He Sees You When You're Sleeping

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “I’ll take the train,” Billy said absently, as he picked up his guitar.

  “That’s smart.”

  When Nor left, Sterling settled back in the club chair, his legs stretched over the hassock. He listened as Billy began plucking at the strings and softly singing words he’d written on a crumpled sheet of paper.

  He’s trying out new lyrics, Sterling thought. Upbeat, but with a nice plaintive touch. Billy really is good. I always did have an ear for music, he recalled.

  Forty-five minutes later, the phone rang. Billy picked it up, said, “Hello,” listened, then said, nervously, “You’re calling from Badgett Enterprises? What can I do for you?”

  Sterling hoisted himself from the chair and in two quick strides was at Billy’s side, his ear to the receiver.

  At the other end of the line, Charlie Santoli stood in his office, hating himself more and more with every word he uttered. “I am a representative of the company. The reason I am calling is that, as you may know, the Badgett brothers are philanthropists who have a large scholarship program for children in the local area. They thoroughly enjoyed your performance last night, and they know you have a young daughter.”

  Sterling saw Billy’s forehead tighten. “What has my daughter got to do with this?”

  “Her future has a great deal to do with it. The Badgetts understand how uncertain your future as a performer may be. They would like to set up a trust fund to ensure that Marissa will be able to go to a fine college in another ten years.”

  “Why would they want to do that?” Billy asked, restrained anger in his voice.

  “Because sometimes remarks made in jest are overheard and, if repeated, take on a life of their own. The Badgetts would be very upset if that happened.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  Of course I am, Charlie thought. It’s my job. He cleared his throat. “What I am offering is to make your daughter one of the selected recipients of a one hundred thousand dollar trust fund. It would please Junior and Eddie Badgett very much if you’d accept. On the other hand, they would find it dismaying if you were to repeat lighthearted remarks that might be misconstrued.”

  Billy stood up. The receiver hit Sterling in the jaw, causing him to blink.

  “Listen, you representative of Badgett Enterprises, whoever you are, you tell those two that my daughter doesn’t need their trust fund. I’ll take care of her education myself without any help from them… And as for their ‘joking’ or ‘lighthearted’ remarks, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  He slammed down the phone, sank onto the couch, and clenched his hands into fists. “They know we heard them,” he said aloud. “What are we going to do?”

  The Heavenly Council was watching the developments on Earth with rapt attention. Charlie Santoli’s phone call to Billy Campbell brought instant response.

  “Charlie Santoli had better watch out,” the monk said sternly.

  “He’d better not come crying to us when his time is up.” The shepherd’s eyes flashed fire.

  “It wasn’t what the sisters taught him at St. Francis Xavier,” the nun said sadly.

  The queen’s expression was grave. “He’d better wake up before it’s too late.”

  “He wants to be good,” the nurse volunteered.

  “Well then, madam, for goodness sake, Charles Santoli must mend his ways and get on with it,” the admiral thundered.

  “I think Sterling will be looking to confer with us again,” the Native American saint reflected. “He has great humility. He wants to do his job, and he’s not afraid to ask for help.”

  “He was always capable of deep caring and love,” the shepherd observed, his tone now mollified. “I was pleased by the expression in his eyes as he sat watching Marissa when she was sleeping.”

  Sterling caught up with Marissa just as she was putting her ice skates in her carrying case and rushing out to the car. When he had realized that Billy was going to catch a few hours’ sleep, he had trotted over to Marissa’s house to see how she was doing.

  He arrived in time to join Roy as he drove Marissa to the rink, bringing the munchkins along for the ride. Squashed between the twins, Sterling ducked flailing arms that attacked him from both sides. His jaw was still a little sore from being bopped with the receiver when he’d been listening in on Santoli’s conversation with Billy, and, at one year of age, Roy Junior had a mean right cross.

  But they are cute babies, he conceded with only a shade of reluctance. It’s kind of fascinating to see how they’re taking in everything they see. My problem was that I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so anxious to stay away from kids all my life if I’d had some experience with them.

  He remembered the time he was godfather at a christening and the baby had drooled all over his pin-striped suit. It was the first time I wore it, too.

  In the front seat, Roy was saying to Marissa, “I understand Grandma is going to teach you how to make apple strudel today.”

  What a thrill, Sterling thought, and realized Marissa was having exactly the same reaction. However, she said politely, “I know. Grandma’s so nice.”

  Roy smiled benignly. “I want to have at least two pieces.”

  “Okay, but don’t forget I have to save a piece for Daddy and one for NorNor.”

  It’s not easy to be a stepparent, Sterling thought sympathetically. Marissa always keeps him at arm’s length. If I’d known Roy better before I met him next year, I wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss him as a bore.

  But he does drive like a snail with a bad back. Sterling concurred totally with Marissa’s impatient thought, “Step on it. Practice will be over before I get there.”

  She’s Nor to a tee, Sterling decided.

  When they arrived at the rink, Marissa thanked Roy for driving her, kissed him on the cheek, and waved to the twins before rushing out of the car.

  Sterling climbed over Roy Junior’s car seat and saw the surprised expression on the baby’s face. He senses me, he thought. They both are beginning to sense me. Babies have so much awareness of the metaphysical. Too bad it gets lost along the way.

  He caught up with Marissa and listened as she chatted animatedly with her friends at the side of the rink.

  Miss Carr was the teacher he would see next year at the skating rink in Rockefeller Center. She blew a whistle and ten children, all the others a couple of years older than Marissa, skated onto the ice.

  Some of the children were very good, but Marissa was simply outstanding. What a little trouper, Sterling thought as he watched her take a couple of hard spills. She just gets up, shakes herself off, and tries the spin or jump again.

  Later, when the children had changed back into their shoes or boots, one of the girls came over to Marissa. “My sister got your dad’s single for Christmas. She wondered if he would mind signing it for her.”

  Marissa’s beaming with pride, Sterling thought as he watched and noted with amusement that she tried to sound oh-so-casual when she said, “Oh, sure. My dad likes to sign autographs for my friends.”

  “Is he writing a new song now?” the girl asked.

  “He’s always writing a new song.”

  “Tell him to write a song about us!”

  “He’s writing one about me first!” Marissa giggled.

  Seven going on twenty-five, and bursting with love for her dad. Sterling sighed. And so near to being separated from him for a long time. Well, I’ve got to be off. He took one last look at Marissa’s glowing smile, then left the rink.

  Adjusting his homburg, he started walking back to Billy’s apartment. He was planning to accompany him to his meeting, and was looking forward to being in Manhattan again.

  But I’m really getting to know my way around Madison Village, he thought, as his feet crunched in the snow, making a sound only he could hear. I must say it’s a very nice place to live.

  “So howd’ya make out when you talked to Johnny one note?” Eddie as
ked. He was standing behind Junior, who, like a judge about to pass sentence, was sitting upright at his desk.

  “Not very well.” Charlie’s hands were drenched in perspiration. He wanted to keep his voice calm but could not. “I spoke to Billy Campbell and offered him the scholarship for his daughter and explained that you would be dismayed if any remarks made in jest were misconstrued.”

  “All right, all right, we know what you were gonna say,” Eddie said impatiently. “So what did he say?”

  There was no staving off the answer. “He said for me to tell you that he’d pay for his daughter’s education himself, and that he doesn’t know what you mean by joking or lighthearted remarks. Then he slammed down the phone.”

  Charlie knew he could not soften Billy’s reaction to the call, that if he tried, the brothers would see through him. The fact that Eddie was asking the questions was a frightening sign that now the next step would be taken. Coercion. And if that didn’t work…

  “Get out of here, Charlie,” Junior ordered. “You sicken me. You let this happen.” He looked up at his brother and nodded.

  Charlie slunk out of the office. By tonight, Billy Campbell and Nor Kelly would have a warning that might frighten them into silence. Please let them take that warning seriously, he prayed, then shook his head in misery.

  Once again he cursed the day fifteen years ago that the Badgett brothers had come to his one-man law office in Queens and asked him to represent them in their purchase of a dry-cleaning chain. I needed the business, so I didn’t ask enough questions about them, he thought. Truthfully, I didn’t want to know the answers. Well, I know them now.

  When she reached home, Nor relaxed in the Jacuzzi, washed and blow-dried her hair, and, planning on a nap, dressed in lounging pajamas. Then Billy’s phone call destroyed all thought of sleep.

  Her throat closing, she listened as Billy related his conversation with “a representative of Badgett Enterprises.”

  “I called that FBI agent, Rich Meyers, and left a message for him. Then I called Sean, but he’s out too. I waited to call you, Mom, because I hate to upset you, but you have to know what’s going on.”

  “Of course I have to know about it. Billy, somehow those people found out that we were in that outer office. Maybe they have hidden cameras.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe someone spotted us coming out of there.”

  Nor realized she was trembling. “Do you know who it was on the phone?”

  “He didn’t give his name, but I think it might have been that guy who told us what to sing when we got there yesterday.”

  “I remember him. Kind of nervous and weasely-looking.”

  “That’s the one. Look, I’d better get moving. I’m taking the three o’clock train into Manhattan.”

  “Billy, be careful.”

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘Break a leg.’ ”

  “I already did.”

  “That’s right, you did. See you later, Mom.”

  Mechanically, Nor replaced the receiver on the cradle. Break a leg. She had worked in a nightclub where the owner was behind in his payments to someone like the Badgetts. A broken leg had been his first warning to pay up.

  And what didn’t seem to have occurred to Billy yet was that the caller had talked about Marissa. Will the Badgetts try to get to Billy and me through Marissa? Nor agonized.

  She dialed Sean O’Brien’s number, hoping against hope that she’d reach him. He knew a lot about the Badgetts. Maybe he could tell her what they were likely to do next. We’ve already given statements, she thought. Even if we wanted to, how could we possibly take them back?

  She knew the answer. It wasn’t that they couldn’t take them back. It was that they wouldn’t.

  I always used to dress in a suit when I had a business meeting, Sterling thought as he followed Billy onto the three o’clock train to Manhattan.

  For his appointment with the recording company executives, Billy had chosen vintage jeans, a loose-fitting dark blue shirt, boots, and a leather jacket.

  I’ll never get used to these new styles. But then again, in the 1880s, when Mother was a young woman, she wore laced corsets, high-button shoes, bonnets, and floor-length dresses. Sterling sighed, suddenly nostalgic for the serenity of the afterlife, where concerns about clothing simply didn’t exist.

  He took the aisle seat next to Billy, who had found a vacant window seat. I always wanted the window seat too when I traveled by train, Sterling remembered. When Annie and I went to visit our friends in Westport, I always grabbed the window seat, and Annie never complained. I wonder if that’s what the Heavenly Council meant when they called me “passive-aggressive”?

  He could see how deeply worried Billy was just by looking at the troubled expression in his eyes and on his face. He was glad when Billy closed his eyes. Maybe he can relax a little, Sterling hoped. He’s going to need to be “on” when he meets that guy Chip Holmes.

  The train was a local and took forty-five minutes to get to Jamaica, in Queens. From there they took the subway to Fifty-ninth Street in Manhattan.

  We’re an hour early, Sterling noted as they climbed the steps to the street. Darkness was just setting in. The traffic was heavy, and there were Christmas decorations in all the windows. I hope Billy kills the time by taking a walk. I haven’t been in this part of Manhattan in forty-six years.

  It looks the same and yet different. Bloomingdale’s will never change. But I don’t see Alexander’s. I loved living here, he remembered as he took it all in. There’s no place like it in the world.

  He trailed behind Billy to Park Avenue. The trees on the center island were glowing with white lights. The air was cold but clear. Sterling inhaled appreciatively even though it wasn’t necessary for him to breathe. The hint of evergreen in the air made his mind drift back to other Christmases.

  They started downtown and passed the building at 475 Park Avenue. My boss used to live there, Sterling recalled. He always invited Annie and me to his New Year’s Day open-house party. Whatever happened to him? I never noticed him in the celestial waiting room and I never saw him whizzing by the celestial window.

  Just then, a very old man, cane in hand, hobbled out of the building and spoke to the doorman. “My driver’s late. Get me a cab, sonny.”

  Sterling gasped. It’s him, my boss. Josh Gaspero. He must be a hundred years old! I’d love to be able to say hello, but from the looks of things, I suspect I’ll be seeing him soon enough.

  Billy was half a block ahead of him, and Sterling hurried to catch up, glancing over his shoulder several times as he watched his boss impatiently tapping his cane on the side-walk. He hasn’t changed, Sterling thought fondly.

  The St. Regis was on Fifty-fifth Street, but Billy kept going south on Park Avenue. At Fiftieth Street he turned right and walked a few blocks west to Rockefeller Center.

  Here I am again, Sterling thought. It’s such a great place to be at Christmastime. I bet I know just where Billy’s headed. Five minutes later they were in front of the magnificent evergreen with its thousands of colorful lights, looking down at the skating rink.

  This is where it all started. Sterling smiled to himself. Started next year. Together they watched the skaters and listened to the music floating up from the rink. I’ll bet Billy has skated here with Marissa. Sterling looked at the expression on Billy’s face. I can tell she’s in his thoughts right now.

  Billy turned to leave. Sterling tailed him across Fifth Avenue and up the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He’s stopping to say a prayer, Sterling thought. The moment they walked through the door and experienced the majestic beauty of the cathedral, Sterling felt an intense sense of longing. His mind became filled with the image of the joy and peace he had seen on the faces of the people approaching the open gates of heaven. Head bowed, he knelt beside Billy, who had lit a candle at a side altar.

  He’s praying for his future on earth. I’m praying for mine in eternity. To be in heaven even for an hour on Christmas Day… Sterling
felt tears in his eyes and whispered, “Please, help me complete my mission on earth so that I may begin to be worthy of You.”

  When they left St. Patrick’s a few minutes later, Sterling was filled with both gratitude and regret. He knew that at last he was beginning to truly appreciate the gift of life and the gift of life everlasting.

  At the St. Regis Hotel, Billy went into the King Cole bar, sat at a small table, and ordered a Perrier.

  Oh, they’ve changed it here, Sterling thought as he looked around. But the Maxfield Parrish mural behind the bar is the same. I always loved it.

  It was almost five o’clock. The bar was suddenly filling up. I remember meeting friends here for a glass of wine after work, Sterling mused. Just as people are doing now, getting together with friends, enjoying each other’s company-that at least is timeless.

  A couple of young women at a nearby table cast smiling glances at Billy, who was too absorbed in his own concerns to even notice them.

  At five-twenty, Sterling could see that Billy was gearing up for the meeting. He straightened his shoulders, began sipping the Perrier, and kept his eye on the door. Ten minutes later, when the recording executive who had been at Nor’s Place appeared with a fast-moving, balding man in tow, Billy was the picture of easy charm.

  They moved to a bigger table. But there’s always room for one more, Sterling thought as he took the unoccupied seat and began to sort out his companions. It only took a moment to figure out that Chip Holmes was the top executive of the recording company, while Eli Green headed the New York office.

  Holmes was a no-nonsense, say-it-and-be-finished-with-it type. “You’re good, Billy, you’re very good. You’ve got a special quality to your singing that makes me confident you’ll catch on big time.”

  That’s what I said, Sterling thought.

  “You’ve got good looks, too, which is a rarity among the male performers in this business…”

  Sterling silently applauded Billy’s demeanor throughout the half-hour meeting. He looked and sounded confident, and, while appreciative, he did not grovel when Holmes offered a substantial contract and promised that he would have the kind of backup support he needed.