Blue Christmas (The Moody Blue Trilogy | Book One) (5 page)

“By all means,”
Laura answered. “In fact, I think I’ll join you.” They scrubbed Baby’s remnants
off their hands, sharing the pump soap dispenser. Laura faked a shiver, still
laughing.

“I know. I love
dogs, but I’m a neat freak about clean hands,” Hannah said. “Guess I must have
listened to Mom more than I realized.” She dried her hands on the fresh dish
towel Laura offered her.

“Good girl. Your
mother would be proud. Now have a seat and we’ll eat before it all gets cold. Jason!
Frank? C’mon, guys, we’re hungry!”

Jason flew into
the room, sliding across the hardwood floor in his socks. He rushed toward the
table, then threw his leg over the back of the chair and flopped into his seat.
He looked up grinning at Hannah, then turned to face his mother and father. They
weren’t smiling.

“Oh, sorry. I
forgot.” He got up, stepped away from the table and turned back around, his
hands folded against his waist. “Mother? Father? Hannah? Good evening.” Then,
with the most elegant of manners, he lowered himself into the chair, snapping
his cloth napkin into the air before gracefully placing it across his lap.
“Shall we dine?”

Mr. and Mrs.
McKenzie and their son reached out to hold hands for prayer. Jason held out his
hand to Hannah, that mischievous smile taunting her. She slowly placed her hand
in his, hoping and praying she wouldn’t pass out at his touch. His fingers
wrapped around her hand. Still smiling, he winked just before bowing his head.

And as her heart hammered
against her chest, Hannah listened in wonder as her childhood idol—whose face once
lined her bedroom walls and starred in a thousand of her dreams—began to pray.

“God, you’re so
amazing . . .”

Hannah recognized
it immediately. That familiar sensation of being on the outside looking in. In
a situation, but like some surreal, out of body interlude, merely observing the
whole scene even though her body continued to interact. It felt so strange.

Such was her
experience at dinner with the McKenzies. She listened, she spoke, she laughed, and
she ate as if in a dream. Then, somewhere between the main course and dessert,
she realized she was starting to rejoin the little party. Or maybe it was the
reassuring touch from Laura when she served her that cup of coffee. The fog
cleared and there she was—no longer shocked and nervous about whom she was
with, but simply enjoying a quiet dinner with a remarkable family.

Well,
sort
of quiet.

As the four of
them passed dishes of hot fruit salad, smoked ham, sweet potatoes, and angel
biscuits, Jason talked non-stop. In between he wolfed down his mother’s cooking
like he hadn’t eaten in months. Hannah hung on every word as he rambled about
her teen idols, his closest friends. He bounced from one subject to the next,
covering everything from JT’s latest tattoo (don’t ask) to the two teenage
girls who broke into Jackson’s hotel room while he was in the shower.

“So these two
girls are standing there in the bathroom, screaming and laughing and begging to
take some pictures, and Jackson is going nuts! ‘How’d you get in here?’” Jason
mimicked his best friend’s voice. “‘Y’all get out of here! This isn’t funny!’
He kept yelling and those girls just kept giggling and squealing.” He hooted
with laughter. “Oh my gosh, it was
hilarious.”

“Oh, for heaven’s
sake, Jason,” Laura interrupted, not amused. “Where was your security? I
thought they locked down your floors at the hotels. How did this happen?”

“That’s the funny
part, Mom. That whole penthouse floor was ours. I mean, not just the five of us,
but the whole entourage. The band, the back-up singers, our lead group,
everybody. And we’ve got strict rules about who does and does not get on those
floors when we travel. But Frito, one of our tech guys, had met these two girls
after the show. You’ve gotta know Frito—he’s from some other planet. He can fix
any musical instrument as fast as any pit crew at Daytona. He’s incredible, but
when it comes to fans, he just doesn’t get it. He’s clueless.

“So these girls
are flirting with him down at the Hard Rock after the show, and he’s just putty
in their hands. He’s falling for all their bull, thinking he’s just all that.
And all the while, they’re just scheming to get to
us.
Duh? Kids pull
this stuff everywhere we go. He should have known better, but he’s only been
with us a few months. He never had a clue how devious these kids can be. So
Frito soaks it all up, loving every minute of the attention these girls are
dishing him. He swears he never told them he was part of our crew. But I
guarantee they knew all about him
long
before that night. Knew just
where to scope him out after the show, the whole nine yards.

“So they sweet talk
the old Frito Bandito,” Jason postured, imitating the girls, his voice in a
ridiculous falsetto. “‘We really love you, man. Pleeeease take us up to your
room—we just wanna hang with you, man!’ And Frito melts like butter on a hot
biscuit, and off they go. He sneaks them up the elevator—mind you, you have to
have a special key for that elevator. Then they hang out in his room for a few
minutes until he goes into his bathroom to take a leak—”

“Jason—”

“Sorry, Mom.” He winced
at Hannah then continued, never missing a beat. “He goes to
relieve
himself then comes out and guess what? Miracle upon miracle, they’re gone! Ya
think?”

He stopped to
shove a generous fork full of ham into his mouth. Frank took the opportunity to
get a word in. “Your mother’s right, Jason. What good is your security if you
can’t even trust your own crew? You may need to think about getting a new
security team. And I hope you’ve disciplined this Frito guy.”

“Oh, you could say
that. Gevin went ballistic. He was furious.”

Hannah visualized Gevin
Michaels, oldest of
Out of the Blue
at 33, with a deep bass voice as
smooth as velvet. The decisive father-figure of the group, Gevin usually called
the shots when it came to organization and details, with the help of the
management team that oversaw their every move. Tall, with spiky black hair,
thick eyebrows, and a close-cropped beard, Gevin’s maturity was no hindrance to
even the youngest of fans. He had an equal number of “
Marry me, Gevin
!” signs in every audience, just like the
others. He was also Jason’s cousin, nephew of Frank and Laura.

“Gevin? I would
think Jackson would be the one who was upset,” Laura countered.

“Jackson? Come on,
Mom. Jax? You know how he is. He loves all that attention. He’s still laughing
about it.”

Hannah had always
adored Jackson Greer. The baby of the group, joining when he was only sixteen, Jackson
had all the right stuff: messy white-blond hair, cobalt blue eyes, a raspy
tenor voice with an endless range, and an outrageous sense of humor.

Jason continued.
“Of course, I guess if Frito hadn’t come when he did and snatched them out of
there, Jackson might not be laughing. He would’ve been pretty ticked if they’d
gotten pictures of him in his
nakeditity
and sold them to the
Enquirer
.”

“Well, hey,
inquiring minds want to know,” Hannah quoted.

Jason paused then
smiled at the unexpected joke. “Well, Hannah, is that a fact? Would you like to
elaborate on that a little?”

“Uh, no . . .
I don’t think so,” she laughed, embarrassed again. She faked a cough then
plowed on, avoiding his teasing eyes. “But I’m curious. Is it always such a
circus when you’re on tour?”

Jason nodded. “Oh,
the stories I could tell you, girl. Most of the time it’s so surreal it’s hard
to even believe. People are
so
crazy. They will do
anything.
You
cannot believe some of these kids. Mostly the younger ones. I’m talkin’ girls like
twelve, thirteen, fourteen. But you’ve gotta watch those middle-aged housewives
too.”

“You’re serious?”

“I’m tellin’
you—they’re the most dangerous because they have the money to finance the
chase. It’s unbelievable the lengths some of them will go to. But y’know what?
Most of the time we get a kick out of it all. I mean, it’s just part of the
package. We’ve learned to expect it. But there are times—sometimes when you’re
already exhausted and you’ve been away from home for too long—that’s when it
gets old. And those are the times you have to consciously fight your thoughts
and those feelings of anger or frustration. And you have to realize that these
fans, even the crazy little girls, are the ones who buy the music, buy the
concert tickets, the whole enchilada. And then you just take a deep breath and
go on.”

“And those are the
times when you head home for a little sanity, right?” Laura reached over to squeeze
his hand.

He lifted his
mother’s hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. “No place I’d rather be,
Mom.”

“How long will you
be home, son?” Frank asked.

“I’m trying to
stay for a week or so if we can make some schedule changes. We’re supposed to
do some studio time but none of us are in the mood. We’re all too tired. We
scattered in five different directions for Christmas so I doubt we’ll make it
to the studio. But as far as I know, everyone’s still planning to be here for
New Year’s.”

Laura stood up and
began to clear the dinner dishes. Hannah started to join her when Jason placed
his hand over hers. “That’s okay, you’re the guest. I’ll help her.”

She bit her lip,
chiding herself for still melting at his touch.

 Laura pinched his
cheek. “Such a good boy,” she bragged in a borrowed Yiddish accent. “He sings,
he dances, he washes the dishes—what more could a mother ask for?”

“Grandchildren?”
Frank quirked a hopeful smile.

Jason cleared his
throat, ignoring the question. “So Mom! What’s for dessert?” He picked up his
plate and Hannah’s.

Stacking the
dishes in the sink, Laura looked over her shoulder at the towering son behind
her. “Chocolate pecan pie. What else?”

“Sweet! You always
come through for me, woman! Hannah, wait ’til you taste this. It’s incredible.
It’s a good thing Sergio isn’t here. We wouldn’t get a bite.”

“How is my
favorite Spaniard?” Laura asked as she cut into the dark pie.

Sergio Cruz, the handsome
European hailing from Barcelona. Everyone said he looked like a young Antonio
Banderas, the movie actor. Hannah pictured his curly black hair usually worn in
a pony tail, the dazzling smile, and the dark bedroom eyes that had stopped
hearts all over the world for years. The mere sound of his accent used to make
her knees go weak. She caught herself twisting her napkin.

“I’m not sure,
Mom. You know Sergio. Totally unpredictable. He’s supposed to be in Hawaii but
then he could show up any minute. He’s fine, I guess. Although I don’t care
much for his current steady squeeze.”

Laura placed the
dessert plate on the table before her husband. “Well, as I recall I didn’t care
much for
your
last ‘steady squeeze’ either.” She shot a look at Hannah,
rolling her eyes.

“Gee, Mom, and
wouldn’t I
love
to spoil this perfect evening with a rowdy discussion about
my ex-fiancée.” Jason served Hannah her pie then sat down to his own.  “I don’t
think
so.”

That’s when Laura
gently placed her hand on Hannah’s shoulder and looked kindly into her eyes.
“Would you like some coffee, sweetie?”

Hannah couldn’t
explain it. The term of endearment, the touch of a mother’s hand on her
shoulder. The hospitality of this kind woman and her family, the palpable love
between the three of them. The surprising ease she felt in Jason’s presence. Hannah
felt like she’d been wrapped in a warm blanket of love, at ease and completely
comfortable here. The nervous butterflies seemed to have vanished.

She looked deeply
into those compassionate eyes. “Laura?” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Laura leaned over
to hug her. Hannah blinked away the moisture in her eyes, avoiding the long
familiar eyes she felt upon her. When she finally looked up, she smiled back at
Jason. He ducked his head, absently picking at his pie with his fork. After what
seemed like an eternity, he peeked back at her under his brow and flashed a
quick smile before refocusing on his dessert.

What was that
all about?

Beside her sat one
of the most famous celebrities of the music world. The sandy blond hair—characteristically
unruly, of course. The pronounced jaw line and exaggerated dimples, and the
greenest eyes God ever made, set in a perpetual smile. Though she had adored
him for more years than she cared to admit, she had never before met Jason
McKenzie in person. For all she knew, he could have been conceited, arrogant,
and none too happy to find a stranger at the family dinner table tonight. Yet,
here he was, as normal and down to earth as anyone she’d ever met.