C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (12 page)

Ari sighed. “Daddy says he wouldn’t either.”

Their attention was drawn back to the TV. T was speaking again. “They’ve given us a time limit so we’d better start. First award, new female vocalist of the year, and who better to help me give this, than that non-stop purveyor of female talent himself, my brother, Eddie C Samuels!”

T turned in the direction of the stairs and C started down them. The camera followed him as he waved to the stage band and saluted the audience.

“Well, what do you think of him, girls?” Bertie asked as she reached for a napkin and dusted the popcorn salt from her hands. “There’s the other one at home.”

The girls turned their heads to the right and then the left, sizing up C in his tux that fit him, in Jemma’s opinion, every bit as well as his brother’s had. He had no bowtie, but the collar studs were diamonds. His hair was pulled back and he was clean-shaven and Jemma had to shift her body in the chair. Obviously, she just
thought
she’d talked herself out of wondering about this man.

“Well, since T’s taken,” Ari nudged at Mandy’s thigh, “I suppose physically he would do in a pinch.” She sat up and studied the screen. “You know, Lyla, I think there’s something different about him.” The women leaned forward in an attempt to see something incriminating about the man they all loved to trash. “He looks, um, calmer.” They all sat back.

“Maybe he finally saw a therapist,” Lyla commented.

Ari ignored her. “No, it’s something else.” She drew on the water again. “He looks like he’s just dying to tell, too.”

Hmm
, Jemma thought,
real possibility there
.
She reached for the popcorn.

“C, you ready to give this award?”

“You bet, bro.”

Jemma sighed. They shared the podium, as alike as two peas, as different as night and day, and took turns reading the five nominees from the teleprompter. Appropriate applause greeted each young woman as her name was called, and the screen filled with pictures-in-picture as they all awaited the big moment.

“I don’t suppose it would be fair to go to commercial right now.” T raised his eyebrows at one of the hopefuls in the front row. She gave a little screech.

“It’s a thought,” C said as he blew the young woman a kiss.

“Well, maybe next time.” T reached behind himself to the ushers that had materialized to stand there.

“And the winner is—” C began as he messed with the seal on the notecard and

read the winner’s name. The young lady in the front row bounded up on stage, bare back, nude fabric, and side slit up-to-there showing far more of her than she should have. C took the statue from the usher and handed it to her, bestowing a somewhat brotherly kiss on her cheek and raising his eyebrows at T as he did so. T kissed her other cheek and she gushed her thank-yous into the microphone.

“Hand me the phone, Jemma.” Lyla held out her hand and Jemma reached to the bookshelf and picked up the portable. “Sam patted his pocket. That’s my signal to call him on his cell phone at the break. Something’s up!”

***

Lyla didn’t reach T until the third try. By that time, the apple pie had been divided equally into bowls so the vanilla ice cream could float as it melted and not run over into everyone’s lap. C’s portion of the program was about over, but the last the women had seen of the brothers they were standing in the wings watching a rival group perform their nominated song of the year. BCA’s performance would come later in the program.

“Finally, it’s ringing!” Lyla said. Jemma reached for the remote control and clicked the set to “mute.” As a group they figured they were welcome to hear Lyla’s end of the conversation. After all, they’d discussed the what-ifs and wherefores for the past thirty minutes. “Sam, I’ve been trying to call you, but the interference—” She stopped to listen. “Well, okay.” She looked in Jemma’s direction and held the phone out to her. “C wants to talk to you.” She didn’t try to hide her smile and the quiet group got even quieter as Jemma took the phone reluctantly.

“Yes?” She stole a look over at her audience. They hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Everybody there and watching you?” There was a considerable noise in the background, even though the program had now gone to commercial. She could hear him walking.

“Like cats to a mouse hole.”

“I can picture that.” He paused and Jemma found herself smiling weakly at her audience. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“I won’t be coming back to Jinks to see the property. The lady said yes.”

“Well, congratulations, then. I wish you every happiness.” It was all she could do to keep the smile plastered on her face.

“We’ll be announcing it after the show. That damn song of Lyla’s is bound to win song of the year, no way it couldn’t, and we’ll have the stage. So have some fun and keep it from Lyla till then. Do that for me, okay?”

“I can manage that.”

“Good-bye, Miss Lovelace. Who knows, maybe it could have been fun.”

“Good-bye, Charles. Some things are best never known.”

Chapter Eleven

“I
don’t suppose I get to know what that was all about.”

C smiled at his brother and popped the cell phone into his hand. “No.”

“That’s it? No?”

“Eddie T—on in sixty!”

“Thanks!” he called to the stage manager. He buttoned his tux, brushed at his jacket arms. “At least with you off stage now, I don’t have to worry about what might come out of your mouth.”

C chuckled. “All in good time, T. Here, stand still.” He grabbed at the bow tie, straightened it. “You live with a woman less than a year and already you can’t dress yourself.” He swiped at T’s shoulders and turned him toward the stage. “Go get ’em, tiger, and don’t worry about me!” He popped T one on the seat and sent him off.

T bounded up to the podium just as the lights sliced back to his spot. He was suitably out of breath. “You know, you can’t get a decent breather nowadays. The wife called!” C stood in the wings and admired his brother’s easy camaraderie with the audience. T had always had it, but now it shone. “Where’s my next co-host?” The music came up and BCA band member number three loped down the staircase.

C shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Well, if that wasn’t a cozy conversation, C.” He didn’t have to turn to identify the owner of the hands that snaked around his body from behind.

“Love you, Abs. Don’t get makeup on the jacket.”

“Or you’ll what?” She further insinuated herself under his right arm and into the hollow of his side. He held her absentmindedly, stroked at her very bare shoulder. “Or you’ll what?” She persisted as she ran a long fingernail down his side.

He drew his attention to her upturned face. Abby, bitch to him or besotted with him, but always Abby. “I could probably think of some way of making you pay.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose.

“You can do better than that.” She pulled on him.

“Don’t want lipstick all over me, Abs. You know that.” He touched the tip of her nose with his index finger. “I’ll give you a rain check for a kiss deluxe.”

She pulled out from under his arm. “When do you titans of the industry perform?”

“’Bout an hour. Just before the award is given. Saving the best for last.” He grabbed at her, but she moved further away. “Abby, let’s not do this.”

She swiveled toward him and came just close enough to whisper. “The ol’ C would have had me back in the dressing room with my legs over my head. Getting soft?” She poked him in the stomach.

“Maybe I just don’t want to get laid right now.” He leaned down so they were nose to nose. “And there ain’t nothin’ soft about me, sister, including that rock you’re wearing backwards on your left hand. Don’t think I didn’t see the band! Told you to leave it off until the announcement.” He straightened up.

She shifted her weight to one hip. “Maybe for some absurd reason, I’m proud of it.”

“Well, be proud in the closet for another two hours!”

She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms. “Are you going to join me in the audience? Our seats are waiting.”

He took a quick glance to the podium. T and Ron were standing aside while the young male vocalist of the year spilled his thank-yous. The music came up to remind him there was a time limit. C offered his fiancée his arm and they went out front.

***

“So what was that all about?” Age had given Bertie an annoying boldness.

Jemma clicked off the portable phone and laid it to rest in its cradle on the bookshelf. She wanted to fix Bertie with a “mind your own business”
stare but would have had to give it to the whole room. “C was looking to buy some property in the area. He was telling me that he’d changed his mind and wouldn’t be back.” Straightforward, simple. It was even the truth.

“And he had to take time away from whatever Sam wanted to tell Lyla for that?”

“Hey!” Jemma held her hands up. “I’m not the one that handed over T’s cell phone to him.”

“C’mon, Bertie, you know how C is.” Lyla shot Jemma a quick look that asked everything and said nothing all in one short span. “He has to have everything right this minute.” She emphasized the last words. “C waits for no one.”

“Well, I guess that’s true enough.” Bertie plumped at the pillow behind her ample form and wagged a finger at the screen. “Okay, Ari, tell us about that one.”
The teen rolled her eyes. “Miss Bertie, you just do that to make me mad.” But Jemma noted she launched into an unexpurgated version of Ron’s sins and accomplishments and that the old woman listened.

Jemma was glad their attention was no longer on her. She could let her mind drift. Drift to the fact that a part of her was disappointed he wasn’t coming back to court her. How could that be? She’d despised the man since he and his high-handed ways had set Lyla’s world into a tumble. Did she want that for her own? There wasn’t going to be any Cinderella storybook ending for her: the man had the biggest love ’em and leave ’em reputation in Hollywood. Maybe for one brief moment she had represented a challenge to him and he’d thought to expand his territory to Texas. Thank goodness, he’d come to his senses.

Thank goodness someone had.

***

The fourth band was performing their nominated song when Jemma decided to bus the living room. The popcorn bowl was empty, the napkins crumpled into it, the apple pie bowls balanced precariously inside as well. She fought to get the recliner to an upright position—once reclined it wanted to stay that way—and picked up as much as she could carry for a kitchen trip.

She wasn’t surprised to find Lyla at her elbow as she dropped the dishes into the sink for a quick rinse before opening the dishwasher.

“So.” Lyla balanced back on the kitchen counter and didn’t move to help Jemma clean the dishes. Obviously, the role of inquisitor required her undivided attention. “That’s all he said? Not coming back. Show the property to someone else.”

“That’s the gist of it.” Jemma reached for a dishtowel to dry her hands.

“Then what were you congratulating him for?”

Jemma pursed her lips, replayed the conversation in her mind. “He said there wasn’t any way your
damn
song couldn’t win the award. You’d think he’d be more grateful.” She wiped down the countertop. “He wouldn’t be getting this award if you hadn’t given them the song.”

“Um-hmm.” Lyla appeared unconvinced. “Jemma,” she brushed Jemma’s forearm with her fingers, “Jemma, honey, he told us why he walked back to the Quik-Lee.”

“That’s what you said.” Their eyes held and Jemma decided to get the subject over with. “That he told you he’d been rude and I’d kicked him out. True as far as it goes. Did he tell you why I thought him rude?”

Lyla nodded. “He tried to kiss you.”

“No
try
about it.” She paused. “But I didn’t want to be kissed, okay?” She looked downward. “I just don’t go around kissing…” Her voice trailed off. When she looked back to Lyla’s face, she knew there were tears in her own eyes. “Lyla, what would a man like that want with someone like me? I mean, you and T had music in common. Me? What do I have in common with someone like Charles—C? Oh, damn!” She leaned over on the counter and propped herself up with her elbows. Lyla stroked her back gently.

“I’m not an Eddie C fan, Jemma. You know that.”

“Yeah.” She studied the tile on the backsplash. “How come I hear a big
but
coming?”

“Because there is one.” Lyla laughed gently. “I’m not a fan,
but
he seemed to be showing just the slightest inkling, smidgen, tee-niney touch of concern for you.”

Jemma straightened up and looked Lyla squarely in the face. “Beyond needing a diversion and ultimately humiliating me?”

“That may have been on the agenda at first,” Jemma flinched at her words, “but Sam said there was something different about him when he dropped him off to get his car Friday afternoon. And he called Sunday and they talked for over an hour before Sam left. I don’t think they’ve done that in a year.”

“Maybe he decided he too could grow up.”

Lyla thought for a minute. “Nah. Some things are just pipe dreams. C growing up and being responsible with a wife and home and family…” She laughed. “Ludicrous.”

The swinging door slammed open and Ari popped in. “They’re on after the break. Get a move on or you’ll miss them!”

“Wouldn’t want to do that,” Lyla murmured. “Like we’ve never seen them perform.”

Jemma followed her out of the kitchen. Well, she hadn’t seen them perform and she wasn’t about to miss this one.

***

The performance to end all performances. If T had ever done a finer job of singing than he did for the awards show, C couldn’t recall it. They shrugged out of their jackets and joined the band on the stage set. T arpeggio-ed his way up and down the grand piano keyboard three times, drawing the audience into a silence usually given to classical concerts. By the time the first words spilled from his lips, before C joined him in the chorus and the rest of BCA in the second verse, C was so sure of the award that he’d tell Heaven of the great injustice done if they didn’t get it. The possibility that he might not be eventually headed in that direction didn’t enter his mind.