He had fallen in with the right people at the right time, and ended up in a mentoring situation with an older man that worked for Cadillac. One thing led to another, and the next thing he knew, he was hired as a designer for Chevy. He worked there for three years before deciding to quit so he could focus on building motorcycles.
He had a small shop in Detroit and had just started to make a name for himself when Mr. Morrow passed away, leaving the garage to him. It was in a older neighborhood in Memphis, and he knew his neighbors wouldn't be excited about having a motorcycle shop there, but he wasn't about to turn down the gift. He might have just sold it out right so that he didn't have to deal with the disgruntled neighbors, but the truth of it was the body shop was too perfect. Mr. Morrow had been somewhat of a collector, and most of the items could be repurposed for Michael's business.
He said he came down to Memphis to look at the place, feeling like he would probably just put it up for sale and be thankful for the money, but he took one look at it and knew he had to move in. The gift of a fully operational garage complete with an apartment was too great to pass up.
We stayed on that blanket, conversing without even moving or picking up our heads, we just lay there, stretched out, looking at the trees and listening to the waterfall as we got to know each other.
We had been there for a couple of hours when, in a moment of companionable silence, I scooted closer to him. We had learned a lot about each other during the conversation, and I felt like I wanted to be closer to him—like our cautious proximity was no longer necessary since we had shared so much.
I scooted toward him, lifting my head and moving his arm so I could use his chest for a pillow. He easily took me into his arms, shifting so that I would be comfortable. I cozied up next to him, resting the side of my face on his chest near the crook of his arm. I reached across him, taking his hand into mine with a feather-light touch that caused literal jolts of electricity to move through my fingers.
"Will you sing for me?" he asked.
"When?"
"Now."
"I don't have a piano."
"You don't?" he asked. He strained a little in a fake attempt to lift his head as if looking around for one. "I guess you will have to sing without one," he said, relaxing again.
I smiled against his chest. I wanted to have the confidence to burst out in song with no hesitation. I wanted to know exactly what to sing and how to sing it so I could make Michael Bishop mine.
I adjusted in his grasp so that I could breathe a little better, and I took a few measured breaths while I thought of what I could possibly sing. I went for a jazz song called Summertime because it was slow and it seemed to fit what we were doing. I sang it softly in my falsetto voice but using my more soulful style.
Michael stayed quiet and still the whole time I sang. His hand was lightly touching my arm, and I could feel the slight movements as he let it brush against me, but otherwise he was motionless. It was after I sang the last note that I felt Michael's chest rise and fall has he let out a long sigh.
I sat up, propping on my elbow and shifting so I could stare down at him. "What?" I said, referring to his sigh.
"You." he shook his head and rubbed his own face, wearing a serious expression. I was only a few inches from his perfect face, and there was nothing I could do to stop my giddy smile at how much I affected him.
"I can't believe you can sing like that," he said. "You almost made me cry just now, and I don't even do that. You almost made tears happen in my eyes."
I grinned at him again. "Almost doesn't count," I said, noticing only dryness around his eyes. "How do you even almost cry, anyway?"
"My eyes, they got stingy there for a second when you were singing," he said.
I laughed. "Stingy?"
He nodded, and I situated myself, leaning over to position my face even closer to his. We were now only inches apart.
"Michael," I whispered.
"Ivy."
"You said you were gonna kiss me," I said breathlessly. I didn't mean to be forward, but I was so swept away that I couldn't help it.
"Ivy," he said.
"What?"
"I've never, in my whole life, wanted to kiss someone as much as I want to kiss you right now."
My heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. Another little grin forced my mouth upward, and I bit my lip. "Why aren't you doing it?" I asked.
"I'm laying here wondering the same thing," Michael said. "Why can't I just lean forward and kiss you?"
I stared directly at his mouth, which was only a few inches from mine. "Why can't you?" I whispered.
Michael inspected my face thoughtfully. "Because it doesn't seem like enough," he said. "I really want to do it, but with you being Ivy and everything, I wish I could think of a better gesture."
"So, you don't want to kiss me?" I whispered. I stuck out my bottom lip just a little, teasing him and causing him to rub his face like he was trying to maintain his composure.
"No, I do. I really do."
He still had his hand over his eyes when I let my lips fall onto his. I did it swiftly, but then I froze in place, letting my mouth rest on his. I took him by surprise because I heard him take a breath as he pulled his hand away from his eyes. Michael's eyes popped open, and there I was, right in front of him with my lips still on his. I shamelessly remained there even though he hadn't been expecting me to do it.
Michael remained a bit stiff for a second before he reached up and put his hands on each side of my face. His big hands enveloped my face so completely that I grinned at the relief of feeling him hold me. He leaned forward, and kissed my lips while I was still smiling.
"That's better," I whispered just before he kissed me again. I had so much built-up anticipation when it came to kissing him, just barely touching his lips made my blood warm. He kept a hold on the sides of my face as he continued. I let him control our movements, and he proceeded to somehow make a kiss more than just a kiss. Michael Bishop told a story with that kiss. He was gentle and thoughtful, and he kissed me softly, and deeply, and then softly again. He smiled in between kisses and whispered things to me that I'll never forget.
That moment in time was so perfect and passionate that I wanted more than anything to tell him I loved him. I got on the very edge of doing it a few times, and each time I would get nervous and know that it was too early and talk myself out of it.
We kissed, and whispered, and teased, and talked, and laughed for what must have been another hour before deciding to fold up the quilt and ride back to town.
Chapter 13
Michael
Two months later
Michael and Ivy spent the next two months together. They went out to Jim-bo's on a weekly basis, and each time, he watched in amazement as Ivy sang rhythm and blues in a way that sincerely moved him and others.
He saw her as an instrument—one that God himself would delight in hearing. Ivy performed at church as well, and she did a beautiful job, but it was never with quite the same emotion that she used other places. He knew she was holding something back with gospel music, and he hated that. Her rhythm and blues persona would have transferred beautifully, but Ivy wasn't willing to let the two worlds intersect.
She got a phone call while she was home for the summer. It was a record producer up in Nashville who had gotten her name from someone at the blues club over there and wanted to hire her for some studio gigs.
Michael congratulated her and encouraged her to go through with it, but it was bittersweet for him to think that Ivy would soon be headed back to Nashville. The time for her to do that was much sooner than Michael cared to admit. Ivy would be leaving in a few short days, and the prospect of it made Michael feel most irritable. They hadn't discussed plans for the future other than just assuming they would see each other on a regular basis.
Michael was lost in thought as he worked, considering the two-hundred-mile gap that would soon develop between them when he heard pounding on the metal door that wa
s on the side of his building.
"It's open," he yelled as he lifted his welding helmet.
He turned to find that there were three men darkening his doorway—all of them were substantially sized men, and none of them looked very happy. The one in the middle was Stephen Meyers's dad whose name was Stephen also. Michael had met him one other time in the months since he came to town, and he recognized him instantly.
Max was working full time with Michael, but he had gone to pick up lunch when the men showed up.
Michael took off his helmet, and set down his welding equipment, removing his gloves as he came to stand a little closer to the men. He noticed that the one on the left had a gun and badge. He was dressed in a suit, but Michael could see the gun and badge under his coat. The one on the right was a huge, burly guy, and he stared in a threatening way that made Michael level Mr. Meyers with a sideways stare.
"Can I help you?" Michael asked.
"You sure can," the man said.
"Okay, how?"
"I know you've been seeing quite a lot of Ivy Lewis this summer."
"Yes sir, I have." Michael didn't grow up using the word sir all the time, but he had learned in his short time in Memphis that the term went along way with southerners.
"I just came to tell you that's over," the man said.
Michael stared blankly at him as if he had lapsed into a different language.
"The affair you're having with Ivy Lewis," Mr. Meyers continued. "It's over."
Michael let out an involuntary laugh. "Affair?" he asked in disbelief. That was not at all the word he would use to describe what was going on with himself and Ivy. Not even close.
"What's so funny?" asked the big threatening looking one.
"It's just an odd word to use," Michael said.
"I don't care if you think what I say is odd, young man. Just so you get the point that whatever was going on between you and Ivy Lewis is over. We decided we would give her the rest of the summer to get this string of wild choices out of her system, but she needs to be done with all that. She'll focus on her studies during her last year of college, and when she comes home next summer, my son will propose."
"Oh, is that how you think it's going to work?"
"Yes it is, actually," Stephen said with a gravely serious look on his face. "My son is quite fond of Ivy, Mr. Bishop. He grew up with her, and they have been through a lot together. He's ready to settle down, and he's chosen Ivy. It has been the plan all along."
"Yeah, well, I don't think Ivy knows about your plan."
"I don't care what Ivy knows, Mr. Bishop."
"My son wants the hand of Ivy Lewis, and I intend to help him obtain it."
"I'm sorry Mr. Meyers, but your son is going to have to find someone else to marry. Ivy loves me."
Stephen laughed cynically. "Ivy is a naïve twenty–year-old girl who doesn't know who she loves, or what she wants, or what's best for her."
"She's not twenty," Michael said.
Mr. Meyers sneered at him. "She's not far from that."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Meyers, but I fail to see how you have any authority in this situation."
"I want to see my son happy and I'm capable of helping him get that happiness. That's all the authority I need."
"Yeah, but there's nothing you can do."
"Oh, but there is something I can do to Ivy and her family," he said. "I could change everything with a few phone calls. I hope it doesn't come to that."
"What could you possibly do?"
"I could turn Ivy Lewis's life upside down. Most of the people in that man's congregation are lifelong friends of mine. We do the hiring and firing around there since we fund ninety percent of the church. I would hate do it, but with a phone call or two, the Lewis family would be done here."
Michael squinted at the man. "Are you telling me you want to take Ivy as your beloved daughter-in-law, and that you would ruin her entire family before you would have it any other way?"
"Yes."
"That's completely ridiculous," Michael said. "You don't care about her."
"No, I don't," Mr. Meyers said. "And I don't have to. I'm not the one who wants to marry her. It's my son. I have no feelings for the girl other than making sure she and my son are happy and taken care of."
"She's not going to make your son happy if she's forced into marrying him."
"Nobody is going to force her."
"That is exactly what you are doing by coming here and threatening me."
"No it's not," he said sternly. "This is completely separate from Ivy. This is about you. You're going to break things off with her before she goes to school. She's going to take a year to take her wounds, and when she gets back, my son will have a life built for her that she won't refuse. She will have the best of everything. She will lack nothing."
"She's not the type of girl who cares about that," Michael said.
Stephen laughed. "Maybe not now. Not while she's all swept away by the romance and the motorcycles." He gestured around the room. "One day all this is going to get old. One day, she is going to wake up and hate herself. She's gonna curse the day that she lost the respect of everyone in her hometown when she married the trash that rolled into town one summer."
The cop and the big bruiser guy both nodded their agreement to his last statement, and Michael stood there with his fists clinched, barely able to stop himself from hitting Stephen Meyers square in the jaw.
"Listen, Mr. Bishop, it's plain and simple. Your job is to end things with Ivy Lewis before she leaves for school. End of story. If the leverage over her family isn’t enough, you should consider the impact you would have on her future and her good name here in Memphis. You should really consider doing what's best for Ivy. Her family would be much happier with this match, and that means a lot to a woman. Maybe not now, but eventually she would hate you if you were the reason her family no longer talked to her."
"Are you trying to tell me Ivy's family would disown her if she stayed with me?"
"I know they're not happy with the match, and I'm not even sure if they know that you met Mr. Morrow's brother in prison."
"You're right, I did meet him in prison, but I wasn't in prison. I chose to be there."
"You met the man in prison, Michael. It doesn't matter why you were there, only that you were. You made acquaintances through the state penitentiary. Do you think that's the kind of name Ivy deserves—the kind her parents want for her? You seem like a smart young man. Do you think she's gonna be satisfied with your little motorcycle business in twenty years? No. The answer to that is 'no'. Not when it came at the cost of destroying her family. She's gonna end up hating you for it. The choice is simple. Do the right thing, Michael. You'll thank yourself later."
The three gentlemen turned and headed out of Michael's shop.
"Do what you need to do before Ivy leaves, and you'll be saving her a lot of pain."
The big menacing looking one pushed over a piece of sheet metal on his way out, causing it to clang violently to the ground.
Max must have heard the commotion or seen the men in the parking lot because he came around the corner a minute later wearing a concerned expression. He was carrying brown paper bags, and he stared at Michael as if waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, Max said, "Sorry, man. I forgot you didn't want cheese, and I accidently got you a cheeseburger." He continued to glance around cautiously, checking to make sure everything was okay. "I'm sorry about the cheese," he said when Michael still said nothing.
"It's fine."
"I saw some guys pulling out," Max said. "It looked like the sheriff's department."
"One guy was a cop. And there were two others."
"What'd they want? A bike? Man, you should build bikes for the police department. You could customize some cruisers. City of Memphis." Max held a small bag in the air between them, and Michael reached out and took it from him.
"He wasn't here because he wanted to buy anything," Michael said.
"Wh
y was he here?"
No longer hungry, Michael tossed his food onto a nearby countertop.
Max opened his burger and took a huge bite out of it before repeating his question. "Why was he here?" he asked with a mouth full of food.
"To threaten me," Michael said. "They came here to threaten me."
Chapter 14
I had borrowed Michael's car a few times over the summer. He was content for me to use it anytime I wanted, but I only took him up on it when I couldn't make other arrangements—like today.
I promised Jacob and a friend of his that I would take them to swim at the pond one last time before I went back to Nashville, and my Mom found out at the last minute that she needed her car to take someone from the church to a doctor's appointment.
Michael happened to be at my house when that conversation with my mom occurred, and he volunteered the services of his Bel Air. Michael had to work, but I took Jacob and his friend out to the pond in the Chevy, and we stayed there all day.
We dropped Jacob's friend off at his house before going to Michael's shop. My brother and I both loved it and had spent a lot of time there that summer. Jacob came with me as often as I would let him, which ended up being about a couple of times a week. I personally saw Michael just about every day for the last nine weeks, which meant that I was officially dreading the time three days from now when I had to head back to Nashville.
Michael and I hadn't made any official plans, but we seemed to have an understanding that we would try to see each other as often as possible after I moved. We probably should have been making more concrete arrangements, but honestly I hated to think about or talk about leaving, so I just put it off.
I walked up to Michael's shop, feeling worn out from a long day in the sun. Michael's name and logo were painted across the entire side of the building, and I stared absentmindedly at it as Jacob and I approached the building.
Summer of '65 (Bishop Family Book 1) Page 9
