The huge hall was like an aquarium turned upside down, a bowl filled with music instead of water, the beams of light skipping over its surface, like sunlight breaking on a river, the standing, dancing people in it algae and ferns rooted to its bottom yet swaying in a rhythmic current. Jon was speaking to the audience while he played the intro bars to his next song. Naomi went to stand next to Art and Russ at the computers right at the side of the stage, and Jon saw her then. His face lit up, and with a movement of his hand the next song took off, his voice carrying it away across the thousands of listeners. He had turned slightly toward her, as if he was singing to her alone, flirting with her until she smiled back at him.
It ended too soon. A last encore, a last bow, and he left without turning back once. It took a while for the audience to accept it, even after the band had taken their leave.
“Let’s go,” Art said. He rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “Brilliant, they were really brilliant tonight. Wow, Jon had some steam in him for a first show! What a grand opening to a tour; he really rocked them. I think, boys and girls, we will have to discuss a new live album, and don’t you just love the idea!”
Sal, a very wide smirk on his face, nodded. “Hell, yeah. Feels like the old days, doesn’t it? And I had thought he was too old for it.”
“He’s not old.” Naomi slapped his shoulder. “Don’t say that. We are not old.”
“Of course not, baby girl.” The smirk turned into a friendly grin.
“Well, you aren’t. But forty-six in this business can be difficult. Not for your man though.”
A tech came by carrying Jon’s guitars. “Here, I’ll take those myself.” Fondly he stroked the wood, now smudged from Jon’s touch, the ebony one rattling when he shook it. “The stupid bastard. He dropped one of the picks inside again. We should really tape the damn things to his fingers.”
They met Jon in the hallway. The assistants were around him, draping a large towel over his shoulders and handing him a bottle of water, relieving him of the cables and monitors while Ralph was carefully wiping makeup and sweat from his face to give him some comfort.
“Naomi.” His voice was raspy, rough from the singing, his features under the grime tired, ashen, the glamour gone. Yet seeing her, he smiled. “Babe, just let me take a shower and change, then I’m all yours. Can’t wait to get you alone now.” Impatiently he waved the others away.
“Will you wait here for me? It’ll only take me a minute, I promise.”
“I’ll come.” She blushed at the way he pursed his lips and drew up his eyebrows.
It had been so many years, Naomi had no idea if his routine after a concert had changed since she had last been with him, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be there when he turned back into a normal man, into the husband she loved.
“I can’t promise you I won’t try to kiss you,” Jon said once they were inside the dressing room. “I can’t even promise we’ll leave here anytime soon.”
“Didn’t you book a hotel room?”
His shirt was sodden when he peeled it off and dropped it on the floor. “Don’t tease. It’s bad enough being without you for so long.”
“Hurry up, Jon.”
Surprised, he looked up. “Hurry up? You want me to hurry? Nah, there won’t be no hurrying, I can promise you that. It will be soft and slow, and you’ll enjoy every second. Need to remind you why you’re married to me. The sad days, and the lonely days, those are over now, my dear.”
chapter 4
Dawn was stretching its first cool wisps into the room when Naomi woke. Disoriented, she lay and watched the curtains dance lazily in the breeze and listened to the sounds of the traffic, trying to remember where she was, and why. Just yesterday she was greeted by the scent of a warm sea, the cry of gulls and the chugging of boats leaving for a day of fishing in Chesapeake Bay. Now, it was the lumbering rumble of buses passing on the street below that greeted her.
Breath touched her shoulder, arms held her enclosed, her body lay nestled into another, warm, safe, familiar.
“Can’t wait,” he had said, and whisked her away to the hotel despite Sal’s shouts and the waiting throng of fans outside the venue. The drive had taken forever, but he had not touched her, had even sat in the other corner of the limo’s large backseat, well away.
“If I kiss you now, mayhem will ensue.” had been Jon’s words. “I don’t know that I’d keep it together.” And he had pulled out another bottle of water from the small fridge, his eyes never leaving her.
Once in the privacy of their suite, though, it had gone differently. Jet lag had its claws hooked into her flesh and mind by then, and it had been like a wild dream. Jon, whispering to her in the darkness, coming for her, claiming her, a dark, sensual fantasy, right here in their bed. She had felt like the prey of a big, feral jungle beast, caressed into submission, gently mauled, loved to death. Her aching limbs told the story.
“Never again,” he had said to her when she was sobbing in ecstasy. “Never leave me again. Every time you do, I break. Promise, I want to hear you say it.”
And, clinging to him, his in every way, she did.
Carefully she tried to slip out from under the sheets, but the arms around her tightened.
“Where do you want to run off to now?”
The touch of his lips on her ear made her shiver. “I thought I’d go for a walk and get some coffee. It’s so nice outside, and the sun is just rising. It’s a lovely morning, Jon.”
“Not yet. Please don’t go yet. I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”
Naomi turned on her back. “Oh, I know you can. But I’m really hungry. There was no proper dinner last night, and now I want pancakes, and bacon, and a very big mug of coffee. And butter and syrup.”
“Hungry, dear heart? Really?”
She looked up at him, at his dark eyes and the beautiful shape of his mouth, at the face she loved so much. There was no way she could tell him how much she had missed him in her exile, how great the impulse had been to return, and how hard she had fought it. He would never understand. The scar down her side was healing well; it didn’t pain her anymore, and she knew that it would, in good time, be little more than a thin white line, barely visible. The surgeons had done a very good job. But it was there; she saw it every time she looked in a mirror, and it reminded her of what had happened. She could feel it now when Jon ran his fingers down her body, and she flinched.
His lips tightened briefly, but he did not pull back and did not take his hand away either.
“Does it hurt?” Jon asked. “Did I hurt you? Last night, was it too much?”
That made her smile and stretch under his touch like a cat. “Oh no.” Her arms came up around his neck. “Never too much.”
“Ah, okay.” His voice turned into the soft, deep drawl that made her melt. “If that’s so, I have some more to give. Or do you want me to call room service for your breakfast now?”
“No.” She moved against him. “I’d rather go hungry for a little while longer.”
Jon was still groggy from the concert, but when she said she wanted to go out for breakfast and not order room service, to spend some time strolling through London, he agreed.
There was a coffee shop just down the road, right across from Harrods, and he knew she always had gone there when she had been in town before, and then, after sitting and watching the passersby and the traffic, walk across the street and shop for tea at the notorious department store. He had seen the tin boxes in her kitchen back in Halmar, placed in a neat row on the top of the fridge, sorry, dusty things filled with stale, unused leaves. Perplexed, he had asked why she spent her money on them at all, and she had given him that impossible shrug of hers and replied that it was a ritual, nothing more, something she did to remind herself that she had actually been
in London.
“But you can go every weekend if you want,” he had argued. “Order a damn jet and just go! We can go right now!”
And, once again, she had given him that small, thoughtful smile and replied, “But where would the fun be in that.”
The breakfast selection was not the best. Ruefully, over a sticky cinnamon roll, Jon pondered the fabulous buffet they would be serving back at the hotel. He could almost taste the fried eggs and bacon, the sausages he was rather fond of, and the creamy, fruity cereal they served there.
There weren’t many people around at this time of the day. The baristas stood behind the counter, chatting, their aprons still fresh and clean, the display well filled with baked goods. At the other end of the café a lonely man sat, a newspaper on his knees and an espresso in his hand, doing the crossword puzzle. Beside him on the floor sat a battered briefcase, an umbrella balanced on top. Jon wondered how his day would look, where he was headed, what would wait for him when he got back home. Loneliness seemed to hover around him like a shadow, and for a moment the sight made him sad. It reminded him too much of his own long, empty years without Naomi.
“There are no pancakes and bacon here,” he said in an attempt to dispel the feeling of melancholia that was rising in him like a fog. “We could have had all that back at the hotel.”
Naomi, as always, had picked a seat at the high table just inside the window where she could look out and watch the world as it passed. Her elbows on the top, mug between her hands, she gave him a sidelong glance but did not answer.
“I’m sure there is syrup too.”
Her hair was loose, the locks falling over her shoulders and back in that cascade of black he loved. Her features were sharper than they had been before, the sweetness had gone out of the shape of her cheeks and chin to be replaced by finely chiseled contours during her recovery, but her eyes had retained their clear, velvety expression.
“I love you.” He was helpless against the storm of emotions.
Her lips curled. “I know.”
“I thought I loved you even more when you were gone. I believed missing you would tear me apart.” Jon took her hand in his to gaze down at her rings. “But it’s not true. Seeing you here, now, this tears me apart. You are here, I can touch you, and I don’t know where to go with my love for you. It’s nearly more than I can take.”
There was no reply right away, so he looked up.
“That’s the weirdest declaration of love I’ve ever heard,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I want to be compared to a headache, Jon. There is no pill for this.”
“No, there isn’t. I’ll just have to bear it, live with the pain, endure it every day of my life. I embrace this ache. It’s a part of me; without it, I’d be a hollow, silent shell.” He wanted to kiss her again, just to make sure she was really back. “Without it, I’d be nothing.”
Naomi sighed and slipped from the stool, brushed the crumbs of her muffin from her skirt, and pushed her hair out of her face. She picked up their empty mugs and carried them back to the counter, nodding to the young man who took them from her.
“Okay, then.” With a small wave she indicated he should get up too. “You may stop whining. Let’s go back to the hotel and see if we can find you some pancakes.”
And that, Jon acknowledged as he followed her out into the crisp London morning, was what he loved about her. She always knew how to drown his more sentimental outbursts.
“I told that journalist to call Sal for an interview with me.”
The information was delivered so offhandedly that Jon hardly took any notice at first. One of those red double-decker buses was rumbling past them, close enough to almost touch, tourists staring at him and the view from behind the glass panes. For a morbid moment he wondered what would happen if one of them recognized him and called his name. Maybe everyone would cluster on this side of the vehicle and it would tip over, and he would be buried under his fans, literally. It was such an outrageously funny image that he grinned and even raised his hand in greeting, but he was ignored.
“What?”
“I said,” Naomi repeated patiently, “I’ve thought about it and yes, I think I want to talk to the press, but only to that one reporter, the one from the press conference.”
Jon stopped in his tracks, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing a woman with a baby buggy to take a detour around him.
“Why do you want to do that, baby? You don’t have to talk to any of those vultures. We pay Sal and Art a lot of money to take care of that.”
She put her arm through his to pull him forward before someone noticed him and they got into trouble.
“I want to do this, Jon. There will be no rest until someone tells the story, and you know that very well. The sooner, the better too, or you will be asked the same questions at every stop.”
“You talked to him? When?” He did not budge.
“Jon, please. I talked to him after Sal took me to the lounge you had reserved for me. The press lounge was next to mine, and when I went out onto the balcony to see you better, he approached me. It was okay. He is quite nice.” She tugged his sleeve. “Come on, Jon. Breakfast.”
They had slipped out on their own without guards, and he had not objected because it had been so early and so few people were around yet, but that was changing now, with the morning rush hour beginning. Traffic had picked up considerably. Shops were beginning to open; tourists strolled by on their way to Harrods. Often enough he had gotten away when he had left hotels early enough, and returned unmolested. The attention of the fans was focused on the elevators where he was expected to emerge, never on the entrances. In a way it was hilarious, and he had sometimes stood in the lobby for a while, even leaning on the counter, to watch their excitement.
“Sal left you up there alone? Alone, in a lounge? All by yourself?” He could hardly believe what he was hearing.
The way she was standing at the top of the steps, one hand raised to hold down her blowing hair, the valet in his red coat opening the heavy door for her, Jon thought she could well be on the cover of a hotel brochure.
“Of course he did, Jon. There was a concert about to start, remember? His place was not up there in that stupid lounge but with you, and beside your stage. He does not get paid to keep me company.”
Slowly, thoughtfully, he followed her inside. The lobby was fairly empty; only a couple of clerks were working the reception desk. A man in a very dapper uniform was busy vacuuming the dark green carpet; someone else had just put down a big bowl with fresh apples on one of the tables. From the desk, a large bouquet of nodding roses spread their sweet aroma. Jon loved this large, old hotel. He loved the quiet elegance, the high ceilings, the tasteful rooms, and the total discretion. Here, he felt private.
“But alone, Naomi, anything could have happened to you. I hate the thought of you running around alone in that huge building. What if someone had seen; you might have been abducted, harmed.”
“Yes.” She inserted the keycard into the slot. “That’s happened already, the being harmed. And in the best secured place on Earth. You can’t impress me with that, Jon.”
As always, an entire floor had been closed off for them. The moment the elevator door opened guards faced them, ready to block any stranger’s access; but seeing Jon, they moved swiftly aside.
“I’m not trying to impress you.” There were voices from down the hall, the sounds of cutlery clinking, plates being stacked. A whiff of coffee and toast drifted toward them. Jon pointed in that direction. “Breakfast.”
Reluctantly, Naomi followed.
“Sal should not have left you there alone. He knows it wasn’t safe, even with a guard outside the door. See?” He stopped. “See what happened? A bloody reporter got to you without any of us being
there to take care of you. That’s not supposed to happen. Ever.”
Something in her face changed, a tiny little tightening of her mouth, but he knew he had offended her. It didn’t matter.
“You can’t do this on your own, Naomi. Please trust me. You are just too nice, too friendly; and someone like that—he would wheedle everything he wants to know out of you, and you wouldn’t even notice until you read it in the tabloids the next day. You have to trust me. I’ve been there! Don’t think I learned this overnight. It was a bitter lesson, and I want to spare you that. Baby, please?”
“Okay.” Delivered in a soft monotone, it was quite clear that she wasn’t really okay with it at all but was giving in for his sake.
“I promise, Naomi,” Jon said. “I promise, I won’t make this hard on you. I know you want to go out and enjoy the towns we go to, and I will take you out. We will have fun on this tour.”
At last she smiled. It was a small and rather sad smile, but it was a start.
Jon held out his hand. “Eggs? Bacon? I’m sure there will be some mushrooms for you, and an omelette.”
“How do you know?”
Her fingers were cool, and he closed his own around them firmly to warm them up. “Because, my love, I asked them to cook some every morning just in case you would be there for breakfast.”
She could see, from where she was sitting with Art and Sean, how Jon had cornered Sal, a napkin and a spoon in his hand. His shoulders were tense as he stood in front of his manager, his back to her as he talked to him, not at all loud, but his voice carried well enough.
“…and not leave her there by herself,” he was saying, “Those weren’t my orders, you idiot. She is not to be left alone, ever.”
Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy) Page 4
