Sara's Song

by Fern Michaels

  “Red. Red’s a cheerful color. I like blue. You know, the color of the sky on a bright summer day. You have golden eyes. They’re beautiful. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

  “A time or two. What should we do with the dishes? Your sink is . . .”

  “Let’s just throw everything away. We’ll get new stuff.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “But that’s wasteful. We do have our raincoats on. I suppose we could clean up the worst of it.”

  “Plan B would be good.”

  “Which is?” Sara laughed at the look on Dallas’s face as he glanced around.

  “The Disaster Master people. Let them do the whole thing. Now would be a good time to shed our rain gear and sit outdoors if you like. It’s a warm evening. I do have some new movies if you’d rather watch them. I’d like to get to know you better, Sara.”

  “Then outisde it is. No more root beer, though.”

  “I have some really good wine. Fragile stemmed glasses. I bought them when Billy and Nancy had their first baby. We were on the road and wanted to make a toast.”

  “I like fragile stemmed glasses.” Drinking wine from fragile stemmed glasses with Dallas Lord. This was tabloid fodder at its best. “Your phone’s ringing again. Maybe you should answer it. It could be important.”

  “No. In your world you have to answer the phone because it could be a matter of life and death. In my world it just means someone wants something. Humor me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you always so agreeable.”

  Sara answered honestly. “For the most part. Did you know it only takes nineteen muscles to smile and twenty-one to frown? Why be disagreeable when you can be agreeable?”

  Dallas reached for the wine bottle and the corkscrew. “You can carry the glasses.”

  Settled on matching chairs at poolside, Sara said, “Tell me about Dallas Lord.”

  Dallas was quiet for so long, Sara nudged him. “I . . . don’t like talking about myself because sometimes I say something personal, and it finds a home in the tabloids. They pay top dollar for dirt on me and the guys. I guess I’m trying to ask you if we talk about ourselves, will you talk to reporters?”

  “I’m a doctor, Dallas. I cannot nor would I ever divulge a confidence. You aren’t my patient, but I live by my oath every day of my life. For me to repeat anything you say to me would be betrayal. That word is not in my vocabulary.”

  They talked like old friends then. They were so intent on sharing confidences they didn’t hear the soft rustling on the other side of the fence. Nor did they see long, slender fingers tear at the branches of the overgrown privet hedges that hid the ugly cyclone fence and the young woman who spied on them with hate-filled eyes.

  It was well past the witching hour when Sara set her glass on the small table at her side. “I have to leave now, Dallas. Five-thirty will be here before I know it.”

  “You haven’t even left, and I think I miss you already. Moonlight becomes you, Sara.”

  Sara felt flustered. Damn, why was it she was so cool, calm, and professional, not to mention unflappable in her profession, and in her private life she was a mess? “It’s been a long time since anyone said something that nice to me. Thank you for the compliment.”

  “Will you come back tomorrow evening?”

  “Is that an invitaion?”

  “Yes it is. This time I’ll order in. Take the Jeep, Sara. The sharks don’t know about you yet, and I’d like to keep it that way. If you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind. The truth is, riding up here in that thing made me feel like I was seventeen. The Jag is kind of stodgy if you know what I mean.”

  “I’ll ride with you to the gate.” Sara nodded as she climbed behind the wheel. At the gate Dallas pressed the button to open the gates. He leaned over and kissed her full on the lips. “I wanted to do that all night,” he blurted.

  Thirty seconds was all she had to get through the gate. “Guess what?” she shouted over her shoulder. “I did too.” Dallas’s booming laughter stayed with her until silvery moonlight slid behind its protective night cover. The velvety darkness prevented her from seeing a black BMW that picked her up halfway down the canyon. It stayed with her until she parked the Jeep inside the garage, the driver straining to see the house numbers outlined under the yellow glow of the porch light.

  Sara tiptoed up the stairs, careful not to step on the fourth step from the bottom. She continued to tiptoe down the hall to her room.

  “Hold it right there, Doctor. I want to see those notes. No, I did not wait up. I was asleep but heard you drive into the garage. It’s okay that you woke me. Hank and I had a fight, and that’s why I came home. Come on, sit here on the side of the bed and tell me everything. Don’t leave out the good parts either.”

  “Why did you and Hank fight?”

  “He said he wasn’t going on the ski trip. The ski trip was his idea. I got mad, and then he got mad. We paid our money, and half of it is nonrefundable. I’m going with or without him. I told him so, and he didn’t like it. Now, tell me your stuff.”

  Sara flopped back onto the bed. “It was a nice evening. Actually it was kind of funny. Dallas cooked, and we had to eat in raincoats. He absolutely destroyed the kitchen. You never get spaghetti sauce off white walls. He put his cell phone in the ice maker so he didn’t have to take calls from an old . . . I guess she was a girlfriend. She’s one of the backup singers in the band. We talked for a long time. I like him. I really do. He’s nothing like what they write about. He’s a sweet and gentle and caring person. He didn’t have much of a childhood. I think he has bad dreams. He said nice things to me all evening. He makes good spaghetti, too.”

  “That’s it! There must be more. There has to be more. I want there to be more. Sara, did he kiss you? Did he try to get you to stay over? I tell you everything.”

  “He kissed me as I was leaving. He asked me to come back this evening. I said I would. He said sweet things. We shared a bottle of wine. That’s it. Listen, Carly, you can’t tell anyone the things I tell you. He’s so paranoid about the tabloids writing stuff about him. I want your word. Don’t even tell Hank.”

  “I promise. Did you want more? Tell the truth. Would you have stayed if he asked you?”

  “No. We’re friends getting to know one another. Later on it might be a different story. I’m going to cook Thanksgiving dinner for us at his house. We sort of made plans for Christmas. With you going away, I thought it would be okay. He doesn’t seem to know what a family holiday is all about because he was always on the road entertaining during the holidays. Can you imagine?”

  “I’m trying to, Sara. If you’re telling me the truth and there isn’t any good stuff, then I’m going to say good night.”

  “Good night, Carly.”

  “Sara, do you really like him? You know, really like him?”

  “Yes, I really like him. I think I’m going to like him more in the days to come. Sleep tight. Call Hank in the morning and make up with him, or he’ll be calling me all day at the hospital to plead his case.”

  “Okay. I’m glad you had such a good time, Sara.”

  “Me too.”

  Chapter Four

  Heads turned, but then heads always turned when Adam Lord walked into a room. His loose-limbed stride seemed to say, I’m here. Men said he had a presence. Women said it was his striking looks and the Armani clothes he wore to perfection that caused them to take a second look. The truth was, very few people knew Adam Lord’s name. When a commanding person like Adam walked into a restaurant and was given the best table in the house one understood implicitly that someone of importance was in their midst.

  Oblivious to the admiring glances and fawning waiters, Adam slid into the booth he’d requested at the far end of the restaurant. Almost immediately a scotch on the rocks was placed in front of him. He drank rapidly, at the same time raising his index finger to signal for a second drink. With his right hand he was busil
y punching out numbers on his cell phone. A frown crossed his features when he was informed the number he was dialing was no longer in sevice. He made three more calls in rapid succession demanding the new number for his brother. Once he raised his voice an octave, an implied threat in his tone. It produced the desired results. A second later he punched out the new numbers. His fingers drummed on the tabletop as he waited for Dallas’s voice to come over the wire.

  “Dallas, it’s Adam. It would be nice if just once you let me in on what you’re doing. How much trouble is it to call and give me your new number? I’m not even going to ask why you have a new number.”

  “Where did you get this number, Adam? Never mind. You’re the man who can do anything, anytime, anyplace. I put the phone in the freezer and the wires froze. I’m on R & R, but then you know that. That means no business, so what do you want, Adam?”

  “I wanted to tell you I was sorry I couldn’t make it back for Billy’s funeral. I sent flowers and a fruit basket. I had some masses said at St. Steven’s. I also sent Nancy a letter. I’m truly sorry, Dallas. I know what Billy’s friendship meant to you.”

  Dallas’s voice was bitter. “Sure you’re sorry. Tell the truth, Adam. You’re worried about what Billy’s death will do to the band. You don’t give a hoot about Billy. He was a guitar to you, not a person.”

  “For God’s sake, Dallas, that’s not true. I knew Billy just as long as you did. He was your best friend, but he was my friend, too.”

  “Is this where you go into that tired old song about we’d all be nothing if it wasn’t for you? We know that. The reason we know that, Adam, is because you jam it down our throats on a weekly basis. It’s starting to get real old. I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “You need to grow up, Dallas, and take responsibility. An almost forty-year-old rock star who doesn’t have his shit in one sock is pretty pathetic. No, I do not, nor have I ever jammed anything down your throat, Dallas. Where in the hell is this coming from? Are you by any chance referring to all the papers you and the guys have to sign? You have to do that, Dallas, in order to have pension funds, health insurance, mortgages, car payments, the different foundations, and everything else you and the band have. I have no control over state and federal taxes, but you still have to sign papers. If I didn’t stay on top of you guys and keep you to a schedule, you’d be playing in Burger King parking lots. Life simply is not one tune after another.”

  “I’m getting real tired of hearing this, Adam. Can’t you leave me alone for a while? I need time to think. I need to figure out how I’m going to go on without Billy. I don’t want to talk about tours, business, or health insurance. I might even be getting married one of these days.”

  “Sandi Sims is a twit. You’ll be divorced in three months. Think things through before you go off half-cocked.”

  “Stay out of my personal life, Adam. I can screw it up on my own without any help from you. I know you have other complaints, so let’s get them out of the way.”

  “Dallas, give me one good reason why you bought three BMWs and gave them away to three punks.”

  “First of all, they weren’t punks. They were college kids who helped us when the tour bus broke down. They chauffeured us around; fed us, made sure the bus got fixed, and shook our hands. They did it for five goddamn days. Hell, they even did our laundry. That means they ironed our shirts. They bought root beer for Billy. It was my way of saying thank you. They honest to God didn’t want to accept the cars. I had to write notes to their parents explaining the gift. I’d do it again, too.”

  Adam sighed as he rubbed at his eyes. He hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours. “Tell me now what it is you plan to do for Billy’s father. I know you’re going to do something, so let’s get the wheels in motion. There’s no need to do anything, but if you feel it’s something you want to do, I certainly won’t stop you. I just want you to know that it has been taken care of. Billy had a two-million-dollar life-insurance policy payable to his father. I’m the trustee of the estate. We set it up that way in case anything happened to Billy. I’m sick and tired of your surprises, Dallas.”

  “Then quit, Adam. I don’t know what I’m going to do about Billy’s dad. I will do something, though. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired. I’m tired to my soul, Adam. I’m telling you now I don’t want to do the next tour. Cancel it.”

  “When are you going to grow up and deal with reality, Dallas? We committed. That means we—as in you and I—gave our professional word. The guys signed on, too. You signed for it. You don’t just cancel a tour because suddenly you feel tired. I don’t feel like having my ass sued off. If you check with the guys, I’m certain they’ll tell you the same thing. What about the band? What are they supposed to do? You have a payroll. Money has been paid out. This isn’t some Mickey Mouse operation, Dallas. People will lose their jobs if you cancel. Are you going to go on prime-time television and tell your fans you’re sorry but you’re tired? No one is irreplaceable, Dallas. There’s someone out there almost as good as Billy. Maybe even better. It will be an adjustment. Life goes on. It has to go on. It’s all we have. It’s called dealing with life.”

  “Get a life already, Adam, and stop running mine.”

  Adam clenched his teeth. “I don’t run your life, Dallas. I run the business side of your life. If I didn’t, you’d be in some honky-tonk singing for your supper.”

  “You don’t know that any more than I know that. Are you going to tell me I’m slow-witted now? It’s what you think, isn’t it?”

  Adam groaned. “I’m not going to tell you any such thing. You’re wrong. I do know what would happen if I wasn’t around. The root-beer commercial is proof. Sometimes I wonder how the hell you find your way back home. Most times you don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain. You’re almost forty years old and all you do is sing and float through life. Excuse me, you write music, too. Dump the twit and get back on track. I don’t like talking to you like this, Dallas. I don’t want either one of us to say things we’ll regret.”

  “Fuck you, Adam. I’m sorry you ever gave me that harmonica. That’s what started all of this. Don’t ever make the mistake of sticking your nose into my private life again. If you do, you’re on the street. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. Then again, maybe I won’t.”

  Adam squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed the End button and returned his cell phone to his briefcase. He was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. His shoulders started to slump. He had this same conversation with Dallas on a monthly basis. Maybe it was time to pack it in and sit in the sunshine. This time, though, there was something different in his brother’s voice. It must be the twit. Tramp was more like it. He wished then the way he wished every day of his life that Dallas would find and fall in love with a nice, normal girl who would love him the way he deserved to be loved and not for who he was or what he could provide in the way of material things. He tried to shrug off the feelings, but it wasn’t working. This time he was strung tighter than Dallas’s guitar strings. I don’t want to do this anymore either, he admitted to himself. I haven’t wanted to do it for the past three years, but I kept at it because of Dallas and the guys. Maybe this time, Dallas means business and really is going to pack it in. Maybe. Maybe a lot of things.

  A small black notebook, properly embossed, materialized in his hand. He didn’t remember withdrawing it from the inside pocket of his jacket. He scribbled furiously. A full investigative report of Sandi Sims was definitely in order. He should have done it months ago.

  “Mr. Lord?”

  “Yes. Mr. Soung? Please, sit down.” The man’s handshake was bone-crushing. Adam nodded approvingly. “What will you have to drink?”

  “Tea will be fine. We are in agreement then on the terms, Mr. Lord?”

  “We are in agreement, Mr. Soung. I finalized everything with your people yesterday in Hong Kong. Signing the agreement makes it a done deal. The Asian tour will begin in Hong Kong on the fifth day of January.” Dalla
s’s words ringing in his ears, he added, “Barring any unforeseen events that we’ll deal with at that time.”

  Soung nodded, his opaque eyes scanning the two contracts in front of him, one in English and one in Chinese. He signed his name with a flourish. Adam did the same. “Our binder check in the amount of $10,000,000,” he said, handing Adam a yellow check. “You must sign the release form.” Adam signed his name a second time. The check went into his briefcase.

  “We have your assurances, then, that Mr. Sweet’s demise will change nothing. We wish to extend our condolences to you and Mr. Sweet’s family.”

  “Thank you. You have my assurance the fans will be satisfied. No one, Mr. Soung, is indispensable.”

  “I have read much about the closeness your brother shared with Mr. Sweet. He is grieving, yes?”

  “Yes, he is grieving. One must grieve first in order to progress with whatever life has in store for us.”

  “Ah, yes. Old Chinese proverb, no? We will make a toast, Mr. Lord, to our mutual success. Shall we drink to life and whatever is in store for ... all of us?”

  A chill ran up Adam’s arms. The tour damn well better come off as scheduled. He nodded, his expression as inscrutable as that of the man sitting across from him.

  “Will you be staying in New York, Mr. Lord?” Soung asked.

  “I’ll be leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow morning. You have my number should you wish to reach me. For any reason.”

  “I understand the pine nut chicken is very good. My secretary tells me they put a mystery spice in the sauce.”

  Adam forced a smile. “I love a good mystery.” He hated small talk. All he wanted to do was go back to his hotel and think about Dallas’s ominous words and the intricately worded contract he’d just signed for Dallas Lord and the Canyon River Band. He needed a shower and sixteen straight hours of sleep.

  Adam rolled over, cracked one eyelid. It was dark, the glowing numerals of the bedside clock straight up. Midnight. Should he go back to sleep or get up? If he went back to sleep, he would dream the same terrible, horrifying dream that had plagued him for years. Getting by on a few hours’ sleep for the past week, jet lag, Billy Sweet’s demise, and his worry about Dallas demanded he close his eyes to seek the rest his body needed.