by Carey Corp
“Janet? No way.” Janet and Blob would never get such an expensive gift, even over my dead body.
Duncan just shrugged. “Dinna worry. When the time comes, I’m sure we’ll find the right home for her.”
The Corvette wasn’t a horse! But I guess, in a weird way, she was the modern version of his beloved Mabel. Whatever delusions I’d had of Duncan bonding with her quickly vanished as the boy tried to drive his new pet off the lot. With a complete lack of finesse, he jerked the car to life; she lunged forward and then immediately stalled.
“Try easing up on the clutch a little more slowly,” I suggested. The salesman had covered the basics: clutch, brake, gas, and shift positions — but driving a manual was a skill, not something that could be mastered without extensive practice.
I remembered, not-so-fondly, the driving lessons with my dad in his old, manual transmission Fiat. After the first driving lesson, I predicted I’d get whiplash before I would get the hang of the pedals. But my poor father had stuck by me, and by me, and by me as I learned to drive the thing. It’d taken more than three months.
Duncan started the car again, this time reacting too slowly. With the clutch engaged, the car revved without moving, and when he eased off, it shot forward, grinding as it demanded to shift into higher gears.
“Shift into second!” I commanded. Gears crunched as I added, “Don’t forget the clutch.”
The car slowed and then bolted forward again as Duncan figured out second gear. But when he tried for third, again at my urging, it stalled in the middle of the road.
Looking dazed, Duncan threw up his hands in frustration. “This modern contraption is broken. I think the shopkeeper hornswoggled me.”
Tempted to do the “I told you so” dance, I reigned myself in. Duncan’s manhood had been injured enough by the trip down the street. In the rearview mirror, I could see a growing knot of sales people at the end of the block watching the spectacle that was my boyfriend learning to drive.
I flashed Duncan a sympathetic grimace. “Before you take the car back, mind if I give her a try?”
Duncan favored me with a gallant nod of his head. “Be my guest.” As I climbed out of the car to trade places with him, I noticed money being exchanged by the group of onlookers. I pitied the fools that had bet on him to make it to the corner.
Melting into the driver’s seat, I instantly changed my mind about Duncan’s new pet. Ensconced in sweet-smelling leather, with the steering wheel in my left hand and the stick shift in my right, I experienced a similar rush to the one I got at curtain call. Yet another modern world pleasure I would soon leave behind.
No longer in a mocking mood, I turned to my boyfriend and instructed him on how to adjust his seat for maximum comfort. Seat belts fastened, I pressed in the clutch and turned on the ignition. The resulting purr seemed to come from the core of my being, the effect of car and driver becoming one.
“Now relax and enjoy the ride,” I said with a wink.
Smoothly shifting into first gear and easing off the brake, I pressed the accelerator while letting up on the clutch. As the Corvette sprang to life, modern horse-power coursed through me like a drug. By the time I shifted into sixth gear on the highway, Duncan regarded me with something akin to awe.
“Ye’ve got a gift, woman. I’m man enough to admit when I’ve been bested.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Nay.” He reclined his seat slightly, stretching out as best he could in the restricted space. “Watching you drive my bonnie lass might even be better than drivin’ her m’self.”
The boy was amazing. How easily he laid his ego at my feet. As I followed the signs for I – 65 north, I wondered what other revelations about him our day in Chicago would bring.
When the stages of Chicago went dark for the night, the city’s theater folk could be found at the Green Room Lounge, eating deep dish pizza and singing karaoke. On any given night you might get or give an impromptu performance from a Hollywood celebrity or a Broadway A-lister: and if you were lucky, sing a duet with them. Seated in a green leather booth, for the first time that I could remember, I felt at home.
Duncan toyed with the edge of his playbill as we waited for food. His face displayed a thoughtful frown of concentration. But I had no idea if the reaction was positive or negative.
I’d deliberately not spoken about the show on the way to the restaurant so that he’d have time to process. I wanted him to love Wicked as much as I did, but I recognized that his perspective was vastly different from mine. “So?”
The pucker between his brows eased as his dark gaze met mine. “’Twas lovely. I liked how the story portrayed an unexpected perspective. And the music — ”
“I know, right?”
“Aye . . .” He picked up a breadstick, broke it in the middle, and offered me half. “Although I canna help but think ’tis a dangerous precedent to romanticize evil. Witches, demons, sorcerers, and the like as noble, misunderstood creatures is great fiction. When someone chooses to serve evil, they sacrifice the part of themselves with the capacity to embrace goodness.”
Taking a bite, he chewed thoughtfully before continuing. “There’s an essay I read once in the castle library. It was gathered during the Centennial in the late eighteen hundreds. The author, Edmund Burke, stated, ‘When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.’ ”
“That sounds a lot like something one of our presidents — famous leaders — said. ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ ”
I happened to remember the quote because of a paper I’d been forced to write senior year. While other kids illustrated the Kennedy quote with examples of Hitler and Rwanda, I’d used Horton’s decision to protect the Whos despite the scorn of the entire jungle. As part of my presentation I’d sung “Alone in the Universe” with fellow thespian Dani Diaz and earned a solid B for my efforts.
“That’s an apt statement. Makes me think o’ Sean MacNally’s lot,” Duncan replied, refocusing my thoughts from an elephant’s noble quest to save a world on a clover to a world hidden from modern civilization. “Too many lads fell under his sway. Now that he’s imprisoned though, most o’ the others have disavowed him.”
I’d been wondering about the sentiments of Sean’s followers now that he was locked up. Not that I had any concerns about them breaking Sean out of the dungeon. I knew from firsthand experience how impossible that was — even for cheerleader ninjas. Still, a wave of relief surged over me at Duncan’s words. I gave his hand an appreciative squeeze as our tattooed server placed a deep dish masterpiece between us.
Duncan’s eyes widened as he took it in. “Where’s the cheese?”
“On the inside. Along with the meat,” I explained as I maneuvered a three-inch thick slice onto each of our plates.
I watched expectantly as Duncan took his first gooey bite. He made a throaty noise of ecstasy somewhere between “mmm” and “ahh” as he slowly chewed and swallowed. When his tongue darted out to capture a little bead of tomato sauce at the corner of his lips, my own mouth began to water.
I attacked my own piece with gusto in lieu of accosting the boy across from me. “Good, huh?”
“Aye. Do you think we could bring a recipe back for Mario?” he asked before using his knife to balance another chunk on his upside-down fork and shoving it in his mouth.
“I’m not sure you could convert him to Chicago style.” I chuckled at the thought of an anecdote Gabriella Rosetti had recently told us about the first time her brother Matteo featured haggis pizza. He got banned from the kitchen permanently, or at least until the local demand for his creation got him reinstated and the specialty pie permanently on the menu. “He’s kind of a purist when it comes to pizza. You might have better luck with Mags.”
I savored another forkful as music swelled, signaling the commencement of the after-hours entertainment. Joey, the owner and emcee
, always kicked off the night with a group sing-along of “There’s No Business Like Show Business” from Annie Get Your Gun. As the final word “show” faded, Joey took the mike.
“Beloveds,” he crooned. “We have a very special treat for you tonight. Not only a Green Room Lounge favorite, but a true star.” I held my breath along with the rest of the room waiting to know which shining example of musical theater perfection was about to grace the stage. There were so many performers I had hoped to see live: Idina, Raul, Kristin, Kelli, Jeremy, Audra, Brian, Sutton, Darren, JRB, NPH — the list could go on and on.
Joey paused dramatically, beaming at his captivated audience. “Please welcome back to our humble stage, the dazzling and unforgettable Mackenna Reid.”
What?
In complete shock, I turned to Duncan, who was wildly applauding along with the rest of the patrons. With a grin that rivaled that of the club host, he tipped his head toward the stage. “What are ye waitin’ for? Go on, woman.”
Still reeling, I got to my feet and wound my way to the stage where Joey, who smelled of lilac and pomade, pulled me into a hug. “Welcome home, honey,” he murmured into my ear. “The first set is yours.”
As he let go, my brain started frantically indexing my repertoire. He’d given me the set, which was 8 – 10 songs — so what would I sing? I hadn’t thought to prepare anything. Thanks be to Kandor and Ebb, the patron saints of all things Chicago, I’d been preparing for a moment like this my whole life.
I made a quick mental list of songs that I would sing for the last time. I’d never be able to take sheet music for them all back to Doon . . . and even if I did, who would appreciate them like this crowd? Which caused me to wonder what exactly I would do with my own theater when I crossed the bridge?
I couldn’t think about that now. So instead, I sang. Gloriously.
When my set was finished, I wound my way through the adoring crowd back to my even more adoring boyfriend. As I slid into the booth next to him, he kissed my cheek. “I’m so verra fortunate that you chose me.”
He meant over all of this . . . As I struggled to respond, I noticed a girl sitting alone at a corner table. It took a moment longer to recognize the brunette as Jeanie. Having given up her single white female homage to me, her hair was once again its natural color and in a cute pixie cut. Her makeup and clothes were back to her own unique style as well.
Turning to Duncan, I asked, “Can I borrow a couple hundred dollars?”
Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “Nay. But ye can have anything you need. This money’s not mine or yours. It’s ours.” He peeled off a hundred dollar bill for himself and gave me the rest.
“Thank you,” I said as I accepted it.
“Can ye no’ tell me what you need the money for?”
I hadn’t meant to be cryptic. Caught up in so many emotions, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I nodded toward the girl. “It’s for Jeanie. When I showed up in the modern world, she loaned me money.”
I’d taken a few steps when Duncan said, “Wait.” As I turned around, he handed me the spare set of Corvette keys. “Jeanie rendered a service to you when you were in great need. I, too, am in her debt. Besides, my bonnie lass will need someone to take care of her after we go home. I’ll have Stevens arrange the papers and transport the car to the girl.”
Adding Duncan’s generosity to the list of the day’s revelations, I walked over to Jeanie’s table. At my approach, she looked up nervously. With her short black hair and dramatic eye makeup, she looked like herself again. “You were truly great, Kenna.”
“Thanks.” I slid into the chair opposite her. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she hedged. “I took your advice. Broke up with Weston. He’s threatening to have me blackballed from Equity, but he’s all talk. I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were gone for good.”
“My boyfriend and I got delayed because of the hurricane. But I’m glad I ran into you.” I held out the money and keys. “Thank you again for helping me get to Bainbridge. You saved my life.”
A bit flustered, she took the wad of cash and hastily thumbed through it. “Kenna, this is seven hundred dollars!”
“I know. And keys to our Corvette. We’re headed back to Scotland, so we won’t need it. We’ll have Duncan’s valet bring you the car and title next week.” Realizing what transferring ownership would require, I added, “And he’ll have a check for the taxes on the car and the first year’s insurance.”
I still held the extra set of keys, and when I tried to give them to her, she waved them away. “Kenna. I wasn’t really nice to you when you showed up at the apartment.”
“And yet you still helped. You should give yourself more credit. And don’t worry about Wes. You’re talented enough to make it on your own.”
I watched as the effect of my words softened her features. “You really think so?”
“Yes.” I placed the key in her palm and closed her hand around it. “In fact, I’d really like you to sing a duet with me in the next set.”
Jeanie’s eyes pooled with tears. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“Totally.” As I stood to leave, Jeanie captured my hand in hers. “You should stay here. It’s where you belong.”
How wonderful it would be to stay . . . continue building my career, sing at the Green Room Lounge afterhours. If I asked, Duncan would stay for me. That had been his intention once upon a time, so I knew he’d agree. But how was him giving up his world for me any better than me giving up my world for him? Either way, one of us would be displaced. And if we stayed, the other part of his heart and mine, Jamie and Vee, would be cut off. Doon may never feel like home, but it’s where my true family was. And for the sake of my family, I would go back and do my best to build a life and a theater that I could be proud of.
CHAPTER 21
Veronica
There were lots of lies I used to tell myself, and sometimes other people. Little stories to lessen the pain or explain why my dad couldn’t make it to another Father-Daughter dance or ballet recital.
He worked deep undercover for the CIA, and wanted desperately to return home but couldn’t risk exposing our identities to the terrorists he tracked. Or he died in battle, a war hero. Or he nursed sick children in Uganda and, though it pained him to be so far away, there were just so many lives he needed to save.
I used to sit in my room after a bad day and imagine he would come in and wrap me in his arms, shower me with unconditional love, and tell me he would protect me at any cost. Lies had kept me from falling apart.
After two hours of jogging in aimless circles, I couldn’t escape the truth — that my father was a selfish drug-addict who couldn’t be bothered with the child he’d given life to.
I swiped my keycard and let myself into the penthouse. With no more fabrications to protect me, I felt exposed, yet oddly liberated. There were no more excuses, just the harsh truth, and for the first time I could see things clearly. It had been my strength that had sustained me, even through the lies — and maybe because of them, I hadn’t turned bitter. Like Janet.
Maybe this was part of what I needed to learn here — that, unlike my mom, I could stand on my own.
I slipped off my sweater and spied Jamie on the terrace. He leaned against the railing, his hair blowing against his cheeks, the strands glinting in the sun.
I crossed the room and joined him outside. “Hey.”
He glanced over his shoulder with a tight smile.
My heart squeezed. I’d hurt him. I moved closer and stood so our shoulders were touching. “Can I get a do-over?”
He glanced down at me and arched a brow, a gesture that meant he didn’t understand something I’d said.
“Sorry, I mean . . .” I ran my hands over the smooth metal of the railing while I gathered my thoughts. “What I mean is, I’d like to start over and react differently than I did earlier. I’m sorry I pushed you away.”
“Thank ye for that, lass.” His brows crouched over his nos
e. “But you were hurt. That man — ” He straightened and raked the hair off his forehead, his anger and his need to comfort me fighting a battle across his face. He finally leaned back against the balustrade and slanted a glance in my direction. “Can I ask ye somethin’?”
The way he looked at me, as if my answer could change the course of the future, made me swallow before whispering, “Yes.”
“When I asked you to get engaged, ye hesitated. Can you tell me why?”
Clearly, he’d been doing some thinking of his own. “Do you mean handfasted?”
“Aye. In Doon, they’re one in the same.”
“But I read that it meant after we’re handfasted, we would be engaged for a year and a day.”
“Our engagement can last for any length of time we like.” The planes of his face hardened. “You’re still hesitatin’. I dinna understand why.”
I blinked several times and then turned away. He was right. Even though I loved him with every cell of my body, heart, and soul, the idea of marriage turned me into a goopy mess of emotions that were not all sunshine and light.
I stared at the people below us, going about their business like colorful ants, and wondered if any of them had been rejected by their fathers. If any of them had a mother who only cared about what they could do for her. If any of them questioned the meaning of love.
My reluctance to become handfasted to Jamie was complicated, but I knew I owed him some kind of explanation. So I took a deep breath and plunged in.
“Before my dad left, my parents fought all the time. About everything from what brand of ketchup to buy, to serious stuff like my dad’s job hopping. But I remember a time when I was little, they held hands and kissed . . . they were peaceful and happy . . . in love.” I paused and glanced at Jamie’s profile, all hard angles and noble lines. He was like an unattainable wish I would have made as a child. Not because he was beautiful, but because he was everything I’d ever dreamed of — valiant and passionate and brilliant. And underneath the facade, sweet and kindhearted, and sometimes silly.
