Diary of a Blues Goddess (32 page)

The night before I was scheduled to go on at the Mississippi Mudslide, Maggie called.

"When were you going to tell me?"

I uttered the words, "Tell you what?" But I knew.

"That you slept with Jack. My Jack. The Jack I have been in love with from the moment I saw him."

"Oh… that Jack," I tried to joke with her.

Dead silence.

"Maggie… it was a stupid thing to do that… just… happened one night. And what's with him telling you all this? It's over. It was over before it started. Before Rick. And I knew it was wrong. So why is he bringing it up?"

"Because we've been seeing each other. And last night we were supposed to sleep together. After the seance. We'd been planning it. It was supposed to be our first time—sober. I was going to tell you, but after I made an idiot of myself sleeping with Jack when you were drunk, I decided to just keep quiet about it."

"Wow… this is so great. I'm so happy for you."

"Well don't be. Because thanks to you, it didn't happen. We got in a big fight. He told me about you and him because he wanted to be honest, but I… I couldn't handle it. And I was so shocked you'd kept it from me. I mean… that is what really blew me away. That you didn't tell me."

"I would have. But when you guys slept together that night he got drunk, it was all such a mess, I didn't even know what to do."

"What I don't understand—" her voice cracked"—is how you could sleep with him, knowing how I feel about him?"

"Maggie, it was a huge mistake."

"You never have trouble meeting men. Me? I am always the friend. This was the one guy. My one guy."

"What do you mean, 'the friend'?"

"You know what I mean. The sidekick. The friend next to the beautiful Georgie."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it? You need to look around." Her voice was angry. "When we go out, you're the one who gets the attention. Half the time I think I color my hair just so someone will look at me."

I sighed. "How long have you felt this way?"

"Forever. Since the day we met."

"Maggie… I don't even know what to say. What I did was wrong. But you can't mean this."

"Of course I mean it." The anger in her voice subsided, and now I could hear a quiver.

"Mags… and please, please whatever you're feeling, however you're angry at me, please don't let it stop you and Jack from starting a relationship."

"I don't know."

"Are you coming to Mississippi Mudslide?"

"I don't think so."

I felt a chill come over me. "Maggie… please. You're my best female friend 'with estrogen,' as you always point out."

"Which you wouldn't know from what you've done."

"I know. But please, please come."

"I can't. Listen… I'll call you next week."

"But—"

"I've got to go."

And as I started to respond, I realized, with a click, that I was speaking to dead air.

So that was it. I had done the unforgivable to someone I loved. Forgiveness was in short supply around this place. I still hadn't spoken to Tony.

Sleep eluded me. Nerves settled into my stomach like an entire flock of geese (forget butterflies). I got up and put on my robe and headed down to the kitchen, where I took a bottle of champagne to drown my sorrows and headed into the garden. I settled into a chair and inhaled all the night fragrances. By day, Tony was slowly transforming the patch of earth plant by plant into an overgrown careless English garden that, of course, belied its truly careful planning. I sat alone and breathed in the jasmine.

"Penny for your thoughts."

I let out something that was a cross between a gasp and a scream. "Jesus Christ, you scared me."

"Didn't mean to frighten you." Tony emerged from the shadows and sat down in the dim light filtering into the garden from the kitchen.

"That's okay. I can get a heart transplant."

"Checkin' on the progress, are you?" He sat down in a chair, his Levi's grass-stained and faded, his white T-shirt covered in mud.

"Just wanted to think about things… Listen… I understand, I think, why you looked up my father. I'm sorry I've been such a bitch."

"I never meant to upset you."

"I know. I find myself wrestling with leaving the past in the past. It's great to have him here, but it's not perfect. I want to ask him a hundred times a day, when we have a laugh, or we sit and talk, 'Why'd you leave?'"

"So ask 'im."

"But the answer is in the bottle. So I either move on or miss out on knowing him now."

"Do you watch him when he plays the bass? He's somewhere else. Just like when you sing, you're someplace else."

"Think I got it from him?"

He nodded.

"I always related to you, Georgia. You not having a mother and father. I never really had anyone to watch out for me. Always had to make it alone. But you've got this grand house. With all these people who care about you. And even if you go off to New York to make music, you'll still have them. As alone as I was, I knew that what I had in here—" he pointed to his chest"—was all I had learned from the people I loved. So… it's not like they'll leave you really."

"I… I know this sounds like a wimpy bullshit cop-out, but part of me really wants to go onstage at the Mississippi Mudslide, and part of me wants to chicken out."

"Makes sense to me. You know, Georgia… you're the only one of us who has to think about becoming a star. What if that happened? What if you didn't just leave New Orleans, but you left us
all
behind?"

"I wouldn't change."

"Everyone says that."

"But I wouldn't. Really I wouldn't. I've been singing since I could first talk. I always craved being the center of attention, from my father. From my mother even. Dance lessons. Singing lessons. If it all came together, I think I'd look at my watch and say, 'Well, it's about time.'"

I took a swig of champagne and held out the bottle. "Want a sip?"

"Nah… " He held up a cold beer. "I have this."

"So do you think I'm ready? For the Mudslide?"

"You always were."

"Anyone ever tell you how mysterious you are? The blues. The way you're obsessed with them. Like the other night, with my father, I came downstairs and you guys were talking about T-Bone Walker, and you knew more than he did."

"So what do you want to know about me, Georgia?"

He spoke in a growl, like a low rumble. Rough. I found myself taking another sip of champagne. I'd made a mess of things with Jack, Maggie… I'd let myself fall for Casanova Jones. I didn't need to be noticing Tony's T-shirt was bunched up, and he had this thin line of black hair on his belly, and a set of abs that looked hard as a the stones he'd cast aside while digging the garden.

"The blues thing. Why?"

He put the cold beer up to his temple, as if he had a headache. Exhaling, he spoke quietly. "I cannot tell you, Georgia, what growing up poor in Ireland is like. It was brutal. And I lost my mother very young."

"How?"

"Don't know. My father was always off, at the pubs, doing a few illegal activities. He never even told me or my brothers what happened. We buried her with the simple thought in our minds that she'd been 'sick.' Of what, that I cannot tell you."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "When you can't talk about what's inside… can't… give it a voice… sometimes a kid turns to music. Or drugs. Or drink. My oldest brother did that. And petty crime. But for me, it was music. Instead of rock 'n' roll, and most especially, instead of British rock 'n' roll, I liked American music. I actually really got into Elvis."

"Like Elvis? Our old guitarist?"

He laughed. "He took it a little more seriously than I did. I don't think you'll see me wearin' a polyester jumpsuit, now, lass."

"There's always sequins."

"No, you've got that department covered."

"Not anymore. I get to wear what I want now."

He smiled. "I think you look fine in sequins… I think you look fine in anything… Anyway, how did I get into the blues? Well, I had this one friend. A dear old guy, kind of like your Red. He owned a record shop. I would beg him to let me sweep out the back of the store, unload records, categorize them. Just pay me in records. And what I picked, what I wanted, was the blues."

"So why so closemouthed?"

"Don't know. I've been alone my whole life, really. My brothers are at least ten years older than I am. And they all left as soon as they could. My father was really just a bastard. And I guess… I'm not used to talking. I've lived up here—" he pointed to his temple "—for so long. I need to start living from here." He patted his chest again.

"You know," I said, "we all love you. You don't have to play your cards so close to your chest."

"I know. I was kind of hoping that the garden here would express what I feel. That's why I like plants, you know. They say what I can't. Come on." He held out his hand.

"It's pretty dark."

"I know, but come see this one corner."

I took his hand, and we walked over to a little patch filled with tiny little flowers that looking like little bells. He lit a small candle in a lantern.

"Lilies of the valley?" I asked.

He nodded in the dark. I was keenly aware of his hand, as I had been at the seance, too. It was a strong hand. A hand, I guessed, that had worked hard. That dug in the earth and moved stone and got cut and bled. A hand as unique as Tony. Scarred and rough. But gentle enough to lead me.

"I always used to think that fairies rang them." I smiled, though I knew he couldn't see my face. Lilies of the valley have always been my favorite flower. My mother's, too. That must have been why the spirits said they liked the garden. My mother had had lilies of the valley in her bridal bouquet.

Tony and I both squatted down to make them out in the flicker of candlelight.

"This is your corner," he said. "When I am working on it, I call it Georgia's Corner. When you come here, you can know I did this for you. And over here is Nan's. I'm growing her jasmine."

"It's beautiful."

I stood up again. We looked at each other awkwardly, but I didn't trust myself.

"I should go inside."

I turned quickly, before he could say anything, and I let go of his hand. Walking away, I felt a great pang of loneliness. We seemed to communicate without saying a lot. I told myself that wasn't enough. But upstairs as I took a shower, I started crying. It's Maggie, I thought. But looking down at my hand, thinking of holding his in the garden, I knew that wasn't the only reason I was crying.