by Marcia Ware
It had been a while since Maggie had indulged in a girl’s night. They just weren’t the same without Grace. However, Maggie felt a need to finally move on. Not just with her social life, but with everything. There was a deeply held hope in her heart that she could move past the unpleasantness with Joe as well.
Finally reaching the escalator, Maggie made her way down to the next level to claim her bag. She was searching through her purse for her cell phone when something caused her to look up.
There, leaning against one of the large concrete pillars that stood between each conveyor belt, was Joe. Smiling broadly, he held in his left hand a bouquet of colorful flowers; and in his right, a crudely cut cardboard sign that simply read, “Maggie.”
Slowly, she made her way over to him. She didn’t get too close, stopping with at least a foot between them. She wanted to look serious; she wanted to be self-controlled. But her joy was unmistakable and impossible to hide. She felt as though the sides of her face were going to split from the extent of her smile.
“Okay,” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “I have two questions.”
“Fire away,” Joe replied as charmingly as he could.
“How did you steal the job of airport shuttle from Darla?”
“Don’t you think I know how to charm a pretty lady?”
“You see me smiling, don’t you?”
Joe gave her a look of surprise. “Well, well - guess we can check ‘self confidence’ off of the list of things to get Maggie for her birthday. Apparently she’s all stocked up. Alright, hot shot, what’s the other question?”
Maggie closed the distance between them slightly. Pointing at the flowers, she asked, “How in the world did you find those in the middle of winter?”
“Oh, I have my veys,” he said in a bogus German accent. She snickered as she crinkled her nose in that adorable way that always made him smile; and took the flowers from his hand. She marveled at their beauty as he continued to marvel at hers. Suddenly, she looked up at him.
“Joe,” she said softly. “What I said last week before I left was inexcusable...” Joe silenced her with a hand to her lips.
“Uh uh,” he responded. “As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing to forgive, except my own fear and stupidity. What I said to you was lame, Mags. I’m so sorry for everything.”
Joe gathered Maggie in his arms and held her close. For the briefest of moments, he felt a flash of apprehension that people might be staring at the two of them. But he remembered the insight of his mother and banished those thoughts as quickly as they came. It felt far too wonderful to hold this particular woman in his arms without any fear of what she might be thinking or feeling. Let everyone else be hanged, he thought. Maggie West was there with him because she wanted to be. That was good enough for him. They could figure everything else out along the way.
For Maggie, taking in the warmth of Joe’s embrace had, at last, washed away the final vestiges of all her pain, her insecurity and her doubt.
Joe pulled her face into his field of vision and began to kiss her slowly; first on each side of her face, then her nose. He chose to pause for a moment to gaze at her, studying her face before placing a kiss squarely on her lips. When they separated, she regarded him with a look of surprise at his newfound boldness.
“I don’t wanna let you go, Maggie,” he said in response to the questioning in her eyes. “I think we’ve got the chance to create something really amazing here. If you want to, that is.”
Maggie’s eyes became liquid with emotion as she snaked her arms around his neck. “That’s the best gift you could have ever given me. Thank you, Joe.”
They shared another hug and another kiss before retrieving Maggie’s bag from the conveyor belt and returning to Joe’s car, walking hand in hand.
The small blond woman is acting rather strangely, the airline customer service attendant thought. As the odd woman crouched within a self made fortress of unclaimed luggage wearing large black sunglasses, he figured at first she was merely hiding. Or crazy. But when she removed the glasses and pulled the binoculars from her handbag, it was clear to him that she was spying on someone…and crazy.
Periodically, she’d turn around and smile nervously at the attendant, with a look that said, ‘Pay no attention to the lady hiding in the stack of Samsonites.’
Darla held her post for a good ten minutes, relieved that Joe had actually arrived, and did so with flowers. Once she saw the look on Maggie’s face as she came down the escalator, Darla knew all she had to do is wait on a phone call from Maggie later on. Her mission was complete.
“Yes!” The attendant heard her say.
Calmly, Darla rose from her hunkered-down position, returned the binoculars back to her handbag; and with a flourish, looped her silk scarf over her head and around her neck. The attendant stood in confused awe as Darla, adjusting her sunglasses and smoothing her clothing, exited the terminal with an elegant walk, as if what she’d just done was the most normal thing in the world.
Despite the thin, fresh blanket of snow that had fallen the day before, there was an electricity in the air of Downtown Nashville that only New Year’s Eve could bring.
As was the case each year, Star Records All Star-Gala was one of the most anticipated events of the season. The mix of artists, actors, politicians and the famous-for-being-famous was a true feast for the eyes, the ears and the tabloids.
In order to fit the evenings chosen theme, The Roaring 20s, set designers were flown in from Hollywood to create elaborate art deco facades. Gangsters and gun molls served as wait staff, while security stood sentry with prop Tommy Guns along the walls. The whole affair had the look and feel of a high-class speakeasy. The stage, located at the far end of the dance floor, housed a Gershwin-esque orchestra, filling the air with the sounds of the era. It was obvious that no expense was spared.
Maggie and Darla exited their cab in front of the venue, linking arms to shield one another from the cold. Giggling like excited schoolgirls, they gave their names to a stern, heavily built man placed in charge of guarding the door. From his fedora to his spats, the man looked like he could have been an extra on the set of any gangster movie.
Catching a glimpse of herself in a window, Maggie took a moment to check and make sure that everything in her outfit was where it should be: A peacock blue silk tunic gown, with a slight ruching at the waist, draped her body. The color gave her skin a radiant glow; the sweetheart neckline gave proper shape to her full figure.
Matching, intricately beaded Christian Louboutin pumps that she found on the Internet completed her look. Her hair was ironed bone-straight and tucked behind the ear on her right side, revealing crystal and gold chandelier earrings.
“Woo hoo hoooo,” Darla said, as she unveiled her curve-hugging black halter dress from beneath her coat. “I’m tellin’ you what girl…we look good!”
Maggie smiled uncomfortably, as if she wasn’t quite sure, but Darla would not tolerate one ounce of doubt. She stood behind Maggie and held her by the shoulders. “No, no, no. You. Look. Breathtaking,” Darla said firmly, but earnestly.
“So do you, honey. I’m scared of you in that teeny-weeny dress.”
“Well, this teeny-weeny dress and I need a drink,” Darla cracked. “Somewhere in this room there’s a martini with a gorgeous man attached to it, and they’re both waiting for me.”
They stepped past the sign-in area, and for the first time, they were able to take in the whole scene.
“Mon Dieu,” Darla whispered, her French bathed in her slow, southern drawl.
“I know…right?” said an equally awed Maggie.
After a slight glance around the room, Darla said, “Alright, Sister, you might wanna see if the gorgeous Mr. Buchanan has arrived. He will pass out when he sees you!”
Maggie and Joe had discussed the party the evening he picked her up from the airport. She was surprised that he knew about it to even broach the subject, but less surprised by his admission that Sissy
had extended the invitation to him over Christmas.
Completely oblivious of the stares of admiration she was receiving, Maggie decided to make her way to one of the numerous beverage tables to get a drink and settle her nerves.
As she stood in line, she fanned herself slowly with her hand, trying to decide what it was she wanted - or rather, needed - to consume.
“Club soda, with an extra twist of lime?” said a voice from behind her. The smoothness of the sound caused Maggie’s blood to run cold. She turned around with very little enthusiasm.
“Happy New Year, Richard,” she said, her face never changing expression.
“Happy New Year, Maggie. How’ve you been?”
“You aren’t blind, you tell me,” she said, holding her arms out in order to give him the full picture.
His pride made it difficult to admit, but Richard was impressed. “If you’re living as fine as you’re looking, Baby Girl, then you’re doing quite alright.”
“You look…exactly the same,” Maggie said cautiously. She didn’t want to give him too much room.
“Thanks, I think,” he said with a slight chuckle. He turned his attention to a well endowed, twenty-something blonde. She was dressed beguilingly in a pink-on-black pinstriped vest that revealed her toned midriff, matching pants, and a pink necktie that seemed rather unfortunately trapped in her cleavage. “The lady will have a club soda, extra lime. I’ll have a Crown Royal.”
Richard paused for a moment to admire the young bartender before returning his attention to an unimpressed Maggie. Handing her the soda, he simultaneously sipped his drink, wincing at the taste of it.
“Ugh,” he choked. “Guess they’re trying to stretch the booze out by watering it down. Cheapskates.”
“You know, you can always leave, if what they have isn’t up to your standards,” Maggie said. “What, by the way, are you doing here?”
“You sure do like asking that question.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have to ask so much if you didn’t keep showing up.”
Richard laughed. “Oh yeah, that’s right. I remember you got some spunk somewhere down the line. That’s cool. I ain’t mad at ya,” he said haughtily. “But since you asked, this particular invite came from the president of the label. Your father had nothing to do with it.”
“Good for you,” she said as she tried to turn away. She lifted the crystal tumbler in his direction. “Thanks for the drink.”
“Guess it’s my version of a peace offering.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Look, Richard, I don’t wanna talk about that. It’s water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned. I’ve moved on.” An awkward silence passed between the two of them before she said, “Look, I’ve gotta go.”
Richard reached out to take hold of her hand. “What, are you trying to leave?”
“Yes dear, she’s got better ways to waste her time,” Darla said practically out of nowhere as she grabbed Maggie’s other arm.
“Darla…always a pleasure to see you,” Richard said, eying her lasciviously,
“Richard…Always fun being ogled by you,” Darla returned. “Okay Killer, time to go,” she cracked as she whisked Maggie away.
“Try and have fun without me, Richard,” Maggie yelled over her shoulder. “I’ll make sure to leave you some dessert!”
“Maggie! You are bad,” Darla exclaimed as the two women disappeared laughing into the crowd.
Richard remained cool as he sipped his drink. His irritation over her bravado made him want to knock Maggie down a peg or two. He cared less about her personal growth than he did about his own personal vindication. He returned his interest to the blonde behind the bar.
“What’s your name, sugar,” he asked.
“Brooke”, she said in a rich alto that immediately captured his attention. “Brooke with an ‘e’.”
“Well, Brooke with an ‘e’, if you don’t mind, I’d like another please. And um…” He leaned against the edge of the bar without dropping his gaze for a second. “Make it stiff…okay?” As he stared the mesmerized barmaid in the eye, he increased the wattage of his smile and upped his game. “If you don’t mind,” he said.
Returning his flirtation with a smile that indicated that he could get lucky if he phoned the number she’d placed on his drink napkin, the pretty blonde handed him his second drink. “Enjoy your evening sir,” she said sweetly. “Come back…anytime.”
Richard lingered on her confident sexuality for a number of seconds before turning his gaze back toward an exuberant Maggie. Now he was truly aggravated. What right did she have to be happy? She was the hick town, loser bar singer he picked up and polished up and made presentable to Nashville.
At least that’s how he chose to see it.
And she was gonna leave him?
A low grunt escaped his throat as the downed the second drink and straightened his tie.
No one disrespected Richard Davidson.
No one.
“Oh that felt so good! Thanks for the assist,” Maggie shouted over the din.
Stopping in her tracks, she spotted a man who, from the back, looked like Joe.
“I do believe, that’s what you came for, Darla said,” pointing in his direction just past Maggie.
Upon closer inspection, although she couldn’t see his face, Maggie could tell that it was most certainly Joe Buchanan. She took a few steps forward, suddenly halting as if someone had placed a barrier in her path. Darla ran to her side.
“What’s up, Maggie?”
Both ladies saw it at the same time; a pair of delicate hands draped over his shoulders. But before their hearts could take a tandem nosedive, they both began to laugh. The hands belonged to none other than his eldest daughter, Gwen. As she came into view, she caught sight of Maggie and immediately ran to her.
“Aunt Maggie, I am so excited to see you…I can’t tell you how excited I am to be here…you won’t believe all the people I’ve met already…its just all been so, like, exciting! And Aunt Sissy promises that tonight I’ll get to hang with Deana Timmons!”
Her entire sentence came out in one breath, causing Maggie to laugh out loud.
“Sounds…um…exciting,” said Darla, a bit taken aback.
She’s so very much her mother’s child, Maggie thought before saying aloud, “Hey, kiddo - breathe! Sounds like you’re having a really good time.”
Her efforts to focus on Gwen’s enthusiasm were thwarted, however, at the sight of Joe’s approach. Joe was never a fan of the tuxedo, despite his love of quality clothes. But his choice for the evening was nothing short of impeccable: A black single-breasted suit, a crisp white shirt and a blue tie that was perhaps one or two shades lighter than Maggie’s dress.
“Maggie,” he said. “Words fail me. You’re gorgeous…no, more than gorgeous. You’re…”
“You too,” was all Maggie was able to say.
“Maggie, it’s so good to see you,” a cheery voice cut through the din. “You look fantastic! Is that new?
There was Sissy, a vision in white Dolce and Gabbana; her hair expensively styled in a configuration that would make any sculptor proud, accented with a cluster of gardenias on the side.
“Hi Sissy, thanks. You look like a goddess yourself,” she said.
Sissy struck a pose. “Well, I like to think so,” she said as she looked at Joe and winked.
Again, Joe found himself bewildered by Sissy’s attempt at flirtation. His conversation with his mother flashed quickly through his mind, producing a kind, albeit somewhat impersonal smile. “You do look nice,” he said.
“Thanks Joe,” she said; her tone somewhat breathless with humility and appreciation.
Turning her attention to her niece, Sissy asked a still wide-eyed Gwen, “Are you ready to talk music with your hero?” Sissy pointed to a table toward the back where Deana and Charles sat sipping cocktails, surrounded by what one could only assume were an assortment of industry-types, all styled and coiffed within an inch of their lives.<
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“Seems Gwen and Deana hit it off at the big Christmas party,” Sissy said proudly. Placing her arm around Gwen, she bent down to meet the child’s field of vision. “They’re practically BFF’s now,” Sissy cooed as Gwen giggled.
“BFF’s…wow,” Darla mouthed to Maggie, forcing her and Joe to stifle a chuckle. Darla quickly turned her attention to a handsome, significantly younger man at a drink station. Maggie got the gist that that was where Darla preferred to be, and waved her off.
“Maggie, why don’t you join us?” Sissy said, her arm still gesturing toward the table.
“Why? I talk shop with those two all of the time,” she said sarcastically.
Sissy gave a slight roll of her eyes. “Not them, silly girl…” She pointed to a woman seated just to the right of the Timmonses; the true focus of the group’s conversation. “Her.”
The woman in question had an elegant ease about her: Lustrous ebony curls were piled atop her head in a way that seemed messy and organized all at the same time. The jet-black velvet of her gown, with its plunging back, coupled with her hair to bring a richness to her alabaster skin. Long fingers softly cradled a glass of white wine, which swayed ever so slightly as she gestured.
“Who is that, Aunt Maggie?” asked Gwen.
“Oh wow…that’s…” Maggie began.
“Lanie Hoyos,” said Sissy, guiding them toward the group.
“Who’s that?” asked Gwen.
“She’s kind of the boss of all of us,” Sissy said. “Definitely my boss, that’s for sure. And Maggie…I think it’s time she met you.”
Regardless of the perceived altruism, Sissy’s motives were anything but. Her primary purpose was to guide Maggie in any direction away from Joe Buchannan. In her heart of hearts, Maggie was aware; but she chose to keep her mind focused on the situation in front of her.
