AT 29 (85 page)

“That reminds me, I finished my check on everybody. Things look okay except for a couple of guys.”

Miles turned his full attention to his friend. “Who?”

“You've got a drummer named Benson LaSalle with Buckman.”

“What about him?”

“He's had a few scrapes, brawling mostly. Did a few nights in jail.”

“Do I have to worry?”

“Nothing lately. I'm just letting you know.”

“Who else?”

“The other one's in the road crew. A fellow named Chase Barone. He's a bit more sketchy.”

“I don't know him.” McCabe tried to remember. “What's he done?”

“Drugs a few years ago. Viet Nam vet, good record, Purple Heart, honorable discharge. But when he came back from Nam, he got in with bad bunch. Biker crowd out of the South Bronx, call themselves The Vultures. NYPD raided their clubhouse and found drugs and guns. Him and a few of the others did two years upstate.”

“I'll get rid of him tomorrow.”

“I'm not trying to get him fired. Maybe he just got hooked up with the wrong guys. He did his duty in Nam. I didn't find anything since he got out of prison.”

“You think I should keep him on?”

“As long as he isn't causing any trouble. Yes, he's a vet. Give him a chance.”

“I want you to keep tabs on him. LaSalle, too.”

Ellis and his girlfriend joined Jimmy and Les at Jimmy's apartment. The pretense was innocent except that Ellis was worried. He covered his fears with idle chat as he scanned all the old places where Jimmy once kept his bottles of single malt. The spots were empty. After a while, relieved and satisfied, he made his apologies and left.

The uncertainty of the previous evening remained as Jimmy changed out of his suit then waited for Les to join him in the living room. It was already late. They had no plans. He decided not to make a move. His passion still burned, but her rejection lingered. It happened though. Les moved to his side, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his lips with all the hunger that was missing twenty-four hours earlier. A tidal force of passion burst forth and carried them to the bedroom. When it was done, sooner than either wanted, they lay in each others arms warm and secure beneath the covers.

For his part, Jimmy was relieved. He needed Les. He reached that conclusion during the wedding ceremony when Cindy walked by in all her splendor. He had no feelings for his former lover, but she symbolized something more stable than his current life provided. He envied the shared journey she was embarking upon with Miles McCabe, envied both of them for the genuine love they were transforming into a permanent partnership. Neither of them would ever be alone again. They would always have each other, ‘in good times and in bad'. The promise festered in his mind. He wanted that.

“Were you going to drink that scotch?” Les' question interrupted his thoughts.

“I was caught up in the celebration.”

“Ellis didn't like it.”

He pulled her close. “Nothing to worry about.” Soon they were making more love.

***

Winfield took a shower, letting the water run hot over his body. He hadn't slept. The self-denial was not meant to be, certainly not after the wedding reception that put him in a partying mood. Benson, Chase and the girls, it was nice. Chase came through. He needed more coke for California, expensive, but worth it. Money was becoming a problem. With the alimony payments and a recent bold move to take control of the radio station, he was nearly tapped out. The legal fees were killing him. He never should have accepted McCabe's terms that left him with no ticket proceeds until the tour was finished.

Whitehurst seems like a good guy. Never did coke before. Well, there's a first time for everything. He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. His hand shook as he applied the razor to his chin. His mouth tasted sour. He didn't look at his eyes. He already knew they were red.

His daughters gleefully met him at the door. He lived for these brief visits. Nothing meant more to him than the precious smiles on their faces. His ex-wife came up behind them. Even she was smiling, delighted to see her two girls happy. But when she saw her ex-husband's face, the smile disappeared. She knew the look all too well. In an instant, she pushed past her daughters and took hold of the door.

“How could you come here like this?” she berated. “You're high!” She slammed the door in his face.

The cab waited at the curb. He could hear his daughters crying through the door. Winfield thought about knocking again. He knew it was no use. She was probably calling her lawyer already. He turned away. Two hours later he was on a plane to LA. He took some pills, also supplied by Chase, and washed them down with a bourbon and soda. He slept until the plane touched down six hours later.

Jimmy pulled the Saab out of the parking garage, glad to be back behind the wheel. Thirty minutes later they were on the Long Island Expressway heading east. The Hamptons were still ninety minutes away, but the traffic wasn't heavy. He reached for Les' hand. He held it, occasionally caressing her fingers until they reached the Sunrise Highway. It was ten-thirty when they arrived in Montauk. The Block Island ferry had just pulled into the dock, disembarking the few passengers going in the other direction. Jimmy parked, bought tickets for the eleven o'clock departure and then caught up with Les, who was returning from a breakfast nook with two steaming cups of coffee. They boarded with a score of others, some wheeling bicycles. The sun was high enough to risk topside seats in the open air. Jimmy breathed deep, feeling liberated for the first time in months. No one seemed to recognize him. He enjoyed the ride far more than he expected. No need to shield his face from curious fans, no thoughts about going onstage in a few hours, nothing to interfere with the day, just time to be with Les.

They rented bikes and toured half way around the island, stopping often to take in the vistas of Long Island Sound from the many cliffs surrounding the water's edge. In the distance, gigantic freighters plied the horizon. Closer in, sleek sailboats with hulls of red, blue and white, some showcasing brightly colored spinnakers in the light wind, cut through the blue water to some unknown destination further north, Newport maybe. Jimmy vowed to one day do the same with Les. Port Fairy came to mind.

The ferry returned to Montauk at six. They ate a sinful dinner of fried fish dockside. The early Sunday evening patrons filled the tables watching, like Jimmy and Les, as the day sailors returned to port, loosening their sails as they rounded the breakers.

“You can't come with me to LA? Stay longer and take in the show?” He already knew the answer. They'd discussed it off and on since morning. He didn't want their time together to end. Occasionally, he thought he heard a waver in her voice although she nixed the idea each time.

“You know I can't. Please stop asking.”

“It's only a week.”

“I told you we have some new children arriving. I need to be there.”

“Can't someone else fill-in.”

“Not this time. I have to see how it's done. It's too important. Once I have the process down, maybe then. Bookkeeping is one thing, but the boys are our whole purpose. I can't miss it.”

He didn't like it, but he understood. “I wish we had more time.”

She patted his hand. “I'm sorry, too. We have our responsibilities. It's just for now. When you finish your tour…”

“Cindy said you're afraid. She thinks I'm afraid, too.”

“I'm not afraid of you.”

“Of what happens next. Commitment, maybe.”

“It's only that we don't know what to do. I wonder if it's like this for everyone.”

“I'm committed. Have been from the beginning.”

“We have time. I worry more about what you face on the road than how we feel about each other. I'm realistic. It's not like I expect you to be a saint.”

“You doubt me?”

“Not our love, no.”

“What then?”

“I read Alice's articles.”

“You think I'll slip-up?”

Les didn't answer right away. She played with her food as if clarifying her thoughts. “Cindy's right. I am afraid, but it's not what she thinks. I have this feeling everytime we're together. Like I'm going to lose you. Something is going to take you away from me. Not another woman. It's not that kind of feeling. It's hard to explain.”

“She said it was irrational.”

“I feel like I have to do something to keep you close, physically near at all times. Otherwise, you're not safe. I'll lose you.”

“But you lock yourself up in Melbourne as far away from me as you can get.”

“I said it's hard to explain.”

“I look at you and feel guilty, like I'm not doing right by you, but I can't.”

Les met his eyes. “We have time, don't we? I mean when you finish the tour, we can be together.”

“That means me coming to you in Melbourne. That's fine for the short term, then what? We both know I'll be touring again.”

He left her at the international terminal with a long kiss. Her flight departed an hour ahead of his, this time transiting through San Francisco. She waved from the boarding line, blowing one last kiss just as she entered the passageway.

A day after her return to Melbourne Les stood just inside the entrance as a van arrived at the curb in front of Saint Malachy's Orphanage. Three boys were being admitted, two very young, two and three, the other a five year-old with a tragic history. The social workers, two women in their forties, hardened by the heartbreaking cases they had seen, went about their business in perfunctory fashion, signing releases and handing over the few belongings, clothes and battered toys, that the youngsters had accumulated in their short lives. They left the same way they came, with no hugs or kisses, no looking back as Les took the youngest child in her arms and led the others deeper into the building.

On the other side of the world Jimmy poured his energy into rehearsing. This would be the biggest crowd yet, 25,000 fans filling the LA Coliseum to see the entire stable of Blossom's recording artists, sans Weak Knees, now touring Europe to good response. A local band would warm things up beginning at three in the afternoon. At four, The Riland Brothers would open the Blossom Presents format, followed by MacGregor. They would play every track from their albums. It was a toss-up whether to bring Whitehurst or Rebellion up next. McCabe had always expected to bring in the Australian ahead of his Grammy winners. Jimmy was last, the headliner for sure, but
Yarra
was now the best selling album in the country.
Back and Blue
was still strong, in the top twenty, five spots ahead of Kate and her band. In the end, it was decided to open the meat of the show with Rebellion at six-thirty. Whitehurst would come in ahead of Jimmy at eight.
Back and Blue
and its singer took center stage at nine thirty.

***

“Nicky Aldridge.” Sister Marie scanned the report from the Department Social Services then looked up at Les, who was sitting opposite her in the downstairs sitting room. “How is he adjusting?”

Les thought about the five-year old who arrived three days before with the two younger boys. “Not well, he hasn't spoken a word. I've spent time with him, but he's in a shell.”

“Is he eating?”

“Yes. I suppose that's progress. It's the lack of communication that worries me.”

“He's been through a lot for one so young. It will take time.”

“Social Services should have placed him with psychological care.”

“No psychologist can give him what he needs. He needs time, stability and love.”

Les saw the report in the nun's hands. She knew it by heart. Nicky was a victim of neglect. His mother, a prostitute and drug addict, bore him at the age of nineteen. Within six months, she was arrested for possession and sent to jail for a year. That started the boy's long journey from foster home to foster home, interrupted by brief periods of reunification with his mother, who continued to alternate between stints in jail and stints on the street. By the time she died of an overdose, Nicky had been shunted through no less than twelve foster homes, some caring, but most either solely interested in the money or so overwhelmed with other children that they had no time for the boy.

He had no schooling, little nurturing and a collection of bad habits, from wetting his bed to eating only raisins, crackers and chocolate. He could dress himself, but paid no attention to whether his clothes were inside out or backwards. His verbal skills, when
used, consisted of a few words peppered with grunts and screams. At the moment he was docile, but the report made frequent reference to his aggressiveness with other children. He was not mean spirited, it read, but simply did not have the proper social skills. The most alarming paragraph mentioned a new trait, manifested since his mother's death a few months earlier. Les shivered as she remembered the words.

‘He has taken to wandering off whenever the opportunity allows. He has no understanding of streets, traffic or the dangers of the city. He appears to be looking for his mother. He refuses to accept that she will not return. At no time should he be left unattended.'

***

Mike Winfield walked the perimeter of the Coliseum. It was his first visit to the iconic outdoor stadium so rich with the history of renowned events from the 1932 Olympics to rock concerts like the one Blossom was about to showcase. The venue could hold over 90,000. The DJ muttered obscenities under his breath at Miles McCabe who held ticket sales to 25,000 because he didn't want the crowd to overpower the music of his artists. Winfield hated to leave money on the table.

The stage was complete. Wires ran in bundles down its sides under brightly colored skirts of fabric imprinted with the Blossom Presents logo. A new twist was added above and behind the stage on tall beams of thick aluminum; twenty-foot square video screens, four in a row, each to pick up feeds from the sophisticated cameras. The bands' every move would be visible to the live audience, even if their views of the stage were obstructed. From a side door, across the field, the extra technician Winfield had personally hired emerged. He waved as he crossed to where Winfield waited.