Déjà Vu All Over Again

by Ashantay Peters

A quick knock sounded on the door then the barista stuck her head inside. “Boss, I need help. A tour busload of seniors just walked in.”

  Carlos nodded. “Be right there.” He kissed Abby, man-hugged his father, and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Let it go, Mom,” he whispered. “He’s telling the truth as he knows it.”

  She’d already figured that out. “Go get ’em, son.”

  Abby eyed Sally and Jack, quickly hugged the dogs then left out the back door.

  Jack propped one fist on a hip. “You want to discuss this difference of opinion now?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I need to re-open my store, try to catch some of the tour bus customers.” Actually, she needed time and space away from Jack. He still grabbed all the air in a room.

  “We need to talk.”

  Yep, those four words could strike fear in anyone’s heart. She nodded, unable to speak past a tight throat.

  “Soon,” he said.

  She swallowed. “Later.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “Not too much later.”

  She shook her head, stood, and left the room. As she’d feared. Her past had come back to bite her butt.

  History, usually written by victors, took on a whole new feel when the losers had their say. She’d have to listen to Jack’s side of their split, and her instincts screamed that she might not like the tale. The years of conveniently blaming Jack had ended.

  What the hell would she hear?

  She already knew she wouldn’t like the words.

  Chapter Four

  Too many lost years had passed since he’d left on tour and Sally had walked out on him—taking Carlos and sending divorce papers—but that didn’t mean she’d be less fiery.

  Damn, she could still go from calm to hot-ass mad in a blink. All that banked passion warmed his reluctant admiration as he walked to his car. Not to mention her challenging blue gaze. She still looked good. Too good.

  If he hadn’t been living in an alternate reality fueled by substance abuse back then, would he have questioned the story his father told him about Sally wanting a divorce and full custody with a settlement check instead of child support? Or had Sally lied to protect her relationship with their son? Either way, something didn’t total.

  He shook off the old hurt and reminded himself their story held more sides than a Rubik’s cube. More anger and pain than Manhattan. He’d gotten a lot of song material from their split and created a successful career, but the day of reckoning had arrived. Sally would finally have to explain why she left, and he could move on.

  Christ, he really was the emotional idiot his manager, Stuart “Mitch” Mitchell claimed. He watched Sally enter her store then pulled out of the parking space and headed for home.

  His male ancestors were dead, or he’d be making a conference call to them right now. His mother still ducked his calls, though he had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to fill him in. She’d quietly asked for reports on her grandson and never reconciled herself to long distance observance. His mother had come alive after his father had died a few years back. In fact, she’d encouraged him to make peace with Carlos then, but he’d stuck by his agreement to let his son contact him, first.

  Damn, but the Youngs kept way too many secrets. He didn’t fault his mother for not mentioning the subterfuge. It was probable she hadn’t been privy to the scheme.

  No, this mess had his grandfather’s prints all over it. The old bastard. He’d wanted to continue the dynasty, marrying Jack to his choice of bride and bringing Jack into the family business. A convenient, non-contested divorce would have been his sort of answer.

  Jack rubbed his chin. Given Sally’s reaction back there, he’d bet his left nut the old bastard had used his connections to push through a divorce, freeing Jack to live the “Young Family Way.” A lifestyle Jack had rejected without looking back.

  He and the band were in the first flush of success with everything going their way then. He should have been rocking life. Then Sally disappeared with Carlos, and his father and grandfather wouldn’t cut him slack. He’d crawled into a bottle, lost himself in drugs and later, had more women than he could count. It had taken months to comprehend that Sally wasn’t returning to him, but he’d tried making up for her absence.

  He’d used his brain along with his dick. No one would ever learn that the child pushed on him by Glynnis McKinney wasn’t his. One doctor’s report had snipped that story and Glynnis had disappeared other than an appearance once or twice during every band tour. Sure, the story circuited that he’d bought her off. What other people thought wasn’t his problem.

  His second ex-wife, Sophia, had learned the truth. Hell, he’d been upfront, told her there wouldn’t be kids but she’d thought it was preference, not medical fact. She’d left him for a mutual friend, Grant. They had three kids and the life he’d never been able to give her. C’est la vie, as she’d been fond of saying.

  He parked in his drive and watched boats bobbing on the water. Regrets sucked. Time to let that shit go.

  Ring. Damn phone. Well, whoever called had to be better than remembering the past.

  “Jack. It’s Mitch.”

  The band’s personal manager didn’t need to identify himself. Jack knew his voice almost better than his own.

  “Shit. You’d better not be calling about planning a tour. I told you. No more effing tours. I’ve had it.” He slid from the car and slammed the door.

  “Hell, man. You’re busting my chops before saying hello. What’s got your tighty whites in a twist?”

  “Whadda ya want, Mitch? Tell me you aren’t calling about a tour.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. Thinking about the past, seeing Sally again, had riled him more than he realized.

  “I want to know if you finished the final song for the album. We go into production—”

  “It’s an acoustic solo, and it’d be ready if people would stop calling. Shit or get off the pot already. I can tell by your tone you’ve got something else to say.” He let himself into the house and padded toward the kitchen.

  “Hear me out, Jack.”

  “I’ll listen, but I’m not promising anything.”

  “It’s Tommy from Steddi Eddi. He’s gotta cancel their upcoming tour. The promoter wants the Rough Cuts. Guaranteed sell-out dates. He knows it. You know it.”

  Jack groaned. He’d consider a tour for one reason only. He tucked the phone into his shoulder, grabbed a beer from the fridge and twisted it open. “What happened to Tommy?”

  “New bride. He threw his back out, probably waiting on her hand and foot. Docs are talkin’ surgery.” Mitch made a raspberry sound. “I warned Tommy his trophy wife would kill him.”

  Jack’s hand stopped with the bottle halfway to his lips. He smiled. Mitch knew how to pull him out of his moods. “I think you said she’d hurt his wallet.”

  “Same thing. Listen, Jack, this would be a good tour for you and the boys. All East Coast venues, so limited travel. Starts right before Halloween and you’ll all be home for Thanksgiving. Whadda ya say?”

  Jack took a swig and swallowed before answering. “I say I hate touring.”

  “Listen, it’s a twin bill. I’ve got this young band, Grant’s son plays bass. They remind me of you and the Cuts back in the day. All they need is a good tour to get ’em started.” Mitch paused. “You know, like the break you got?”

  Damn it. He owed Grant big time. Grant had been the headliner who’d suggested the Rough Cuts open for him. Then he helped get Jack into rehab. Mitch knew he couldn’t turn down the opportunity of helping Grant’s kid, a boy that might have been his if life had taken a different turn. Even if Grant hadn’t been a factor, giving young kids a leg up was the best reason he’d tour.

  But going out would screw up his time with Carlos. “This is not a good time. I have other plans.” Like getting my family back. “Plus we wouldn’t have long to rehearse.” He winced, pissed he’d given Mitch an opening.

  His manager pounced. “The Cuts don�
�t need much rehearsal. You can play in your sleep. Come to think of it, you already have. Hey, man, at least think about it.”

  “I’ll call the guys for a vote this time, but I’m not promising a thing.”

  A beat passed without the answer he expected from his manager. Jack lowered his beer. “What’s the real reason you called?”

  Mitch’s swallow sounded across the line. “I wanna talk to you about somethin’ personal.”

  He sipped his beer and waited.

  “We’ve been friends a long time, right?”

  Jack held his breath. This wasn’t good. He exhaled slowly. “Yeah, a long time.”

  “I’ve watched your back, you had mine.”

  What the hell? “Spit it out.”

  “Jesus H., Jack. Make it harder, will ya?” Mitch sighed. “Look, I heard you’re getting ready to do something dumb.”

  He remained silent, suspecting the direction this conversation headed.

  “You can get any woman you want. Why are you going after your old lady, your first old lady, again?”

  Jack’s stomach clenched. Hell, he shouldn’t have confided in his drummer, Tony, but they’d been friends since high school. No surprise that Mitch knew something was going on and where to ask if he needed details.

  He kept his voice level. “Sally’s not my old lady. Hasn’t been for years.”

  “I saw what she did to you, man. Walking out with the kid and no word. Sending the damn divorce papers to you on tour.”

  He shoved his bottle onto the table. “You don’t know the whole story.” I don’t know the whole story, but now I think I should’ve manned up and gone after them.

  “And you remember?” Mitch’s honking laugh sounded. “I watched you shovel in drugs and pour down the booze. When you weren’t toked out, you were passed out.”

  He replied tersely. “I showed up to the gigs.”

  “Yeah, you played like a goddamned angel, Jack. You made God cry, you were so freakin’ good. Meanwhile, every day the boys and I wondered how much longer we’d have you around. All because Sally walked out. Now you’re going back for more? Should I make you a reservation at the Betty Ford?”

  Jack tried to loosen his jaw. “You’re pissing me off. I’m telling you, you don’t know the whole story, so back off.”

  “So tell me, what are you doing? I loved Sally too. We all did. We’re behind you, but we don’t want you pulling a swan song on us.”

  He grabbed his beer bottle, moving it in circles against the table as he took a deep breath.

  “I’ll tell you right after I figure out what the hell happened.”

  “Okay, man, I get the message.” Mitch paused. “Let me know about the tour in the next two days. This can’t wait. The producer needs a band in place, pronto.”

  “Fine. E-mail me the details. I’ll call the guys this afternoon and give you an answer tomorrow morning.”

  “Thanks, Jack. This tour will be a turning point, you’ll see.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  ****

  Sally had a bad feeling about Jack’s reappearance in Carlos’s life. Well, in her life, too, to be honest. Acid churned her stomach. The thought of him playing a game with her family didn’t sit well. Being abandoned once almost destroyed her. Having him walk away again before they adapted to their new situation seemed somehow worse. So, she’d have to find a way to work with him, to allow Carlos the dad he’d always missed.

  Questions about the actions surrounding her divorce had been plaguing her since she’d seen Jack earlier today. He’d seemed so sure that she was the one who’d initiated proceedings, when she knew the papers had come from him. That’s not an event she’d forget. She wouldn’t have walked away from him, not without trying everything to save their marriage.

  Well, that was baloney. She hadn’t tried to contact Jack, had even hung up on Mitch. Hadn’t suggested counseling. Hadn’t worked to realize her dream of a solid marriage together with the love of her life. She’d crumpled with the load of being a single mother when Jack was at gigs. Combining true single motherhood with building a career, along with Jack’s burgeoning fame, had exhausted what little hope she’d had left that he’d return to her side, wanting a new start.

  She’d figured out much later that her pride had kept her from what she’d considered chasing after a man who didn’t love her. Revenge made her insist on full custody. With the Rough Cuts hitting big on their first national tour, she’d claimed his presence would distract and harm Carlos. In return, she’d eschewed child support in a move Jack’s lawyer said was a deal breaker. Jack had agreed—once again through his lawyers—to give up visitation. She’d felt vindicated at the time. Now she knew she’d been a coward. Keeping the truth from Carlos had been criminal.

  Choices. Life consisted of a series of choices made or avoided, and hers had stunk. She had the opportunity to make amends, and she’d take the chance.

  Good thing Jack had told Carlos he planned to be at his lake house until year’s end. Carlos said Jack wouldn’t tour again, even though the band hadn’t made an announcement. He’d said he wanted to spend more time with his son. If Jack went out on tour any time soon, she’d know he wasn’t sincere about connecting with Carlos. Then she could tell Jack to get lost and feel positive about her decision to cut him out of her life. What he and Carlos did was up to them though she had a sinking feeling her-their-son would walk away from Jack. And responsibility for that act would haunt her. One more ghost to carry.

  Taking potential action against Jack wasn’t the only thing that disturbed her. After learning Carlos had contacted Jack, she’d dreamed of her ex-husband, his dark chocolate brown eyes, long dark hair, and muscled arms. And his full lips that knew how and where to kiss.

  As if conjured by a memory genie, her store stereo’s random play settled on “Black Magic Woman.”

  Her thoughts turned to one special night from their marriage. She’d walked into their tiny apartment to a scene out of the Arabian Nights. Jack had created a makeshift tent stuffed with pillows mounded into a heap, scarf shaded lamps kept the lighting intimate, and incense scented the air. Santana had been playing. He’d pulled her into his arms, his desire surrounding them like a blanket.

  Carlos had been conceived that night.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, baby.”

  But he had.

  She shook her head to dislodge the memories. Jack had walked away from her and Carlos, remarried, later had fathered a child with a groupie. A woman who’d publicly threatened him with a lawsuit before he stepped up. That man, that Jack not the old one whose memory she’d clung to, held her son’s happiness in his hands. She couldn’t let a careless Jack harm her son’s future, not then, not now.

  No, she wouldn’t keep father and son apart. Carlos made his own choices. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep her eye on their reunion.

  Chapter Five

  Jack finished his calls early the next morning. The Cuts’ bass player had cemented the decision to tour. The smaller venues appealed to them, and none of the arguments Jack used for taking out a better show next year won.

  He wished he could have turned Mitch down immediately, but although many looked to him as the band’s leader, in actual fact, the group made joint decisions. Majority ruled. They’d started their career this way, and the process worked for them.

  Over time, he’d set aside his personal life for the band. Music came first. Grant was a close friend of all of theirs. This tour was a way of giving back, a practice they believed in and followed. After years of putting everyone else first, he couldn’t break the habit.

  He’d said nothing to them about his promise to Carlos, or even that they’d met, only that they’d spoken by phone. If he’d mentioned the promise he’d made about not touring this year, the vote may have differed. But why take a chance on screwing up what the band wanted when something, or someone, could take Carlos from him, again? This thing with his son was new and not a sure thing. By contrast
, the guys had stood by him all those years Carlos had been gone.

  Shit. How would he explain this change of plan, and his part in the decision, to his son? They’d been talking about taking a month-long trip together out West. Carlos wanted to see the Grand Canyon, while he had a yen to hit Yosemite, or Glacier before snow closed down The Road to the Sun. Early September now, he could still squeak out a week, maybe two, away before rehearsals started, but after that, his time would belong to the band. Any progress he’d gained would stall. Talk about screwed.

  He could hear Sally say, “I warned Carlos you’d never commit for long.”

  And she’d be partially right. Touring was the last thing he wanted. Not that she’d believe him.

  He called Mitch, relayed the decision, and sat with his phone in his hand. He had to call Carlos before the news hit. Knowing Mitch, the announcement of their substitution for Steddi Eddi had already landed on social media sites. He should have called Carlos last night, when he’d already had answers from most of the guys.

  “Collective Unconscious Café.” A young woman’s voice, instead of his son’s, caught him unprepared.

  “Carlos there?”

  “No, sorry, he’s out right now. Should be back in several hours. May I take a message?”

  “Nope, thanks.” He pulled out the card Carlos had given him and tried his cell. No answer. “This is your…Jack. Give me a call right away. It’s really important.” Not satisfied with one message, he left another at the home number and considered calling the café back. He did, leaving only his first name, no number.

  Rubbing his chin, he mulled his options. He sure as hell couldn’t raise the topic with Sally. Or could he? Nope, he’d wait for Carlos to call. He hoped he’d get the messages, soon.

  On the other hand, he needed to straighten out old misunderstandings with Sally. If he couldn’t get her to accept his role in Carlos’s life, the upcoming tour wouldn’t matter. He could tour every day for the rest of his life because he’d never have the relationship with his son that he craved.

  He pulled up the number for Good Vibes loaded into his phone. His thumb poised over the send button, he considered his rash plan once more. Then completed the call.