by Susan Ward
With Linda, it was one giant wrong turn.
With Lena an endless series of blind turns.
But the result was the same.
Only Linda jumped off the road herself.
Lena held on like mad the entire way.
I often wished she hadn’t.
No matter how much I loved Lena, all my mistakes made me wonder if I’d done the right thing marrying her.
It wasn’t easy for Lena after we returned to Cambridge. It might have been better if she had let me give up on my education and take care of her. But no, that wasn’t her. She was really the optimist, the hopeful one, and the strong one, not me. And me being me, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference if I had dropped out of college. She would have traveled a difficult road married to me either way.
By the time Georgie graduated in the spring and moved to the west coast for law school, Lena and I were both working as hard as we could just to keep our heads above water.
She was teaching music to children. I was taking any gig I could get, because, let’s face it, working nights in bars playing music was a hell of a lot better than washing dishes.
We were getting by, barely, still living in the house we shared with my friends, but that changed quickly. When Georgie moved, our share of the rent went up, and I got my first slap from my father. Until the no-show of the envelope with my living stipend from the senator I hadn’t believe his angry words.
But I couldn’t deny it any longer.
I was cut off.
Disowned.
And I hated that loving me had brought Lena’s life to where I had brought my own.
Chapter Twenty-One
Life was simple for us in the summer of ’62. Lena and I just focused on the small problems—like money, being newly married, and raising our son. And we ignored the greater problems—that we still didn’t really know each other well and our wants were different.
Summer in Cambridge was a pleasant thing, warmer weather and not even the humidity bothered me because I’d been raised on the coast. Sunny days without sand. Different, but not a bad thing.
I smiled as I walked up the street toward our tiny rented house we shared with Reggie, who was now MIA most days of the week to leave Lena and I alone as much as he could.
Well, that was the polite reason he gave me, and I pretended to believe it. Tackling head-on his dislike of Lena and his annoyance with Sammy I was pretty sure would end our friendship for me.
A black car was parked at the curb with a woman in the front seat reading, indication that Lena hadn’t yet finished her last music lesson of the day.
As I trotted up the back steps to enter through the kitchen, I wondered which little monster was in my living room this time. That was a pretty appropriate term for the children of the faculty, but I shouldn’t have felt that way because once they learned my wife was Lena Mansur and she taught violin they signed up in numbers that surprised me.
Her notoriety didn’t seem to have as much punch here. Or maybe it was because her last name was now Parker and the senator made me a legacy here. Or that the stain of her past lost out to the greater practicality of such an exceptional opportunity to study with a world-class violinist at an affordable price.
Of the two of us, it was easier for Lena to find work. She had her teaching and occasional guest performances for faculty functions. I had my sometimes gig with Reggie and a few other bands, and my steady evening job playing classical guitar for chic diners. Combined we were pulling in just over two hundred a month and surviving.
I headed toward the bathroom to grab a quick shower before my four-hour shift at the restaurant, and paused in the door to watch Lena in the living room.
Her violin and bow in hand, Lena sat in a chair, her dark eyes only mildly concealing her annoyance as she stared at Professor Willard’s daughter.
She pointed with the bow. “What’s this?”
“Scroll,” the little girl answered none too pleasantly.
“This?”
“Tuning pegs.”
“This?”
“Chin rest.”
“This?
“Finger board.”
My brows hitched up. The child definitely knew the parts.
“This?” Lena demanded severely again.
The girl faltered for a moment, then lifted her chin, the manner inescapably like Lena’s. “Sound board.”
Lena nodded and moved the bow again. “And what are the strings?”
The girl moved her finger. “G, D, A, E.”
I smiled.
Lena straightened, her posture exact and elegant. “And altogether what does it do?”
“It makes music.”
“Then why do you treat it like this?” She moved the bow against the strings harshly and I winced. She stopped. “When you should treat it like this.” Lena started to play, gently swaying in her chair, and when she commanded the violin she was captivating. Her closed eyes floated open, catching me watching from the kitchen, and she halted. I could tell she wasn’t really angry and was beating back a smile of her own.
She leaned forward to be at eye level with the child. “You are very good, Meredith. You could be exceptional if you stopped treating your instrument like a toy. Put your violin away in the case, carefully this time as it deserves, and go. Your mother’s been waiting for you long enough.”
Lena gave back the instrument. The girl gathered her stuff, stopped at the blanket where Sammy played, kissed him on the cheek, and then raced for the door.
Once it clicked closed behind her, I said, “You do realize that child has no talent at all. You shouldn’t tell her she can be exceptional when she can’t.”
Lena rolled her eyes. “She is the best of my students.”
I frowned. “Not really?”
She turned, amused. “Oh, yes she is, Jack. Her mother is the only one who pays on time.”
I laughed, sneaking in for a fast kiss. “Yep, the girl is a musical prodigy. Best in the class.”
Lena pulled away, annoyed. “She could be if she took music seriously.”
I crinkled my nose. “She’s five. How serious can a child be over ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ on the violin?”
“What she plays doesn’t matter. Music is everything. The most important art we have.”
I eased her back up against me, my hands moving down her spine to guide her body into me. I kissed my way across her neck, and then lifted my face, my lips near her ear.
“I can think of an art more important than music, and you are a virtuoso at that as well.”
Her husky purr sighed from her lips. “You don’t take anything seriously, Jack.”
I pressed her more firmly into me. “Oh, I take some things very seriously. I am dedicated.” I kissed the rise of her breast, pushing heat through her blouse. “And I’m definitely committed to practicing all I can my favorite art.”
She pushed me away, but she was smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“Yep, and you’re breathtaking today.”
Her dark eyes shimmered. “I’m onto you, you know. I know all your tricks. Bed in the afternoon means late night for Jack again.”
“It could just mean I love my wife.”
She lifted her chin.
There was no point continuing in either direction. She wasn’t going to go to bed with me before I took off again and we both knew she was right.
I picked up Sammy and followed her into the kitchen. “I’m going to be late tonight. Reggie gave me a line on a possible gig.”
She started pulling food from the fridge to make me dinner. “What’s late?”
“I don’t know. As late as it takes to get the work.”
“You don’t need another job, Jack. Your classes start again soon. You should focus on that. We’re fine.”
“We’re fine unless you lose one of your students.”
“Which I won’t.”
“Which you may if you keeping being so hard on them.”
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“Life is hard,” she replied, frustrated. “Children should learn that somewhere. Their parents certainly don’t teach them that.”
She hadn’t meant that as a criticism of me, but it felt like it was. “We learn to do the things we have to when we need to. That’s what life should be.”
I set Sammy in the playpen and started to head toward the bedroom, then paused and turned back to her. “Last chance, Lena, to get me while I’m naked.”
She laughed, reluctant and exasperated. “There is no such thing as a last chance with you.”
My gaze met hers. “You’re right. No last chance. Never with you.”
The color softened in her eyes as she smiled this time, but damn, she continued to make my dinner.
After my shower, the three of us ate together as we always did, and as I shoveled my meal I wasn’t really sure what it was I was eating. Some kind of rice mixed with meat covered by a sauce wrapped in some kind of leaf.
We’d been married a month before I learned she was Lebanese and had immigrated here with her father at five. It accounted for the wide variety of languages she could speak, her sultry exotic looks, and Walter’s old world, domineering paternal perspective.
No matter how hard I tried, I still wasn’t on good terms with Walter. Lena was only one step better, but at least he talked to and visited her, unlike my parents.
“What am I eating?”
Her fork stilled. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s delicious. I just don’t know what it is.”
She stared at me, surprised. “You’ve never had this before? It’s grape leaves.”
“Really?”
She nodded, amused, and started to scoop more on my plate.
“No, I’ve got to run. I’m going to be late for my shift as it is.”
“You didn’t like it,” she said softly.
“I loved it. I love everything you make.”
I dropped a kiss on her head, then Sammy’s, and headed for the door.
“Try not to be too late, Jack.”
“I will,” I said, and hurried off to my job.
After four hours sitting in a chair softly strumming Vivaldi on the guitar, I was more than ready for my gig to end.
The manager was annoyed with me.
I was supposed to remain as unobtrusive as furniture, but I’d figured out even in this crowd when a woman looked at me that if I made eye contact and smiled the tips were better. The phone numbers they sometimes slipped into the bills I destroyed before I went home.
I could have been Good Time Jack here, of all places, if I wanted to be, which I didn’t. Lena would make me quit if she ever found as much as a single telephone number in my pocket. She’d probably toss me out as well. There were some things about Lena I understood without effort. And if I hadn’t, the way she stared at any girl who smiled at me would clarify things instantly.
My goddess was passionate in other ways than in bed; she had a temper.
Reggie was waiting for me out front when I exited the restaurant and we headed toward my car.
“Where have you been sleeping?” I asked. “You haven’t been home in days. Lena is starting to feel badly.”
He shrugged. “Me not being home has nothing to do with her, Jack.”
“OK, so explain it to me. What gives?” I prodded as I started the car.
“It’s just I’ve been spending time with Liz, and I thought it would be better all the way around if I did it elsewhere.”
I frowned. “Liz?”
His eyes locked on mine meaningfully. “The girl Lena found in your bed her first night in Cambridge.”
“Oh.” I tried not to smile, but failed miserably. “Yep, don’t want to even mention her to Lena. Better not to bring her around.”
We laughed, though Reggie shook his head at me.
“Fuck, you are one pussy-whipped man.”
His comment didn’t insult me. “You don’t know the half of it, Reggie, and trust me, I’m not complaining. Where are we going?”
“South Boston.”
We lapsed into silence as we drove the rest of the way, but I was feeling better about the Reggie situation. Everything was cool between us. He was just off doing things better to do away. Though now that I knew what was going on with him I couldn’t explain it to Lena, so she’d just have to get over feeling badly about Reggie on her own.
Nope, bringing up Liz would not be a good thing.
“Park over there,” Reggie said, and I pulled off on the side of the road in front of a bar.
I stared at the dark windows, hearing the raucous crowd, and I shook my head. “Shit, you should have told me we were going to meet Liam in a place like this.”
Reggie frowned. “What’s the problem, Jack?”
“Well, look at me. I just came from my gig at Moxy. I’m not going to fit in here. They are not even going to give me an audition. This is a waste of time.”
“It will be fine. I’ve already told Liam about you.”
I climbed from the car in an area of the city where my silver Porsche and preppy style of dress—crisply ironed shirt, tie, khaki slacks, and navy blazer—stood out like a sore thumb.
Nope, it didn’t matter how much Reggie tried to sell them on me, this was going to be a bust.
I pulled back the door and entered the smoky bar. It was packed, and while the girls looked at me—they always looked, everywhere—the guys gave me hostile stares.
Fuck, just what I expected. I’d be lucky if this wasn’t kick the shit out of preppy for fun night.
I raked a hand through my golden hair as I fought to see through the crush of bodies on the dance floor to the band on the stage.
They had kind of an interesting sound, sort of a blending of a whole lot of styles—blues rock, folk, and pop—and were almost coming up with the right stuff.
It might have worked out better if they weren’t all marginal musicians, except their lead guitarist/front man who was pretty awful, and their bass player who was the talent in the group.
Reggie leaned in to my ear so I could hear him above the noise. “They get booked regularly. Steady work. Well-paying gigs. Give it a chance.”
Damn, I’d let my thoughts show on my face.
I shrugged. “At this point, it doesn’t matter. They’re not going to give me a chance.”
“Where’s that Parker confidence and charm?”
“I left it at the door.”
He laughed and starting moving through the crowd.
He gestured for me to sit at a table near the stage and grabbed hold of a passing waitress to order a round of drinks. We were down two drinks when the band finally broke.
“Let me handle this, Jack. We need to play this cool. Their singer doesn’t know they’re thinking of cutting him loose,” Reggie said quickly before they joined us at the table.
“Reggie Dun, what the hell are you doing here?” a man said in a booming voice, and by their greeting I assumed it was his buddy Liam.
“Just checking out the local competition, Liam,” Reggie replied jovially.
“You still at the Firehouse?”
“Until the end of July. You?”
Liam laughed. “We’re booked solid all over the state for a year. Probably because of Jerry’s looks.” He gave his singer an affection shove—he was good-looking guy—and then jeered, “It can’t be because of his playing.”
I laughed when everyone else laughed before I realized it probably wasn’t a smart move.
Jerry planted an arm on the table and scowled into my face. “What the hell are you laughing at, kid?”
I met his stare evenly, smiling as I leaned back in my chair. The air around the table crackled with tension, telling me it was better to double down than back down in a crowd like this.
“A guy told a joke. It was funny. Even though it isn’t fucking funny for those listening to you that you don’t tune your instrument before you go on stage. But then, I figured with how you played it didn’t
really matter, so I laughed.”
His reaction to that—not good—might have gone badly if Liam hadn’t been laughing so hard that it was him Jerry shoved before he walked away with the rest of the band.
Reggie stared at me, shaking his head. “I told you to play it cool.”
“Fuck, I’m not going to roll over for a jerk like that.”
Reggie got up from his chair and followed Jerry out of the bar, leaving me with the towering bass player standing above me.
“You got my lead singer hopping mad, kid. You best watch where you shoot off your mouth around here.”
“It’s a crime to play that way and charge people money. Your sound wouldn’t be half bad if it were in tune.”
“And what would you know of that?” he scoffed.
I shrugged. “I know when a guitar is in tune. That’s more than your lead knows.”
He laughed. “You’re a cocky bastard, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been called worse.” I extended my hand. “Jackson Parker.”
“Liam Ferguson.” He gave me a critical once-over. “Irish?” I nodded. “You just saved yourself from getting punched in the face.”
“Irish Catholic. Will that earn me the right to show you how that song should be played?”
“No, but it’s earned the right to buy me a drink.”
Laughing, I gestured at the chair across from me, and I called the bartender to bring a bottle and another glass.
“Your band has an interesting sound. Where are you guys from, Liam?”
“Southie. Born and raised. How about you, Jackson.”
“California. A small town. Santa Barbara.”
“I know the town. Did a gig up there. Used to play with some guys out on Balboa Island. Fucking genius musicians, but their music—you kids with your feet in the sand have your own kind of sound and your own kind of rules about everything. Is that the kind of music you play?”
I shrugged. “I play a bit of this, a bit of that. Whatever pays the rent.”
Laughing, Liam nodded. “I do a bit of that myself.”
“Right now I’m playing classical guitar during the dinner hour five nights a week at Moxy and doing catch gigs with Reggie when he needs me.”
