by Julie Blair
*
Jac took a long sip of wine, gathering her thoughts. Was Liz worthy of her trust? She deserved the truth, but what if Peg was wrong and she didn’t understand? She couldn’t bear Liz’s judgment. The rip current of guilt swirled through her, dangerous, but pointless to resist. It always took her back to that night. She gripped the cool, soft leather edge of the couch. “I was injured in a car accident on Valentine’s Day, ten years ago.” Factual. “It’s not a pretty story.” An understatement.
“That’s why it’s good we’re friends.”
She’d hurt Liz, badly, yet here she was, offering her usual kindness. Friendship she didn’t deserve. “There was a woman. Maria. My European agent’s wife. I was doing a lot of engagements and she started traveling with me. You know how exhausting it is.”
“I can’t imagine doing it alone. Your husband didn’t travel with you?”
“No.” He rarely even attended her concerts, always too busy with the business of music.
“She seduced me. The first time. After that I was equally responsible.” She waited. Liz wouldn’t approve. Would she walk out? How far were the boundaries of friendship?
“She must have been special,” Liz said, her voice gentle.
If only that were true. The rip current tightened its hold and Jac leaned forward on her elbows, trying to ease the pain building in her lower back. “For the first time in my life I knew what it was to be in love. Being with her changed everything.” She drank more wine to steady herself as emotions churned in her stomach. Only Peggy and Roger knew about the affair. “We were in Chicago. Snow. It was beautiful. I performed Hummel. I was outside myself.” They’d made love that afternoon, wild and passionate.
“I’d ordered a special dinner for us.” Maria’s favorite foods flown in from Italy. She drank from her wineglass, her hands trembling the way they had as she’d opened the champagne, anxious to toast their new future.
“I’d filed for divorce the day before. I told her I wanted her to leave her husband so we could be together.” Maria’s face frozen in surprise, the champagne flute to her lips. Surprise shifting to something else as she sipped. Something Jac hadn’t expected. Disapproval. Rejection. Something she hadn’t seen in those six months, the warmth of summer to the chill of that winter night. The best six months of her life.
“She said she wouldn’t.” Not in the plan, darling. A terrible shudder shot through her as it had that night. Shocked. Confused. Embarrassed. How had she misread things?
Memories and emotions surged through her, painful and demanding. “I left and went to a bar.” It was a tiny precipice, omission on this side and truth on the other. She backed up and came at it again. “I went to a—bar. I don’t know what I was thinking.” New guilt slid next to the old guilt and squeezed her like a corset. Liz deserved the whole truth, and she couldn’t give it to her.
“You were hurt.”
Jac shook off the understanding in Liz’s voice. There was no excuse for what she’d done that night. “On the way back to the hotel I was in an accident.” That much was true. “Broken vertebrae and ribs. Head injury.” She tossed the words out like a decoy, truths to cover the omissions. It was the best she could do.
“I’m so sorry.” Liz wrapped her arms around her.
She felt like a thief, stealing comfort she hadn’t earned, but Liz holding her felt so good. Friendship. Longing curled up from her center, and she let it have its way with her, used it to keep the guilt at bay. A word attached to the longing. Love. She was falling in love with Liz. When Liz finally let go, she could barely stay upright from the muscle spasms clamping down on her back. She went to her recliner and lowered herself carefully onto it.
“Do you have contact with Maria?”
“I haven’t seen her since that night.” For months she’d thought Maria would come to her. She’d both feared and longed for it. Now she’d traded one unrequited love for another. Max moved to his bed and she reached for him.
“If I were you I might not have said anything either. Like my not wanting to tell people about Teri. Thank you for trusting me. It doesn’t change anything.” A short laugh. “Well, maybe it does. You really like my music?”
Jac remembered that tone she’d once encouraged in everyone she met. Intimidation. Awe. Reverence. She hated the sound of it in Liz’s voice. “I love your music.”
“Thank you. Coming from—”
“Please don’t.” Another reason she hadn’t told Liz. She already sensed a subtle imbalance of authority between them because of Liz’s turning to her for help with the CD. She wanted a friend, not a fan.
“Is Winters your maiden name?”
“No. Richards is. I never took my husband’s last name.” He’d been angry, but she’d held her ground. “Winters is my mother’s maiden name. I wanted to make it hard for the press to find me. I couldn’t deal with all that after the accident.” Or now.
Liz was quiet and then asked, “Why do you blog jazz instead of classical?”
“Don’t quote me, but it’s more interesting.”
“Why didn’t you go back to performing?”
“It took a year for me to go completely blind.” A year of doctors assuring her she wouldn’t lose her sight. A year of debilitating migraines on top of the excruciating back pain. More and more days of darkening vision until one day the shadowy grayness was gone, too. Damn experts. “Longer for me to recover from the back injury.” They told her she’d never walk without a limp. “All my energy went into rehab and building a new life.”
“But you play.”
“Once in a while.” Guilt jabbed her again. Not the whole truth, but she couldn’t have that discussion tonight. She needed to take muscle relaxers and the heavy-duty pain medication, and go to bed before the back pain incapacitated her.
Liz was quiet again. Was she deciding if she wanted to be friends? Was Peg wrong that she’d understand?
“I need to be honest with you, too. I told my dad who you are.”
“What?” Her pulse skyrocketed and her back seized as she jerked up straight.
“I told him you were the Jazz Notes blogger. I’m sorry. I was upset by something he said and it just came out. I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid you’d stop helping me with the CD.”
Relief soothed the flood of adrenaline. Of course Liz couldn’t have told him her real identity. “In the scope of things, that’s a transgression worth excusing. Please don’t tell him who I am.”
“I promise. I also put your name on the album as co-producer.” A pause and then, “Does that look mean you’re amused or about to throw me out?”
Jac realized she’d raised her eyebrow, tilted her head, and crossed her arms. A look the press had labeled imperious. “Why?”
“I felt dishonest taking all the credit. I figured since no one knows you’re behind the blog, it wouldn’t do any harm. It still won’t.” She paused. “Except I broke a promise I made to you.”
“Let’s call it even.” Should she tell Liz the rest while she had this opening? Her back muscles spasmed and she slumped back against her recliner, tilting it back to ease the pain. She wasn’t up to it tonight.
“Can we be friends?”
“I’d like that.” In a few minutes Liz would be gone and the darkness would be all she had.
“Can I stay here a bit longer?”
She really needed to go to bed.
“Sorry. You’ve probably had enough of me for one—”
“Stay.” She’d have to wait to take the medications because they made her drowsy, but it was a small price to pay for more time with Liz. Two hours of talking music, some laughing, a bit of arguing as Liz’s intimidation faded, and then Liz said good night with a long hug. No sooner had Liz left than Peg came to check on her.
“I’m exhausted and my back’s bad.”
“I told you she’d understand. I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t tell her all of it.”
“
It’s a start,” Peg said after Jac shared what she told Liz.
In the bathroom she swallowed a pain pill and a muscle relaxer. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she lifted the lid on the music box Liz had given her Saturday, a thank-you for helping with the CD. “Fond Memories,” her favorite song from the album because of Liz’s solo, filled her heart with a longing she hadn’t felt since those months with Maria.
She nudged Max over with her knee and rubbed her palms over the cool sheets, then over her abdomen. Her body wanted…Her hand crept up, up, until it cupped her breast. She let out a ragged breath. Wanted…She slid her other hand lower, inside the silk pajamas. She was wet where she didn’t want to be wet. She pinched her eyes shut, but tears squeezed through as she stroked her clit, poked her fingers inside, stroked some more. Not long. No soft kisses on her throat. No tongue circling her nipple. No murmured words of love. The orgasm rippled through her, unsatisfying, and then she had nothing but the dark, and the longing.
Chapter Seventeen
Liz sat on Teri’s stool in her dad’s music room and stomped on the bass-drum pedal over and over, the vibration like a vigorous heartbeat. She needed Teri so much tonight. The CD-release party. The first show without her since college. She turned the gold band on her finger. The jeweler had polished it when she bought the new watchband last week. She tugged it over her knuckle and read the inscription that was almost worn off. Yours Forever. Teri was wearing hers when she was buried. Not forever.
“I worked hard on it, sweetie. Happy Anniversary.” It had been two days ago. No one in her family had given any indication they remembered. Jac knew, but only because she’d asked so many times this week what was wrong. Blind, but more aware than anyone she’d ever met.
Her dad popped in wearing a long-sleeved black Polo shirt, his hair parted a little unevenly, as usual. “People want to talk to you before the show.”
She rested her palms on the cool surface marked by Teri’s drumsticks. “I want her to like it.”
“You turned tragedy into triumph.”
Is that what she’d done?
“I invited reviewers from the Chron and the Merc.”
She wished he hadn’t. What if her hand cramped? What if those bad pains shot up her arm? The ones that made her back off with her left hand.
“Momentum.” He pumped his fist for emphasis.
Liz slapped the crash cymbal and the sound skittered around the space. Oscar lounged unfazed on the back of the couch, the tip of his tail swishing to some unheard rhythm.
“Come on, sunshine. Let’s give them a taste of what Randalls can do.” He held out his hand.
“I’ll be right there. Really,” she added when he frowned. She hit the bass drum one last time as the door closed. Taking four Advil from her pocket, she swallowed them with the half glass of wine she hoped would calm her nerves. She’d never been afraid before a performance. She hummed “Spring Time” for luck. Standing, she brushed wrinkles out of the gold silk pants, humming a different melody. “Carmel Sketches.” She wished Jac were going to be here.
“Showtime, Oscar.” He padded regally across the floor and rubbed against her leg, totally out of character for the aloof cat. He dashed over and jumped on top of the bass drum, then danced across the snares before scooting out the door. She covered her heart. “Thank you, sweetie.”
Walking across the street to the club, Liz held the ends of the fiery-toned scarf Teri had given her the first night of their tour. “Let’s set the jazz world on fire.” Now their dreams were barely a puff of smoke. Could she fan them back to life? The parking lot next to the restaurant was full, as were both sides of the street. Her dad’s promoting had paid off.
She wound her way through the packed club, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, answering questions. Doing what Teri had done so effortlessly. No condolences about Teri and she resented it. Had they forgotten her? Heading toward the green room behind the stage, she stopped at a table when she recognized her chiropractor. “Dr. Hammond. I’m so glad you could make it.” Her wife, Carla, stood and hugged Liz.
“Hi, Liz, and it’s Jamie, please. We wouldn’t miss this. Our friends Penni and Lori,” Jamie said, indicating the other women at the table.
After a few minutes of chatting, Liz said, “Hope you enjoy the show.” She continued winding through the crowd toward Cassie, who stood to the side of the stage, talking with a woman. Flirting, knowing Cassie. If she had to let anyone take Teri’s place, she was grateful it was Cassie. She was one of the best drummers in jazz and a longtime friend.
“You ready, girlfriend?” Cassie’s tunic and trademark headband rivaled Liz’s scarf for oranges and reds and looked rich against her mocha skin.
“I hope.” She made fists with her left hand, praying it didn’t fail her.
“I’ll get you through it.” Cassie put her arm across Liz’s shoulders and squeezed. “Wow, haven’t seen her around before. I’d remember.”
Liz followed Cassie’s gaze toward the entrance. Jac. She blinked. Yes. Sandwiched between Peggy and Roger. “That’s my friend, Jac Winters,” she said, hurrying toward her. God, she was happy to see her.
“Album co-producer Jac? You didn’t tell me she was gorgeous.”
Liz couldn’t take her eyes off Jac. She looked like a mirage in silvery-blue crepe pants, white tuxedo-front shirt, and lacy white vest. Elegant. She was really here. Her chest loosened with each step closer. Peggy smiled broadly as they approached.
“Hi, I’m Cassie.” She extended her hand toward Jac, then withdrew it, apparently realizing Jac was blind. She shot Liz a quizzical look.
“Cassie, these are my friends Peggy, Roger, and Jac.”
“Cassie James of The Cassie James Band,” Jac said. “Your last album was impressive.”
Cassie’s sunny personality rippled through her laugh. “Thank you.”
“Carl Randall,” her dad said, joining them. “You must be Peggy and Roger. I reserved a table up front for you.” He appraised Jac before saying, “And this must be the famous record producer.”
“I need to borrow Jac for a minute.” Liz took Jac’s arm and steered her around the edge of the crowd. “We’re at the bar. Stool in front of you. Red or white?”
“Cab.” Jac didn’t sit.
Liz felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. Kevin. “Good luck, sis.” He kissed her cheek.
“Kev, this is my friend Jac.”
“I hear you’re quite the wine expert. Let me see if I can impress you.” He went behind the bar and poured two glasses.
“You have excellent taste,” Jac said, after sipping it.
“I’ll have it sent to your table,” Kevin said, drinking most of his glass.
“How are you holding up?” Jac set the glass on the bar.
“Better. I’m so glad you changed your mind.”
“Had to practice this friend thing. How am I doing?” Jac’s face softened into an expectant smile.
“The best.”
Jac took Liz’s left hand and put something on her palm before sandwiching it between her hands. “I wore this for luck when I performed. You don’t have to wear it. Just put it in your pocket.”
Liz opened her hand. A gold musical note on a delicate chain. “Put it on for me?” She lifted her hair, and Jac hooked it inside her collar. “Thank you.” She put her palm over where it lay against her chest as she stared at the blue eyes, wishing they could see what she couldn’t say. She gripped Jac’s hand, suddenly dizzy, as the past swarmed around her—a different club, a different audience. The last time she’d been onstage. Teri squeezing her hand before stepping away to the drums. Smiling at her before tapping her sticks together and setting them off. She’d be on her own for—
“It’s all right, Liz.”
She hadn’t realized she’d made a sound. Her throat hurt like she’d swallowed a knife. Wrong. Everything was wrong.
“Liz.” Quietly commanding.
Liz took the glass Jac put in her hand, forced
wine down her throat. Fear ricocheted through her like lightning.
“You put my name on it. You’re not alone.”
Liz’s heart did a roller-coaster loop, and when it landed she was able to take a deep breath. Not alone. Before she could stop herself she hugged Jac. To her surprise Jac hugged her back. She absorbed the strength and support she desperately needed. Not alone.
“Ready?” Cassie touched her back.
“Yes.” She kissed Jac’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Liz made fists with her left hand as she stood to the side of the stage between Sammy and Regan. Sammy looked relaxed, as always, in his retro fifties-style shirt, fingering his sax. Regan, in tight black jeans and T-shirt, adjusted the strap on her bass and shifted her weight back and forth on her black Converse tennis shoes. She should offer them words of encouragement, but she had none. She felt like she was about to step out of a plane, and she had no idea if her parachute would open.
Her dad stepped to the center mic. “Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for joining us. Jazz on the Side is proud to be the home of Up Beat. Tonight we’re celebrating the release of their new album Up Beat Live in New York. I’m also proud to announce that they will be performing at the Monterey Jazz Festival in September.”
Liz walked to the piano on unsteady legs. Sitting, she pulled the mic toward her. “We’re thrilled to share this special night with you. We’d like to start with ‘Fond Memories.’” She shifted on the seat and pumped the sustain pedal, trying to gather herself. She looked toward the audience. She couldn’t see Jac, but she was out there. Not alone.
She nodded to Cassie, who counted them down. She and Jac had decided to put this song first because it was her longest solo and her hand would be fresh. It hurt, but she dropped into that place where nothing existed but the music—no past to mourn, no future to worry about, just the present moment and the sound springing from the piano. She sent notes flying through her fingers—playing and playing and playing before withdrawing and letting Sammy’s wailing sax pick up the solo. She was vaguely aware of clapping and whistles, but she was too deeply inside the music to care. This was what she loved best in the world.
