by Eva Shaw
I closed my eyes. I sighed and thought about the pedicure.
Well, those were my plans. Even though I started my day with devotionals and thanksgiving, I should have remembered Proverbs 2:18 (Make plans by seeking advice) because I only had myself on my agenda. Should have known better.
There was a knock from the adjoining suite. I could tell by the rat-ta-tat-tat it was Jane and she called out, leaving the door open and not waiting for my response, “Cousin? You decent?”
“On the lanai, Jane. Get some herbal tea and join me.” It wouldn’t have done any good to stop the woman, especially with the determined pregnancy hormones kicking her nosiness up a notch.
She moved quickly, especially for a woman heavy with child. “You know, Nica, I can’t get that gal, Diamond, out of my mind.”
“Don’t start worrying over it,” I said, but in my mind I was poring over that phone call, too. “Maybe when she gets to Honolulu—if she does come—she’ll forget all about me.”
“You heard her voice. She was desperate when she was pleading with me. And besides . . . ”
“Get the hotel phone, Jane honey, will you?” This came from Henry and from the next lanai. “I’m on my cell and can’t grab it. The door’s unlocked.”
Luckily she was still standing because it would have taken her ten minutes to move from the lounge to get the phone. If there is one thing about Jane that people notice first, it’s that she is not quiet. I could hear the conversation through the walls even if the door wasn’t ajar.
“Felix, you sound awful.”
The person named Felix must have responded because then Jane said, “That hacking cough makes me want to Lysol my cell.”
Another pause before she said, “Sure, I’ll tell Gramps, but he’s not going to be happy. Besides who can he find at this late date to fill in on keyboard? I know that’s not your problem now. Okay, well yes, if you’re sick you’re sick. You take care, Felix, and go to the doctor.” All quiet, and then Jane gave the scoop to Henry, again loud enough so the neighbors on the floors below and above now knew that Felix had been hit him by some bug. A fever and nagging wife was going to keep him in Pittsburgh.
Henry stomped into my suite, obviously back from a morning run, because of the damp t-shirt and shorts. “Fiddle sticks. And cheese and crackers.” He slumped into the deck chair. “Fiddle sticks again, my girls, what are we going to do? We can’t just call in to the musician’s union and get a sub.”
“Do you know anyone here in the Islands who could fill in?” I offered.
He wasn’t listening. “How in the world, for heaven’s sake, can we find another piano player at this late date? We’ve got to practice—we’re all rusty and we’re on in three days.” The words barely got from his lips when he stood up, eyes and hands raised heaven bound. He smiled. Then he gallantly bowed to me. Have you seen that picture of the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland? Then you know exactly what Henry looked like, a dangerous look indeed.
“Oh, no, not me, nope, you said it yourself. Remember when I tried to jam with the guys when you did that charity gig in San Diego? I believe you managed, ‘Stick to Mozart, baby,’ as you choked on a gulp of soda.”
“That’d never happen again, my girl. You just weren’t prepared. You really do play well.”
Have you ever seen a Cocker Spaniel with those huge pleading eyes? That’s what Henry looked like as he waited for me to cave, which I did. “The only time I’ve been in front of a crowd was when ushering a protected witness into Federal court. What’s wrong with Jane?”
You must see the irony in this. Jane was currently as comfortable as a hippo on roller skates. Of course, I would have never ever said this to her face and if you repeat, I will swear that you’re pulling her puffy pregnancy legs.
“Oh, Nica, I love the idea,” Jane gushed, allowing me to help her get comfortable in the lounge chair. “Sweetie, you’ve been a fan for how long? Forever. And I’ve heard you play the piano. You know the music by heart.” She bounced up, as best as someone currently her size could and hugged me.
“I don’t think I can.” I tried to pull back, but if you’ve ever been in gale-force winds, seen a tornado on the Weather Channel, or attempted to get close to a display during a Nordstrom’s shoe sale, all combined, that’s what hit me.
Then Henry hit it fast and hard. “What about Matthew 18:22, missy? Didn’t Jesus advise us to forgive seventy-seven times? Besides, I promise never to drink soda while you’re playing. No wait, seriously, I was overtired that night. So how many times shall you forgive me? I’ll stop throwing Bible verses at you if you’ll just listen.”
I flopped back in the lounge chair, folded my hands serenely on my lap and waited, after I finished what was cooling in my coffee mug. This better be good, I thought. From my perspective, I was about to make a donkey’s backside of myself in front of thousands of Slam Dunk’s fans just so the group didn’t have to find another keyboard artist. Or that’s what I was telling myself when Henry said, “Nica, it’s a match made in heaven. You know the music, you know the guys. They will whine and fuss like a bunch of five-year-olds if they must play with someone they don’t know. They’re really a bunch of bashful old bruisers. They aren’t regular musicians. They’re geezers like me, grandfathers, and suddenly we’ve found ourselves to be hip again. You can bet we never thought that would happen, and we’re all a bit shy.”
Could you really protest after all that? What I managed was a lame, “Shy?”
I could see the runaway freight train that was Henry Angieski and he was just getting started. In my time knowing him and staying with Jane, Tom, Henry, and Harmony as I got through my treatments, he rarely argued and was superb at winning his point—whether it was what to have on pizza or how to decide on the charities Slam Dunk gave their profits to.
“Sure, you’ll have to practice a bit and we won’t get you to do that tricky number, the solo, but it’ll work. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun? Besides, I’m not hip or cool or whatever the current word for trendy is.” Yes, that was a wimpy protest even to my ears.
“Get something.” He handed me his wallet. “There’s money in it. Get some skinny jeans, you’ve got the figure. And a t-shirt. Maybe a long vest or something in black would be good with your blond hair, or—“ He saw me cringe. “Okay, about a red or yellow or blue, you look good in blue.”
“I’ll help you, Nica.” Jane was there with her iPad, already looking for coupons and sales. “This is the perfect solution. You need to get out of your FBI reserved personality mode, honey, and get back with the living.”
“The living, breathing, pulsating crowd that will be at the benefit?” I shuttered.
Then, when I thought he’d pulled out his biggest gun, I watched as Henry looked down toward his sneakers. “No, you’re right. This is too much to ask.”
I jumped up and hugged the guy. “Guilt? You can do guilt?”
Jane was laughing, I was laughing, and Henry was already calling the other guys in the band to let them know the show would go on.
Half of me was terrified at the thought of performing in front of rock fans, even if they were plump Boomers revisiting their youth. But the other side, well, okay, truth be known I was excited. Yep, I was to be part of the band. Ohmygoodnessakesalive. What a hoot.
“We’ll practice a few times, the guys will love having you there, and then by Friday night you’ll be ready.”
Sure, they were older men, “old codgers” Henry called them, and they could all lose ten or twenty pounds, but it would be thrilling. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be playing with Slam Dunk. Yes, I was scared.
Suddenly, it was as if a jack hammer hit the hotel door. “Let me in, man. You have got to let me in. They’re after me.”
I jumped, and Jane attempted to rise from the lounge chair. So it was Henry
who got to the door first. He laughed and pulled it open all the way.
“Henry—Jane—oh, hello, pretty lady.” The man stopped and looked me over and after all the commotion of the morning I realized I was still wearing a short, Hawaiian printed bathrobe and my shorty PJs underneath.
“They’re after me,” he said, flailed his arms and circled the room, my suite, like he’d had a few too many cans of Red Bull.
I recognized him at once. We’d met the year before at Jane and Tom’s wedding. Max Robertson was, by reputation, the best bass guy in the business, when he took off time from being mayor of El Centro, a lush farming community east of San Diego.
Everybody marveled at how he played; true musical genius, they said. Also a true pain in the backside with all the drama that he could dish at the group. I had heard this from Miss Pollyanna herself, Jane Angieski-Morales. I wondered how he ran a city when he couldn’t even handle any relationships with women. I knew he’d never married, didn’t play the field, but there was a quality about him that made him a chick magnet.
My mom would have described him as “a wiry little fella,” and she would have been right. Max just a bit shorter than me and with quaking, nervous energy. He was quick, but apparently not swift enough to get away from whomever was after him this time.
In the instant it took Max to throw his body behind the heavy drapes, the hammering started again. I yanked the curtains closed and pulled a chair close to the window, trying to hide his form, as Henry opened the door.
A poker face I do not have, but I did my best to look as if I were sitting and chatting with Jane while studying images on her tablet so intently it could have melted the frame. As the door opened, the threshold was filled with the largest blond woman I’d ever seen, and trust me, I am a large woman, too. Her voice was hands-over-your-ears big.
“That weasel’s here. Yep-er-ee, I can smell him. I’m going to wring his skinny his neck.” This came out in a booming German accent, fist punctuating the sentences.
“Oh, no, he’s mine—git outta’ my way,” said another blond who had apparently lost the elbowing match to be the first in the room. “All the way over here, Hilda, you promised I could get my fingers around his neck first. I was to git him before you. ’Sides, if anybody is going to teach that slippery scoundrel what happens when he tries to two-time an Alabama gal, it’s going to be me,” twanged the second with a bouffant style that was so big it could have been picked up by air traffic controllers.
As they bounded into the middle of the suite, Henry jumped back. The man wasn’t a fool where angry women were concerned.
Jane whispered to me, “I know after a few adolescent and college age tangles with my own grandmother, who had Polish ancestors, was raised in the south, and was one of those steel magnolias, you just don’t mess with a southern gal. If you did, you don’t get away with it for long. I’m not budging. Better than TV.”
If we were characters in one of those sitcoms, the canned laughter would have been echoing. The camera would be looking from the big, beautiful beauties to Max’s foot that protruded out from below the drape. In that sitcom, you might see the camera pan to me attempting to cover the toes of Max’s shoes. If a trade wind puffed into the room, it would be all over. Well, they would have been all over Slam Dunk’s bass player, that’s for sure.
Then the fuming stopped and it got deadly quiet as the women, in unison and as if again we were transported to some sitcom, looked at Jane, and dismissed her at once. Too pregnant.
They checked out Henry. Too straight.
Then, as if they’d just seen Goldilocks, they focused on me.
Have you heard the expression, “Their eyes could cut you to shreds”? There’s truth to it. I was not getting involved in this, not by a long shot. “I’m an innocent bystander. Truly, ladies, don’t misjudge the situation. I am no competition to you. And while I can understand your feelings—I’ve had a few go-rounds with men myself—you’ll just have to be patient. He’ll come out of hiding. Eventually.” I got up, crossed the room, scooting the chair an inch back toward the curtain. Okay, I’ll admit it. I found perverse pleasure in hitting a foot as I moved that overstuffed chair.
“Ladies, come. Sit down. My granddaughters and I are just planning our day. You’re welcome to wait here for Max. He’ll show up when he comes to his senses,” Henry said. And with a straight face and sparkling eyes he added, “There’s coffee, enough for everyone since room service provided extra cups, and we can all have a nice chat and wait together.” Henry turned away because I knew he was going to laugh when he added, “Yes, we’ll wait here for as long as it takes for Max to appear.”
Hilda plopped down in one of the easy chairs and said, “Ja, thank you.”
I swear she stared at the drape and I wondered if she saw it quiver. But after she blinked a few times, she said, “Max told us about you. So we came here. He is so handsome, but what a rascal man. Gloria here says so, too.”
Gloria nodded, turned her full lips into a straight line, and paced between the drapes. Finally, she leaned against my chair and fingered the fabric covering their quarry.
“I would have given him everything,” Gloria said, wiping a tear. “And that dinky slime ball couldn’t even tell the truth. I’ll fix him good and plenty if I get my hands on him.” Absently, she bounced against the curtain, apparently not feeling Max’s body collide with her shoulder. But then, I heard a groan. It was Max. I coughed, but heads turned my way and I left the chair. If Gloria found that Max guy hiding behind the curtain, I was not going to be caught in the middle of what could get ugly fast.
Henry patted the sofa where he was sitting and I sat on the edge. This was like being an actor without the other players knowing what could happen next and one part of me was anxious to see what would happen when the ladies sniffed Max out.
Picking up his guitar and plunking out the theme song from Jeopardy!, Henry said, “Max is quite the crafty guy, ladies, and rumor has it he can slip out of nearly any squeeze. Why, he could be anywhere in this hotel including sitting right under one of those umbrellas they’re putting up on the beach. Why,” he chuckled, “for all any of us know, he could be right behind a curtain in this penthouse.”
Chapter 5
“The beach—yes, that’s it.” Hilda clapped her hands. “I’m going down there.”
Gloria sprung up. “Not without me, honey. I’ll check the lobby on the way and we’ll make them open the bar. He could be hiding in there, under the counter, in a storeroom, and just maybe under a rock. That tricky rascal is around here.” She sniffed.
And with that, only their syrupy perfume remained. The room felt spacious and quiet, like being in the eye of a hurricane. Still, Max didn’t appear. Jane made sure the door was secure and then twisted the lock. “Who knows what they’ll do when the latest goose chase ends without their amour in their clutches?” And she threw back the drapes. “As amusing at it might be, and trust me, I plan to make it plenty funny when I tell the guys in the band later today. Oh, Max, it’s really useless to explain.”
Max extracted himself from the drapes and I watched as he stretched. Now that he wasn’t running scared, I really looked at him. He was in his mid-forties, I guessed, and had the chiseled features of a Native American with those gorgeous high cheekbones, much like I imagined on an Inca priest. Lots of jet black hair was conservatively cut and the aqua golf shirt was neatly tucked into tan Dockers. He was trim, like a cyclist, and with that underlying structure of well-toned muscles. He studied the toes of his conservative brown wingtips. “I swear that’s the last time I’m going to get myself into . . . ”
For some reason, even to my jaded but tender ears, he sounded slightly troubled by just how close his ladies had gotten.
“Come on, Max. You’re just fooling yourself, because Jane and I don’t believe you. Nica does not even know you that well and she’s la
ughing,” Henry razzed him.
Max flopped onto another sofa, but his feet kept jiggling. “It didn’t get complicated until last night. Hilda and I had some fun in New York.” He looked at me and added quickly, “No, not that kind of fun, just enjoying being together. It was only fun and fun was all it was meant to me with a little kissing, a little snuggling, nothing more.
“But then a nasty coincidence happened. Hilda’s a flight attendant and was scheduled to be on my flight back from Washington where I was at a conference for mayors. I mentioned to her I would be here in Honolulu and maybe I laid it on a bit thick, like Slam Dunk couldn’t get along without my superior musical talent, but it was all in good fun.” Max turned to Henry.
Jane shook her head and held onto the baby protruding from her middle. “You see, Nica, my grandfather is even more straight-laced than me. And one day, Max’s string of lady friends is going to be his demise.” She turned to Max. “Oh, Max, stop looking at Nica. She cut her teeth in the FBI on deviants like you.”
“Thanks, Janey, now Nica’ll never fall in love with me.” He pouted. “Yeah, I told Hilda Slam Dunk was playing here, told her we’d be at the hotel. Man, I never thought she’d really show up or that who else would appear on the scene? Gloria.” He gestured, indicating her ampleness. “Well, Gloria accepted my offer to have a little fun, too. She was a passenger on the same flight, but in coach. We met as I walked down the plane aisle, just to get some exercise, mind you. I invited her to the hotel for dinner and to come to the concert.”
Since it had only been after my cancer surgery that I had accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior and only then started to read the bible, I didn’t dare spout, “Proverbs 31:30.” But it seemed to me that this guy Max summed it up pretty well with, “Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting.” Max was Jane and Henry’s friend and fellow band member, so I simply didn’t open my mouth, much as I longed to.