“If you’d rather postpone, I understand,” Hugh said, a note of disappointment in his voice. “But I don’t have anything else on tonight, so you’re still welcome to—”
“Yes! I can still make it, if you don’t mind waiting,” she huffed as she jogged toward the subway. “I just need to run home for a few minutes first.”
“Whenever you get here is fine. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”
Delphi had already left for rehearsal, and Isobel was grateful to have the place to herself. She hurriedly shed her work clothes and threw on her favorite jeans and a clingy cashmere sweater. At the same time, she ran her voice up and down the scale, and sang through a song or two. Satisfied that she was in far better shape than the last time Hugh had heard her, she grabbed her music binder, bundled herself against the elements, and set out uptown.
Isobel was surprised to discover that the 125th Street subway station was above ground, and when she descended the stairs to the street, she was so turned around she walked a block in the wrong direction before she stopped a passerby and reoriented herself properly. A few moments later, she was ringing Hugh’s buzzer.
“Come on up!”
He was waiting for her in the doorway when she arrived on the second floor landing. She’d been so caught up in her own personal drama at the Phantom auditions, that beyond a basically agreeable physical impression, she hadn’t been able to clearly recall what he looked like. He was about six feet tall, with wavy hair so dark it was almost black, high cheekbones, and expressive brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He wore jeans and a dark green V-neck sweater, and Isobel caught a bracing whiff of citrus from his cologne.
“I made it,” she said, trying to disguise the fact that she was out of breath from only two flights of stairs.
“I’m so glad.”
He led her past a makeshift kitchen to a soundproofed room with a baby grand piano and bookshelves overflowing with all manner of musical scores. Isobel wandered over and ran her fingers over the spines.
“I guess I didn’t need to bring any music of my own. You have everything!”
“I have a lot,” he replied modestly.
“So much music. Where do you sleep?”
“This is just my studio. I coach and compose here. My apartment is a few blocks away. I share this with another pianist. Mostly it works out, although sometimes we have to jello wrestle for it.”
The thought of Hugh doing any kind of wrestling, jello or otherwise, was pretty incongruous, and she told him so.
He grinned. “You’d be surprised. Take off your coat, stay awhile. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Thanks. That would be great.”
She threw her coat on a small sofa and seated herself at the piano, where the score to Sweeney Todd lay open. She thumbed through the pages, pausing at her favorite song, “Green Finch and Linnet Bird.” She fanned her fingers out and caressed the page.
“I want this score so badly, but it’s so expensive,” she said, when Hugh returned.
“I know. But if there were ever a score worth saving up for, this is the one.” He pointed to the music. “Sing a bit for me.”
He took Isobel’s place on the bench and played the introduction. She tried not to listen to herself, concentrating instead on letting her voice soar and trill without effort. When she finished, the teakettle was whistling.
“Lovely! Just a sec.”
Hugh darted out of the room, and Isobel felt her entire body relax. The first song was always the hardest. Whatever she sang next would be easier. Hugh returned a few moments later with two steaming mugs of peppermint tea.
“You really do have a beautiful voice,” he said, setting the mugs down on a small side table. “I could tell even from the bit I heard the other day.
Isobel flushed with pride. “Thank you. The truth is, I don’t remember much about my actual singing. Just the trial of trying to get seen.”
“We’ll see if we can make that day worth your while. Do you have something else you could do for me? Something quirkier that shows your sense of humor?”
“What makes you think I have one?”
“Another song or a sense of humor?”
“You know,” she said as she flipped the pages of her binder, “I went to an audition last year where they insisted on an up-tempo and a ballad. But I had just sung a song that was somewhere in between, so I didn’t know what to offer next. And then I realized what they really wanted was character contrast.” She opened her binder to “The Secret Service” by Irving Berlin and set it on the piano. “So why don’t they just say that, like you did?”
Hugh sat down and smoothed the pages. “There are a lot of people in this business with a cursory understanding of music. You’d be amazed. Great choice, by the way.”
Relaxing even more, Isobel sang through her song, and when she finished, Hugh sat back and regarded her.
“I’m always so pleased when my instincts prove correct. You’re quite funny, you know. Would you sing in my revue? I’d be honored to have you.”
To her surprise, Isobel realized she had been enjoying herself so much that she had temporarily lost sight of the fact that there was a potential gig in the offing.
“I’d love to!”
Hugh clapped his hands together. “Brilliant! It will be you and a tenor, still to be cast, with me at the piano. Probably a total of fourteen or fifteen songs at Don’t Tell Mama.”
“What’s ‘Don’t Tell Mama,’ other than a song from Cabaret?”
Hugh laughed. “You really are new in town, aren’t you? It’s a very popular cabaret space in the theater district. We’ll do four performances, and I’ll pay you a portion of the door. I’m sorry I can’t pay you for rehearsals, but it will be good exposure for you. And a good experience as well, I hope.”
“I’m just thrilled to be working with someone as talented as you.”
“You may want to reserve judgment until you hear my songs.”
“I’ll take it on faith. You’ve already proven you have good taste.”
Hugh glanced at his watch. “Listen, I don’t suppose you’d like to grab a bite?”
Isobel felt her heart give a tiny leap. “Sure!”
Hugh stood up and closed the piano lid. “I know a wonderful little place a few blocks away. Real soul food.”
As Hugh helped Isobel on with her coat, she reflected on the irony that she was going out for soul food in Harlem, not with James, whom she knew lived there, but with a British pianist and composer who had just hired her. Sometimes, things happened in the oddest ways.
TWENTY-FIVE
James knew as soon as he and Isobel parted ways at Dove & Flight that he’d never make it to his AA meeting, which was a real problem. The temptation to stop in at his local dive was more powerful than it had been in a while. It seemed that in spite of her whole song and dance about believing in him, Isobel thought he was lying about Katrina dating Jason. Even though Jayla was the source of the information, it still came down to Isobel not trusting him, despite her protestations to the contrary.
When he emerged from the subway, he closed his eyes, counted to one hundred, and went home to get his gym bag. Working out often defused his desire for a drink. The trick was getting to the gym, because the impulse to drink didn’t always coincide with his proximity to barbells. But as he left his apartment, he felt a rush just from holding his gym bag. He would make it this time. He was strong, in control, and free of burdensome females.
Until he turned the corner and ran smack into Weight Girl.
“What are you doing lurking on the street?” he asked sharply.
“I’m not lurking. I’m coming from the gym.”
“Good. Maybe I’ll get to work out in peace this time.”
She shifted awkwardly and tugged at the ends of her red wool scarf. He suddenly had a vision of her pulling too tight and strangling herself.
“You really don’t like me, do you? Is it because I’m a girl? I’m whit
e? Or both?”
He shook his head in bewilderment. “Neither. It’s because you’re a nosy pain in the ass, and I already have plenty of those in my life. Now, if you don’t mind.” He tried to pass her, but was frustrated to find that her tiny, bird-like body was somehow blocking his way.
She folded her arms. “You don’t know me at all.”
“I know you enough.”
“Then what’s my name? I know yours.”
“You do?”
“James Cooke. I asked at the front desk. I’m Lily Rubin.”
She held out her hand in a formal greeting. He sighed and shook it as quickly as possible.
“Lily. Okay. I appreciate your entirely misplaced interest in me, but I don’t have time to talk. I really need to work out.”
“Okay. That’s all you need to say. I’ll let you go. But you got one thing wrong.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m a writer, so I find you very interesting. Ciao.” She gave a quaint little bowing gesture and moved aside to let him pass.
He was certain she noticed his hesitation, but to her credit and his surprise, she didn’t pounce. When he reached the gym, he gave in to the impulse to turn around. She was sitting on the stoop of a brownstone, her arms wrapped around her thin frame, staring straight ahead. What if she wasn’t really a Barnard student and didn’t have any place to sleep? She looked tiny and vulnerable, sitting there on the freezing stoop, and although the neighborhood wasn’t as dangerous as it once was, she was still an easy mark. He took a step toward her.
“James!”
He turned at the sound of his name and was astonished to see Isobel coming down the block from the other direction. His first thought was that she, too, had been stalking him, but then he saw that she wasn’t alone.
“I thought you had an audition,” he said.
Isobel and her friend slowed to meet him. “I did. This is Hugh. I just sang for him.”
“Yes, and she was terrific,” Hugh said.
“I’ll bet,” muttered James.
Isobel shot him a look. “I’m going to be in a revue of his original songs. You could congratulate me.”
“I could.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” said Hugh.
“This is James, my temp agent,” Isobel said.
Hugh blinked in surprise. “Really? Not sure I’d have guessed that. Well, here you are with your two employers, both in thrall to you.”
“It’s very chivalrous of you to walk Isobel to the subway,” James said.
“Oh, no.” Hugh laughed. “We’re on our way to Sylvia’s. Do you know it?”
“Um, yeah. I’ve heard of it,” James said, dripping sarcasm.
Isobel shifted awkwardly. “I’d invite you to join us, but I’d rather not mix business with business.”
“Oh, go ahead and invite me, so this time I can blow you off—” James was interrupted by a tug on his sleeve. He looked down and saw Lily at his elbow.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“What the fuck?” James stared at her, aghast. “No!”
“James!” Isobel shook her head in disbelief.
“This is Isobel and,” he gritted his teeth, “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
“Hugh.”
He hadn’t, actually, but he wanted to show the guy how little he cared, and he wanted Lily to understand that this wasn’t a social gathering.
“I’m Lily.” She smiled around at the small group.
“We, uh, work out at the same gym,” James said, pointing over his shoulder in a gesture too contorted to be illustrative.
“So, what are we talking about?” Lily asked brightly.
Isobel bristled. “We aren’t talking about anything.”
James felt his mouth working into a smile, but he suppressed it. It was almost worth Lily’s intrusion to see Isobel be out-Isobeled.
“We’re off to dinner at Sylvia’s,” Hugh said. The guy was starting to sound like a broken record.
“Oh, all of you?” Lily asked.
James immediately saw where this was going. “No, just Isobel and Hugh. I ran into them, and we should let them be off on their date.”
“It’s not a date!” Isobel said quickly. She turned to Hugh. “Is it?”
Now it was Hugh’s turn to squirm. He managed to prolong the ambiguity by shaking his head, while at the same time saying, “Indeed!” in tones that sounded exaggeratedly upper-crust.
James returned his attention to Isobel. “Well, if it isn’t a date, then maybe you’ll still consider dinner with me some other night.”
Lily clapped her hands in delighted amusement. “I know! You should take her to Simpson’s-in-the-Strand.”
Hugh threw an admiring chuckle in Lily’s direction. “Good one! This is topsy-turvy in every way.” He nudged Isobel. “Old W.S. Gilbert would appreciate the joke, don’t you think? Me taking you out for soul food and James squiring you to London?”
Isobel gave a wan smile, and James suddenly realized he must be reading the situation completely wrong. She couldn’t possibly be romantically interested in this twit. Obviously, she was only having dinner with him because he’d given her a job. Of course, James noted, the same might be said for him.
Isobel grabbed Hugh’s arm. “Let’s go. I’m starving.” She burned James with a look of unadulterated fury and dragged Hugh down the street.
James whirled on Lily. “What is wrong with you?”
She shrank back. “I was just being friendly.” He let out a strangled groan, but she pressed on. “Is Isobel one of the nosy women you were talking about?”
“Isobel is none of your business. None of my business is your business, so just butt out!”
“That was such an interesting conversation,” Lily mused. “You and Hugh were having this passive-aggressive cockfight over Isobel, who couldn’t figure out what I am to you. You like Isobel, don’t you?”
James gaped at her. This was too much.
He allowed a deep breath to inflate him like a balloon, and he brought his full mass to tower over her.
“Let’s get a few things straight. Number one, you are nothing to me. You hear that? Nothing. Just a gym gadfly who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. Number two, I am not discussing Isobel with you or introducing you to any acquaintances of mine. And number three, I am going to the gym right now, and if you follow me, I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” she asked, her defiant little nose upturned.
He thrust a forefinger at her. “I’ll have your gym membership suspended for harassment. That I can do!”
He powered his way down the block, and this time he didn’t look back.
TWENTY-SIX
Isobel had difficulty concentrating at work the next day. Her thoughts and feelings were all jumbled together, and she knew she needed to separate them into navigable piles. First, there was the double whammy of the MacBride’s debacle and Angus’s death. Then there was the argument she’d overheard between Aaron and Kit, plus James’s bizarre contention that Katrina and Jason had been dating. Aside from that, there was her successful audition for Hugh, followed by that little one-act play on the street. In the end, they never made it to Sylvia’s—she suspected Hugh felt awkward about it —so they had enjoyed a cozy Italian meal instead. It had taken a few glasses of wine to shake off the weirdness, but they’d finally relaxed, and Hugh had proven to be charming company.
She pushed away from her desk and paced into the office kitchen, where she opened the fridge, scanned the contents absent-mindedly, and slammed it shut again. She sat in one of the orange plastic chairs and spread her hands out on the Formica tabletop. Who was that little snot bugging James? He obviously wanted nothing to do with her. Isobel knew him well enough to read the signs. She had once been on the receiving end of them herself. Thankfully, their relationship had evolved beyond that first encounter.
But evolved, how, exactly? If she didn’t know better
, she’d have said James was jealous of Hugh. There was no other explanation for his rudeness. But James had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone, let alone her, while he concentrated on staying sober. Still, the possibility that a potential rival could provoke him into revealing his true feelings was intriguing.
“Is there more coffee?”
Isobel stirred from her reverie to answer Penny, who was peering doubtfully into the empty carafe.
“I don’t see any coffee that you don’t see.”
“I meant is there any more, period,” said Penny. “The box is empty.” She held up the carton of prepackaged coffee packs sitting empty next to the coffee maker.
“We should switch to single serving cups,” Isobel said.
Penny opened the cabinets, looking for another box. “I guess I’ll have to go down to supplies and see if they have more.” She paused at the door. “By the way, thanks for doing my work for me.”
“What work?”
“The plastics release. I was supposed to do it the other day, but I was out.” She pulled off her corduroy headband, examined it, and then pushed her hair back again. “Two hits. Not bad. I usually get more than that.”
“Really?” Isobel was too amused by the whiff of competitiveness seeping out from behind Penny’s saccharine smile to be insulted. “Where’d you go to school again?”
Penny smoothed her skirt. “I started at Barnard, but I transferred to Holyoke after my freshman year.”
“Too many tempting boys across the street?” Isobel wheedled. “Holyoke is pretty much a convent.”
Penny’s eyes glinted. “I grew up in the city. I decided I wanted my college experience to be elsewhere. Boys had nothing to do with it.”
Isobel sat up straight, struck by a sudden thought. “Were you at Barnard when Jason Whiteley was at Columbia?”
The question clearly took Penny by surprise, and for a moment she looked like she wasn’t sure which of several responses to offer.
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