Kimberly Stuart

by Act Two: A Novel in Perfect Pitch

  I cleared my throat. “Thanks for the heroic rescue.” I turned so I could see his face. “I’m not, um, used to needing help, but those three are a force unto themselves.” I shuddered involuntarily in a flash of remembrance.

  He chuckled quietly. “They can sure take it out of you, can’t they? I think Jaynie should get an award.”

  “Or at least a hefty paycheck. What she endures on a daily basis, all in the name of preserving humanity …” I shook my head. “And no one even notices.”

  “I think Cal does,” Mac said thoughtfully. “I notice. She has some good friends who are right in the thick of parenthood themselves and I’d guess they can empathize.”

  “Well, it’s a noble profession but certainly not the one for me,” I said, setting my teacup on the porch railing. “Not in a million years could I do what she does, nor would I ever want to.”

  “Never say never,” he said, continuing to rock us slowly back and forth.

  “Nevernevernevernever,” I sang in a fast trill. Mac laughed and we sat in the vibrating silence. The chains on the old swing creaked and I wondered how many times Mac had watched sunsets from his solitary vantage point.

  “Mac, if I may be so bold, why don’t you have a wife in your basement?”

  His eyebrows shot up and he stifled a grin. “Typically, the women who interest me are not ones that take to living sequestered. Why? You got somebody in mind?”

  I slapped him on the thigh and tried not to think about how good he looked in his jeans. “I’m serious. Why aren’t you married? Good looking, smart, funny, wildly arrogant man with his own business and a flair for home décor.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Where’s the wifey?”

  He gave the swing a good push with his legs. “I came close once,” he said quietly. He shook his head. “Just didn’t work out. She was too much woman for a guy like me. Wait a minute. You know her!”

  “I do?” I asked, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

  He made an hourglass with his hands. “Curves that won’t quit, plays the piano like a dream. You know—Norma ‘Purr, Kitty, Purr’ Michaels?”

  It took a moment to register but I socked him on the arm. “You sick and twisted man,” I said. “I was all ready to feel sorry for you. Norma Michaels.” I copped my best scolding voice. “You shouldn’t joke. Norma would make this house her home in a split second. She fawns over you.”

  He sobered. “I don’t mean to make fun. Norma’s a sweet girl. We’ve known each other since we were kids. She’s just not, ahem, my type.”

  “So why, again, aren’t you married?”

  “Tenacious little bugger, aren’t you?”

  “Answer the question, please, senator.”

  He shrugged. “I really was engaged once.”

  I crossed my arms.

  “No, seriously. A girl I met in vet school. Her name was Maggie. We’d even reserved the church. But then,” he drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Dad got sick and Mom needed more hands than Cal could give. So I came home a semester early and finished up from here. Maggie stayed on campus and I never saw her again.” He shrugged. “She wrote me a letter, saying she’d met someone else. It was probably for the best. A person shouldn’t live with a heart divided.”

  We rocked in silence. The sun’s timid spring rays had gathered intensity in the afternoon and now shone through the budding canopy of a tree in Mac’s front yard.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally said. “Maggie must not have been a very smart girl.”

  Mac looked sideways at me and raised his eyebrows. “She graduated summa cum laude and is making a pile of money in South Dakota.”

  I waved the entire state of South Dakota away with my hand. “There’s more to life than that.”

  Mac narrowed his eyes and stopped the swing. “I’m sorry, did you misplace my Sadie? Where’s the cell-phone–toting, Blackberry-obsessed, impractical-footwear girl I like so much?”

  I squirmed. “I’m more than that.” I was trying to soothe the wounds of this sorry bachelor and he pointed out my more shallow traits?

  “I know you are,” Mac said, turning to face me in the swing. His eyes twinkled. “You and Norma are the only girls for me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You should cut your losses and stick to the pianist.” I took a deep breath. “Just a minute—I don’t think I can smell manure.” I inhaled again and closed my eyes. “No poop. Just blue sky, new grass, zero pollutants, Iowa air.”

  “Careful now,” Mac said as I lay back on his shoulder. “You could get used to it.”

  For the first time in my existence, I tried to picture it. Sadie Maddox, Iowan. I got stuck trying to figure out where I’d be able to procure fresh Parmesano Reggiano before it was doomed to a green canister. I did like the porch. And Mac could make a girl think twice about her bare-bones needs. But as I listened to Mac’s heart beat softy through his soft cotton shirt, I felt a heavy feeling form in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to join the ranks of summa cum laude girl. A heart like Mac’s didn’t need to be broken twice.

  That evening, I sat at the Hartleys’ kitchen table. The light over the stove cast weak shadows over the space. The dishwasher, filled to overflowing with the day’s carnage, hummed industriously in the background. Jayne and Cal were upstairs with the kids, catching up on their day with the anti–Mary Poppins and getting them to bed. I sat with my cell phone in front of me. It was fully charged and immaculately clean after my concentrated polishing efforts. I had nothing left to do but dial.

  Avi answered on the third ring. “Hello.” His voice dropped and I knew he’d recognized my number.

  “Avi,” I said timidly. I cleared my throat and overcompensated the second time. “It’s Sadie.” My voice sounded too loud in the empty kitchen.

  “What can I do for you, Sadie? I’m just stepping out.” His voice was civil but generously laced with distrust.

  “I won’t be long.” I cleared my throat and began the speech I’d prepared. “Avi, I’ve greatly appreciated the work you’ve done on my behalf over the last several years. You are an excellent agent and I’ve been fortunate to partner with you.”

  “That will be enough.” Avi sighed. “I know you’re signing with Judith Magnuson. I heard over a week ago. I’m surprised it took you so long to call.”

  “Oh, well,” I stammered. “I wanted to make sure I was making the right decision.”

  “You are,” he said. “I’d love to make money with and for you but,” he paused, “it’s a tough business, Sadie. You know that.”

  I sat up straighter in my chair, regaining some of my lost composure. “It absolutely is. Which is why I think we’d do ourselves both a favor to seek out different options.”

  “Fine,” he said curtly. “I’ll send you the paperwork first thing Monday. As you recall, our contract is binding only as long as both parties find this to be a profitable relationship. There will be no settlement fees.”

  “Thank you,” I said, though I wasn’t sure why.

  “One more thing.” The edge in Avi’s voice was no longer veiled in propriety. “I want this to be clear to you: I worked my tail off trying to get your numbers back to where they should be. You’re good, Sadie, but there is no magic formula for selling a million CDs. And as much as you might not like to hear it, in our world you are only worth as much as you sell. Even with all her talk, Judith can’t make her promises come true any more than I could without people wanting to hear you sing.”

  My breathing became shallow. The air in the kitchen felt still and warm. I clutched the phone and searched my mind for a reply but Avi piped in again before I uttered a word.

  “Expect the contract by FedEx on Wednesday.” Click.

  I kept the phone to my ear until an automaton named Claire offered to connect me to customer service. Jayne found me there, sitting motionless and staring at the yellow striped wallpaper.

  She stood before me and squinted in the darkness. “Everything okay?”r />
  I shook my head slowly.

  She pulled out a chair opposite me and waited in silence. Finally, she whispered, “I hope my children haven’t done this to you.”

  I pulled my gaze from the wallpaper to Jayne’s eyes. “I just fired my agent.”

  She bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry. At least, I think I am. Unless you’re relieved?” Her eyebrows knit together in uncertainty.

  “I don’t even know,” I said, shoulders slumped. “All through my career, I’ve felt like I’m watching a great story unfold. I’ve worked hard, don’t get me wrong. But for the most part, I’ve sung well and have been lucky enough that people have paid me to do it. But now,” I trailed off. “I don’t know what’s next, and I think I’m … scared.” I surprised myself at the strength of that word but I didn’t regret using it.

  Jayne stared at me as I wallowed in fear and no small amount of self-pity. After a few moments, she smiled shyly. “And I thought you were going to tell me that seeing Kryptonite-green baby poop had scarred you for life.”

  “Well, that didn’t help my emotional state.” I raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jayne said, though she was laughing too hard to be believed. “Drew said you used an entire box of wet wipes.”

  “For once, he is not exaggerating.” I shivered at the thought. “You’re the one who should fire someone, get some better service around here.”

  She wiped away a tear and sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s lonely at the top. The only one I could think about firing would be Cal and I like him.”

  I smiled. “He’d never make it without you, anyway.”

  Jayne leaned across the table and looked me in the eye. Hers were still teary from laughing. “Sadie, I’m over my head here with agent hiring and firing, singing careers, CD sales, and such. But,” she reached for my hands, “do you mind if I do what makes me feel less overwhelmed?”

  I remembered Jayne’s enthusiastic and vocal response to the facial in New York and pulled my hands away slightly. People with that lack of verbal inhibition could be dangerous in a time like this. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’d like to pray with you,” she said. Her eyes softened. “If that’s okay.”

  “That would be nice,” I said. I bowed my head and she spoke softly.

  “God of grace, thank You for making Yourself available to us all the time and everywhere, even in a tiny kitchen in an old farmhouse. You are our rock, and we are grateful for someone so steadfast who listens to our prayers.”

  I could feel my heart pounding. Jayne’s hands wrapped mine in warmth. She took a deep breath and continued.

  “Your Word tells us You know us by name. You’ve counted the very hairs on our heads.” She paused and said, “Humph. Well, thank You for the perspective that fact gives to everything we face, from poopy diapers to professional singing careers. We love you, God, and thank You for loving us first,” she said, awe filling her voice.

  I sat with my eyes closed, hot tears streaming past my eyelashes and making mascara tracks down my cheeks. Minutes later, my eyes still closed, I heard Jayne’s chair being pushed back. I felt her kiss me on the forehead before leaving me to stay where I was, basking in the warmth of a God who knew me by name.

  23

  Cutting Loose

  The first of May announced the final stretch of classes and May Day, a curious holiday that served no purpose other than to encourage unwarranted theatrical cheeriness. When I walked by the drama building that afternoon, a group of students stood perusing a cloudy sky, debating the merits of erecting an elaborately decorated May pole if the weatherman was correct about a thunderstorm about to whip through in a few hours.

  “Of course we should put it up,” one particularly sunny coed chirped. She wore all yellow, from the floppy cotton hat on her head to striped knee socks on her feet. “Did a few clouds stop the Celtic or Germanic tribes in pre-Christian Europe? Is this not the long-awaited dawn of spring?”

  I walked on, not wishing to subject myself to Yellow’s monologue. Drama majors, apparently, weren’t worried about their final exam schedules, but my students certainly were. James had shown up to his lesson that morning looking like a very tall piece of oatmeal. He’d been up until four in the morning working on a physics project, he’d said.

  “I had a little mishap,” he said, his face showing sheepish beneath all the exhaustion. “With my boomerang.”

  “Your boomerang?” I leaned against the piano, arms crossed.

  James nodded. “I made a boomerang and it was perfect. Except that I was giving it a trial run in Carmichael Hall where I have to do my presentation, right? And, um, it got lost somewhere in the ceiling.”

  I bit my lower lip. “Your boomerang got lost.”

  James shook his head, befuddlement all over his young face. “I can’t figure it out. One minute it was in my hand and the next …” He trailed off, looking miserable.

  I burst out in the joyful laughter of a person who no longer has to submit to the whims of a syllabus and then turned him to Puccini with a vengeance.

  At four-thirty, I sat staring out my office window, trying to conjure up a reason to call Mac and tell him I didn’t need a ride home. Since our porch talk, I’d felt myself pulling away from spending time alone with him. One look at the calendar screamed of my need to cut my tie with that man, however new and tenuous it might be. I was four weeks from heading back to New York, away from Maplewood and full throttle into resuscitating my languishing career. The semester in Nowhere, while less painful than I’d initially feared, was nothing I was looking to lengthen, certainly not for some doomed-to-fail romance with a horse vet. True, he was achingly handsome. Of course he was witty. Smart, kind, even good with children, though I couldn’t see how that was important in my case. The list of perfect attributes was weighty, but when I tried picturing how Mac would fit into my life or survive even one week in New York, my spirits fell and I knew I had to make a break for it.

  The view out my window had morphed into something entirely different from the first time I’d entered that cozy room. Ivy was taking cautious steps out of its buds and was busy creating an intricate green lace around the heavy glass panes. Daffodils lined the pathways of the quad below, bursts of impatient yellow and green vying for attention after so many months underground. I thought of Central Park and the way New Yorkers flocked to the largest green space in the city as soon as the weather was manageable. Oh, for a double espresso with a shot of chocolate, no cream, to sip while watching the crazy roller skaters in their spandex and sunglasses. My sighs seemed loud in the silence of the office until the shrill ring of my cell phone trumped even my theatrics. UNKNOWN blinked across the screen, explaining why the Bach fugue hadn’t sounded.

  “Sadie Maddox,” I answered.

  “Sadie, it’s Judith Magnuson.”

  “Judith, how are you?” I said, hating myself for how eager I sounded.

  “Fine. Did you sign off with Avi Feldman?”

  “Yes. I received the papers in the mail and—”

  “I’ll send you my documents and we’ll talk.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Judith, I’m so pleased to be working with you. I can’t tell you how excited I am about this next stage, the Pasione tour—”

  “Yes, yes, we’ll discuss all that. I think you and I have the potential to do very well together.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. I heard a man’s voice in the background, then some mumblings from Judith. She returned to me, voice clear. “Sadie? I need to go. Sign the papers and call me next week.”

  “Okay,” I said, sounding much like the yellow-clad thespian by her Maypole. “You take care now!”

  There was a brief pause and then a click.

  You take care now? I thought. Who am I? Donny Osmond? Since when did I tell people to take care?

  I let my head fall into my hands, the sound of my breathing magnified in the little cocoon. When a girl starts telling her brand-new, bulldog agent to t
ake care with an exclamation point, I thought, it was time for the girl to get the heck out of Iowa.

  Rain sprayed underneath the tires of Mac’s truck. He flipped his wipers up to the highest speed and leaned forward slightly in his seat. This was the height of bodily tension I had yet to witness in Mac’s unwaveringly laid-back frame. The truck’s headlights swept around a curve in the road, illuminating a wash of reflected raindrops in the falling darkness.

  Mac cleared his throat. He glanced at me quickly then turned his eyes back to the road. “You’re awfully quiet these days.”

  A semitruck roared by and gave me a moment to think of a response. I decided to try for levity. “Work has been nuts. Nothing like corralling the emotions of twenty-some stressed vocal performance majors.” My laugh sounded tinny in the enclosed space. “You’d be quiet, too, if you had to mull that group over in your head.”

  Mac nodded slowly.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and turned to look out the window.

  “How’s that Mallory? Still giving you trouble?”

  “Not really,” I said, relieved to have hooked him into the subject of work. “Her recital is just a week away. She’s too preoccupied with that to bother with tormenting me.”

  We rode on in the sounds of heavy rain and intermittent thunder. A stripe of lightning blinded the sky above an old farmhouse.

  Mac slowed the truck to a stop and turned. “Let’s go to the Roadhouse tonight.” I could hear the smile in his voice without turning to face him. “Sneak you out about ten?”

  I shuffled a stack of papers sitting on my lap and smoothed them with my hands. “Thanks, but I don’t think so. I think I’ll go to bed early tonight, try to catch up on some rest.” I coaxed my body into a wide yawn.

  “All right, what’s going on?” He shifted in his seat and clamped both hands harder onto the steering wheel. “I may be a little rusty in the dating game, but I do remember how it feels to be given the cold shoulder.”