AT 29 (58 page)

Horace stayed back in the kitchen as Jimmy returned to the main room of the tavern. Nigel was still singing but, to Jimmy's dismay, the women were gone. He walked quickly to the waitress station, asking the first one he encountered if the two women were still around. “Left a few minutes ago.”

He bolted for the door and ran out to the parking lot, but they were nowhere to be found. He jammed his hands into his pants pockets, looking down the road dejectedly. Why did they leave? He climbed the stairs back into the tavern, wondering.

He waited at the bar as Nigel finished his final songs. At the end, the patrons shuffled out in twos and threes until only Nigel and Jimmy were left in the room. Horace and his staff busied themselves cleaning up in the kitchen. Nigel came over.

“They're gone?” he asked.

“Yep. They didn't say good-bye.”

Nigel went around to the other side of the bar and poured two drafts. He slid one across to Jimmy.

“Songs are good. We didn't do them justice.”

“Thanks.”

“You really wrote them for me?”

“Yes.”

“Sister liked them, too. I could tell. Not like her to show up here. Not like her to leave without saying good-bye, either. She's not happy with me at the moment.”

“She cares about you.”

“You don't know her like I do, mate. She gets an idea in her head and she won't let go.” Jimmy didn't respond. He was still thinking about Les. Nigel took a sip of his beer and nodded toward the back door of the tavern. “I see Horace took you out back to show off his box.”

“Yes, he's quite proud of it.”

“He doesn't show it to everyone.”

“I'm flattered.”

They fell silent for a few minutes. Jimmy began to think about his return to Millburn. He had a lot to do. McCabe would be disappointed about Whitehurst, but that was the nature of the business. You can't always get what you want, as Jagger sang, but
Button's Back and Blue
would be coming out. He thought about the upcoming tour. Colleges always produced good crowds. The kids would already know the songs and greet them with enthusiasm. They also spent plenty on music. Hitting the campuses would generate sales quickly.

Whitehurst broke the silence. “What's next for you?”

“I'm heading home.”

“Right away?”

“Tomorrow. I'll drive back and catch the first flight available.”

“Why not stay for a couple of days?”

“Why would I do that?”

“So we can talk.”

Jimmy looked up from his beer. “Change your mind?”

“Les made it sound like I was afraid.”

“Are you?”

Nigel finished his beer and stood up from his stool. “Before you leave in the morning, come around to the shop.”

Whitehurst met him at the door. He was fully dressed, shaved and seemed in good spirits. Inside, there was no telltale smell of marijuana. They cleared some space, sat in chairs and spent an hour talking about Jimmy's songs. Most of the conversation centered upon how he envisioned their play. Nigel peppered Jimmy with questions and suggestions. Most were insightful and Jimmy began to realize the big Australian had some very good ideas, ideas he never would have thought of on his own. They tested a few notes with their voices, soon blending nicely with Whitehurst taking the lead and Jimmy backing him in low soft tones. It wasn't a rehearsal. Nor was it work. It was a meeting of minds, making his new creations come to life. They kept at it, unaware of the time until they realized it was noon. Whitehurst went into the back room, leaving Jimmy to survey the piles of surfing gear. A minute later, he reappeared with a small satchel.

“Let's go,” he said, striding to the door.

“Where?” Jimmy asked, looking at his watch.

“Down the coast. A nice little town called Port Fairy.”

“Nigel, I can't…”

“You want me to go with you, don't you?”

“To the States?”

“Well, where else?”

“So, what's in Port Fairy?”

“Nice drive and a chance to see it all one more time before I leave. Besides, we need to put more songs together so I'll have something to do when I get to America.”

“You're really going to sign with Blossom?”

“You said you want to work with me.”

“I do.”

“That's the reason, mate.”

Jimmy checked out of his motel and pulled his rental into the sandy driveway in front of the surf shop. He grabbed his bag and the Gibson and stored them behind the seat of Nigel's Ute. Several hours later, after a few stops where Nigel showed him some of the Great Ocean Road's magnificent vistas, they pulled into Port Fairy. The town was nestled on a quiet bay with sleek sailboats moored neatly in slips along the harbor. It was dusk and streetlights came on along the main thoroughfare as Nigel steered the car past the storefronts. At the end of the street he turned left along the waterfront until he came to a hotel that dead-ended at the water's edge. It was off-season with only a few cars in the lot, but Nigel insisted on two rooms at the far end away from the few other guests. Once settled, he left Jimmy and drove off, returning a half hour later with two large pizzas and two six-packs of Pure Blonde. They sat down to eat and drink in Nigel's room. When they were finished he jumped up.

“Almost forgot.”

He left the room and came back a few minutes later huffing under the weight of Horace's Sideman. He set it down in the middle of the room and plugged it into a socket on the wall.

“Do you know how to run this thing?” Jimmy asked, chuckling.

“No clue,” Whitehurst answered, playing with the knobs. “All I know is it better be working when I bring it back to Horace.”

They got the machine going. It wasn't much, but Jimmy was pleased that it delivered rudimentary beats of different tempos. It was enough to give structure to the songs. Nigel settled into a dusty chair, reached into his pocket and brought out a joint. Jimmy watched as he lit it and started to bring it to his lips.

“Got one for you, too.” He stuck his hand in his pocket again, but Jimmy reached over and took the first one from his lips.

“Not now. We've got work to do.” He walked with the smoking weed to an ashtray on the table beside the bed and snuffed it out.

Forty-eight hours later, with another seven pizza boxes scattered around the room and enough empty beer bottles to signal a wild party, the two men fell into their beds and slept through the night. Another eight songs had been roughed out in notes. Before Jimmy drifted off he thought of Les and how nice it would be if she were the one to give them permanence on paper.

At the first light of dawn he awoke to heavy pounding on his door. He roused from the bed just as Whitehurst burst through with a black wet suit draped over his arm.

“This should fit,” he said, tossing the suit on the chair nearest the bed. “Get moving, surfs up.” Still groggy, Jimmy looked at the wet suit then at Nigel.

“I don't have time for this. I've got to get back to Melbourne today.”

“Bells Beach is on the way.”

They were on the road ten minutes later. Whitehurst smelled of marijuana. They stopped for breakfast in Apollo Bay. Jimmy remembered Les mentioning the town, but hadn't noticed it when they drove through two days earlier. From there they continued on to Aireys Inlet where Jimmy picked up his rental and followed Nigel's Ute through Anglesea until they came to a road cut out of the bush on the right. Nigel slowly turned and gunned the motor through the sand until the Ute came out on a cliff overlooking the ocean. A long wooden stairway dropped over the cliff to the rocky shore below. The ocean looked gray and cold under the overcast skies. Nevertheless, Nigel leapt from the Ute and retrieved two short surfboards from the back. He handed one to Jimmy who was surprised at how little it weighed.

“We'll change into the suits down below.”

“I've never surfed.”

“No worries, mate. Watch me. Big thing is can you swim?” Jimmy nodded, totally uninterested in testing the cold waters, wetsuit or not.

Whitehurst had his suit on in seconds and slipped into the water, showing no concern for the cold. He paddled out twenty meters then climbed into a sitting position, straddling the board easily with his legs bobbing in the swells while he waited for Jimmy. When Jimmy entered the water Nigel shouted, “Follow me.” Then turned onto his stomach and began to paddle farther out where the waves crested white. Jimmy did the same, bracing for the first cold rush as the frigid water found its way through the hood around his head and inside the impossible to fully seal edges. Still, he was relieved that the suit kept most of his body safe from instant hypothermia. After ten minutes they buddied up just beyond the point where the waves broke. Whitehurst watched front and back, seeming to judge the action.

“The hard part for first timers is getting up and staying up. Watch me take a few runs. Don't worry about steering. Keep your legs bent, left one forward. Spread your arms to keep your balance and stay under the crest for as long as you can. When you fall
make sure it's behind the board and either right or left so the water takes it away before it can pop you in the head.”

Jimmy nodded nervously. “How long are we going to be here?”

Whitehurst gave him a humorous look. “In a little while you won't be asking that question.”

The Australian was right. It took two hours and a dozen attempts before Jimmy was finally able to mount his board and let a wave carry him forward for a few seconds. The success exhilarated him. He only wanted more. They continued well into the afternoon before Nigel rode a wave to shore. Although his face glowed red and his limbs were beginning to numb, Jimmy reluctantly followed, wishing they had more time.

It was dark when he struck out for Melbourne. He closed the deal with Nigel, securing a promise that the Australian would be in New York two weeks later. He enjoyed a measure of satisfaction, not knowing whether it was his songs or Les' impassioned description that swayed the singer. It was late when he reached his hotel. He wasn't hungry. He went up to his room and called Miles McCabe.

“He's coming.”

“When?”

“Two weeks.”

“And, you?”

“As soon as I can get a flight.” He didn't tell Miles he intended to stay one more day to see Les.

“The tour is set for you and the Brits, eleven dates starting in a month. I'm going to release
Button's Back and Blue
as soon as you get a band together.”

“I had a call with a reporter. She told me bootleg copies are on the street in New York.”

There was a pause at the other end. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Only if the radio stations pick it up. Then you'll be forced to release it early. She also wants to interview me for her magazine as soon as I get back.”

“Who is she?”

“A freelancer, Alice Limoges. She says she's got a tight deadline.”

“Everyone has a deadline. I'm doing an on-air interview with some guy named Mike Winfield in a couple of days. I want to use it to push you and the British Groups.”

“Look out for him.” Jimmy knew of Winfield. “He's no lightweight.”

“Cindy knows his sidekick, Loren Phillips. I'm afraid he'll dredge up Atlantic City.”

“Let him.” After the Today Tonight broadcast Jimmy was no longer embarrassed. “Tell him the truth, I hit the booze and slipped.”

“Will he play some of the songs?”

“Maybe, but not before he gets something out of you first.”

“I talked to that drummer, Benson, and his lawyer. He's pushy. I felt like throwing him out.”

“That's Benson.”

“Well, anyway he's good to go when you get here. Sonny talked to Cindy and said he's lined up a harmonica player from Connecticut.”

They talked for few minutes longer, agreeing to get together as soon as he arrived in New York. On a whim, Jimmy picked up the receiver again and dialed the house at
Chillingham. He wanted to tell George he was on his way home. He wasn't sure when he'd get back to Massachusetts, but he wanted to know how his friend was doing. He let the phone ring a number of times then finally hung up when there was no answer.

In the morning he went to Saint Malachy's Orphanage and told Sister Marie the good news. She could not conceal her delight. Then he followed the Sister's directions to Les' office. She wasn't there. He waited a few minutes then left a note on her desk to call him at the hotel with the words ‘Dinner tonight?' inscribed above his signature. Back at the hotel he enlisted the concierge to book him a flight home for the next day. He also asked him to recommend a nearby restaurant. He packed his things, took a shower, ran through the songs he and Nigel had developed at Port Fairy and waited for Les to call.

She met him at the second floor Italian restaurant. His heart skipped a beat as they took a table by the window. He ordered a bottle of Chianti, raising his glass in a toast.

“This is for getting Nigel to change his mind and for penning my songs to paper so we could do them at Willies.” She took a sip and turned her attention to the view out the window. It was night, but the city lights made it bright.

What did you do for three days after we left Willies?”

“He took me out to a town called Port Fairy. We developed more songs together. He's full of ideas. Then he gave me a surfing lesson.” Jimmy was upbeat.

“So, now you go home.” The way she said it had none of the enthusiasm he expected. She was still staring out the window. He put his glass down.

“I have to go.”

She brightened and turned back to look at him as if forcing a prior thought away. “Of course. It's the best thing for both of you. You have your album and tour. He has a chance to bring his voice to the public.”

“You're not as pleased as I expected.”