by Marcia Ware
Chatting breezily with the men in the control area, Sissy removed the jacket with the express intention of seeing if Maggie would recognize it. And she did.
The shirt was a gift; purchased by his mother, selected by Maggie. This was no accident or coincidence. Sissy knew exactly what she was doing. In one solitary action, she’d managed to slap both Maggie and Elise at the same time. And while she could only see Maggie in silhouette, Sissy was certain Maggie felt the blow.
She did.
“Sometimes girls just get a little blue,” she said, knowing that her explanation was as lame as it sounded coming out of her. “I can do this. Let’s get back to work.”
“You know what?” Blake said. “We are so far ahead of schedule, I think we can afford to slow things down a bit. How ‘bout we knock off till tomorrow and I take you out for a great meal tonight. You pick, I pay.”
The tears that had bubbled at Maggie’s eyes began to spill over. “I don’t know if I’d be very good company, B,” she said, slowly rising to her feet. Wiping her eyes, she continued. “Seriously, let’s go. I can do this.”
Standing directly in front of her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Maggie’s smile brightened tentatively.
“Okay then,” Blake said. “Let’s take five. You stay right there and get yourself together. Uncle Blake’s gonna take care of things.”
Maggie wiped more tears from her eyes while laughing, “Please don’t call yourself ‘Uncle Blake.’ That’s so creepy.”
Blake knew his charm was having an effect. Despite his reputation as a womanizer, he’d grown sincerely fond of Maggie. He respected her abilities, but mostly, he respected her as a person. He earnestly cared about her. With a hearty chuckle, he walked back out of the room as confidently as he entered it.
Maggie sipped the now-lukewarm tea from a paper cup as she watched Blake usher everyone from the control room except Gregg, the engineer. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw Sissy attempt to resist the order to vacate. Watching Sissy move from flirtation, to authority, to outright anger was more than amusing to Maggie. It was downright satisfying. But despite her efforts Blake managed to gently take her by the arm and lead her out of the room.
For a long time Blake didn’t return. Maggie could see his shadow pacing back and forth behind the door in the front lobby; she could only surmise that he was “taking care of things” as he’d suggested.
Another fleeting memory of Grace - instructing her to do just that. Maggie could hear her best friend’s voice: I need you…to take care of things… A sad smile momentarily shadowed Maggie’s face.
Figuring the coast was clear of curious onlookers, she emerged from the booth to freshen her cup of tea. As she and Gregg engaged in conversation, she could hear bits of Blake’s rather animated exchange over the phone. Finally, the door leading to the lobby opened, and he came back.
“All right, good on ya, mate,” he said cheerfully as he flashed a winning smile in Maggie’s direction. Ignoring her questioning expression, he held up a finger to indicate that he was nearly done with his conversation.
“Fantastic. Right. See you then. Bye.” Turning his attention to Maggie, he said “Okay, love, ready to try again?”
“On one condition.”
Blake’s brow furrowed, “Okay…” he said, drawing out the word slowly.
“Tell me what it you were doing out there? What ‘things’ are you taking care of?”
“Aww, now that’s for me to know and you to find out.” He pointed in the direction of the recording booth. “After you get back to work.”
Maggie was already beginning to feel better. With a slow, skeptical turn, she returned to the recording booth. “Okay, okay. You’re the boss,” she said.
“And don’t you forget it.”
The music began again, and with her spirits buoyed, Maggie found what she needed to give the song what it needed. With each note, she could feel the life coursing through her wounded spirit. She never missed a beat, a note or a change of key.
Gregg sat in astonishment as the notes poured out of her into the microphone, and out through the speakers, directly into a part of him that few vocalists had been able to penetrate. He’d seen and heard it all too. Very little impressed him. Until Maggie West.
Muttering an obscenity, he shook his head and looked up at Blake, who stood braced against the edge of the control board. “I’m tellin’ you, Fabian,” he said in a cigarette-laden drawl. “We’re gonna have to come up with a whole new word for good. That’s how amazing this chick is.”
With the edges of his lips curled in a proprietary smile, Blake’s face took on a mystical glow. Without returning the look, he responded to Gregg’s assertion. “You got that right, buddy. You certainly got that right.”
“Blake Fabian, what on earth is all of this?”
Maggie stood at the door to the studio green room in awe. A space that was normally reserved for musicians to chat during all too brief breaks while drinking overdone coffee, had been transformed into an intimate dream. Blake had worked his magic by arranging a richly hued display of throw pillows, wall draping and candles of every size and shape on candlesticks, plates and pedestals.
To compliment this feast for the eyes were the equally warm and delicious scents of turmeric, garlic and cinnamon. As he removed silver lids from their platters, Maggie shook her head in stunned silence; her face frozen in surprise and wonder.
“Moroccan?”
“Yep.”
Throwing up her hands, she said, “Amazing what you can do with a few simple phone calls.”
Blake curled his fingers toward his face, breathed on his nails and with exaggerated nonchalance, buffed them on his shoulder.
“How did you get this together in such a short time?” she asked.
His voice took on that of a German accent as he rubbed his hands together, “Oh I have my veys.”
Suddenly, another recollection flashed across Maggie’s consciousness: Joe standing before her in the airport, sweetly clutching a handful of her favorite flowers saying the exact same thing when she asked him how he managed to find them at Christmas time.
That memory was far more painful and her smile slowly faded.
Aw, no…no, no, no!!” Blake exclaimed, fully prepared to turn on an undiluted display of pure Aussie charm. “No sad sheilas tonight. Nope, tonight is all about good food…” He took her hands in his and led her toward an assembly of plush pillows and eased her into a comfortable seating position. No sooner did he get Maggie settle, than he was up once again, grasping a bottle of Pinot Noir.
With a soft pop of the cork, he continued with the evening’s agenda. “…and good wine. I’ll just let this breathe for a moment…” He produced two wine glasses along with the breathing beverage as he slowly lowered himself to sit directly across from her, a series of silk scarves serving as the tablecloth over what was normally a weathered thrift store coffee table.
He poured the wine with one hand, while negotiating a remote control with the other. Maggie’s smile returned. She couldn’t help but be impressed. The soft, poetic strains of what she was certain was George Morgan filled the air.
“…good, classic Country tunes… and most important… good conversation. Tonight, we celebrate the completion of Phase One of what I believe is going to be one of the most magical moments in the world of music.”
Maggie’s expression was one of appreciation, and she applauded his earnest presentation. Blake placed one arm in front, and one arm behind his back and bent at the waist. “Thank you, thank you. You’re too kind.” As he dished food onto her plate, he decided to shoot directly from the hip and get straight to the heart of what was troubling her. “Start from the top,” he said. “And don’t waste my time with any of that ‘oh, I don’t wanna bore you with my drama’ crap. Not after I went through all of this for you.”
She could hear the familiar joking in his tone. But she knew it
masked the overall concern he had. So that’s what she did: Starting with her earliest memories of Grace, she gave him every detail-the good, the bad, and the too painful to bear. He listened intently, nodded appropriately, and said very little; stopping only to ask questions for clarification.
In a rare moment of transparency, Maggie poured out her soul. She cried on occasion, particularly when she approached the end of her story where she saw Sissy enter the control booth that morning wearing what Maggie was certain was the shirt that belonged to Joe.
At the story’s end, Blake sat still and thoughtfully contemplated all that he’d just heard. Taking a sip of his wine, he paused before responding. With a look of total seriousness on his face, he finally said, “So, what you’re saying is that I never had a bleedin’ chance with you?”
His attempt at levity to lighten her spirits was a huge gamble; and luckily for him, it paid off. Maggie leaned forward, her arms resting on the table. “You do realize you’ve got serious issues, right?” she asked, once again coming toe to toe with his deadpan delivery.
“The word ‘unbalanced’ has been used on more than one occasion, yes.”
“Okay. As long as were clear on that point.”
The two of them broke into laughter as she threw a small piece of bread in his direction. Dodging it, he replied, “Hey, you don’t want to get into a food fight with me. Not only would you lose, but I’m starving, and this stuff’s too good to go to waste!”
As their laughter subsided, he reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Okay, time for truth. I know you’re going to think I’m just delivering a line to get on your good side, but I’ve gotta tell ya, Maggie, you’re the real deal. Not just as a singer, or even as a songwriter - you are one of the best people I know. These past few weeks have been some of the most fun I’ve ever had. So I know that even though I’ve shamelessly hit on you all this time…”
“Shameless is a perfect word, Blake,” she cut in.
“Hush now, this is a rare moment of concession for me. I hate to lapse into the clichéd ‘you deserve someone as great, if not greater than you,’ blah, blah, blah. But, crikey, lady, someone should have snatched you up a long time ago. And I’m only willing to back off because I know you’re heart is set on this Joe bloke, who, by the way, I don’t think even remotely deserves you.”
“He’s not a bad guy, Blake,” Maggie interrupted once again. “In fact, I think if you met him, you’d like him too.”
“Fat chance!” Blake exclaimed. “No way am I gonna be friends with a rival.”
Maggie rolled her eyes, “You are not a well person.”
“Maggie…” Blake said as he smiled and brought her hand to his lips. Maggie basked in the attention as he kissed her hand.
Joe tried to process what he was witnessing between Blake and Maggie. He could see directly into the green room from the front door of the studio. He knew this was the final day of recording for her, so when her phone went directly to voice mail, he wasn’t surprised. What did surprise him, however, was that she’d not returned any of his calls. He thought that an impromptu celebratory dinner would be a great way for them to reconnect. But he could also see the décor, the candles, the food…and he could see the smile on Maggie’s face as Blake Fabian tenderly kissed her hand; never letting it go, even when he brought it to rest on the table.
The conversation was obviously one of an intimate nature - that much was hard to hide. And Sissy’s words came back to Joe:
…the man is a charmer. I can’t think of one woman on the planet who hasn’t been blindsided by that accent…
…now that she’s no longer with that attorney, it would be great to see her get out there again, ya know? To be with someone who understands her lifestyle…
“So,” Joe said softly as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I guess that’s that then.”
For a moment, he hesitated. For a moment, he considered pounding on the door and demanding an explanation.
Instead, he chose to believe what Sissy had said. A familiar ache returned to the center of Joe’s chest, the lump in his throat refusing to abate. He didn’t know much about Maggie’s world; but one of the things he loved about her was her detachment from it. She seemed unspoiled by it. He had already decided that fame and fortune were in her future, but she would be one of the few who would still be a ‘regular girl,’ with time and room in her circle for all of those she’d considered important.
Never in all the time he’d known Maggie did he even remotely consider that he would be out of that circle…until now.
Declan was dumbfounded. “Wow,” was all he could manage to say. Slowly shaking his head, he continued to munch on the remainder of his salad. The two of them were finishing their lunch in Joe’s office, when the whole story was laid out in detail.
“I guess Sissy had the whole thing down cold,” Joe said testily. “This Fabian guy walks her walk, talks her language. Maybe they are a better fit, I don’t know…”
“Um, Jose - that ‘wow’ wasn’t for Maggie and Crocodile Dundee,” Declan said. “That ‘wow’ was for you.”
The comment caught Joe off guard.
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? You just stood there outside the door and did nothing?”
“I didn’t know what to do.”
Declan shook his head again and set the plastic container that held the remnants of his salad on the desk. He stared at his friend. “Yeah, like I said - wow. In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cave this quickly. Who are you?”
With a pained expression, Joe got up from his desk and walked toward the window. Mindlessly twirling a piece of string between his index fingers, he said: “Yeah, I totally wimped out on this. I just didn’t think I could compete with that guy.”
“Listen bud,” Declan said, “I am that guy. I know what people see on the outside is pretty much how I’m judged, and I don’t fight it. I know it affords me certain liberties with the females of the world…”
“Are you trying to get me to hate you now?”
“I’m serious. You were the one who was holding out for the right girl; you weren’t into dating around. In your relationships, what few there were, you gave it everything you had, because you were hoping it would lead to somewhere with a white picket fence. But the marriage and baby thing wasn’t my scene, so, like that guy, I played the field. And it didn’t get old. Still isn’t. I like the way my cards are stacked.”
“Declan, get to the part that supposed to make me feel better. Now.”
“Okay, here it is: When I started seeing you and Maggie together, there was no, ‘this is weird,’ thing. It should have been; Maggie was, well, you know…Maggie. Like our sister. Cool hang, fun gal, easy on the eyes, but she was Maggie - the other half of the “Maggie and Grace Show.”
Joe nodded in understanding.
“But you guys have a chemistry that doesn’t happen every day,” Declan continued. “You know how to be best friends, because you’ve been working at it forever. But even though you’ve not announced anything to the world, I could see the love coming from a mile away. I’m surprised nobody’s called you two on it.”
Joe chuckled as he recalled the conversation he had with his mother over the Christmas holiday. “Is it that obvious?”
“Starving dogs in front of raw meat are more subtle.”
Joe turned from the window and regarded what Declan was saying as the latter continued. “You guys have history. You’ve been through hell and back together; those roots go deep. But if you honestly think that you weathered all the stops and starts of the last few months only to have her bail out now, just because some guy comes along…” Declan’s face took on a far away expression. “Granted, I’ve seen him. He kinda reminds me of me…”
“Deck!” Joe said with a slight irritation.
“Sorry. I was kinda messin’ with you there. Anyway, Maggie’s true blue in my opinion. You just let the big blonde
guy win by default.”
Joe leaned with his back to the window sill, running his hands through his hair the way he always did when he was trying to regain his focus. He emitted a throaty groan in exasperation.
“I think I’m in love with her, Deck,” Joe said quietly. “There was no drama with her, just easy peace. I can handle the music and the road life taking her away for periods at a time. I just can’t handle her not being around at all.”
“Then what are you waiting for,” Declan asked “Go to her. She deserves a face-to-face talk.”
Sissy had a plan. But things weren’t going according to plan. The wedge that Maggie’s career had placed between her and Joe was fortuitous, and Sissy was doing her best to capitalize on that. What Maggie thought she saw that morning in Joe’s kitchen and what Joe thought he saw between Maggie and Blake Fabian were a set of fantastic coincidences that only seemed to help said plan along. And with Sissy leading the charge at Star Records to get the promotional end of things for Maggie underway, there was no time for them to get to the heart of anything. The grueling, grass-roots endeavor that was Maggie’s radio tour took her out of town and on the road almost immediately.
This was all part of Sissy’s plan, and under normal circumstances, it would have won her a spot in that empty space the Buchanans possessed.
But it didn’t. In fact, the exact opposite was happening. And it was maddening. Her mind went back to a day in the past week when she was sitting with the children around their dinner table. She had worked hard to cook them something she thought they’d like. But there aren’t too many children that are drawn to Sissy’s sophisticated tastes.
Young Gwen tried to be diplomatic. “Aunt Sissy, it’s not that we don’t like your cooking…”
“We just don’t understand your cooking,” said Matty.
“Matty,” Gwen hissed, “Shut up! That’s not nice!”
