This time, it was Phoenix who stepped back and let Rob take the lead. Lady, My Lady was a love song, a bluesy, tender ode to hunger and thirst and longing for a woman the singer couldn’t have. He put every ounce of his emotion, every ounce of his soul into the song.
And she realized, with a shock, that he’d written it about her.
Danny had still been alive when Rob penned this song. She’d still been married to him, newly reconciled after a year-long separation, and she and Rob were just beginning to recognize the impossible feelings they had for each other. She’d been so deep into denial that she’d refused to even entertain the possibility that she was in love with him. And Rob had been hurting. She hadn’t realized it at the time; she’d been too busy struggling to glue her broken marriage back together, too confused by her own weighty and conflicted emotions to be able to deal with his. And he’d deliberately avoided her; Rob had come to Maine only once during those last months she and Danny were together.
But he’d written this song, and he’d recorded it, the only song on that second album that he’d written without her. It had been his lone acknowledgment, until long after Danny was dead, of his feelings for her, of what had happened between them on that white-sand beach in the Bahamas. And she’d been so buried in her own denial, it had taken her until now to recognize the truth.
His eyes met and held hers. Goosebumps sprang to life on her arms, her legs, her breasts, and she had the oddest feeling that she was seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time. Gazes locked together, they might have been the only two people in the room. She was vaguely aware of Phoenix, the pop sensation, the birthday boy, singing harmony on this song she would have expected he’d never even heard of. But it was Rob MacKenzie, the perennial also-ran, who stole the show with a stunning interpretation of lyrics he’d written when he was in the kind of pain that no man could understand until he found himself in love, deeply and irrevocably, with his best friend’s wife.
Pain. Yearning. Restrained passion.
And an unvoiced yet implied determination to wait as long as it took for her to open her eyes and see him standing there, his heart in his hand. That heart, and this song, the only gifts of love he had to give.
Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her face. Ever cognizant of her every emotion, he raised an eyebrow, and through her tears, she beamed a warm, loving smile. Understanding lit those green eyes of his, and he smiled back. Then he looked at Phoenix, nodded, and together, with voices blended in perfect harmony, they launched into the final verse of the song.
As time goes moving on,
I don’t care what people say
I’m just gonna stay right here
and love you anyway
As the last note faded away, there was enthusiastic applause from the crowd. Phoenix gestured in Rob’s direction and said into his mic, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Rob MacKenzie.”
Rob nodded at his audience, said, “Thank you,” and handed the guitar back to its owner. He stepped down off the stage and moved directly to where she stood waiting.
He didn’t say a word, just swiped at her tears with his thumb. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me you wrote it for me?”
“How was I supposed to do that? It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“Maybe it would have.”
“We’ve had this conversation before, babe. You and I can’t change the past. It is what it is. There’s only one direction we can go, and it’s not backwards.”
“I don’t say this as often as I should. And things have been so crazy since I lost the baby. I’ve been so crazy. But I love you, as much as any woman could ever love a man.”
“And if I were a praying man, I’d get down on my knees every morning and give thanks for that. I love you, too.” He leaned down and gave her a sweet, tender kiss. Studied her face and said, “You might want to find a powder room and fix your face.”
“Raccoon eyes?”
“Just a little. Go on. I’ll wait for you here.”
In the elegant powder room, she did her best to fix the damage the tears had done to her face. When she rejoined Rob, somebody had brought the gargantuan birthday cake out in front of the band, and one of Drew’s lackeys was busy lighting the candles. Rob was engaged in conversation with a guy she recognized as the lead singer for one of the hottest rock bands to ever sign with the Ariel label. Drew had clearly brought them all here tonight to impress the birthday boy with his own importance. See? Even Troy Duncan showed up for my birthday party. That must mean I’ve arrived. I’m Somebody.
Rob put an arm around her and cradled her loosely against his side. Troy Duncan’s cool blue eyes took her measure, and Rob introduced them. “My wife, Casey,” he said. “Troy Duncan.”
Duncan pumped her hand with enthusiasm and said, “Casey Fiore MacKenzie. It’s so great to meet you. I was just telling your husband how impressed I am with your work.”
“Thank you.”
“When you think of legendary songwriting teams, who comes to mind? Goffin and King. Lieber and Stoller. Lennon and McCartney. Fiore and MacKenzie.”
“Wow. I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. You’ve earned the recognition.”
The candle-lighting completed, the singer said into her mic, “Let’s all sing the birthday song to Phoenix!” She started, in a rich, deep contralto, and the assembled multitude joined in, a fair number of them actually singing in tune. Rob rolled his eyes, but Casey joined in. When the song was over, the singer said, “Happy birthday, Phoenix Hightower! Now, make a wish and blow out all those candles!”
“All those candles,” Rob muttered. “The kid’s only eighteen. She makes it sound like he’s Methuselah.”
“Oh, stop being a curmudgeon. It doesn’t become you.”
Troy Duncan grinned—clearly as enthused about this birthday bash as Rob—and Phoenix, flanked by Drew and a smiling record company exec, made a big deal out of blowing out those eighteen candles. Flashbulbs popped, and a cheer went up around the room as the kid managed somehow to get them all blown out. Drew shook his hand, the minion did the same, and then a banquet waitress, who’d been standing by with a rolling cart of plates and napkins and silver, began carving up the cake that somebody had put so much effort into creating.
“I think that’s our exit sign,” Rob said. “Unless you want cake?”
“I’m not interested in cake. Although it might be nice to bring a piece home to Paige.”
Rob headed off in search of cake, Duncan drifted away, and she was alone. Time to give her felicitations to the birthday boy. She crossed the room with determination, stood on the fringes of the group of hangers-on who were jockeying for position at the kid’s side. Phoenix looked up, saw her, said something, and the hangers-on all dropped back. “Mrs. MacKenzie,” he said, moving toward her with his hand out. “Thank you for coming.”
His handshake was brisk and confident. Not too long, not too short. She said, “Happy birthday, Phoenix. And congratulations. Eighteen is a true milestone. You’re now officially an adult. With your talent, you can hold the world in your hand, as long as you make good choices.”
“I thank you. Although that last part sounds remarkably like something your husband would say.”
“Really? I’m not surprised. We’ve been together for so long that we’re starting to look alike.”
“I would have to disagree with that. You’re far prettier than he is.”
Was this eighteen-year-old kid flirting with her? The idea was so absurd that she laughed. “You should listen to him,” she said. “He’s a smart man.”
“He’s also, without a doubt, one of the most maddening people I’ve ever met. Yet, for some reason, he seems to have grown on me.”
“That’s funny, because he says the same thing about you.”
The kid raised a single, dark brow, and a brief smile lit his lips. “Really?” he said.
“Really. But don’t let him know I t
old you that, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Too late, I’m afraid.” Phoenix nodded over her shoulder. “He’s standing directly behind you.”
Rob
“I come bearing cake,” he said as she turned. “And your wrap.”
She gave him one of those Mona Lisa smiles that always turned him inside out and said, “Busted.”
He handed her two small bags of sliced cake and draped the white silk wrap around her shoulders, freeing her hair and running a thumb along her collarbone. “Good-night, Phee,” he said. “Stay sober. I need you at the studio by eight-thirty in the morning.”
Phoenix raised his beer bottle in acknowledgment, and Rob guided his wife through the crowd, out of the ballroom, and outside into the summer evening. He nodded to the doorman, who leaned against the building, twenty feet from the door, taking advantage of a quiet moment to court lung cancer.
“Finally,” he said. “I thought we’d never get out of there.”
“I don’t know why you find Phoenix so annoying,” she said. “I think he’s quite charming.”
“Ah, geez. He got to you, didn’t he?”
“He was a tad bit flirty. And he is pretty cute.”
“He’s obnoxious, and stubborn, and—cute?”
She gave him a cheeky grin. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I think you’re cute, too.”
“I’m forty years old,” he said irritably, “and nobody’s called me cute since kindergarten.”
“You’re thirty-nine,” she said. “And it’s a beautiful night. Let’s walk.”
The curb beside them was empty. This was Manhattan, and they were standing in front of a luxury hotel. Where the hell were all the taxis that should have been lined up at the curb? Looking skeptically at her feet, he said, “Are you up to walking? In those shoes?”
She glanced down and said, “Well, I wouldn’t want to walk from here to New Jersey in them, but I can handle a few blocks.”
For some reason, the idea of walking made him uneasy. “It’s late.”
She raised elegant, dark brows. “Since when has late bothered you?”
He shrugged. She was right. They’d been walking the streets of New York at night since forever. There was no valid reason for his unease. So he caved. “I guess there’s no reason why we can’t walk.”
“There,” she said, falling into step with him and looping her arm through his. “Isn’t this nice?”
“Beats hell out of that party we just left.” He slid his gaze toward her, took note of the lack of tension in her body. She’d just survived a birthday party with three hundred guests, had made nice with more than a few of them, but he saw no signs of anxiety in her. “I’ll probably end up regretting that I even brought this up,” he said, “but you seem to be doing better the last few days.”
“I am,” she said, sounding surprised. “I’m feeling a little better.”
He wasn’t crazy enough to think this meant that whatever was wrong with her had suddenly and miraculously been cured. But this had to mean she was on the road to recovery. Didn’t it?
They turned a corner onto a side street where sodium arc lights spilled pools of illumination that alternated with areas of darkness. He felt a prickle at the back of his neck, stared hard into the velvety darkness ahead, but saw nothing. “Look,” he said, “can we talk about this?”
Her arm, looped with his, tensed. To her credit, she didn’t pretend to not know what he was talking about. “Please don’t ruin the evening,” she said. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Neither do I.” He squared his jaw. “And I don’t want you to construe this as begging. I’ve never had to beg a woman for sex, and I’m not about to start now. Not even with you. I have a little too much pride for that.”
“Point taken.”
“But don’t you think we should try to find a compromise? The way we’re living—it’s just not natural.”
Silence. And then she said, in a quiet voice, “I know.”
“So why the hell are we putting ourselves through this?”
“Because,” she said. “Because you don’t understand—or apparently care—how important this is to me! Sometimes, I feel small and insignificant, because you simply won’t listen to me. I don’t understand your attitude, Rob. We’ve always had such great communication. But on this topic, you’ve gone completely deaf and blind.”
“Small and insignificant? Be serious! I’ve bent over backwards to keep you happy. To accommodate your every wish. But what’s the point, if you’re still not happy?”
“Don’t you dare to put words in my mouth! I am happy!”
“Then let’s stop the battling.” He came to a halt, took her hands in his, and looked into her eyes. “Let’s set our differences aside for tonight. It doesn’t mean we stop talking about it. It doesn’t mean we’re making any permanent decisions. It’s not forever. It’s just one night out of our lives.”
She bit her lower lip. She always did that when she was torn, uncertain of how to proceed. “I don’t know.”
“One night, babe. One night when we can be together, the way it used to be, before the miscarriage, before all this craziness started.” He rubbed her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “I love you so much,” he said. “I just want to be with you.”
“I want to be with you, too. But why is it that I have to be the one who’s expected to sell out?”
“It’s not selling out. But we have to use birth control. We’re looking at a life-or-death scenario. We can’t take any chances.”
“Right. So, in other words, I sell out.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I’m not saying that what I want is more important than what you want. But any way you look at it, my need to keep you alive trumps your need to have another kid. If we do it your way, you could die. Don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to think the situation through with clear heads and work out a solution we can both live with before we make some monumental mistake? I don’t want to lose you, and if you get pregnant, there’s no going back. I’m just asking for a temporary compromise. That’s all.”
“Evening, folks.”
Both their heads swiveled around in surprise. In a pool of light at the edge of darkness stood a young man. Muscular and fit, with brown hair and pale eyes, possibly blue, possibly green, indistinguishable in the dark, he was probably no older than twenty-five. Holding out a drawstring bag, he said, in a native New York accent, “Valuables, please.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Rob bit off his words as the man’s eyes hardened. Beside him, Casey remained silent, showing no outward sign of fear. This was his fault. He should have trusted his gut. It never failed him. They should have waited for a cab instead of walking. And what kind of idiots stood arguing on a dark New York City sidewalk at midnight?
“Come on, people, you think I got all night? Move it! Jewelry, wallets, cell phones. In the bag.”
The guy was a few inches shorter than him, and probably about the same weight. If he wasn’t carrying a weapon, Rob could probably take him.
Casey’s eyes narrowed, and she gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. She’d clearly read his mind. So had the mugger. There came the distinct snick of a switchblade being released, and light glinted off shiny steel. “If you want your pretty lady’s face to stay pretty,” the guy said, “you’ll make this quick.”
Rob exhaled a hard breath. As Casey calmly removed her diamond earrings, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Glaring at the mugger, he dropped the wallet into the bag with her earrings. “Keep going,” the guy said, gesturing with the blade. “Rings, watches.”
Clearly aghast, Casey said, “You can’t possibly want my wedding ring!”
“Give it to him,” Rob said. “Don’t argue with the asshole.”
“Smart man,” the mugger said. “Your watch, too. And your cell phone. You stupid rich people always carry cell phones.”
He took out his phone, heaved it into the bag, pried off the
wedding ring that hadn’t left his finger since the day Casey placed it there. “You don’t want my watch,” he said. “It’s a friggin’ Timex. Worth about thirty bucks.”
“A penny saved is a penny earned. Give it to me anyway. Lady? Your purse?”
She opened her jeweled clutch and showed him. “There’s nothing of any value. Just lipstick and mascara.”
“Fine. You can keep that.” The guy began backing away. Said, “A pleasure doing business with you.”
And he disappeared into the shadows, his rapid footsteps echoing off brick and brownstone.
* * *
“Thank you, officers.” Rob closed and locked the door behind the pair of New York’s finest who’d taken the robbery report. He’d already cancelled his cell phone service and his credit cards, had made those calls while they waited for the police. Because he’d only been carrying a couple hundred in cash, losing the wallet was more of an inconvenience than anything. Getting a new driver’s license and a new Social Security card would be a pain in the ass, but a minor annoyance compared to the loss of their wedding rings. They could buy replacements, but the sentimental value was irreplaceable. Those rings had held deep meaning. Now they were gone, and the chances of getting them back were somewhere on the wrong side of zero. According to the police, they’d probably already been fenced. The situation had left him steaming. His wife, who’d lost her engagement ring, her wedding band, and the earrings he’d bought her on their honeymoon, was devastated.
She sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt and holding the cup of tea he’d made for her while they waited for the cops. “You okay, kid?” he said, flopping down beside her.
“I’ll live. But I can’t believe this. While it was happening, it felt like a lifetime, but when it was over, I realized it couldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds.”
“It’s my fault. I knew better than to walk home that late. And I sure as hell knew better than to stand on the sidewalk and argue, on a side street in Manhattan, at midnight. I put both our lives in jeopardy because I was thinking with the little head instead of the big one.”
The Miles Between Us Page 18