“Can’t spare the time.” Judd cinched a tie up under his collar.
She met his gaze in the mirror. “How do you exist being constantly indoors? You even run on an indoor track.”
“I’m used to staying inside, I guess. But I worry about Rachel sometimes. Kids need fresh air. That’s why we live here, across from the park. When she was younger I had a nanny who would take her there a lot. Now she’s getting a little old for that, but not old enough to go by herself.”
“And you don’t go with her?”
He sighed and glanced down, adjusting cuffs that didn’t need it. “The business gets more demanding every day.”
Before he’d lowered his gaze, she’d glimpsed the conflict in his eyes. It couldn’t be easy juggling the demands of his job with the obligations of a single father. He needed help, either on the job or with Rachel, but he wasn’t the sort of man to ask for help. “I understand,” she said gently, touching his arm.
He shot her a look of such yearning that she was taken aback. Then the buzzer rang, indicating Zorba had arrived to take him to the office, and he quickly composed his expression. “See you tonight,” he said, giving her a quick, fierce kiss before he left the room.
She stared after him, remembering how he’d serenaded her on the saxophone the night before and how relaxed and sure he’d been for a little while afterward, as he’d loved her. For that brief time he’d seemed to be living fully, instead of carefully weighing the consequences of his behavior.
As she put the finishing touches on her makeup, she thought about the glimpses she’d caught of Judd’s unrestrained nature. The first was finding him on her porch with his socks off. Then he’d taken the risk of making love to her, even going so far as to march fully clothed into the shower. Then last night in the limo he’d secretly loved her, and then immersed himself in playing the sax for her.
She brought out that side of him apparently. But what happened when she wasn’t around? It seemed obvious that he usually denied his unbridled instincts, instincts that were a true expression of his soul.
The buzzer sounded again. Zorba had deposited Judd at the studio in record time as usual, and he was back to pick her up. The pace of life here made Kerry’s head ache. She and Judd had decided arriving together each morning would only feed the rumor mill, so Zorba made two trips as if he was picking Kerry up at her hotel.
She hurried downstairs and out into the steam-iron morning. Zorba held the door of the limo for her.
“Can I ride up front with you this time?” she asked.
He looked surprised, but he closed the back door and opened the front passenger door. “If you want.”
As they pulled away from the curb, she turned and studied his strong Greek profile and steel gray hair. “I appreciate how discreet you’ve been about this arrangement between Judd and me.”
“You’re welcome.”
She smiled at the courtly way he acknowledged her gratitude. “Judd really trusts you, Zorba.”
He nodded.
She could tell he wouldn’t offer information, so she took a more aggressive approach. “How long have you known him?”
“Twelve years.”
“You’ve been driving for him that long?”
Zorba shook his head. “I had a little boat dock on the coast of Maine. Taught Judd and Steve how to sail. Sold Steve his first boat.”
“Then you were around when…” She couldn’t bring herself to complete the sentence.
“Yes.”
“Tell me what happened, Zorba. I need to know.”
He slowed the limo. “Steve was the wild one of the two. Judd had his moments, but Steve loved to test the limits. I told him not to take the boat out that day, but he called me an old woman. I led the search party, and I…found them.”
Kerry shuddered. “Judd was part of the search party.”
“He was like a crazy person. I thought he’d kill himself trying to find them, until I reminded him about Rachel. Then he pulled back.”
And he’s still pulling back, Kerry thought.
“Not long after, I sold the dock, the rental boats, everything. I just didn’t enjoy the business anymore. Judd offered me a job, and I took it.”
Kerry took a deep, quivering breath. “Thank you for telling me.”
“And now let me ask you something. Do you care about him?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“I think he needs someone, someone to make him laugh and be a little crazy again. To take risks. Not the kind of risk his brother took with the boat. Emotional risks.”
“I think we’re both doing some of that emotional risk taking right now.”
“But I thought you wanted to be a star.”
“I do.”
He stared out the windshield. “When that happens, if it happens, what then?”
“I—I don’t know.” She realized they were sitting at the curb outside the building housing Lighthouse Records, had been sitting there for some time. “We’re both in the entertainment business, so I suppose we can just—”
“Don’t forget he has a daughter.”
“What are you saying?”
Zorba gazed at her, his dark eyes intense. “I’m saying that she figures into everything. Don’t expect him to be your jet-setting lover, because he can’t be that. He’s told me he’s avoided getting involved with recording stars for just that reason. Why he’s made an exception with you, I have no idea.”
Kerry returned his gaze as the puzzle he’d posed slowly settled over her. Then she blanched when the only possible answer flashed through her mind as if etched by a laser beam. He’s made an exception because he doesn’t think I’ll make it.
13
CENTRAL PARK LAY like a giant cake frosted in green surrounded by a protective ring of granite skyscrapers. The dense foliage cushioned the noise of traffic. The laughter of children and the clip-clop of a horse pulling a carriage brought a smile to Kerry’s face as she wandered along a path. People did stroll in Central Park, as if they’d checked their ambitions and worries at some imaginary gate before stepping onto the welcoming grass.
She had no map, and the park covered far more acres than she’d at first imagined, but instinct guided her to a small lake. The sight of a body of water, even if there were no tides, foghorns or gulls, calmed her. She’d heard that somewhere in the park rowboats could be rented. One day she’d try that, although a rowboat on a lake wouldn’t take the place of sailing the Leprechaun II.
She’d stuffed a stale crust from the bread box in Judd’s kitchen into her skirt pocket, just in case she encountered ducks or pigeons. As she walked to the water’s edge, a flotilla of mallards in a V-formation arrowed through the water toward her. Breaking the bread into small chunks, she tossed it out. The ducks broke formation and paddled after the food, the green necks of the males iridescent in the sunlight as they dived for pieces of bread.
As Kerry fed the ducks, the tension eased from between her shoulder blades. If she lived in New York, she’d come here every morning to feed the ducks, just as she’d gone on the beach every morning in Eternity. But perhaps she wouldn’t live in New York. Perhaps her talent just wasn’t good enough.
Judd’s belief in her coupled with her own determination had carried her this far. But Zorba had a legitimate point, and he spoke from years of experience with Judd. In his own gruff way, Zorba had been warning her, and with apparent good reason. If Judd had declared recording stars off-limits because of his obligation to his daughter, why had he made an exception in Kerry’s case?
She dusted bread crumbs from her hands. Maybe Judd couldn’t help himself. Without Rachel in New York, he’d allowed passion to overrule good sense. But Rachel would come back. Perhaps Judd’s awareness of that had kept him from making any personal commitment to her.
For he hadn’t, of course. Kerry meandered beside the lake as she replayed all her encounters with Judd. They’d enjoyed each other with gusto, but there’d been no pillow talk about a future together, no d
eclarations of love.
Any way Kerry looked at the situation, their glorious affair seemed doomed. If she became a success, Judd would drop her the minute Rachel returned. If she failed—even if that prompted a commitment from Judd—she couldn’t imagine remaining with him. She’d be reminded every day that he moved in a world she didn’t have the talent to enter.
They had to talk. Perhaps he wouldn’t care to answer the questions she’d ask him, but even his silence would tell her what she needed to know. Her mother used to say, “If you don’t want to see the dirt, don’t lift up the rug.” But her mother never allowed dirt to collect under rugs, and she’d raised her six children the same way. Tonight Kerry would talk to Judd.
She’d reached the far end of the lake by the time she came to that conclusion. Perspiration dampened her blouse, and she lifted her hair away from the nape of her neck. But she didn’t mind the heat so much here, where she could enjoy the dappled shadows of trees and the sparkle of sun on the water.
She couldn’t imagine why all New Yorkers didn’t visit the park at least once a day for a walk or a picnic. Except they, like Judd, were too busy. She wondered if she’d ever become too busy. Or too famous. She’d read the complaints of stars who said they weren’t free to live a normal life, and she’d laughed. Who would want a normal life when you could have fame? But if she couldn’t even walk through a park like this, if…
She paused and listened. Somewhere nearby a woman was singing. Kerry caught the last line, “Safe in your arms forevermore,” and the woman’s song ended. Kerry’s skin prickled, as if a soft breeze had touched it, yet the air was still.
A child giggled and applauded. “’Gain, Bevin!”
Bevin obliged.
Kerry had left the path and moved toward the song almost before she realized what she was doing. She knew that song. Or at least she thought she did. She couldn’t think where she’d heard it, but somehow the melody reminded her of Eternity. Maybe her mother had sung it long ago. Yet the words weren’t familiar.
Her low heels sank into the soft grass as she climbed a small rise. On the other side, in the shade of a towering elm, a young woman sat on a red-checkered tablecloth with a towheaded girl of about four sprawled on her stomach, her chin propped on her hands as she listened, her gaze fastened on the young woman’s face.
The woman was dressed in a blue cotton skirt and white sleeveless blouse, her brown hair pulled up into a ponytail on the left side of her head. Her voice was untrained, but clear and sweet. The melody taunted Kerry with a memory she couldn’t place. But as she listened, she could smell the salt air of Eternity and hear the splash of waves on the sand.
“Tides that call me, sails that swell,” the young woman sang, “and I must rove, to love you well.”
The little girl caught sight of Kerry and started to say something. Kerry put a finger to her lips, but it was too late. The young woman had noticed the child’s change in expression and stopped singing. She turned and glanced uncertainly at Kerry.
“I’m sorry to disturb you.” Kerry walked down the hillside toward the pair. “But that song seems so familiar to me. What is it?”
“It’s called ‘The Beacon,’” the woman replied in a faint brogue. “My grandmother used to sing it in Gaelic, but Tiffany doesn’t understand that, so I’m teaching her the English translation.”
Tiffany had scrambled to her feet as they talked. “My Bevin sings real good,” she announced. She had a smear of grape jelly on her cheek.
“Yes, she does,” Kerry agreed. She opened her purse and rummaged for a piece of paper. All she found was a napkin left over from the deli sandwich she’d ordered for lunch. “Could you tell me the words, please, Bevin? And teach me the tune?”
Bevin glanced at her watch. “I have to be getting Tiffany back soon. Her mother wants her dressed for dinner by half-past four, because they’ll be going out.”
“I’m a fast learner,” Kerry said, unsure why she had such a desperate need to capture this song. It was old-fashioned, a folk tune of unknown origin—not at all the sort of thing she usually sang. Yet she wanted to feel the shape of the words in her mouth, the melody rising from her throat. Maybe it was nothing more than homesickness, because the song evoked Eternity so strongly for her.
“I’ll tell you while Tiffany and I fold up the tablecloth and get ready,” Bevin said. “I can’t be late. Once before I kept Tiffany in the park overtime, and her mother nearly let me go.”
“I never want Bevin to go,” Tiffany declared, her hands on her hips.
“Then just sing the song slowly,” Kerry said, “and I’ll write the words down. I can probably remember the tune.”
Bevin cleared her throat and began singing as she moved the cooler and picked up a corner of the tablecloth. “You’ve set me free, to find my way…”
Kerry held the napkin against the side of her purse and scribbled furiously without looking up. Once or twice she anticipated the next line and was right. Had she heard this before?
Bevin finished the song and picked up the cooler with the tablecloth folded on top. “Got it?”
Kerry hurried through the last sentence of the final verse. “I think so.”
“I have time for you to sing it back to me, if you want.”
“Okay.” Holding the napkin, Kerry began. The key was perfect for her. She grew more confident as she finished the first verse and, when she came to the refrain, found herself projecting as if to reach across the footlights.
“Shine for me through tempest’s wrath, shine for me through blackest night,” she sang, her voice rising with the swelling melody. “Show to me the guilded path, and I’ll return, beloved light.” A lighthouse. Of course she’d be drawn to it, she thought.
Her heart beating faster, she sang the second verse, and the third. By the time she came to the refrain for the last time, she owned the song—or it owned her. Such a communion with a piece of music had never happened to her before. The power of it left her shaken as the sound of the last note sailed upward into the trees.
Bevin had set down the cooler, and when Kerry finished, she began to clap. Tiffany did, too, jumping up and down as she smacked her pudgy fingers together. The applause seemed to echo, because Kerry heard the sound of clapping from behind her, too. She turned and found a dozen people gathered—men in business suits, women pushing strollers, an old woman with a toothless smile, a kid standing on a skateboard. They clapped and clapped, while Kerry stood in amazed silence. The expression on their faces was what she’d missed all those nights at Compulsions when she’d stared into the bored, uninterested eyes of the nightclub patrons.
“Thank you,” she managed to say.
“What’s your name?” the boy with the skateboard called out.
“Kerry Muldoon,” she replied.
“You sing for a living?” he persisted.
“Yes, I do.” She realized now was the time to put in a plug for herself. “I’ll be appearing at the Besotted Fox for the next two nights.”
“Are you going to sing that song?” a man with a Wall Street Journal under one arm asked.
“I…” She couldn’t imagine it would fit. The band wouldn’t know it, so she’d have to sing a cappella. “Yes, I am,” she said.
“Then we’ll be there,” the man said. “My wife would love that song.”
Kerry gazed after the man as he walked away. Then the others began to leave, a few offering comments about how nice she’d sounded. My wife would love that song. There it was. Up until now, people in New York had liked what she’d offered them, but she doubted they’d loved it. The response from the crowd at the reception didn’t really count. They wouldn’t have had the bad manners to ignore her. But these people in the park had loved her song. She’d seen it in their expressions.
Tucking the napkin into her purse and thanking the young woman, she hurried back to Judd’s apartment. She had some practicing to do before tonight’s performance.
* * *
JUDD
SAT in the back of the Besotted Fox sipping ale. With pictures of scarlet-coated riders on the dark-paneled walls and hunting trophies flanking the shining mahogany bar, the Besotted Fox probably looked more like an English pub than anything in London, he mused with a smile.
His smile faded as he considered how the crowd was reacting to Kerry. They’d given her polite applause, but nobody seemed impressed. If she could ignite this crowd, he’d send her on the road in September as the opening act for Saucy Sisters, one of Lighthouse’s top groups, which was going on tour this fall.
She would leave about the time Rachel came back to school, and by the time Kerry returned from tour, Judd would expect her to be well on her way to fame and fortune. Except it didn’t look as if she’d be going out on tour. And he’d have to be the one to tell her.
He wondered if she’d keep trying or give up. Either way she wouldn’t want to have much to do with him. The Greeks used to kill the bearer of bad news. The hell of it was he wasn’t sure what was wrong with her act. She sang like an angel and managed to look both sexy and wholesome at the same time. But she hadn’t captured the imagination of the audiences, and even Henry Gridley, who liked Kerry personally, had dropped hints that she should be dumped. Judd had always figured he’d lose her, but he didn’t want it to be this way.
She’d come to the last song of the set, and he prepared himself to be encouraging but noncommittal when she came over to get his reaction. Of course she knew it wasn’t working. She’d figured that out at Compulsions, and she also knew he wouldn’t sign her on the basis of their personal relationship. As she’d said, she wouldn’t want that, and neither would he. He respected her too much for that.
Instead of launching into the Phil Collins number she’d traditionally used to close the set, Kerry walked over to Paul and had a brief conference with him. Judd’s throat constricted. Would she quit now, in the middle of a booking? He didn’t think she operated that way, but her nerves might be shot now that her last chance seemed to be slipping through her fingers. He wondered if the manager of the Besotted Fox would settle for some excellent dance music from the band as a substitute for Kerry. Damn, this was a miserable situation.
Wedding Song Page 13
