by Sue Lyndon
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
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Look for Jennifer Cooper’s other stories
The Hybrids Mate
An Officer and a Teacher
The Meadow
A Single Moment in Time-Jenna’s Holiday
Send me the Pillow that you Dream on
The most precious gift is not always wrapped in shiny, glittery paper.
This year Cupid delivers early.
Chapter One
My heart pounded as I pulled into the familiar driveway, but the memory of growing up there was not all wonderful. The pain of losing my mother last year to cancer and the fact that I’d be seeing Dean again, the one man who drove me absolutely insane with lust. My father called before I left my home in Chicago, to say that Dean was in town and that he wanted to see me.
Decorations—snowmen, Santa and his reindeer—were already set out; the lights tapered carefully around the house. No doubt Father had done it all by himself even though I’d scolded him for doing so in the past.
Christmas…it was the only time I came home to visit anymore. I knew I disappointed my father at times but to see the pain in his eyes face to face was practically unbearable. He never approved of my work habits and constantly talked about the family that I was missing out on. But to me, my work was my family. I didn’t need the things some women seemed to search their lives for. I wanted to achieve goals, not a gold-digging husband and ungrateful children. I’d heard the names people sometimes called me around this time of year—Scrooge, and other’s that I’d rather not repeat.
This year would be extra hard to get through; my mother always stuck up for me when my father reminded me of the things that I did not have the most women cherished. And now I had to think about seeing Dean again--my childhood sweetheart, crush and first love. Not only did I love a boy who never returned my feelings, but I craved a man who toured all around the world with his band of followers. Being a Big Band musician, he was bringing back the soulful music of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis.
Climbing out of my rented Escalade, I took a look around at the snow-covered ground. I closed my eyes and saw myself playing as a child in this very yard. My mother made snow angels with me and Dean coming to my rescue when the neighborhood kids destroyed my snowman that I had worked on for hours. Making sure each rounded part of the body was perfect and the right size.
As a child, this was my favorite time of the year. Like all children, I waited impatiently for the night that Santa would arrive—bringing gifts beyond belief. But that was then and–now no more childish imaginings that would never happen.
“Lizzie.” Cringing from the nickname my father often used, I looked up to see him coming out of the house. Kenneth Xavier had always been a man to love, with his golden heart and warm smile, but the years were not kind to him, especially after my mother died. He took her death the hardest it seemed, I grieved in my own way, throwing myself into my work. Kenneth Xavier threw himself into depression that scared me, along with his closest friends.
“Papa.” Relaxing into his warm embrace, I fought the urge to run while I still could. With a kiss on my cheek, he led me up the cobblestone driveway and into the house. The living room was adorned in Christmas décor; the tree lit, and stood high and grand as always. Soft sounds of Dean’s Christmas album played in the background, as the fire licked to life bringing warmth.
“I’m so pleased you made it. How was the drive down?” Looking around the familiar-yet not-so-much living room, I turned to look at my father.
“It was fine; the roads are getting bad though.”
He nodded, “Yeah, that’s what the forecast is showing, more snow.” My father is a man of few words. His once vibrant golden blond hair had turned silver and wrinkles outlined his time-withered face, drawing a more seriousness to his features.
“So how is everything going, Papa?” We talked as he led me to the couch, where we sat at a comfortable distance.
“Great.” His hard features turned softer. “Dean is looking forward to seeing you at the dinner tomorrow night.” He looked almost nervous at what my reaction might be to seeing my childhood sweetheart again.
“Well that’s nice. How is he?”
His eyes came alive and he smiled so genuinely that it almost broke my heart that I was asking only to satisfy him. “He’s wonderful; his band is doing monumental things with their music. I was hoping that you would come tonight with me; they are playing at The Piano Bar.”
I knew I wasn’t ready to see him yet. I had hoped to compose myself before tomorrow night. But one look into my father’s pleading eyes and I couldn’t tell him no. “Okay, do I have time for a short nap and a shower?”
“Of course, Lizzie. The show starts at seven, so you have a couple of hours to rest.” He patted my shoulder as I stood and turned for the stairs. “I’ll have Mimi bring your things up.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
Lying down on the soft mattress of my childhood room only brought unwanted memories to the forefront of my mind.
“Dean, you slime, why did you do that?” Dean’s pouty lips always had me smiling and wishing just once he would use those lips on me instead of Carly Kingman.
“Lizzie Fizzie, what is wrong with you now?” Dean gave me that innocent smile, only I knew what that particular smile meant. He appeared to be as innocent as the day he was born but underneath he was anything but.
“I know you are the one who took my bike. I wanted to go see Mike.” I knew Dean and Mike didn’t get along—more so Dean than Mike though. Mike only reacted to Dean’s hostile behavior.
“Oh, come on Lizzie. What do you want with that loser?” Pulling at my ponytail he circled me as he taunted me with the knowledge of the whereabouts of my bike.
Studying him closely, even at the age of fifteen, I knew that one day Dean Swayze would be something to reckon with. He was beautiful and had the charm and swagger of one of the greatest crooners of all times…Dean Martin. If you ask me, I think that his mother had a thing for Dean Martin—hence the name.
Dean grew up listening and studying the singer, mocking him from the way he sang down to his walk. Dean knew, even as a child, that someday his name would be in bright neon lights.
Dean’s heritage was Italian; he had the strong features, dark hair and lips that I never ceased to dream about. His light blue eyes seemed to tell a story each time I looked into them. They lit with excitement, so that you could feel his emotions each time he belted out a tune. I always seemed to melt each time I heard him sing. For my eighteenth birthday, he sang a song for me that I can still remember—each movement, each time he smiled at me, and how his face and lips formed each word. Dean’s voice took you on a journey, a story that he told so well. Send Me the Pillow That you Dream On was the best gift he could’ve given me. The following week, I left for college which made it a going away present as well. Little did I know it was the last time I would see him in person.
Chapter Two
Dean’s band packed the small Piano Bar. Luckily or unluckily—I wasn’t sure yet—my father insisted that we leave early to get a good table. Up front, there was no way in hell I could go unseen.
The lights dimmed and the band began a melody that I’d heard before: the first single that Dean came out with and made a name for himself. Soon the crowd cheered loudly and clapped, rising to their feet. I looked all around the stage…there he was.
His eyes were completely on me as he walked so casually and confidently before th
e crowd. My heart raced while I swooned over the swagger and brilliant features of Dean. No measure of time would ever erase the love I had for him.
Dean waved and played up the crowd as he smiled, bowing to his devoted fans. His eyes fell on me once more and pointing directly at me, he winked. The soft illumination from the small stage lights seemed to radiate from his eyes, bringing out the brilliant blue. I felt almost giddy with pride as he singled me out of the growing crowd of females, screaming and vying for his attention that he gave only to me.
My father rested his elbows on the table and watched him with pride, as though he was his own son. His eyes glistened when Dean began to sing.
I turned my attention back to Dean his eyes turned toward the crowd, as he smiled and played up to the roaring cheers. His crooning voice always set my heart— and other things— on fire.
After two songs, Dean brought out a stool and turned to his band, with a smile and a nod, then turned his attention back to me. My heart raced so hard that I knew that it couldn’t take much more of it. Crooking his finger to me as he bit on his bottom lip, he motioned for me to come up on the stage. He couldn’t possibly be doing this to me. But he was and when I didn’t make a move to walk up, he came to me.
“Lizzie, I have something for you.” He smiled and took my hand and in that moment, I fell completely and utterly in love with him all over again. I would have followed him anywhere at that moment.
He helped me up on the stool and turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen would you give my extra special guest here a round of applause?” The audience clapped and I could see a few jealous faces in the crowd among the many females watching. “This here is my one and only best friend, childhood sweetheart and most of all the keeper of my heart.” My head turned in slow motion; I prayed that it wasn’t just a promotional stunt and that his words were true. My brows creased as our eyes met.
I recognized the horn’s introduction to the song he’d once sung for me. I closed my eyes and the music took me back to that day.
“Send me the pillow that you dream on. So darling I can dream on it too.”
His deep tenor voice wrapped around me as I sat watching him, singing to the crowd and then to me. He walked around me and I could feel the heat from his body, taunting my silenced wants.
“I’ve waited so long for you to write me.” Dean caressed my cheek with his palm and finished the last of the song; he got down on bended knee and blew me a kiss.
The longer I watched him charm the audience and me, my vision blurred. If I didn’t get off the stage and away from him, I would make a total ass of myself. Jumping from the stool, I bowed to the audience while they gave me a round of applause, skipping past the table where my father stood proudly smiling as if he had just won the lottery. I bypassed the onslaught of hands reaching to pat my back. People wanted to talk to me, but I graciously slid by them and out the club’s front entrance.
I inhaled deeply and looked up at the clear night sky. For the first time in a long time, I wanted to cry hard for all the time that I missed with Dean and the memories that were just that now—fading memories.
Snow began to fall; the lights from the businesses lined the busy streets of New York, and blinked brightly against the stark white color of the blanket of snow. What was I going to do? Seeing Dean only brought back the feelings and desires that I had for him. Dean had a way about him that no one could comprehend or explain. People flocked to him as if he was an idol, something to be admired and treasured. But he was my treasure.
The night was busy with patrons walking about, and cars passing and honking, but I could still hear the band play on and his voice so melodic broke through my reverie. I needed to get a hold of myself and take back the control that I let slip every time I was around him. Walls crumbled, my heart warmed and my body hummed in contentment when I was with him. Since the day I’d left home for college, there had been a constant sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, from leaving him. The constant ache in my heart, led me to a broken heart and soul that could never be repaired unless Dean himself taped the broken parts back together. Only with him, could I be whole again, but I knew his music was too important to him and it would always be his first priority—always. And I couldn’t fault him for that because he was exceptional. Other people loved him, just as I did.
“You’re gonna catch a cold, kiddo.” My heart raced at the sound of his voice; a voice that I would always know and always run to. His arms came around me from behind and his face nuzzled in the crook of my neck. “What are you doing out here all by yourself, Lizzie?” His lips brushed my ear as his breath tickled the fine hairs on the back of my neck.
“I needed some fresh air,” I said, cringing from the sound of my own voice. “What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be playing.”
“Break. Would you come in and have a drink with me?” His nose traveled up and down my neck. I choked as I realized I’d been holding my breath in an anxiety-ridden breakdown. My body screamed in pain while all I wanted to do was take him home and do all the things I’d ever dreamed of doing to him.
“And disappoint your female fans? I think not,” I teased. His deep chuckle registered in my ears and I moaned from the silky tenor of it.
“Please?” He mumbled as he laid a soft kiss on my cheek. I leaned my head back against his shoulder and closed my eyes recalling the many nights had I lain awake dreaming of being in his arms again. If only he had given me a chance back then to make him see that we were perfect for each other. But he was giving me that chance now and I wouldn’t let it slip through my fingers.
“Okay.” Twirling me around, he caught me with an arm curled around my waist and led me back inside. The throng of people made it difficult for us to move, but he never loosened his hold on me.
“Let’s go back to the dressing room so that we can have privacy.” I nodded and he led me back to the room that he and his band used. Closing and locking the door, he took my hand and sat me down at the couch that looked to have seen better days.
He poured a glass of wine for me and a shot of Bourbon for himself. His glass was balanced between his palms and he twirled it back and forth, appearing to contemplate on what to say next. “I was thrilled to see you in that crowd tonight, Lizzie.”
“Well, I’m happy that I got to see you perform finally. It was nice.” He wore an overconfident smile as his eyes went back to the glass of bourbon in his hands. His smile fading behind the frown that now flawed his beautiful lips.
“I’ve missed you.” His voice dropped so low that I didn’t quite hear his words. But key words floated in my head and made it swim.
“I’ve missed you too, Dean.” I laid a hand on his bouncing knee and set down my glass. “How have you been?”
“Oh you know...different city, different night. Happy that my career has done so well but…”
I waited for him to finish and when he seemed to be struggling with his words, I helped prod him along.
“But…?” He stood and drained the caramel-colored liquor and paced, rolling his neck on his shoulders. I smiled, remembering that he’d always done it when he was nervous or stressed. I also remembered the way he touched his face when he laughed. It was a reflex for him but I adored it. His tongue would fold up over his top teeth to hide his laughter when he knew it wasn’t appropriate. All these memories seemed to play constantly in my mind since I’d been home.
“I’m not truly happy—not near what I would like to be.” I stood and walked slowly over to him, I rested a hand at his shoulder, feeling the muscles roll beneath my fingers.
“What’s wrong, Dean?”
He quickly turned to me; with a breathless gasp his hands reached for me and circled around my waist. With one arm tightly holding me to him, his other hand petted my cheek as he stared severely into my eyes that I thou
ght we might both get suspended in time. “I miss the way your bright blonde hair glistened in the sun. I miss the way your hazel eyes changed from blue to green all because of the color shirt you wore. I miss the way your body never lied, although your lips spoke nothing, telling me how you truly felt. I’m done longing for your lips to touch mine. I miss watching you squirm in embarrassment over attention.” He kissed me soft and quick. “I miss you, Lizzie.”
“I know.” His brows raised in question. His hands captured my face in a caress so loving that I thought I could die right then and be happy and fulfilled. Lowering his mouth to mine, he brushed my lips lightly at first and then more firmly. At first, it was lovely and sweet, but then it took a turn somewhere after his tongue danced along my bottom lip. The floodgates of lust and desire had opened and there was no stopping the magical moment I found myself in. I wanted him and he seemed to want me.
“Please stay for the show and I’ll take you home.” He still held me close, his lips only inches from mine and I would’ve said anything, done anything for him to kiss me again.
“Yes.” A knock on the door interrupted the kiss I knew was coming. He swore under his breath. His eyes found mine one more time before kissing me senseless.
Dean’s long lean legs took only a few strides to reach the door. I didn’t want to be the person on the other side of that door right then. “Mr. Swayze, second set.” Is about to start.”
“I’ll be there when I get there.” He shut the door on the shocked stage manager’s face and strode back to me. “Wait for me, Lizzie. Don’t leave me again.”
I searched his eyes and experienced the same pain I’d felt the day I left for college, because deep down I knew it would be the last time. “Okay.”
My father’s arm stretched over the back of my seat as we enjoyed the rest of Dean’s show. Dean’s eyes would soften as they fell back to me throughout the rest of his show.
