An Unexpected Song

by Iris Johansen

  "All right." Lord knows she had no desire to become involved in any relationship between Jason and his ex-wife. She was still feeling too raw and bruised from the shock of meeting Cynthia Hayes—not only bruised but hotly, passionately, resentful, she realized. Jealousy. Dear heaven, she had never been jealous in her life, but she was jealous of that woman. "It was just a thought. I'll do whatever you believe is best."

  Eric breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Please avoid her. And if she asks to see you, promise me you 11 turn her down."

  "Why should she—"

  "Just promise me. Okay?"

  "If you say so. I'll be too busy for social engagements anyway." She paused. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone so beautiful. She's stunning."

  "So is a blackjack," Eric said grimly. "And it's better to avoid both of them."

  She did feel bludgeoned, but it would go away, she assured herself desperately. She had scarcely thought of Jason for the past two days. She would work so hard, she would have no time to think of either Jason or the beautiful hibiscuslike woman who was clearly still very much a part of his life.

  Lord, she was tired.

  Daisy moved quickly toward the stage door, fervently glad she had given in to Eric and didn't have to face the subway ride home. Joel had been more difficult than usual today, but she could scarcely blame him. Her concentration had been at low ebb and she deserved every scathing criticism. He'd probably be glad to be rid of her when these—

  Jason.

  She stopped short on the steps as she saw him standing beside the front fender of a long navy blue limousine.

  "Don't argue." He straightened. "Just get in the car."

  "Eric is taking me home."

  "Eric was taking you home." He opened the passenger door. "The situation has changed. I'm not making him a target."

  "A target? Aren't you overeacting? The tabloids are interested in you, not Eric."

  "Please get into the car." His hands clenched at his sides. "Look, I'm not trying to kidnap you. My only object is to get you home safely." He nodded at the chauffeur in the driver's seat who could only be dimly discerned through the tinted windows. "We even have a chaperon."

  "I told Eric this wasn't necessary. Neither of you have to take me home."

  "Either get in the car or I'll have to follow behind you." He smiled lopsidedly. "If your aim is to save time and bother for both of us, then let me take you home and get it over with."

  She hesitated and then moved down the steps and across the alley toward the car. "This is ridiculous."

  He opened the passenger door and followed her inside. "So is life." He slammed the door. He pressed a button and the glass between the passenger and driver section of the limousine slid down with a whoosh. "Sam Brockner, this is Daisy Justine."

  The chauffeur turned his head, and for the first time she got a good look at him. He was as far from the dignified uniformed chauffeur as could be imagined. Red-haired, freckled-faced with sparkling sherry-colored eyes, he seemed little more than a teenager. The turquoise and white flowered Hawaiian shirt he wore made his hair flame even redder in contrast, and his grin lit his face with boyish warmth. "Hi, glad to meet you, Miss Justine." He started the limousine, and the car glided down the alley toward the street. "Just sit back and relax. Jason gave me your address, and 111 have you home in a jiffy."

  "Thank you, Sam. It's nice meeting you too."

  Jason pressed the button and the glass glided up, leaving them again in isolation. She sat tense, her hands folded tightly in her lap, looking straight ahead.

  "For Lord's sake, relax," Jason said roughly.

  "I am relaxed."

  "You're so brittle you'd shatter into a thousand pieces if I touched you."

  "1 admit I'm uncomfortable with the situation." She continued to avoid looking at him. She wished he would move away. There was no physical contact between them, but he was close enough so that she could feel the heat of his body and smell the familiar heady scent of his aftershave. "But since there's no question of you touching me, there's no danger of that occurring."

  "Right."

  Silence fell between them, thick, charged, tingling with awareness.

  She searched wildly for a way to break it. "I somehow never connected you with a chauffeur and limousine. Eric drives himself."

  "Eric's temperament is better able to cope with New York cab drivers. Besides, a limousine provides me with a certain amount of privacy."

  And another wall with which to surround himself.

  Another strained silence.

  "I met your wife today." Dear heaven, she hadn't meant to blurt that out.

  "Eric told me. And she's not my wife."

  "She doesn't appear to notice the distinction. She's very beautiful."

  "I once thought so."

  Another silence.

  "Eric said you married very young." Why was she persisting in talking about the woman when every word was salt on the wound?

  "Yes."

  She smiled brightly. "First love is best, they say. I'm sure that—"

  "It wasn't love," he broke in violently. "First or otherwise."

  "Sex, then. Sometimes it's difficult to tell the difference."

  "Not that either." He turned to face her. "What the hell do you want me to say? I made a mistake and I paid for it. I'm still paying for it."

  "It's really none of my business."

  "You couldn't be more wrong. Whether either of us likes it or not, it couldn't be more your business. Lord knows I tried hard enough to keep you out of it."

  Her brow wrinkled. "You're not making sense."

  "I know." His expression was suddenly weary. "It doesn't matter now. All I ask is that you let me watch over you."

  The heaviness in his voice pierced the wall of resentment she had built against him, touched her, moved her. "I told you once that I'm accustomed to taking care of myself."

  "But you let me take care of you and didn't suffer for it."

  "Didn't I?"

  He flinched. "Let me put it another way. You didn't suffer from lack of care."

  "I was a different person then."

  He shook his head. "You just think that. Pain doesn't change us, it simply hones away all the excess baggage to reveal what we are." He met her gaze. "You're still loving and trusting and shining with life. Too loving. You give too much for your own good. Look at what you were willing to give up for Charlie. I knew the moment I met you that you'd go where angels fear to tread."

  She couldn't look away from him. She had an odd feeling there was something important in those words, something that should mean something to her. She had a sudden memory of that moment after they had made love and she had felt close to something mysterious and cloaked in splendor.

  No, this mustn't happen again, she thought desperately. She mustn't love him. She mustn't fall into the trap of hope again. He didn't really love her, he probably had never really loved her.

  But dear heaven, there was something there. Something she should know. She wasn't blind, though she was beginning to think she might have been in the past. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

  He opened his lips and then closed them again. He glanced away from her. "No."

  Her hopes plummeted, but she persisted. "I think you are. Talk to me, Jason."

  "I have nothing to say."

  Walls again.

  She gazed up at him in despair as the limousine drew up to the curb before her brownstone and Sam got out of the driver's seat and came around to open the passenger door.

  Jason's lips twisted. "I know you've probably had enough of my company tonight. Sam will see you to your door."

  "That's not nee—" She broke off and got out of the car. She was too tired and heartsore to argue with him. She turned and started across the street toward the front steps. "Good night."

  "Daisy."

  She stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder.

  "From now on Sam will pick you up and take you
home. I won't inflict my presence on you after tonight."

  She said flippantly, "I'm surprised you're not afraid the gentlemen of the press will attack him too."

  "He can take care of himself. Sam was Special Services in 'Nam." Jason's gaze shifted to Sam. "Check out her apartment, please."

  "Right." Sam strolled up the steps toward the front door. "No problem. Shell be fine."

  Daisy shook her head. "I doubt if he's going to find anyone lurking in the hall or under my bed."

  "This is New York," Jason said. "Lurking is the norm in certain neighborhoods."

  "Not this one."

  "You're getting rid of me, but you have to accept Sam. It's a tradeoff. Accept it and count your blessings."

  He didn't wait for an answer but got back into the limousine and shut the door.

  He was shutting himself away from her again, but no more thoroughly than he had that moment before they had arrived at the brownstone. Why couldn't she accept his words at face value? It was totally irrational for these tears to sting her eyes. She moved blindly toward the door Sam was holding open for her.

  "It's going to be okay." Sam's hazel eyes shone with sympathy in his freckled face. "Honest. Everything's going to be Jake."

  "Is it?" She smiled at him mistily before straightening her shoulders. "Of course it is. Come on, Sam, I'm sure you want to get this over and get home and go to bed."

  "No hurry. I'm a real night owl."

  "So was my father."

  "Charlie? Yeah, I know. Jason told me all about him."

  Her eyes widened in surprise. "He did?"

  "Sure, he must have been a great guy."

  "Yes, he was." She paused. "But I guess I wasn't expecting Jason to laud his praises to anyone."

  He chuckled. "You're kidding me. Right? Hell, Jason wants the whole world to know what a great guy he was."

  She looked him in bewilderment.

  "But here I am standing around yakking instead of letting you get to bed." Sam took her elbow and propelled her toward the stairs. "Let me have five minutes for a look-see, then I'll get the hell out of here."

  Eight

  "The dress rehearsal went off very well tonight, I thought." Eric sat on the flower-patterned easy chair across the dressing room. "Considering everything."

  Daisy grimaced as she sat on the vanity stool and slipped on flat-heeled shoes. "Considering everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Stop trying to make me feel good, Eric. It was the usual chaos before opening night and you know it."

  "You don't seem worried."

  She smiled serenely. "I'm not. I'm ready even if the technical crew isn't. I have a feeling that the opening tomorrow night is going to be dynamite."

  "I've got the same feeling." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small envelope. "Sam stopped by while you were battling through the rehearsal and asked me to give you this."

  "Why didn't he wait until he picked me up tonight?" She stood up and took the envelope. "Don't tell me he's going to let me go home alone?

  Sam's practically been my shadow since that tabloid brouhaha."

  Eric shook his head. "He'll be outside waiting as usual. Has he been annoying you?"

  "No, in his diamond-in-the-rough way, Sam's a real charmer."

  Eric nodded. "And tough as they come." He watched her study the envelope, his gaze narrowed on her face.

  The envelope was the finest cream-colored bond and the return address on the envelope was one of the most prestigious art galleries on Fifth Avenue.

  Daisy carefully slit open the envelope and drew out the single engraved card.

  Her eyes widened in bewilderment as she read the three lines on the invitation.

  You are cordially invited to view the finest work of Charles L. Justine at eight o'clock on the evening of July 1. Black tie. RSVP.

  Dazedly raising her eyes to Eric's face, Daisy said, "I don't understand. Do you know what this is all about? A showing of Charlie's work?"

  "Actually only one work," Eric said quietly. "Your portrait."

  She laughed shakily. "But that's crazy. No gallery would have a viewing of one picture unless the artist was Rembrandt or Van Gogh. Certainly not one by an unknown like Charlie. Why should— " She broke off and her gaze searched Eric's face. "Jason?"

  Eric nodded.

  "Bribery?"

  "Hell no, you can't bribe a snobbish gallery like Von Krantz."

  "Then how?"

  Eric took a tape out of his jacket pocket and popped it into the cassette player on her dressing table. "This." He pressed a button on the recorder. "It's the first music Jason has composed outside the musical theater in over twelve years. It's being released to the TV and radio stations tomorrow together with the announcement of the exhibition. He calls it 'Charlie's Song.' "

  She sat perfectly still to listen to the hauntingly beautiful music. Strength and gentleness and a triumph of love and the spirit. Charlie.

  She could feel the tears running down her cheeks, but she made no motion to brush them aside. As the last strain drifted away, she continued to stare at the glittering metal of the cassette player.

  Eric reached out and turned off the player. "Jason said it was a two-pronged plan. The song should generate interest in the painting, and even if the critics pan your father's work, he still has a chance of being remembered in the art world for a very long time because of the uniqueness of the presentation."

  "Something to live on after him. Charlie's immortality," she murmured, blinking back more tears.

  "Yeah," Eric agreed. "I guess you could call it that."

  "Why didn't Jason tell me?" she asked huskily. "He did this incredibly wonderful thing and he never said a word. How can I thank him?"

  "He doesn't want thanks."

  Daisy jumped to her feet, snatched a tissue from the box on the dressing table, and dabbed her wet cheeks. "Well, he's going to get it. Where is he?"

  "Eaglesmount." Eric shook his head. "And he won't see you, Daisy."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because he gave me a message for you." He hesitated. "He said to tell you that he didn't do this for you. He wants you to know you don't owe him anything. He did it for Charlie."

  "And that isn't for me? I loved Charlie."

  And she loved Jason Hayes. The knowledge shone bright as firelight; it thundered like cymbals. Her bewilderment and hurt were gone. She didn't understand him; she might never understand him. What did any of that matter? By all that was holy, she loved him. She started for the door. "I'm going to see him."

  "No!" Eric shook his head. "I tell you he won't see you." He grimaced. "And Eaglesmount has security as tight as Fort Knox. You'll never get beyond the front gate."

  "Dammit." Daisy whirled to face him. "How did he expect me to react? I want to see him."

  Eric smiled faintly. "I imagine he expected you to react this way. He knows you pretty well, doesn't he?"

  "Better than I know him." She lifted her chin. "But that's going to change."

  "He's not going to let it change."

  "Why not?"

  Eric hesitated.

  She gestured impatiently. "Never mind. You're as close-mouthed as Jason. Tell me one thing. Does he care anything for Cynthia Hayes?"

  "Good Lord, no!"

  She breathed a sigh of relief. "From what he said I didn't think he did. Then it's open season."

  Eric frowned. "You don't understand the situation. "

  "And I'm not going to understand if I'm not told. How can I understand anything if Jason won't even see me?"

  "If you want to show him your gratitude, then give him a great Desdemona. This play means a great deal to him."

  "Gratitude? But I want to—" She broke off and gazed at him steadily. "All right, here's the deal. Tell him I won't go to Eaglesmount if he comes to the opening." She added fiercely, "And I don't want him standing in the back of the theater like some two-bit phantom of the opera. I want him beside you in the fourth row, and I want hi
m backstage after the performance to tell me how great I was. Do you understand?"

  "Oh, I understand." Eric wrinkled his nose. "But I'm not sure Jason will agree."

  "Hell agree if you tell him otherwise I'll be camping outside the gates of Eaglesmount. He knows I don't give up easily." She smiled tremulously. "After all, it's really his own fault. If he hadn't composed 'Charlie's sons,' I probably would never have seen beyond his Othello mask." "Mask?"

  "Never mind." She moved toward the door. "Just give him my message." She smiled brilliantly over her shoulder. "And tell him he's going to see one hell of a Desdemona tomorrow night."

  * * *

  Daisy curtsied low, her cheeks flushed scarlet with excitement while the waves of applause rocked the theater."

  Kevin's hand tightened on her own, his cheeks were also flushed, his eyes shining brilliantly. "Don't look now, but I think we've just caused a happening." The jubilant murmur was audible only to her. "Lord, I feel a hundred feet tall."

  Daisy was soaring too. A standing ovation, twelve curtain calls, and the audience still didn't want to let them go. She looked down at Jason in the fourth row.

  He was on his feet, applauding but gazing at her with an expressionless face. Had he liked it? Had she been wrong? No, she wouldn't let herself be intimidated by his blank stare. She had let him deceive her by his wall of silence before, but she wouldn't make that mistake again.

  A gamine grin lit her face, and she gave him a conspiratorial wink. She chuckled to herself when she saw his startled reaction. Then she began to move with Kevin toward the wings.

  "Daisy. Daisy darling! You were wonderful!"

  A familiar woman's voice issued from the first row. Peg?

  Her gaze searched the audience and her smile faded.

  Cynthia Hayes stood near the stage, gowned in a brilliant peacock blue, ornamented by a magnificent sapphire necklace. She was holding up a bouquet of white roses toward Daisy.

  Kevin had noticed her too. "A friend of yours? Ill get them." He quickly stepped forward, reached down, and took the flowers from Cynthia with a graceful bow. He turned, gave them to Daisy, and then escorted her from the stage. "Gorgeous woman," he said. "I wonder if she likes chili."