Somebody's Baby

by Lurlene McDaniel

  Sloan snuggled down again to his chest. “She made the man leave, but she was mad at me, and let me know it. You see, the guy had money. She’d let him buy me toys and give her stuff she wanted. She let me know I’d lost her a good meal ticket.”

  The words were matter-of-fact, said in a monotone. Cole cringed. “The guy was a disgusting creep. She should have called the cops. Why didn’t she report him?”

  Sloan had fallen sound asleep in his arms. He kissed the top of her head. “You got out, Sloan. You made it.” He understood her better now, her dedication to making it in the music world. Her devotion to that goal had probably saved her from a life like her mother’s. He shifted, careful not to disturb her, scooted down far enough to rest his head on the arm of the sofa, and, cradling her, whispered, “P.S….I love you.”

  Cole slept fitfully, startling awake from time to time to see that Sloan, still tucked in his embrace, was sleeping soundly. When the first streaks of dawn fell through the arched windows, he carefully inched himself off the sofa without waking her, stretched his cramped muscles, smoothed his hand along her cheek. The room was stifling, so he didn’t bother to cover her. He crawled inside the tent, only marginally cooler from the fan, and checked on Toby. The boy slept, but Cole knew he’d soon be up, because Toby’s internal clock seemed set for six a.m., and sure enough, the minute Cole stretched out on his sleeping bag, Toby began to stir.

  Cole had hoped for time to process what Sloan had told him, and what he’d felt with her curled in his arms all night. He wanted her in all her complexity. He wanted to drive away her demons, comfort her. Love her. But reality struck, and he reminded himself that they lived in different universes. She was riding a rocket to the stars, and he was plodding along on planet Earth.

  Cole heard Toby come over, but kept his eyes closed.

  “Hey, Cole! You awake?”

  Cole opened one eye. “I am now.”

  Toby tittered. “Come on, wake up. I’m starving!” He glanced back at Sloan’s empty bedroll. “Hey, where’d she go?”

  “Sofa is my guess.”

  “She’d never make it camping all night in the real woods, I bet.”

  Cole sat up. “She’s tougher than you think, Little Man. Don’t think the real woods would be a problem for her at all.”

  Sloan woke to the smells of frying bacon and maple syrup, blinked at sunlight filling the room. She saw Toby sitting at the kitchen table wolfing down pancakes, and Cole standing at his fancy stove, flipping more pancakes on a griddle. She sat up, and Toby caught her movement. “Hey, Sloan! We’re already up.”

  She cleared her throat. “So I see.”

  Cole’s eyes met hers. “Good morning. I have a stack hot off the griddle.”

  “I’m not much of a breakfast eater.” She was embarrassed this morning, remembering how she’d clung to him sobbing during the night, telling him about the past that she’d never shared with another living soul.

  “Mama says breakfast is the most important meal,” Toby chirped. “These are yummy!” Reluctantly she sauntered over, took a seat. Toby made a smiley face with a stream of whipped cream on his oversized pancake already swimming in syrup.

  “Chocolate chips?” Cole asked.

  “Just a couple of plain ones.”

  He dropped two onto a plate and walked it over to her.

  Outside the bay window she saw yard puddles reflecting morning sunshine. The outdoors looked laundry-day clean. “Water gone down?”

  “Mostly. Ditches are full and tree branches lying around.” He set hot coffee beside her plate, took the chair next to hers so that she was in between him and Toby.

  She sipped the coffee, found it excellent.

  “It’ll be muddy at the fairgrounds, but it won’t ruin your concert.”

  The concert. She hadn’t given it a thought since the day before, after arriving with so much enthusiasm. Time to get back on track.

  Just then the electricity hummed on, blasting cool air from an overhead ceiling vent and turning on lights that had been shining the night before. Toby let out a whoop, sopped up a last bite of pancake. Cole grinned. “Toby, go get your gear together, and don’t forget that a good camper always cleans up after himself.”

  The boy put his plate in the sink with a clatter and disappeared around the half wall, and presumably into the tent. Sloan, alone with Cole, felt nervous and edgy. Cole recognized her unease. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you’ll have that dream again. You banished it when you talked about it.”

  “I used to have it when I was a kid, but it went away, and came back months ago. I don’t know why.”

  “Stress dream. You’re under a lot of pressure.”

  “That’s not going to change.”

  “What happened back then can’t hurt you now, Sloan. You handled it with amazing courage.”

  The look in his eyes turned her mushy. She stood abruptly. “I better get my gear together too.”

  “Your clothes are dry, and I laid them on the bed in my guest room, down the hall.” He pointed toward the opposite end of the house. “Next to my bedroom.”

  Their eyes met, held, and she felt herself flush like a schoolgirl. “I’ll find it.”

  “And thank you for the concert ticket and VIP badge. Your concert will be great, and a real help for Lindsey and Toby. You’re a hero.”

  She didn’t want him thinking more of her than was true. “My motives aren’t totally pure, Cole. Windemere was never kind to me, and I wanted to make it big so people would be sorry they hadn’t been nicer when I was growing up. In truth no one ever really cared in the first place. I’m just a girl from the trailer park who made good. To me, Lindsey is the real hero.”

  “We didn’t have to come, you know.”

  “I took time off and drove from Memphis. We’re staying.” Lani kissed Dawson’s cheek, and he reluctantly handed his keys to the valet parking attendant. Only special guests received such special service. All others were parking in the outlying lots of the fairgrounds. “And the note she sent with the tickets was kind and thoughtful. She wants us here, Dawson.”

  They were shown to the front row of a section of padded chairs, set on thick artificial turf, the only seating on the ground facing center stage, and except for lighting, sound techs, and a cameraman on a dolly, the audience in the chairs would have a perfect sight line to the guitarists, keyboard player, and drummer. And also to Sloan, when she stepped onstage. More than a thousand people packed the rodeo arena, built for cowboys and bucking broncs, but the audience seated front and center were “favored” attendees, men and women, strangers he assumed were important in Sloan’s music sphere. However, this first row, his and Lani’s row, was cordoned off with a red rope, underlining that they were Sloan’s very special guests.

  Dawson balked over sitting in the front row, but Lani tugged his hand, and he followed her to their assigned seats. He fidgeted, wary about the night ahead. True, he and Sloan had buried their past, but he was concerned about Lani. In the few months she’d spent at St. Jude’s, she’d turned a corner emotionally. Her move to Memphis had been hard on him, but right for her, and he didn’t want this evening showcasing Sloan to set her back.

  As if sensing his thoughts, Lani laced her fingers through his. “It’ll be all right. Tonight’s her gift to us, to what we went through together. Music is how she communicates.”

  He gripped Lani’s hand, not as confident about Sloan’s motives but willing to rely on Lani’s belief in the goodness of people. And after all, Sloan’s purpose for the concert was altruistic, all about helping Lindsey Ridley.

  Lani peeked down the row of chairs, saw Gloria and, beside her, Toby. He looked adorable, wearing new jeans and a bright blue polo shirt, and his reddish hair was slicked down. She caught Toby’s eye and waved, leaned forward, elbowed Dawson. “Isn’t that Cole sitting at the end of the row? You remember, the guy from the restaurant?” She waggled her fingers at him, and he gave her a thumbs-up.

  D
awson nodded a greeting to Cole, while realizing that Cole’s seat in the front row spoke of his importance to Sloan. Interesting.

  The stadium lights dimmed, and an announcer stepped forward, followed by the band members. The crowd stomped and whistled. The emcee welcomed everyone, gave a short reminder of the concert’s true purpose, and then said, “Here she is—country music’s newest star, and Windemere’s own.”

  Sloan ran from under the raised stage and up a short flight of steps into a blaze of spotlights, and launched into a fast-paced number from her American Singer win. The crowd let out a deafening roar. She wore gold and white, head to toe, a tank top that glittered with sequins, white fitted jeans, and gold leather boots dusted with rhinestones. Her amplified voice rocked the arena.

  Cole couldn’t take his eyes off her. She dazzled, sizzled, never stopped moving on the stage, rounding the platform, sliding lightning fast from number to number, singing songs from her album, and songs made famous by others. And when the crowd screamed for her to sing “Somebody’s Baby,” she stood center stage in a single spotlight, held up her hand until a hush fell. “This is for Lindsey, my sister.” And Sloan sang the words with such emotion that the whole arena held up lighted cell phones in tribute to a woman they had never met but who lay dying a few miles away. When Sloan took a bow and started to exit the stage, people screamed for an encore.

  Sloan said something over her shoulder to the band and walked to the edge of the platform. She looked down at the first row, in Cole’s direction, raised the mike, and announced, “This is dedicated to all you shy people, you who stand with someone special in the moonlight and don’t know what to do!” Behind her the band erupted into a driving-fast tempo, and she belted out the song “Passionate Kisses,” made famous by Mary Chapin Carpenter. When Sloan hit the lyric “Give me what I deserve, ’cause it’s my right….Passionate kisses, I want passionate kisses from you….” she pointed at Cole and blew a kiss.

  The crowd went crazy.

  Cole threw his head back and roared out a laugh. From a few chairs away Dawson Berke watched the interplay between Sloan and Cole and remembered what it had felt like when Sloan Quentin had sung to him. High school. She’d been dressed more biker-chick than country-glitter. Another time and place, dark times that had almost wrecked his soul. Lani squeezed his hand. Assurance. He leaned into her ear. “I love you.”

  She turned her head, and he saw her smile. “I love you too,” she mouthed.

  He gave Sloan a measured look, watched her waving to the audience on its feet and screaming her name as she was blowing them goodbye kisses. She was beautiful, possessor of a stunning talent, and now she owned the dream that had driven her ever since childhood. And driven her away from him. She was a star. Without a second thought, he took Lani in his arms, and while people surged around them, and with him oblivious to time, place, and social propriety, he kissed her…passionately.

  Inside the VIP tent, Cole felt like a fish out of water, engulfed in a flood of humanity he didn’t know and didn’t belong to. He had hoped to at least tell Sloan hello, but she was constantly moving from group to group, propelled by her agent, giving attention to all the high rollers who’d paid for badges to enter the tent and meet her. Toby had been taken home, and Gloria was somewhere in the mash of rich and famous people. He navigated around groups and couples like a swimmer avoiding rocks and shoals, to make his way to the buffet tables, where he stopped and grabbed a plate. He was picking his way through mountains of appetizers when from behind him, a woman’s voice said, “I saw the way Sloan aimed that last song straight at you. You think she’s pretty hot stuff, don’t you?”

  He turned to face a woman he’d never met, who was wearing too-tight jeans and a too-low-cut blouse, and whose eyes broadcast that she’d also had too much to drink. “Are you speaking to me?”

  She gave a sloppy smile. “I was sitting a few rows behind you, and I saw her shtick, and trust me, I’ve seen her do it to lots of other guys. It’s her trademark…hanging over some poor schlep, making him think he’s special.”

  Cole disliked the woman instantly. “Have we ever met?”

  “I’m Kathy Bosch. That’s my husband, Marvin, over there.” She waved vaguely with her wineglass toward a group of men, and red wine splashed over the rim. “I live in Miami now, my husband’s in shipping, but I grew up in this sorry-ass little town. Went to high school here. I was Kathy Madison then. You didn’t go to school here, did you? I would have remembered a man who looked like you, honey.”

  Cole took a step back. “Ma’am, would you like something to eat?”

  She snickered, continued as if he’d not spoken. “You know, the minute the news went online that Sloan was givin’ a concert, I said to Marv, ‘I want to go to that one, sweetie. Just write a nice fat check that’ll get us into that after-concert party, ’cause I went to school with her.’…She was Sloan Quentin back then. And she may call herself Sloan Gabriel now, but back then she was just trailer trash.”

  Cole felt as if he’d been shoved. “Now, wait a minute—”

  Kathy went innocent. “Just sayin’ people don’t really change who they are down deep.”

  “Why, Kathy! What an unexpected surprise.” The sudden rescue came from Lani, who inserted herself between Kathy and Cole.

  Kathy looked flustered, quickly regained equilibrium, and offered Lani a sanguine smile. “I thought that was you in the front row, but from the back, I couldn’t be sure, with your hair longer.”

  “In the flesh,” Lani said, her gaze cool and challenging. Without taking her eyes off Kathy, she said to Cole, “Kathy and I were friends in high school.”

  Cole heard her emphasis on were. “That’s what she was telling me.” The venom in Kathy’s voice talking about Sloan was unforgettable. “She says she lives in Miami and that her husband’s in shipping.”

  Lani pinned Kathy with her brown eyes. “And yet here you are. You came all this way for Sloan’s concert? I’m surprised.”

  “I came to visit my mama. She’s been sick,” was Kathy’s petulant defense.

  Different story to a different listener, Cole thought.

  “Sorry to hear about your mom,” Lani said. “So, you doing well in Miami?” There was no way for Lani to miss Kathy’s diamond chandelier earrings and the diamond rings on her left hand, with stones the size of a bird’s eggs.

  “My husband’s real good to me. All I have to say is ‘Sweetie, I want…’ and he buys it. Best thing I ever did was get out of this place. Horrid little town.” She plucked a grape from a fruit platter on the table and popped it into her mouth. “You’re doing well, I reckon?”

  Cole noted that the longer Kathy dialogued with Lani, the thicker and syrupier her voice became. You can take the girl out of the South, but not the South out of the girl took on meaning for him.

  “Really well. I have my RN degree, and I work for a living…spend hours upright.”

  Cole winced at Lani’s slam while silently applauding her, and was glad to be on the sidelines.

  Drunk or not, Kathy caught it too, because bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “And I recognized the guy you were sitting with tonight….You finally got Dawson Berke away from Sloan. I surely remember how you used to moon over him when he was in Sloan’s clutches. How’d you manage that after—”

  “Good night, Kathy.” Lani hooked her arm through Cole’s, spun on a dime, and walked them both away from the buffet table.

  “She’s a nasty little piece of work,” Cole said. He felt Lani trembling on his arm.

  “Yes, she always was.”

  “Hard to believe you were friends.”

  “It took me a while to catch on.” Lani smiled up at him.

  “Thanks for the rescue.” Cole scanned the ocean of people. “Where’s Dawson?”

  “Out front getting the valet to bring his truck.”

  Cole’s head was buzzing with questions he wanted to ask. He was struggling to form one that wouldn’t be too inva
sive when Lani’s phone buzzed. “That’s him texting me now.” She peered up at Cole. “Pay no attention to Kathy. She disliked Sloan because Sloan was with a guy Kathy crushed on.”

  “Already forgotten.” He kept Lani’s arm inside his elbow. “Let me walk you out. I wouldn’t want you to step on a snake on the way.”

  “I’ll take your offer.”

  Minutes later Cole stood outside watching Dawson’s taillights disappear. The muffled sound of music and chatter came from behind him, and with no desire to return inside, he handed his ticket to a valet for his truck to be brought around. While he waited in the muggy August night, he revisited parts of the evening—Sloan, holding hundreds of people in her musical spell, her voice and body language sending the song “Passionate Kisses” straight at him. He thought of the nasty woman Kathy, poised to spill dirt about Sloan all over him. Of Lani coming to Sloan’s defense. Sloan. Dawson. Lani. Whatever had happened years before had forged a union that somehow bound them together, like it or not. Cole was an outsider, an observer unable to see through the fog of their yesterdays and penetrate the meaning of their triad.

  The day after the concert Sloan parked her rental car in Lindsey’s driveway, jumped out, and hurried to the door. She was booked on a six o’clock flight to LA and knew she couldn’t stay long, but she hadn’t wanted to head off without telling Lindsey goodbye. She glanced toward Cole’s place, had hoped to see him before she left, and felt a keen edge of disappointment to see that his truck was gone.

  Inside she smelled food being cooked, and in the kitchen she discovered Toby standing on a chair in front of the gas stove. A flame under a cast iron pan burned bright blue. “What are you doing?”

  “Making Mama’s lunch.” He grinned and waved a spatula. “She likes my grilled cheese. It’s her favorite.”

  “And you cook all by yourself?”

  “I’m not a baby.” He looked insulted.