Making a Comeback

by Julie Blair

  “Now you’re officially part of the who’s who of Carmel.” People continued to join them, but her previous irritation melted away in light of Liz’s presence.

  “Dinner, ladies,” Roger said some time later, setting plates on the table. “And one old cab for you, your majesty.” Peggy and Roger joined them, and it felt like the many nights the four of them had dinner together. Friendship and nothing more, she reminded herself each time Liz’s voice or an accidental touch made her heart leap in a way it shouldn’t.

  “The band’s about to start,” Liz said when they’d finished second pieces of chocolate cake. “They’re moving tables to the perimeter of the patio to make a dance area. I love to dance. Teri hated to dance. Can you believe a drummer with two left feet? Do you like to dance?”

  “Yes.” The only part of these parties she liked was dancing with Roger.

  “God, I love swing,” Liz said after the band started with a Glenn Miller song. “Peggy and Roger are dancing.” After a few minutes she said, “They’re good.”

  Jac folded her arms and stretched out her legs. Her back would be sore tomorrow from too much sitting in a hard chair, but she could listen to this music all night.

  “No sitting,” Roger said several tunes later, taking her hand and pulling her up.

  “Or you,” Peg said to Liz.

  “Don’t have to twist my arm,” Liz said as they walked to the dance area.

  “I need a break,” Roger said when the song ended.

  “Me, too,” Peg said. “You and Liz stay out here, though.”

  “I’m game,” Liz said.

  Jac was about to decline when Liz took her hand. Palm to palm. A shiver went through her, and her body overruled common sense. Ten years ago was the last time she’d danced with a woman. Not a happy night. Taking the lead position she preferred, she blocked out everything but Liz and the music. She loved West Coast Swing, and Liz followed as if they’d been dancing together for years—left side pass, an underarm pass, more side passes, then a whip. Yes, Liz danced beautifully. There was the occasional touch of their legs or arms and always Liz’s hand in hers. Every point of contact was like a fire on her skin.

  “You’re a great dancer,” Liz said when the song ended. “Shall we try another?”

  Jac hesitated when the band started a slow ballad. Liz stepped into her arms, and all the feelings she’d been trying to contain exploded in a rush of fluttering in her chest. Liz’s hand on her shoulder, her cheek close enough that she felt the rapid exhalations of warm breath, their thighs and breasts touching. When Liz hummed the melody the delicate vibration of it drifted through Jac’s body, warming places that had been chilled for years. This connection couldn’t last, but she drank up the guilty pleasure of it.

  “I’ll get us water,” Liz said when they returned to the table.

  Jac’s heart was pounding and she squeezed the arms of the chair, fighting to rein in her feelings. Liz was just a one-night dance partner.

  “We never danced together.” Gwen’s deep voice.

  Damn it. Not now.

  “Looks like you got over not wanting a relationship.” She sat in Liz’s chair.

  “She’s a friend.”

  “I know your body. She’s more than a friend. I hoped we’d have another chance.”

  “I’m grateful for everything you did for me.” She wouldn’t be able to dance if not for Gwen’s talent as a physical therapist.

  “We were good together.” Gwen took her hand.

  “It was a long time ago.” Jac pushed her chair back and stood.

  “We could try again.”

  Taking Max’s harness she turned to go. “It should never have—” She bumped into someone. Citrusy, sweet perfume. Liz. No. Not this. Not tonight.

  “Hello. I’m Gwen Gallagher.”

  “Liz Randall.” Not a happy voice.

  “Jac and I are old—”

  “Excuse me.” Jac hurried toward her cottage. She wasn’t going to be part of this conversation.

  *

  Liz’s mouth fell open as she stared at Jac’s retreating figure.

  “All that beauty and talent to boot. Good luck.” Gwen shook her head and walked away.

  What was that about? No, she’d heard enough of the conversation to know what that was about. She hurried after Jac and caught up to her as she was opening her door. “Not so fast.” She followed her through the door and shut it. Hard.

  Jac took off Max’s harness and went to the kitchen.

  “Are you a lesbian?” The silence gave her the answer. “That’s a really big thing not to tell me.” All the time they’d spent together and nothing had suggested Jac was a lesbian. “Why would you keep that a secret?”

  “I don’t discuss my personal life.”

  “But everything about my life is your business?” Resentment coiled in her gut.

  “It’s not the same thing.” Jac ran her hands through her hair and pinched her temples between her palms.

  “You were involved with Gwen.”

  “We dated briefly. So long ago it hardly counts.”

  “When long ago?”

  Jac spread her hands flat on the counter. Her jaw worked and then she said, “Ten years. She was my physical therapist for my back problems.”

  “And?”

  “I wasn’t in a good place.” Jac yanked a bottle of wine from the temperature-controlled cabinet and banged it down on the tile counter. She squeezed the foil cutter around the neck of the bottle and twisted. “Things went in a direction they shouldn’t have.”

  “Seems like she still cares.”

  “I’m no more ready for a relationship now than I was then. I’m sorry you found out this way.” Jac walked from the kitchen and held out a glass of red wine. “Peace offering?”

  “I thought we were friends.” She set the glass on the bar top.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for that either.”

  Liz’s heart dropped. She considered Jac a friend. A good friend who knew her in ways no one else did. “I’ve held nothing back while you’ve shared very little. I don’t even know how you afford expensive wine.” God, had she just said that? Of course Jac’s eyebrow went up. “Friends trust each other. Friends talk about their lives.”

  “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  That was it, wasn’t it? “I don’t want a one-sided friendship. I won’t intrude in your life again.” Liz knelt and hugged Max, then walked out. The band was playing another Goodman song, and she tried to let the snappy beat dispel the sadness. In reality, she’d had nothing with Jac but a business collaboration. The truth hurt. She stood at the edge of the cliff, gazing out at the dark ocean and the barest sliver of moon.

  “I wondered where you’d gone off to,” Peggy said, joining her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What?”

  “Jac. Lesbian. I just found out that they go together in the same sentence.”

  “It wasn’t my place to tell you.”

  “Seems to be the theme tonight.” She was being petty but didn’t care.

  “You have no idea what she’s been through.” The words were heavy, not at all a reproach. “Don’t judge her too harshly.”

  “I’ve leveraged my future on her opinions. And I have no idea who she is.”

  “Yes, you do. In your heart you know.”

  They stood side by side. Music came from Jac’s. Early Miles Davis. The melancholy sounds fit the mood perfectly and brought tears to Liz’s eyes. The friendship that had become so important to her didn’t exist. “I need to go. It was a lovely party.” She headed up the walkway.

  “Don’t walk out on her. Please talk to her.”

  “This is the way she wants it.” She should have gone to her dad’s party. People who cared about her. People who were honest with her. Friends.

  *

  Friendship. Why had Jac thought she could be friends with Liz? She’d never had friends. She’d never confided in people. Until Maria
. She wasn’t making that mistake again. Anger burst from the place deep inside that never stopped hurting and then fell away like fireworks collapsing in the sky. Liz was right. She had shared much and gotten little in return. Friends trust each other. Friends talk about their lives.

  She put on Miles Davis to block out the obnoxiously peppy band, then returned to the kitchen, her thoughts in turmoil. She took a long sip of wine, then set the timer on the coffee machine and took two biscuits out of the container for Max. This day needed to end.

  Peg knocked on her door and came in. “Are you all right?”

  “How’s Liz?”

  “She wants to trust you. You don’t give her much reason to.”

  “I’ve given her more than…” Jac swallowed around the lump in her throat.

  “I know, honey.” Peg’s voice was gentle. Irritatingly gentle. “You two dance beautifully together.”

  Jac banged her knee on the corner of the cabinet as she walked out of the kitchen. “Damn it.” She rubbed it. “If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, that’s ridiculous.”

  “You can’t hide your feelings from me.”

  “Liz doesn’t want anything but friendship, and I can’t even do that well.”

  “She’s not Maria. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but you should tell her the rest of it.”

  “No!” Jac kicked a barstool. It hit the floor with a crack. Max’s nails clicked on the floor and he touched her leg. She dropped to one knee and stroked his sides, kissed his head. He’d never judge or betray her.

  “You have to trust someone, sometime.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “She’ll understand.”

  “You think I care what Liz Randall understands?” Jac pulled her shoulders back, stiff with anger.

  “Yes. I do.” Peg’s footsteps crossed the living room, hard and fast. The door slammed.

  Jac gripped the back of the recliner, dug her nails into the soft leather, then pressed her palm to her stomach. How had her carefully ordered life unraveled to the point where she was expected to explain herself to someone who was practically a stranger? She walked down the hall, Max by her side. Yes, Liz was a stranger. People she’d known a lot longer hadn’t deserved her trust.

  She undressed and went to the hot tub. To hell with anyone stupid enough to peek over the wall around her patio. Jets pounding her back, she tried to block out the band, tried not to remember how Liz felt in her arms. No. She would not be hurt again. Sweat gathered in her scalp, crawled down her face and neck. Parties. Gone. Dancing. Gone. Maria. Gone. Stephanie…Oh, God. Memories swarmed like mosquitos until she couldn’t stand it. Tears joined the trickles of sweat. She wanted Liz’s friendship. She wanted…

  Chapter Sixteen

  Liz hurried across the gravel driveway, resentment shifting to sadness and back again. Really, really big thing for Jac not to tell her. Why wouldn’t she? Why all the secrecy? It hurt to realize she’d been imagining a friendship that didn’t exist. She’d drive home tonight. Maybe her dad’s party would still be going on.

  At the end of the driveway, she stopped to empty pebbles from her sandals, bracing against the gatepost. She was in her car before she remembered the music she’d written out. Was it worth going back for? Yes. When she got back to the patio she didn’t see Peggy anywhere. Office. Couldn’t be hard to find. She’d retrieve the pages and be on her way.

  The second door she opened along the hallway was an office. She flipped on the light. Desk in the corner, manila folder on top, a sticky note with her name. The wall behind her was covered in pictures not unlike the one at her dad’s house. Family pictures. Very young Susanne and Jack with Mickey Mouse. Peggy and Jac as kids in front of a Christmas tree, two people behind them that she assumed were their parents. She stepped closer and studied another one.

  Jac in a formal gown. Hair shorter. Young. Late teens? Next to a man in a tuxedo…No. She stared. Yes, it was. Leonard Bernstein. Frail looking, but unmistakably Leonard Bernstein. Jac held a trumpet at her side. A sound like a train roared through Liz’s head.

  Her gaze darted to other pictures. She brought her hand to her chest as understanding slowly dawned. These photos had one thing in common—a tall, slender, blond woman. Wearing an evening gown in most. A full orchestra behind her in some. Holding a trumpet in many. Shaking hands with known dignitaries in a few.

  “Oh. My. God. Jacqueline Richards.” Her mouth froze in an “oh” as she moved from one photo to the next, working her way along the wall, studying each one—running the gamut of the career of Jacqueline Richards, arguably the world’s greatest classical trumpet player. When she reached the end of the wall, she clutched the doorframe and looked up. Right into Peggy’s troubled eyes.

  Peggy took the folder from her trembling fingers, led her back to the kitchen, and settled her on a barstool.

  Liz was vaguely aware of the party going on around them. “Grandma took me to see her with the San Francisco Symphony when I was in high school. She told me to pay attention because we were witnessing genius. I was transfixed.” Pieces slid into place. Jac’s hearing music like a musician. A shudder whisked through her. She was a musician all right. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “It’s complicated.” Peggy’s smile was that sad one Liz had seen before when she talked about Jac.

  She made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a gasp. “The morning I surprised you with croissants and heard the sound of a trumpet coming from Jac’s. That wasn’t a demo CD you said someone had sent her, asking for her opinion. That was her.” It had seemed odd at the time that someone would want Jac’s opinion about a classical piece. Peggy looked apologetic, and she didn’t know whether to be angry or laugh. She stared across the patio toward Jac’s. Jacqueline’s.

  “A car accident…I remember reading about it.” Liz frowned, trying to call up the memory. “Badly injured…speculation about whether she’d ever perform again. And then nothing.”

  “That sums up the last ten years,” Peggy said, her tone flat.

  “Why would she keep that from me?” Being a lesbian was the least of Jac’s secrets. Jacqueline’s.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “That’s not good enough anymore.” Liz bolted for the cottage, driven by outrage. Again, someone close to her, someone she trusted, had kept something crucial from her. I was open and honest with her, and all she’s done is lie to me. She burst through the door, not giving a damn about Jac’s precious privacy. “Jac!” Not in the kitchen or living room. Foolish. She must have had a good laugh helping the little jazz pianist. “Jac!” She marched down the hall. Bedroom door was open and she strode through. No Jac. French doors to the patio were open.

  “Did you have a good laugh at my expense?”

  “What the—Liz?” Jac. Hot tub. Naked.

  Liz retreated, bumping into the door. It banged back against a dresser. She flinched, turned around, and froze. Peggy. In the doorway. Hands on her hips. Heat sprouted everywhere and deposited what Liz was sure was flaming red on her cheeks and ears.

  Peggy took her elbow and led her back to the living room. “Sit.”

  Liz obediently dropped onto the couch and sat on the edge, hands tucked between her knees, trying to forget what she’d just seen. Peggy and Jac were talking, but their conversation was muffled behind the closed bedroom door. “Why didn’t she tell me?” ran through her mind like a ticker tape. She’d been analyzing music with one of the most brilliant musicians alive. Known for strong opinions. Check. Known as a perfectionist. Check. Known for innovative interpretations. Check. But jazz? How did that fit? And why hadn’t she gone back to performing? She looked up when she heard footsteps.

  “Do I need to stay to make sure you two work this out?” Peggy acted like she was scolding children who should have known better.

  Jac stood with her hands clasped, her light-blue sweat suit zipped up to her chin. Her face was flushed. Her mouth was a tight line. Max settled in his bed. Everyt
hing normal, but not.

  Liz nodded, but she wasn’t at all sure this could be worked out. She felt betrayed and very intimidated. All the celebrities she’d met today, and one of the biggest of them must have been laughing at her fan-girl excitement. She squeezed her hands between her knees to stop the trembling. The silence stretched. Not the usual comfortable silence between them. The bad, who’s-going-to-talk-first kind.

  Jac went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of wine, setting one on the coffee table in front of Liz before sitting in her recliner. Silence swallowed them again.

  “What do I call you?”

  “What you’ve always called me.” Jac’s voice sounded hollow and distant. More silence. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Lying to me? Again? Playing me for a fool? Having fun at my expense?”

  “You can’t possibly think that.”

  “What should I think? A world-famous classical musician slums it to help me with my little jazz—”

  “Don’t ever say that again!” Jac looked angry and sad and broken all rolled into one. “I’m proud of that album.” Jac had treated her music with respect and praise. She hadn’t faked that.

  All sorts of emotions lodged in Liz’s throat—gratitude, awe, confusion, and back to resentment. “I thought we were friends.”

  “I’m terrible at friendship, but if I ever wanted to try, it would be with you.” Jac’s smile was heartbreaking.

  “Will you tell me what happened?” Accident. Blind. Never performed again. It was going to be a sad story, but she needed to understand.

  Jac’s chest lifted with a deep breath, and then she nodded as she exhaled. Silence again, but the kind you couldn’t do anything about. It was Jac’s story to tell. Jac went to her sound system and put on Bill Evans.

  Liz was relieved when Jac sat beside her on the couch. Max lay next to Jac, his paw protectively on her bare foot. The first song was over before Jac spoke. When she did, the words seemed to come from a deep, dark place, as if dragged unwillingly into the room. Liz closed her eyes and listened, carefully, the way she’d listen to a piece of music she wanted to understand.