“Is the sex that good?” Sal asked, in a mean, tough tone.
Another pause, then, in a soft breath, “You can’t begin to imagine. But that’s not all of it, and you know it.”
“For Christ’s sake, Jon! Listen to yourself. You’ve taken leave of your senses. You’re ruining your career over a girl!”
“He’s trying to protect you,” Sean said coming up behind her. “Sal is. Don’t worry.”
He laid his arm around her shoulder and hugged her in a friendly, comforting way. “He’s worried, and he wants to make sure you’ll be okay. Come away.”
He led her back up to the lobby and out through the front door onto the street. Naomi was too upset to speak. She sat on the pier wall, drawing ragged breaths, so close to tears it hurt. Sean stood patiently by her side, squinting into the sun to watch a sailboat far out on the water. A couple of cars drove by slowly and stopped in the parking lot of the hotel, and two families scrambled out and went inside after sorting out their children and luggage.
“Is it true, Sean? Will he want to return to Los Angeles?”
“I can’t answer that, Naomi.”
Miserably, she hunched her shoulders. “I can’t live there, Sean. Never again. If Jon returns, then he’ll have to go on his own. I love him beyond all reason, but that I cannot do.”
Sean laid his hand on her shoulder again. “Don’t worry, darling. Trust him. You should have always have done that, you know, even back then. Whatever happened that night, I’m sure he would have set it right.”
“I talked to my parents today.”
She turned her head to look at a flock of gulls swarming over the water, their screeches echoing off the hills. “It wasn’t easy and it was definitely not nice. My father said some very unkind things. I didn’t expect them to be thrilled, but this…I needed some space, so I took a walk. Then I come back to that scene downstairs.”
He sat down beside her and took her hands in his. “You don’t get the gift of a family very often. So many lives end up lonely, and I know how lonely Jon was, despite all the women who threw themselves at him. He needs you. You have no idea how much.”
There were voices from the lobby.
“You’re holding the wrong girl’s hands,” Jon called from the door. “Find your own, Sean. This one’s mine.”
“There you go.” Sean rose from the stones. “Possessive, arrogant, impetuous, and altogether much too domineering. But he’s all yours, if you want him.”
Jon went over to them. Sal seemed to be deep in thought as he wandered off to the newspaper stand down the street.
“Baby? What’s up? You’ve been crying. What happened?”
She tried to pull herself together and not make a total fool of herself with Sean and Sal around, but she wanted to be in his arms so badly, to feel the safety and assurance that everything would be alright.
“I phoned my parents. That’s all. It’s okay.”
She could see that no one believed her. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’ll go down and rest a bit, and I’ll be fine.”
Jon came after her, as she knew he would, as she wanted him to.
As soon as the door closed behind them, before he could say anything, Naomi turned to him with a sob. “Hold me. Please.”
She allowed herself to sink into his embrace, letting him catch and cradle her, his lips on hers, soft, comforting, healing. Her body melted into his, needing the feel of solidity and security he gave her.
“Please,” she said, her voice small and broken, “Please say you’ll never leave me. Please tell me you love me. Please.”
“Naomi.” Gently, he held her away from him so he could look at her. “You know I love you. You know I’ll never leave you. What happened?”
She shook her head, refusing to answer, and kissed him with a fierceness that caught him totally unawares. “Love me. Don’t make me beg. Love me. Claim me, take me, make me yours.”
He took her to bed, still bewildered by the terrible need in her. Afterward, she lay in his arms in near fainting passivity.
“Baby,” he whispered, “I love you, you know that. I’ll never let you go. I promise. I’ll tell you every day, every time you need to hear it.”
Jon let her rest against his shoulder for a while before he asked again. “What happened today? I truly love making love to you, but I would prefer to do it for happier reasons than to stop you from crying.”
Her head lay on his chest, he could not see her face. “I told you, I phoned my parents today to tell them about us.”
The hand playing in her hair tightened as she told him.
“He said I was useless, and that I had no self-respect or shame.” And after a thoughtful pause, “Well, I guess it’s true enough. I’m useless, because I’m in love with you.”
“Yeah, Baby,” he said caressingly, “I felt it, right there, a moment ago. And I tell you, it feels so good. And I’m okay with you being useless to all others if it means you love me.”
“You are a silly man.” She knew he was trying to ease her pain, but she could feel from the tension in his body that he was annoyed, very annoyed.
Gentle hands woke her in the gray light of early morning.
“I hate to leave you when you are so sweet and desirable,” she heard his voice close to her face, “but I need to go. Take care, my love.”
Before she could reply or even reach for him, he was gone. Bewildered, she sat up and stared at the closed door, alone again in the silence of dawn. Fear welled up in her that he had left her, dropped from her life as suddenly as he had entered it, and she rushed, barefoot, over to his room. All his things were there. Back in the apartment she saw he had even left his reading glasses behind on the piano, and her hammering heart calmed down again. Sal had gone with him, she realized over breakfast, but no one knew why or where. They had simply vanished before anyone else got up.
The weather was bad. A storm had been brewing over the ocean and now it had moved inland, bringing sleet and high winds, and grew worse as the afternoon progressed. She imagined his plane flying along the coast, buffeted by gusts, sight nearly impossible, and her beloved in it.
“What’s wrong?” Sean asked when he saw her standing, staring out the window, the coffee pot she had meant to bring to their table in her hand, forgotten.
“The storm. It’s much worse out on the water. I wish I knew what Jon and Sal are up to.”
“Don’t worry.” He took the pot from her. “Those two can take care of themselves just fine. They fight like cats and dogs, but nothing will happen to them if they’re together.”
“I remember,” Russ said suddenly, “four years ago when we were on tour in Australia and got into a sandstorm on that plane.”
“Hell, that was a real pisser!” Sean yawned. “We were flying from Sydney to Perth on the equipment plane, and man, that thing shook like a maple leaf in November. Rodney barfed, remember?” He grinned broadly. “We had been at that fabulous steak place before we left, and wham! He lost that ribeye right there on the plane. And guess, my lovely, what the Master did? He slept through it all. Never batted an eye. Woke up just before we landed, as fresh as you please, and wanted to know why we were all so green. Rodney nearly hit him. That same night we had our concert in Perth, and I swear Rodney missed more than a couple of beats. Jon made fun of him all the way back to States. So don’t worry about him. He’ll be back. I have a feeling that a little storm out there won’t keep him away from you.”
He gave her a wink and poured more coffee.
“Yes, that’s what happened,” Russ agreed. “Poor Rod. He never heard the end of it. When Jon was done with him, we took up the running gag. I don’t think he ever ate another steak after that.”
“I’ve never seen Jon mean or making fun of anyone.” Naomi picked up the plate, empty now of cake. “He would never do that. You’re making this up to put me at ease. That’s all.”
Back in the kitchen, she leaned on the counter, breathing hard and fighting exh
austion and fear. She realized she didn’t even know Jon’s or Sal’s cell phone numbers, but there was no way she was going to admit this. Russ would laugh his head off.
The unreality of the situation hit her, the isolation and timelessness of the past weeks, the many things they had not talked about, practical, day-to-day things. While sharing so much else, they had pushed away much more to make room for their own small bubble of dreams.
There was nothing she could do but wait and worry.
“Do they need more coffee?” Andrea eyed the machine doubtfully. “It’s nearly dinner time. Maybe drinks would be better now?”
“They can get drinks themselves if they want any. I’m done serving them for today.”
The apartment was cold and dark when she opened the door, the rain a constant splatter on the panes, the deck awash with foaming seawater. Despite the sandstorm tale, she was frightened. Russ and Sean didn’t know how a gale could blow over the mountains and the ocean, either of which a plane would have to cross to get from anywhere to Halmar.
For a while she sat at her desk and went through her lyrics, reading his annotations and corrections, turning her words into his song.
She remembered sending a bundle of lyrics to Los Angeles, to the manager’s address on one of the albums, and how she had wished for Jon to receive and use them. That day in Geneva was burned deep in her memory. She remembered her excitement and her mother’s cautionary words, her agonizing over what to wear and how to do her hair, and walking out of her home with her heart beating hard. She remembered seeing him there; sitting on one of the deep couches at the hotel, gazing directly at her, shining like a beacon so there was no one and nothing else anymore. He rose and took a few steps toward her, and she moved closer, mindlessly pulled toward him. The way he had looked into her eyes and at her mouth had been frightening, exciting, and altogether delicious. For a moment she had thought he was going to reach for her, but he had not. They had stood, speechless, staring at each other, the magnetism so strong it seemed to vibrate between them.
Then Sal had come.
The ringing phone woke her from her sublime reverie.
“Baby.” Her heart missed a beat. “Don’t worry. We’re on our way back.”
For a moment she couldn’t speak, still too caught up in her memories.
“Naomi?” There was worry in his voice. “Are you okay, love? We’re good, but the storm is keeping us in Oslo. We flew in an hour ago, and we’re stuck. Miss you so much.”
“Where were you?” She could hardly control her voice. “You frightened me. You can’t run away at dawn and not tell me where you’re going!”
“I’m sorry, Babe. Don’t be afraid, all is well. We’ll talk in the morning. I promise. I had to take care of something, and it’s done. I won’t ever leave you like this again. God, but I miss you. You were so sweet and warm this morning. It was so hard to get out of our bed.”
“Well then, see to it you return. And soon.” She was faint with longing.
“Will do, my love. But please, don’t sit all alone waiting for me. You are all by yourself, aren’t you? Again?” There were voices in the background, and motor noises. “Everything is fine. If we can, we’ll be back tonight. The plane is sitting here waiting for the storm to die down. I must go now, Baby. Go and look after Sean, he’ll be pining for you. Love you so much.”
“Jon!”
He was gone again. Confused but relieved to know at least where Jon and Sal were, she returned to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of bourbon from the bottle they kept for emergencies.
“Don’t drink so much of that.” Andrea took the bottle from her with a shake of her head. “It’s not good for your complexion.”
“I was so worried about them. But Jon just called.”
“Ah.” Andrea put a couple of cheese biscuits beside her glass.
That day in Geneva.
Jon had called a break, and Sal had left her before Jon had come down from the stage and chased him away.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she said carefully, from a well-kept distance. Aren’t you supposed to be preparing for the concert?”
“Oh, but I am. We are. Don’t worry.” He had jumped up and pulled her with him. “Let’s find some coffee.”
They had walked through the hallways beneath the grandstand, and at one point he had turned to her and kissed her, lingeringly and softly, her back to the whitewashed wall. Voices had drifted toward them from around corners, laughter and shouting, from the parking bay further along, the rumble of trucks as they were moved around.
“You’re going to be mine. Oh yes. I’ll do whatever I have to do, but you’re mine. I won’t let you go.” A murmured promise, a stroke of breath on her cheek.
And yet, that day, her reply had been: “That’s not how it works. I’m nobody’s own. I sent you some lyrics, but that does not make me yours.”
“Really.” He moved closer, until their bodies touched. “Tell me again. And tell me in a way to make me believe you.”
“I’m not yours,” she had repeated, battling her desire. “And I’m not going to be in your bed tonight.”
There had been surprise and delight in his eyes. “Right, my flower. Let’s do the concert and see how the night goes. Just promise me you won’t run.”
“I’m not one of your groupies or one of the girls running after you.”
And her astonishment when he had drawn back, his dark eyes serious and thoughtful, all play and flirting gone out of them.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…that’s not what I want you to think.”
Sean’s voice had echoed from somewhere down the hallway to them, and Jon had sighed.
“I don’t know what to say. When I first saw you I wanted to reach out to you. You are not one of those girls. I have a feeling there won’t be any other girls anymore. Please tell me you won’t go away.”
There he had been: the famous singer, the rocketing star of the worldwide music scene, pleading. Black mane nearly to his shoulders, dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt, holding her hand, waiting for a reply.
“I’ll stay.” Naomi had said.
She had stood at the side of the stage with Sal and Russ during the concert. The music had been so loud and insistent, it went right through her body and made her breastbone vibrate. Sal and Russ had been joking, commenting on the girls glued to the edge of the stage, screaming their heads off and reaching for Jon. From time to time he bent down to touch one hand or another, but he always stepped back again before any one of them could hold on to him. Sean, right behind him at the keyboards, had always been in close communication with him, the band around and beside him a well-tuned unit, in complete harmony with their singer and each other. They had belted out one song after the other, the huge audience singing and jumping and swaying to Jon’s music. In the short intermission after he had introduced the band and they’d played their solos, Jon had come over, grabbed her around the waist, and kissed her. This time there was a wild and heady promise in that kiss, and it left her breathless and in turmoil when he walked out again to launch into the rocking, suggestively erotic version of the “River” song they had rehearsed earlier in the afternoon.
After the show there had been a party. The band never seemed to get enough of their own playing, so they had usurped the empty ballroom of the big Geneva hotel, opened the piano, and gotten out their instruments. Jon had held her close but had never given her the feeling he was pushing her. At some point he asked Sal to order the limousine and had taken her home, making her promise to be with him again the next day, to be ready when he came to pick her up at noon.
She didn’t know where to turn with the memories that had come flooding back, thoughts and pictures she had kept under lock and key for so long they had faded like an old sepia photograph. It made her realize it was truly possible to destroy something wonderful and special simply by deciding to forget it.
For an eternity she had refused to think of those first d
ays with him, the whirlwind speed with which he had grabbed her from her life and taken her away on the tour across Europe and then back home to California where they came to rest in the big house by the sea.
Being alone at this time of night in the apartment felt strange now and reminded her of the long years she had lived like this, the first to show up in the morning, the last to go to bed at night, always by herself. She would walk into the silence of her room, sit down at her desk and most nights come up with a few lines, stare at the darkness outside and listen to the solitude that wrapped itself around her like a taunting, silky mist.
Naomi stood inside her door, missing the caress and the inviting, softly spoken words that would seduce her and tempt her and heat her blood and never let her be lonesome.
This was what it meant to have found the love of her life. She would grasp this feeling of longing and put it down in words and then put the paper down before Sean and Jon. And they would make a new song.
He no longer dressed in t-shirts and sneakers, but wore a silk shirt and a leather jacket. His hair was a lot shorter, the shoulders wider, his whole body better toned, and as he climbed out of the water-taxi with Sal on his heels he looked better to Naomi than he ever had back then.
Exhilarated to see him, angry and relieved, she shouted across the pier: “Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again, you useless punk! What were you thinking?”
Jon laughed at her as he strode forward to draw her into his arms and kiss her.
“Is that my woman, yelling at me like a fishwife at the top of her lungs? You taste good. Andrea made cinnamon rolls, I take it?”
He kissed her again, harder.
She embraced him fiercely. “Don’t do that again, or I might pick one of the others to warm my bed.”
“Oh.” Sal came up behind them. “Please. Take me. I’ve always wanted someone to shout at me like that.”
“Sorry, Sal.” Naomi released Jon. “But I’m afraid it would have to be Sean. I need sensitive men in my life. Like this one here.”
“Yeah, sure.” Sal shrugged. “I never get a chance with the quality women. Someday I’ll have to figure out why that is.”
The Distant Shore (Stone Trilogy) Page 10
