Naked Hope

by Rebecca E. Grant

  Chapter Eight

  Normally an early riser, Gavin awoke to the gentle probing of the sun. He slid an arm behind his head and watched a black-capped chickadee through the half-open window.

  The bird jabbered and pecked at a branch.

  No music there, he brooded, trying not to think of Olivia. The thought of his daughter made him want to roll over and forget the day altogether. Still, Olivia’s brain injuries didn’t explain why for more than a year now, he couldn’t compose. And so the last movement of the concerto they’d been writing together remained unfinished.

  He balled his fist and shoved it into a pillow. Was his music as lost as Olivia’s?

  What would become of his career? Adrienne had warned him yet again about the decline in his popularity. Album and ticket sales were slipping. The April date to premier their father-daughter concerto remained in serious jeopardy. He’d ordered his agent not to cancel the engagement, and not to cave under pressure to release it.

  Gavin eyed the chickadee as his thoughts shifted to Jillian, so inherently sensual and unaware of the fact. The soft intonation of her laugh and the character of her smile—damn, but he hadn’t expected this!

  The house phone buzzed. Gavin answered.

  “Gavin, why don’t you join us for breakfast?” his mother invited.

  Twenty minutes later, a freshly showered Gavin made his way into the sun-flooded breakfast room. “Good morning, Mother, Olivia.” He took down a mug from one of the burnished maple cabinets, and pulled out a chair at the table.

  While Edith poured coffee, Olivia stared into her bowl of oatmeal, her little face pulled tight. “I don't like this stuff,” she muttered.

  Neither of them responded.

  “Dad, I don't like this stuff.”

  “It's oatmeal, Olivia, and you do like it.” He hated the way he sounded. Remote. Weary. He turned to his mother. “I was thinking—”

  “Do not!” Olivia's hot voice raised several decibels.

  Gavin forced himself to maintain a calm outward appearance. “Yes, you do. Yesterday, I gave you some of mine with blueberries. You loved it. Eat up, now before your cereal gets cold.”

  “I don’t!” Olivia screamed, tipping the bowl of oatmeal close to the table’s edge.

  Gavin closed his eyes against the memory of Olivia at the piano, alert eyes and flying fingers as she played Beethoven’s Fur Elise as easily as if the composition were a simple scale. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to his mother. “This new school for Olivia—”

  Olivia’s bowl crashed to the floor. “No more school!” she screamed, running out of the room.

  Gavin cleaned up the spilled cereal, while Edith refilled his cup. How many tantrums does that make this week? He leaned up against the granite-topped server and stared into the hot liquid.

  “Don’t brood, dear. Let her work it out. Will you be around today?” she asked, as she sipped her coffee.

  “Planning to be. I’m anxious to hear from Ji—the institute. I don’t want to miss that. Adrienne’s calling at eleven and I may have to step out, depending on what she says.” He gave his watch an absent glance. “If the institute calls while I’m out, just have Baines reroute it to my cell, will you?”

  “Of course. But can’t Adrienne wait?”

  He shook his head. “My business with Adrienne is important.” His voice discharged sharply, hoping to keep his mother from the subject of his agent.

  Edith’s mouth tightened. “So, Adrienne calls and you jump. I should be used to that behavior after all these years.”

  He sighed and set down his coffee. The liquid sloshed across the server. “I know you’ve never liked her”

  Edith struggled against her arthritis to remove her sweater from the back of her chair.

  Gavin left the server, helped his mother adjust the sweater around her shoulders in what he hoped was more to her liking, and returned to his chair.

  “The question isn’t about liking her, Gavin. She was always such a wild little thing, getting you into trouble all the time. I never knew whether to punish you or reward you, the way you always sheltered her and took the blame for everything.” Edith adjusted her glasses and crossed her arms.

  Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “She’s a good agent—one of the best.”

  Edith toyed with the top button of her sweater. “Well, I’m opposed to her tactics, the way she parades you around in front of the press with all those women.”

  He snorted, wiped the spilled coffee with a napkin and pushed his cup aside. “The trick is an old one—all for show. And it works. As long as they’re speculating about me and what woman I’m with, they’re not focusing on Liv.”

  “Yes, and so transparent. I know, and I’m sympathetic but I’ve never quite felt she’s trustworthy”

  Gavin wheeled and swiped back his hair. “I owe her.”

  Edith’s eyebrows arched. “Still? All these years later?”

  “Yes, still. Always.” He turned away to indicate the subject was closed. After a moment, he said, “This school—I’m confident it’s the right one.”

  Edith’s eyes widened. A smile touched the corner of her mouth as she studied her son. “Very impressive.”

  Gavin sank into the chair next to his mother. “Olivia’s upset about another school but it’s time to try again, don’t you think?”

  Edith leaned forward and placed her hand over the back of his. “I believe in windows of opportunity, and this may be one of them, yes.”

  “So you liked her?” Gavin tried to cover up the grin that tweaked the corner of his mouth.

  “Whom, dear?”

  She knew perfectly well, but he played along. “Jillian. Dr. Cole.”

  Edith pushed back her chair and crossed her legs. “Actually, darling, to be quite accurate, I would say that it was you who liked her.”

  She scanned his face for a reaction. “You do like her, don’t you?”

  Gavin jumped up, filled his coffee cup. And while not his usual practice, today he added a drop of cream and a touch of sugar. He stirred the contents before meeting his mother’s gaze. “I'll go to work in the music hall now. If you need me, you know where to find me.” Cup in hand, he sauntered out of the room.

  “Brat!” his mother accused as he disappeared through the open door.

  Like her? Gavin bypassed the pianos and headed straight for the window. Looking out into the gardens, he couldn’t remember ever having his head so full of a woman. He forced himself away from the window and sat at the piano. His hands poised over the keyboard, but the familiar blank void silenced his senses like a death shroud. He left the piano, slid into one of the easy chairs, clasped his hands behind his head, and stretched out his long legs.

  At the room’s threshold, Baines cleared his throat. “A call, sir.”

  Heart pounding, Gavin jerked upright. “Yes? The institute?”

  “Your agent.”

  He flat-lined. “Thanks, Baines. I've got it.” He crossed the room and picked up the phone receiver.

  “I let the Carnegie Hall date go. I had to, Gavin.” She filled in the silence that followed with a sigh. “They’ve been pressing too hard for you to complete the concerto. Would’ve brought a lot of attention down on the child, too. I know you don’t want that right now. This isn’t a career-breaker, darling. Not to worry.”

  Maybe not, but without that date, how could he keep believing in Olivia’s comeback?

  “Unacceptable, Adrienne. I am not impressed.” Gavin clicked off, strode over to the baby grand, and whisked up Olivia’s carefully scripted work. Frustration collided in his throat. He crumpled the pages, releasing them as suddenly if they had seared his hand. They’d lost the Carnegie date. What next?

  ****

  “Dad?” Olivia’s earlier tears, forgotten. “Dad?”

  Gavin turned toward his daughter.

  She hesitated.

  Guilt stabbed at his heart. She knows I’ll be impatient because she isn’t meeting my expectatio
ns. This is what we’ve done to her, Vivienne and I—destroyed her confidence and turned her into…this…

  “Can I—come in?”

  “Of course.” Dread swept over him. How would this time be any different from the others? “You know you’re welcome in here any time.”

  Olivia skittered into the room, seated herself at the baby grand, and touched the keys. At first, her movements were hesitant but they soon gained force. Over the next several minutes, Olivia stacattoed out a tuneless sound, which in no way resembled any form of music.

  Gavin turned away, grief tightening in his chest, and strode out of the room. His phone vibrated in his pocket. “Fairfield,” he snapped.

  “Gavin, it’s Jill—Dr. Cole. I promised to inform you before anyone else.” She inhaled a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I’m not recommending Olivia for the advanced program at this time. We can offer admission into our basic program. If you choose to do that, we’ll look at her progress again in four months, at the semester change. I know this isn’t what you wanted but I urge you to see this isn’t the end. The basic program could be just the beginning for Olivia.”

  Blood pounded in his ears. He didn’t respond, waiting for her to say something else—something that would make sense. When she didn’t, he forced the words through lips that felt brittle as deadwood. “Her scores were substandard?”

  “Her scores were…borderline.”

  Gavin ran his hand across his eyes. Borderline? Liv? “Well, if she was borderline, why wouldn’t you”

  “I’m sorry, Gavin. I didn’t call to argue. I’ve made my decision.”

  Jill’s no-nonsense tone rendered him numb. “Jillian,” his voice ripped out of his throat, mottled and hoarse. “Are you keeping her out because of me?”

  She sighed. “Gavin, you refuse to see it but you are her greatest obstacle. The hope that you cling to will keep her trapped right where she is, unable to accept herself. I know you don’t want that for her and I deeply regret that I haven’t helped you accept your changed role in her life. If you are genuine in your desire to help your child, you must abandon all hope for her as a musician. If you can do that, she has a very good chance for a normal life. Please let Ross Chapman know if you’d like to pursue enrollment in a more basic program. I wish both of you nothing but the best. Good-bye, Gavin.”

  After her call, he wandered the gardens with no concept of time. His chest constricted, forcing his lungs closed. He fought to pull in large draughts of air as his thoughts tumbled one into the next. The clouds overhead opened and let out a steady drizzle but he couldn’t make himself go inside. Water collected on his clothes, his face, his hair, until in the half-moment before despair owned him, his brain seized on a handful of Jill’s words. Your hope drives an expectation… Olivia feels the pressure of your expectations… To help her, you’ll need to abandon all hope for her as a musician. The words seared his brain like a brand.

  Wet but calm, he returned to the music hall, carrying in his heart the quiet conviction to do the one thing Jill thought he couldn’t . He would release his expectations of Liv about her music. She deserved that.

  But he would never abandon his private hope. Not ever. Because Liv deserved a father who would hold hope for her. No matter how unrealistic. No matter how silent. No matter how long.

  ****

  “Oh, there you are, son!” Lawrence Fairfield boomed as Gavin took the stairs two at a time, struggling into a clean, dry shirt. “I've been looking for you. Lord, it's great to be back. I hate DC. All the hustle and political crap. Your mother says you've got news. Something about a new school for Olivia. Let's go into my study and you can bring me up to date.”

  Once inside the book-lined study, Lawrence poured a liberal amount of brandy into two snifters and handed one to his son.

  Gavin downed the brandy, poured another, and a second one for his father, as well.

  “So, what about the school, and this teacher, Cole-somebody?”

  Gavin’s jaw ticked. “Jillian Cole. But there’s no point discussing it. Olivia’s application has been declined.” His terse tone matched his mood.

  Lawrence set down his drink hard. “What do you mean, declined?”

  Gavin shrugged as a numbing sense of defeat spread from behind his eyes, across his skull, down his spine, and into his extremities. Unable to sustain eye contact, he faced one of the massive bookcases, and took another large swallow. “Rejected.”

  “Why?” The older man interrogated.

  Gavin made a three-quarter turn to face his father at the loaded sound of his voice. “Apparently, I’m the obstacle. The school decided Olivia is not emotionally prepared to handle the program because I believe one day she’ll find her music again.”

  “Nonsense.” Lawrence rumbled.

  “They did offer admission into another program—”

  Lawrence leveled his gaze on his son, “But you disagree?”

  Gavin ran a hand through his hair. “Has to be the advanced program. Anything less and she’ll be bored out of her mind, just like at the other schools.”

  Lawrence slapped his son on the back. “Something will work out, son. You go on back to work. I’ve got some phone calls to make now but we can revisit this again, later. Close the door on your way out, boy.”

  ****

  Adrienne put on her best pout when she found him slouched at the bar.

  He eyed her over the rim of his tequila—his fourth shot since arriving at the remote little sports bar and restaurant just under an hour ago.

  “You said seven o’clock—in the restaurant—where I’ve been waiting. Now I find you, sitting at the bar.” She eyed the haphazard array of empty shot glasses clustered in front of him. “And from the looks of things, you’ve been here long enough to do some damage.” She tipped her head a bit and swept him with a heavy-lidded glance. “You'll be nursing one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

  “I tell you what, Ade,” His tongue felt thick. Maybe the shots were having an effect after all. “You stick to your job, and I'll—I’ll take care of my end of things.”

  “You'd be smart to do just that,” Adrienne snapped, taking his hand. “Let’s get you away from this bar. It’s a little too public for your current condition.”

  Gavin jerked away his hand. “I’m fine here.”

  “You’re fine until someone recognizes you.”

  He glanced around. Only a half-dozen or so people sat nearby, but even a remote place like this would likely fill up as the evening progressed. “’Kay,” he agreed, stumbling behind her as she led the way to a back booth in the darkest corner of the bar. Gavin dumped his keys, phone, and drink down on the scarred table.

  Adrienne’s mouth thinned and brows lowered. “You get any work done?”

  Her gaze reminded him of a hawk He shifted and crossed his arms over his chest. “I may have.”

  Adrienne sighed and chased a coaster with her fingers. “Still blocked?

  Gavin’s head jerked.

  Her gaze narrowed. “You thought I didn’t know? When will you learn you can’t hide anything from me? I thought all that business last week with the infamous Dr. Cole would take care of things. She fixes the child and by some miracle you’re fixed, right?”

  Gavin stiffened. “Careful, Adrienne. You only think you know what you’re talking about. ‘Sides, why talk about all that.” He spread his arms wide and leaned back, allowing his gaze to settle on Adrienne’s breasts, prominently displayed in a sweater so tight it looked as though she’d had it sprayed on.

  Her right brow arched and her gaze hardened. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Knock it off, Ade. You’ve never been the nurturing kind.” He grinned.

  “No?” She tossed her hair and drummed her fingers, staring.

  He leaned forward still grinning. “You like taking prisoners. The attitude works for you. You should stick to that.”

  Adrienne slid her fingers along her neckline.

  His gaze followed
.

  She smiled and dipped two fingers under the edge of her sweater, loosening the top button, already straining under the snug fit, until it popped.

  He blinked.

  She laughed. “You see there, Gavin, this is so much more fun. I hate it when we argue. Besides, haven’t I always kept your best interests in mind”

  “And yours,” he snorted. “Mostly yours.”

  Adrienne kept talking. “…and if I wasn’t taking care of you, if I let the press get the best of you, or wasn’t effective handling the fiasco with your newest work still incomplete—”

  “We’d be over,” he snarled, his jaw ticking.

  “But, you're not really angry with me, are you darling?” she murmured, her breasts nuzzling the table top.

  “If I was, I’m not now.”

  A red lacquered lamp hung low over their table. Adrienne took her napkin and used it to protect her fingers as she unscrewed the bulb. Only the candlelight remained. She tossed her head and glanced around, her breasts rising above her low-cut bra.

  The words of an obscure poem about the way a woman’s breasts speak to a man conquering all language barriers floated back. He grinned, waiting. How far would she go?

  Adrienne leaned back and undid the bottom two buttons of her sweater. Only the middle button held her sweater together.

  Gavin tossed back his shot.

  A sly look crossed her face and she called over the waitress. “Another shot with a beer chaser for my friend here, and I’ll have a pomegranate martini.” When the waitress returned, Adrienne flipped her a fifty and winked. “Maybe this will buy us a little privacy.”

  Adrienne sipped at her martini, fingering the last button of her sweater until it sprang free exposing Adrienne’s generous breasts. “More?” she asked.

  Gavin tossed down the shot and chased it with half his beer. He rolled his shoulder and intended to say, “it’s entirely up to you,” but his words sounded more like “shup too.”

  Her eyes glittered. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She unhooked the clasp but held her bra closed with one finger.