not leave it out. You understand?”

  “I am not a child, Bill, and I know my job.” Her shaking fingers could hardly set the receiver in its cradle. How she wished she had stayed home Friday night! This was one time in which ignorance was preferable.

  Punctuality was one of Jake’s traits that she admired and appreciated. He hadn’t been late once since the tour began. She looked at her watch for the nth time. Boarding in half an hour. Where could he be? Her cell phone rang, and with her heart in her mouth she unzipped her handbag and pressed the code key.

  “Allison Wakefield. Hello.”

  “My taxi is just pulling up to the airport, thanks to a four-car accident. You never saw such traffic. See you in a few minutes.”

  He reached the check-in counter fifteen minutes before boarding time, and she didn’t think she had ever been so happy to see him.

  “Hi. I was in such a hurry that the security personnel decided I was a risk, and they even examined my watch.” He let out a long breath. “You can’t imagine how happy I’ll be midnight Friday when this is over.”

  “Hi. Yes, I can, because...” She whirled around at the sound of a scuffle behind her, and when Jake pushed her aside and jumped in front of her, she muffled a scream.

  “What on earth?”

  “Looks like our friend from Rockefeller Center just got picked off,” he said, his voice as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

  “What was he doing here? I mean why is he after us?”

  “Probably a celebrity hound. I have encountered some strange people since this book was published. I could write a book about it that would probably be more interesting than the one I wrote.”

  She wasn’t placated. “Why was he trailing me that time?”

  “Because he saw you with me and probably figured that if he could get close to you, he could get close to me. In this business, one has to be careful.”

  “Who apprehended him?”

  He opened his wallet, took out his credit card, and placed it on the counter along with his photo ID. “My publisher takes good care of me.”

  “And thank God for that.”

  * * *

  The telephone rang as she entered her hotel room. “Hello.”

  “Listen, babe,” Bill Jenkins began, “get a pen and write this down. I want you to be at the opening of the World Wellington Hotel on Connecticut Avenue Saturday night coming. The tour’s over, and I need you to cover that event. It’s going to be the top hotel in Washington, and I want you to bring me a rave review.”

  Bristling at his order, she asked him, “What’s your interest in that hotel?”

  “I don’t have one, but you give it five stars. I promised Roland I’d—”

  “How dare you!” she said, interrupting him. “I told you I wouldn’t lie for that man. Why should I? He means nothing to me now, and I regret that he ever did. I told you once that I wouldn’t do it. Please don’t mention it to me again.”

  She hung up and sat on the bench beside the table on which the phone rested, wondering how long that one mistake would plague her. Hadn’t she paid enough? And now she had the unpleasant task of telling Jake what a fool she had been.

  The phone rang and, thinking it might be Jake, she answered after the first ring. “How you doing, babe?” Her stomach churned at the sound of his voice. “If you think you can persuade me where Bill Jenkins failed, you’re a sick man. And if the two of you don’t stop pestering me, I’ll send a freelance article to the local papers describing how you two tried to make me falsify a review of your hotel. I owe you one, fellow, and if you don’t leave me alone, I will pay up, and I mean I’ll do a grand job of it.”

  He hung up without answering her, and she didn’t doubt that Bill would have to return the bribe he took in exchange for a rave review of that hotel.

  * * *

  She had no appetite for sightseeing, although she hadn’t previously visited Montreal or, for that matter, any other place in Canada. They left his book signing with four hours of daylight left to spend as they chose.

  “I think you’ve lost your enthusiasm for this, the tour, I mean,” Jake said as they entered the hotel lobby.

  “I’m trying to adjust to the fact that I won’t see you every day.” It was more than that, and she didn’t doubt that he knew it. He had given her no assurance that their relationship would not end with the tour.

  “That, and we have a lot of cobwebs to clear away. Don’t anticipate any unpleasantness, Allison. I suggest we enjoy every minute we have together. Life’s too short to wast
e it on unpleasant thoughts. I want to see the famous Underground City and Old Montreal. Coming?”

  She shook her head. “You go and enjoy it.”

  “This is so unlike you,” he said. “You see depressed, even dejected. What’s happened to you? You’ve been down ever since we got here. I sense something amiss, and it is not a small matter.”

  “Nothing I can’t work out. Talking with my boss would depress anybody.”

  “Really!” He didn’t believe her and made no attempt to camouflage that fact. “This noncommunication...this failure to open up happens too often for my taste,” he told her.

  Who was he to judge her? “Tell me about it. Me, too,” she said, the bitterness there for him to hear and digest. “Have a good time on your tour of the Underground City. I’ll be in my room.”

  * * *

  Jake watched her walk toward the elevators, lacking her usual serenity and elegant carriage. Something wasn’t right. And what did she mean, “Tell me about it. Me, too?” as if she had as much right as he to complain about the failure to open up? She did, but as careful as he was, how would she know that? He told himself to let it go for the time being and to think instead on the blessing he received that morning at the airport in Washington. And what a blessing!

  “You didn’t even see him,” the chief had said when they spoke. “I know she’s a beautiful woman, but she shouldn’t have put such a film over your eyes that your forgot to watch your back.”

  And he had never done that before. “I suppose I relaxed after you put those two guards on me. Who is the guy, and what was his motive?”

  “He’d been looking for you for four years. Remember that five-star job you did in Colombia? He’s the guy you put out of business.”

  “Well, whatta you know? That didn’t occur to me.”