Feeling slightly sick and rather disgusted with life, as well as somewhat inebriated, Jacob took his turn on the small stage with an air of nonchalance, with the feeling that he just couldn’t give a sweet fuck anymore as to whom he pissed off or what he even said. For a moment he was even tempted to just take the mic and announce to the whole club he knows where their beloved Jessie is. But common sense prevailed. As angry as he was at her for lying, he couldn’t do that to Annie. After setting his latest Granville Island beer down next to his feet, Jacob leaned back on the wooden stool Carl provided, and then he started to play.
He was permitted two pieces that night. The first was a catchy tune he and Jessie wrote together, and which instantly garnered attention. The women were captivated because of his undeniable Jacob magnetism, with his low husky voice like thick caramel gently stirred into a luscious latte, and the men were intrigued because he was good. Jacob’s voice was a bit raspy, tired, but genuine and experienced. The melody and lyrics were simple enough to comprehend, yet complicated enough to warrant the attention of the other musicians in the popular club.
When he had their attention Jacob played the second song. He strummed the first few chords with his soulful blue eyes poring into Josh’s somber brown ones, searching, telling, and somehow Josh knew to sit up a little straighter, a wet glistening glass of ginger ale clasped firmly between fingers that once knew Jessie intimately.
It’s coming on spring now, and still you hide
You wear your hair like a princess but it’s all a lie
Your music touches rainbows and it breaks my heart in two
You don’t know where you’re going, you don’t care who has to lose
Once you found a treasure
You said you would not let go
But he was not the world’s choice
And so you then said no
You’re not the fighter you think you are
You’re weak, you’re selfish and cruel
You wear that diamond ring like a curse
Reminding me of who you used to be
It’s a damn shame, going down this way
But I suppose that’s how it has to be
Unless you draw up your courage - say goodbye to the past
And find your way with me.
By the end of the song Jacob finally found the courage to look at Charlie. The club’s owner didn’t miss a word. Yet, he was accustomed to people coming in here and sharing their loss of Jessie with the patrons. Some of them needed it. Yet there was something about this song…Charlie wanted him to sing it again.
Most people in the club did not pick out the personal message. Glancing over at Stephen and Josh in the corner, though, Charlie knew they had. And Jane had. Charlie’s new wife arrived just before Jacob took the stage. And in true Jane fashion, she took her man’s hand and held it tight. The dynamic pixie blonde had become Charlie’s rock.
Charlie just nodded gravely at Jacob when he walked back to the bar and focused on putting his guitar away. They didn’t speak, although Charlie held eye contact for as long as Jacob allowed before the singer picked up the guitar case and strolled outside. He needed one more smoke before climbing into the Mazda and driving back to the airport. His flight was scheduled for six a.m. Screw a hotel. He would sleep in the car.
He was angry again. Fecking angry. The song made him angry. Charlie’s stare made him angry. The drinks made him angry. His lack of courage to tell made him angry.
Jacob accidentally dropped the first cigarette he pulled out of the package on the asphalt and stepped on it in the semi-darkness. The next one his fingers found was a joint. He pulled it out and lit up, cursing at his stupidity. He wanted to go home, to lie in bed with Annie’s arms – not Jessie’s – around him, her fingers caressing the Celtic cross emblazoned across his back, digging into his skin as their bodies came together in passion. He wanted to be inside her where he felt he belonged. He was all over the place. He wanted what he thought he had.
Footsteps echoed across the pavement and then a body passed underneath a security light, creating a weird oblong shadow that gleamed in the misty semi-darkness. He looked up. It was Stephen. Jacob’s heart did a double take.
A rare social smoker, the Drifters star bummed a light from Jacob, who pulled himself up on the cement barrier, his guitar propped up next to him like a trusted warm body. Steve settled a few feet away from Jacob, leaning his lanky form against the barrier. At first they remained wordless as they smoked, but Jacob knew what was coming. It wasn’t so often he had such an attentive audience at an open mic. But then again, he was the new guy. It behooved these Vancouverites to listen.
“That was quite the little tribute to Jessie.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“We get those from time to time. People who are moved enough by her to want to come here and sing about her. Or for her.”
Silence. Steve continued.
“I guess a lot of people find her disappearance captivating. Romantic, even.”
Romantic! Jacob almost lost it. He coughed.
“Someone to write songs about,” Steve continued. “Jessie Wheeler. That’s what she’s become.” He took a deep drag on the smoke.
Feck, how can I do this? How can I not do this?
After a hard moment, sickened, Jacob pulled out his iPhone. Jessie deserves this, he thought. She fecking deserves this. He thought he was going to puke – too much alcohol, too much weird smoke, not enough sleep, too much – Jessie.
With a trembling finger, he tapped on the iPhone’s photo App. There she was in front of him, in all her lavender bobbed glory - his girlfriend - sitting cross-legged on the floor of her small flat, beaming up at him as he snapped the photo, her dad’s guitar in her lap. The telltale case was just behind her, leaning against the wall. Wordlessly, Jacob handed the phone to Steve.
Confused, curious, Steve took it. He saw a photo of a woman in a short skirt with wild purple hair, dark smoky eye makeup and a lot of bracelets.
“What?” he said to Jacob. Lots of people thought they saw Jessie here or there. There were heaps of clues, emails, suggestions, ideas as to where she could be. This girl was nothing like Jessie, but then…well, she wouldn’t be playing herself now, would she?
Upset, he started to hand the phone back. Sometimes her presence was still so imperious.
Jacob used his thumb and forefinger on the touch screen to zoom her picture closer. Steve forced himself to look. He could not afford to get his hopes up again. Then Jacob honed in on the stickers on the guitar case. While Steve stared at the familiar decals, shocked, incredulous, Jacob pulled the cover of the magazine out of his pocket and unfolded it. In all her wrinkled glory, there stood Jessie, the stickered guitar case at her side.
“Jesus,” was all Steve could muster. “Jesus.” Then, “Where?” It came out like a croak.
Jacob took a final pull on his weed. He leaned over and tossed the butt in a receptacle nearby.
“Not here,” Jacob said. He wasn’t ready to completely give her away just yet. Then, to drive the nail further he added quietly, “Her name is Annie. That case lives in a flat a few blocks from me. It has since late last September.”
And then finally, once and for all, Steve knew Jessie had indeed made a conscious decision to start a new life. She decided to leave them all behind, and the pain and hurt of that knowing made him angry, sick, disgusted. For a brief moment he didn’t give a damn whether he ever saw her again, whether she graced him with her presence again. Geez, he almost lost Sophie over her. And she stepped out of their lives without any care for the damage she caused.
He stumbled away a few steps and for a moment Jacob thought he was leaving forever but Steve just bent over, nauseous, fighting to regain control over his breathing. When his body settled a bit Steve straightened, then turned and looked into the clouded eyes of the quiet man who, like Jessie, communicated his feelings through song to the people Jessie once loved. And he realized the implications of that.<
br />
Because Jessie, for all of her misguided behavior and bad choices, needed to be pulled back into the world she abandoned. She needed guidance and love and understanding, and she needed to stop running.
Steve knew he had no choice. Despite his anger and frustration, the layer that flowed deepest in his veins where Jessie Wheeler was concerned was love. Not just for her, but for those she abandoned so carelessly.
And he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, as he stared into the tired eyes of this grizzled boy – apparently another casualty of Jessie Wheeler - that it would be up to him to bring her home.
***
Chapter Fifteen
It was almost midnight when Stephen pulled his silver Audi TT around the gracious curve that led to the yellow Keating home. He was hesitant to let Jacob out of his sight but the guy was obviously exhausted and in need of some sleep before flying out to Scotland in the early morning. Jacob assured Steve the contact info he left was the real deal, and that he would be waiting for him in Edinburgh in a few days. The musician was not willing to give up Jessie’s address – he wanted to have a hand in how this would all play out. In some ways he wanted to protect Jessie, but in other ways he was trying to control the situation in order to keep his own feelings safe. Besides, he might still change his mind and take Jessie out of Edinburgh for a few days – he supposed he wouldn’t really know what to do until the moment came, the pivotal seconds when Jacob would have to open the door and reintroduce Jessie to her old life.
Charles was waiting inside, pacing back and forth, wondering what important news Steve had to relay at this time of night. Jessie’s friend didn’t say much on the phone, just “Are you up?” and “We need to talk.”
Steve had left Sophie with Josh and Michelle. Kayla and her fella Paul arrived as Steve left the club. They all gave him weird looks when he grabbed his coat, but he used the excuse that he wasn’t digesting his dinner well. It was an old standby, but it always worked. He couldn’t meet Josh’s eye. They had sparred over Jessie, but that was old news. Steve still adored her and always would, but distance and time gave him a better perspective – Jessie did, and always would, love Josh. Steve himself was a good friend who let his heart get caught up in Jessie’s drama, her loneliness, and her aura. He was sorry for not having a more detached, realistic view at the time, and loved that he and Sophie had cautiously reconciled. Steve had been stupid, reckless, careless. Josh was simply a victim. There was no way Steve could tell him – or Charlie – that he had a lead on Jessie’s whereabouts. Not yet.
So many leads did not pan out. Yes, you could Photoshop pictures, was anything real anymore? But this guy, Jacob, was different from the others who offered leads. He was hesitant, unsure. Steve wasn’t so much concerned that Jacob was lying and leading him on a wild goose chase. He was more worried that Jacob was attached to Jessie and might change his mind about sharing her with them.
On the way out of the club Steve had passed Charlie, seated on his stool at the bar with Jane by his side. They were sharing a mile-high plate of nachos, something Charlie would not have done with Jessie. Jane was a good influence, down-to-earth, unconcerned about stuff like calories and flab, or about what her boyfriend thought of her eating nachos with melted cheese and sour cream. She was licking her fingers when Steve paused as he walked by them.
He turned and stared at Charlie.
“Do you think she’s alive, Charlie?” he asked, his eyes downcast but hopeful.
Charlie paused before popping a nacho with a jalapeno pepper on it into his mouth. He leaned forward and wiped his hands on a linen napkin before responding. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I do.” Quizzically, he eyed Steve.
“Do you think she’ll ever come home, then?”
Pause. “You bet your ass I do.” He had mellowed after his meltdown with Josh at Christmas. He had to.
“Why?” Steve needed to know. He needed to understand what ammunition he could use in order to bring her back.
“Besides us in all our earthbound glory you mean? And this amazing girl I know she’s dying to meet?” He draped an arm lovingly around Jane, who blushed happily.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Steve was almost overcome by hope. Yes, he loved Sophie, but by God he loved and missed Jessie too. They all did. First he would ream her up one side and down the other, and then he would hug her. He had it all planned out already, that all-important inaugural reunion. He looked imploringly at Charlie, waiting to hear his wisdom. Being a few years older than Steve and Josh, they often thought of him as an older brother these days, now that he was so much better behaved with Jane at his side and the loss of Jessie weighing on his soul.
“Well,” Charlie said without hesitation, and Steve could tell by the way his countenance changed to one of serious sagacity that he believed with all his heart in what he was about to say, and that its truths were not up for discussion. Charlie nodded his head towards Josh who, with one arm casually slung around Michelle’s shoulders, was listening to some apparently seductive whisper as his ear was brushed by her cherry red lips.
“That’s easy. For him.”
Never in his lifetime would Charlie forget the way Josh and Jessie communicated their love for each other in a simple church in Ashland, Oregon, a few years earlier. She sacrificed everything for him. She would come back for him. She couldn’t run forever from life, from fame, from Deuce McCall. When she was ready, Jessie would return. She had to.
In the corner, Josh felt his friends’ eyes on him. He turned from Michelle, and slowly drew his arm away from her. He, too, knew it. In his heart he knew what Steve and Charlie were talking about – everyone in the bar was talking about Jessie now, after that disheveled looking guy with what Sophie and Michelle called “sexy three day whiskers” played his tribute song. The way the guy’s music and lyrics wound around each other up and down in counterpoint reminded Josh of his mother’s days in the orchestra, and of Jessie’s intuitive songwriting style. Josh also knew how Steve felt about Jessie, and he wondered if the song upset his friend, although Sophie didn’t seem concerned. But Michelle was. Josh instinctively knew that – she would always be in Jessie’s shadow, that was a given. It was almost two years since Josh and Jessie’s rather unceremonious split. But the dimpled Michelle was living with a ghost, and Josh was helpless to change that – true love worked that way - it was insidious, amorphous, organic. It took no prisoners. It had the power to destroy.
Steve backed out of the bar, his eyes on Josh. Charlie watched him go. Then when Jane disappeared into the ladies’ room, her arm in Kayla’s - who came skipping by and grabbed her - he pulled the tattered postcard from the inside pocket of his blazer. He gazed at it, grateful Dee had returned it to him. He ran a finger over the J, and would have kissed it had he not been sitting at the bar in his club where everyone could bear witness. He shoved it back in the pocket of the blazer while Josh straightened in wonder.
It didn’t matter who was with whom. Jessie’s absence ran around and through them like the heavy white fog that hung over nearby Grouse Mountain. It wouldn’t go away until the sun came out and dried it up and, in this case, the sun was Jessie, around whom everyone else was tied, connected, fettered to the earth. They rarely discussed what would happen when she came back, whether McCall would show up, whether Josh would even have a chance with her again. He just assumed he didn’t. Michelle was stable, solid. Why would he even go there again, to Jessie, to a land of danger and provocation? The answer was – physically, he wouldn’t. Emotionally – well. That would never change.
When Steve’s headlights had appeared in the Keating driveway, Charles whipped open La Casa’s front door. His mid-calf length blue plaid housecoat was tied at the waist, a blue T-shirt peeked out from underneath, and worn leather moccasins eclipsed his toes. Charles’ thinning grey-streaked hair was a rumpled mess, as if he had endlessly run his hand through it after Steve’s call from Charlie’s Club.
He contemplated saying I’m old. I get up at 5:30. My
wife’s in Chicago and there’s no sex so I was asleep by 9:30. This better be good. But the strained, excited, hurried demeanor of the midnight visitor put him off saying anything at all.
Steve hauled himself out of the low slung car and turned to face Charles, who was haloed in warm light from his grand entrance foyer. The Keating patriarch looked tired, drawn. These last almost two years were hell on both him and Deirdre. God, how I hope I am the bearer of good news, Steve thought. He wouldn’t truly believe Jacob’s story until he laid eyes on Jessie herself. But for now his intuition and Jacob’s sad eyes would have to be enough.
Stepping forward out of the drizzle so that he, too, felt the earnest rays of the overhead chandelier, Steve spoke quietly and deliberately.
“Pack your bags, Charles. Throw in a kilt. We’re going to Scotland.”
As the night wore on and the Jessie Wheeler drama continued along its tempestuous roadmap, Jacob steered his rental car back to the Vancouver International Airport, pulled into a darkened parking space on the third floor of the parkade, plugged in his iPhone and – to his detriment, over and over - listened to Jessie Wheeler’s poignant ballads.
In Scotland, the girl known locally as Annie cried in her sleep, waking at three a.m. to an otherwise empty bed and a raw debilitating loneliness as devastating as any she had ever experienced in her three decades of life.
***
On the flight to Scotland in the Keating jet, Steve replayed in his mind the rest of his earlier candid conversation with Jacob. He started with Jacob’s own words.
“We met at a pub where my friend John Paul and I play regularly. She hooked up with him that night. She was nothing like your Jessie Wheeler. She was kind of punk, her hair at the time was short and red, and she always kept it in front of her face. Thinking back, now I see she was likely trying to hide her features, but to be honest, it didn’t occur to any of us she was anyone other than who she said she was.” He took a drag on a new smoke, a regular cigarette this time.
No Greater Love Page 15
