From the Ashes

by Janet W. Butler

  A commodity. James’s term made her heart constrict. He’d been right. About everything. No wonder he was so angry. In his shoes, I doubt I’d have been any better.

  “He’s not being reduced to anything, Melody,” Dean Thomas said gently. “This will make him a viable commercial success once more. James, above all people, understands all that means. This is to his benefit. He’s just got to swallow his pride about it.”

  Swallow his pride, and compromise his principles…and wonder for the rest of this life how much of the respect he gets is counterfeit. Melody found herself unconsciously clenching and unclenching her hands, then looked down at them and felt sick. Why didn’t someone realize this was no way to solve a conscience problem?

  “This all sounds nice and reasonable,” she said haltingly, “except that James could still ruin me.” And possibly Hattie as well, she thought but didn’t say. She had little to no resources of her own. Would James know that, and …? No. She couldn’t believe he’d be that heartless. Or she wouldn’t have, until that scene at his hospital bed.

  “We won’t let him ruin you,” the dean replied. “Assistantships are all subject to the college’s master employment contracts, Melody. You’re not personally liable for anything. In any event, James doesn’t much have a leg to stand on, since his association with the music school is over.”

  She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “Legally?”

  “Legally,” Matthews replied. “Goodwin wrote up a resignation letter right before Christmas. Said he didn’t want to stay on under what he called false pretenses.”

  Melody couldn’t sit still another minute. Rising, she carried her teacup to the corner sink and rinsed it out, wishing she could wash her hands of this whole manipulative affair as easily.

  “Well,” she said quietly, “it seems to me that James is the only one with a shred of honor here. Going ahead now is a mistake. Surely you all see that. So which of you is going to be man enough to correct that mistake?”

  She’d held out hope for an answer, but she didn’t get one. Nothing but silence that seemed to echo around the office. With heavy heart, she sat back down and picked up the receiver on the dean’s desk phone.

  “What are you doing?” Matthews demanded.

  “Calling the hospital,” she said evenly. “If none of you will tell James the truth, I will. At least then I’ll save myself grief in the courtroom.”

  “Melody, no.” Dean Thomas put one long finger on the switch hook. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Oh, yes, sir!” Furious, she batted his hand away. Melody didn’t care if it got her expelled. She couldn’t take any more. “Seems to me you also gave more than a few people the impression that I was in your little scheme up to my eyeballs. That was a lie. This whole term was a lie. So pardon me if I have a little trouble believing anything you tell me now!” She slammed down the receiver. “On second thought, forget the phone. I’ll go see him in person.”

  “After visiting hours?” Suddenly, the dean’s voice was cold. “Not likely. And just as well. You shouldn’t be doing anything rash.”

  She shot up from the chair. “Dean Thomas, rash isn’t the word for what you did to me. Try greedy on for starters. You’re a Ph.D., I’m sure you can think of a few dozen more.”

  “Melody, now, that’s enough,” John Wilson warned.

  “Enough? Enough?” she sputtered. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mr. Wilson, let’s call a spade a spade.” She shot a glare at Matthews. “Couldn’t you see this thing stunk from the beginning? Why’d you go along with it?”

  The college counsel shrugged. “Actually, it seemed like a win-win to me. Nobody was going to get hurt—”

  “Nobody was going to get hurt?” Melody pulled her coat on with a snap. “You sold James and me down the river. That’s not win-win, that’s fraud!”

  On that, she made for the door, only to hear the dean’s voice rise.

  “Wait a minute,” he barked. “We’re not finished here, Melody.”

  “Maybe you aren’t. But I am.” She turned, seething. “I can’t, and I won’t, continue this pretense. I quit.”

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous,” Matthews cut in. “You can’t quit.”

  “Watch me,” she snapped. “I’m not playing against James’s direct orders. If you want to do this premiere your way, you’ll do it with someone else.”

  “Now, Melody, come on. You know that’s impossible.” Each of the dean’s words seemed measured. “Remember what I said about being rash.”

  “With all due respect, sir,” she said, releasing the doorknob, “I’m not.”

  “On the contrary. Of course you are. An understandable reaction, since you’re still young and idealistic.” Rising, he moved from behind his desk and slipped one arm around her shoulders. “But take some advice from your dean, Melody. Forget James’s temper tantrum. Put it out of your mind. It’ll all blow over by tomorrow, anyway. Once he realizes that this is one place and one time where he’s not going to get his own way, he’ll back off. You’ll see.”

  “Says you. Sir.” She ducked out from under his arm. “But James isn’t a man who’s easily bullied.”

  “Maybe not. But he’s not a man with a lot of room to bargain, either.”

  Her mouth went to cotton. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “Not against you.” Resuming his chair, the dean smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You have nothing to fear, as long as you fulfill your academic contract.”

  “Oh, I get it. Hold the master’s degree above my head so I’ll play the premiere. Is that about the size of it?” She wanted to spit at him. “Because if that’s the case, quite frankly, you can take that degree and—”

  “I suspected you’d say that,” the dean cut her off. “Your emotions are running high right now. Once again, understandable. They were running higher yet before Christmas…until the party.”

  Something in his voice stopped Melody’s heart.

  “The party,” she whispered. “That’s right. Eric and Clyde said — you told them to come after James to play.” She felt cold with horror. “You set him up!”

  Dean Thomas shrugged. “I could see those stars in your eyes, Melody. The relationship was out of balance. It was time to inject a little reality.”

  She swallowed hard. Reality. That’s what he called that cruel embarrassment?

  “What about James’s parents?” she said. “When they came and told us James wanted to go ahead with everything, you didn’t bat an eyelash. Where was the reality injection there?”

  “They’re in the dark about all of this. And if you’re smart, you’ll keep them that way.” He shot her a quick, sad smile. “I did all of this for you as much as for the school, Melody. I wanted you to realize that James had no real future without this premiere. I wanted you to know that up front, so if a choice had to be made, you could do it without being blinded by some kind of romantic sentiment. Believe me, when you’re out in the concert world, you’ll look back on this and realize it was the biggest break you and James ever got.”

  She felt ill at the pat answers, and worse yet at the arrogance she heard in the dean’s tone. James’s integrity meant nothing to these people. How had they all sunk so low?

  “James was winning Grammys before he was twenty-one,” she replied quietly. “He doesn’t need any breaks from you. As for mine? If there’s one thing I’ve learned from music school, it’s that you make your own breaks in this world. Don’t worry about me. I’ll do fine, without any of your strings attached.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” Matthews countered.

  She pivoted toward him. “What is this, another threat?”

  He gave her a steely look. “I’m merely pointing out that it might be a little tough to make your own breaks…from the inside of a courtroom.”

  “What are you talking about?” she sputtered. “You said I didn’t have to worry about going to court, that the college would stand behi
nd me!”

  “In a suit brought by James Michael Goodwin, with you as our responsibility, yes.” Matthews steepled his fingers together. “But once you walk out that door and don’t play the recital, it’s a whole other ball game.”

  “James isn’t going to sue me if I don’t play.”

  “True enough, he won’t,” the dean agreed. “But, Melody…we will.”

  She felt dizzy. “You will? For what?”

  “That premiere is your master’s recital,” the dean replied. “If you don’t play it, you’ve broken your assistantship contract. If you break your assistantship contract, you forfeit all funding for the year. In other words—”

  Melody caught his gist in a heartbeat. “In other words, you’d expect me to fork over a whole year’s graduate tuition, just like that.”

  “Plus penalties,” the dean finished. “As you know, we have substantial penalties for reneging on assistantship contracts.” He nodded toward the outer door. “If you leave, not only do you fail to attain your degree, but your school bill becomes due and payable in full first thing tomorrow morning. Now that’s what I call a lose-lose scenario. Surely you don’t want that?”

  Melody turned to her own counsel. “Mr. Wilson, is he right?”

  John Wilson gave her a steady look. “I’d have to examine your contract before I could give you an answer for sure. But from what I’ve seen of this type of agreement before…”

  “You mean they can lie to me — and James — and then blackmail us?” she said incredulously. “You mean there’s nothing we can do?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say that.” Wilson glared at Matthews. “Something this outrageous wouldn’t go down without a challenge.”

  “Outrageous?” Matthews chuckled. “I’ll tell you what’s outrageous. A young woman spends five years taking advantage of everything a major university has to offer, then wants to walk away without paying the bill? What do you think a jury’s going to think about that?”

  Melody sagged against the door, weak with shock at what she was hearing. I can’t win this one. If I play, I sell James out as badly as they’re doing. If I don’t play, the school could destroy me and Hattie, too. What am I going to do?

  “Melody, listen.” Wilson sighed. “This isn’t something you can decide right here and now. I’ll review the paperwork tonight and then give you my best advice.” Rising from his chair, he looked reassuringly formidable. “But since we’re forewarning each other, gentlemen, let me say I don’t like this game you’re playing, and a judge won’t, either.” With a nod, he joined her at the door. “Come on, let’s go. The air is starting to smell in here.”

  Despite her upset, Melody grinned. That was the feisty Wilson she’d almost lost hope of seeing in this office. He’d forgotten more law than that young legal ace knew.

  But Matthews wasn’t quite through yet.

  “One word before you go,” he put in, as Wilson had pulled the office door open. “Something your learned counsel may want to consider.”

  “Oh, goody,” she muttered. “There’s more.”

  “An additional aspect of this you may be forgetting in your zeal to defend your white knight.” Matthews smirked. “Namely, that even having a crackerjack legal defense for yourself won’t do a thing for Goodwin. And rest assured, if he yanks this premiere, he’ll be in court right beside you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Where he’ll rake you over the coals so badly you’ll have scar tissue to show for it!”

  “If he does, we won’t be the only ones getting who could get scarred.” The dean looked pensive. “Listen to Mr. Matthews, Melody. He’s doing you a favor, too. Having studied with James Michael Goodwin will only help you in your career if he’s considered sane enough to be a competent teacher.”

  “How wouldn’t he be?”

  The dean gave her a steady look, and Melody felt dizzy. The premiere committee meeting. All that stuff Cynthia brought up — they’re going to use that?

  “Come on, Melody.” Wilson took her arm, breaking the spell. “They’re blowing smoke. That can’t possibly hurt you.”

  She faltered. “But if they try to blackball James — even if it’s all innuendo —”

  “We’ll deal with it. Not to worry.” Wilson nodded curtly toward the other occupants of the office. “Gentlemen, this meeting is over. We’ll be in touch.”

  Melody knew he was moving her out of there fast to keep her from putting herself in any more hot water. She also knew he planned to play his cards closer to the vest than the dean had, so she merely nodded and let him shepherd her out of the office and through the music building exit.

  “That wasn’t exactly the way I’d have chosen to spend this evening,” he said as he helped her into the car. “But I’ll go over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I’m sure there’s case law that’ll send them running.”

  “I don’t know,” she said weakly. “They seemed awfully sure.”

  He laughed. “Arrogance 101, Melody. First-year law school.” Still smiling, he reached over and patted her hand, then started the ignition. “Look, I know this was no picnic, finding all this dirt under the rug. But you let me clean it up. That’s my job.”

  “Are you sure you can?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I took the same law school courses Matthews did, remember?” Wilson chuckled again, then shifted his attention toward making a safe turn onto her street. “They want to play hardball, they’ll get a game out of us. I guarantee it.”

  “But what about James?” she whispered, trying to read his expression across the darkened front seat. “Can you do anything to help him if…?”

  He eased the car into the curb in front of Hattie’s house before he answered. “It may not seem like it to you right now, Melody, but even the legal system has been known to have a heart. I like to remind judges of that whenever possible.” He gave her a fatherly peck on the cheek. “And that’s all you’re getting out of me until tomorrow morning.”

  Despite her distress, Melody laughed. “Ah, inscrutable counsel. I’ll take that as a good sign.”

  “Atta girl.” He waved her off as she opened the door and stepped onto the parkway. “Watch your step there, it’s slick.”

  “Yes, sir.” Melody waved him off, watching until his car made the right-hand turn and was no longer in view. Then, climbing the slippery porch steps one cautious foot at a time, she went inside to look for Hattie.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The illuminated numbers of a bedside clock reading 8:16 were the only light James saw when he awoke. Daylight was long gone, and no one had turned on the lamp beside him. He’d been awake when it was on, he was sure of that. Or had he? Things were so fuzzy right now…

  “Hey, buddy.” He heard the voice before he could focus clearly, but a moment later he saw Alan Jerome standing at the bedside. “How are you doing?”

  “Al?” James shook his head. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Don’t know why not, when I’m supposed to be your doctor.” With a practiced hand, Al bent to switch the light on, then lifted James’s wrist and looked at his watch for a few seconds. “Pulse down to normal instead of the stratosphere. Good start.”

  “Good start?” James winced. “On what? And why do parts of me hurt like—?”

  “—the dickens? I’ll fill you in.” Al gave a dry chuckle, but James thought he heard an edge to it. He wondered if one were actually there, or if it were a figment of his sleep-clogged brain. “But first, you feel up to entertaining?”

  James rolled his eyes. “Sure. Give me a minute, I’ll get into my tails and be right with you.”

  The doctor laughed. “I doubt Florence Nightingale cares, but you never know.”

  “You call that entertaining? Come on, Doc. Do I have to?”

  Al chuckled again, then left James to endure the ministrations of one of University Medical Center’s more senior staff — a woman who somehow made it seem his fault that the skimpy hospital wear left him covered in less than d
ecent fashion — with as much patience as he could. It seemed a long time before she left, nodding imperiously to the doctor.

  “Seriously speaking,” Al resumed, “you are looking better.”

  “I had a good nap.” James yawned. “Matter of fact, I’m ready to be up and around again, if my tyrannical physician of record will let me.”

  Al sat on the edge of his bed. “How much do you remember from earlier?”

  James shuddered. “I remember I had a rotten spell in there where I couldn’t breathe. That wasn’t pleasant.”

  “No, I imagine it wasn’t.”

  “They gave me something for that, though, and it cleared right up. So now I can lick my weight in tigers again.” James looked intently at his friend. “But why do I get the feeling I’m not giving you the right answers on this quiz, Doc?”

  Al sighed. “How about seeing Melody?”

  “Seeing Melody? Now you’re talking.” James grinned. “I was just going to ask you to get in touch with her.” He frowned. “I need to talk to her about the premiere.”

  When Al only closed his eyes, James’s gut tightened.

  “What’s the matter?” he whispered. “Is something wrong with Mel?”

  “There probably is by now,” his doctor said dryly. “Considering what you did to her a little while ago.”

  “What I did to her?” No sooner had he asked the question, though, that James had a fleeting, sharp memory of being angry enough to spit nails. Then everything flooded back over him. The newspaper articles. The pad he’d been scribbling on. Melody…

  Oh, no. Tell me I couldn’t have done what I think I did. Tell me it’s not possible that I could have screwed things up so badly the day before she’s supposed to perform.

  Al sighed again. “Now do you remember?”

  James closed his eyes for a moment. “I hope I’m not right.”

  “Run by me what you’re getting, and I’ll fill in the rest.”

  So James did — and was promptly sorry he had when Al confirmed bits and pieces he’d remembered, and worse. Some of the afternoon’s trauma he’d slept off, but reality was a nightmare of another sort. He’d had good reasons to be angry, but hearing about the way he’d acted made him feel sick.