Frost on My Window (7 page)

“No.” Rena replied and then seemed to shake herself. She took a deep breath and hugged me.

“I can’t tell you what happened, but I can tell you that Nina’s going to be okay.”

“Rena…” I warned.

“Listen to me, Leah. She doesn’t want people to know, okay? You’ve got to go to this concert.”

I waved off her concern. “Sean will understand if I’m not there.”

“There’s nothing you can do. She’s at Lennox Hill Hospital, which isn’t far away from the Garden. I’ll drop you off on my way over.”

“I want to come with you,” I said, trying again.

“I know, and I’ll tell Nina that you wanted to be there.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Positive. You just have fun, and I’ll expect the inside scoop on how it all went down, okay? Now let’s roll,” she said, turning and heading out of the room.

* * *

“Are you sure?” I asked Rena for the fiftieth time.

“Yes,” she answered, pulling up behind a line of stopped cars. I watched as wave after wave of people crowded the sidewalk heading towards the entrance to Madison Square Garden. Their loud voices and rushed movements began to rub off on me and my heart sped up.

I opened the car door and moved to get out; I stopped at the touch of Rena’s hand on my arm. I turned to see her smile.

“Tell Sean I’ll catch him on the next go-round.”

Before I could tell her that I wouldn’t be able to tell him anything, a police siren sounded somewhere down the street.

“See you later, cuz.” I stepped onto the sidewalk and watched as Rena maneuvered the sporty BMW into the slow-moving traffic headed uptown.

I was swept towards the open doors of the auditorium with the crowd. The very air seemed to be alive with excitement; vendors lined the corridors selling CDs, videos, shirts, pictures and calendars of the band. Exile was playing to a sold-out crowd tonight. I was sure that Sean would be pleased. I slowly maneuvered my way through the crowd of teenagers to the front. By the time I passed through all the checkpoints and settled into my seat, I couldn’t wait for the show to start. The front row section was filled with young and old professionals who could afford to spend $500 a ticket.

By the time Exile took the stage, the crowd was on its feet. I looked up into the outer stands, seeing blurred faces chanting the band’s name. As Sean walked towards the center of the raised stage, I was standing and clapping, along with everyone else. The mood of the crowd was electric, filled with anticipation and energy.

The light show began and three enormous video screens glowed. Sean stepped up to the standing microphone and strummed his opening note. The huge arena was so silent you could hear a pin drop. I’d heard Sean sing before, but nothing had prepared me for this. His voice rode the guitar and edged over the sounds of the drum and keyboard. I turned to look at the faces of those surrounding me and found them captivated by Sean.

When he closed his eyes and sang, my throat tightened with remembrance, the memory of cradling his head on my shoulder as his tears stained my shirt. It was the song for his mother that would haunt me for all my days. Sean sang each note straight from his soul. I saw his mother the way he saw her.

The song cast a shadow over the audience. Everyone in the arena felt the touch of a mother’s love and a son’s mourning. When I tore my eyes away from Sean I saw that his song had brought tears to the eyes of many of the audience.

Tonight the critics would pick up their pens noting that a major part of Sean’s life emerged in verses about love and loss, happiness and pain. Sean took the wide breadth of the human condition and narrowed it down into three or four syllables coupled with an unforgettable melody.

Then the music changed and I could only watch as Sean seemed to transform before my eyes. Like the wind, he blew hot and cold. His music swung, a combination of two different people: one angry and tortured, the other haunted by grief. That mixture showed in his every move, every song, and made people want him more. The band seemed to push forward and their body language which moments before was laid back and slow turned edgy.

The music was loud, quick, high energy with its angst-ridden riffs and chords. Sean moved into a low crouch and swung the guitar back and forth, writhing, as his voice grew more forceful and fiery. It frightened me a little; I had only seen the gentle side of Sean. As I watched him play to the rage and anger, the high emotions running rampant through the crowd, I shivered.

As he neared the end of the concert, Sean slowed the pace of the music and the tender side of his music took the lead. The music that poured from his guitar strings was honey mixed with bitter ale. From his lips came words of memory gathered from an old grief and a deep love.

He sang songs that spoke to the solitary person inside. His words conjured images of faraway places. I felt tears start behind my eyes as he sang of wars and loves come and gone, mothers looking up at snow-covered mountains waiting for the return of sons and husbands, lonely abbeys without words of peace, silent gray-red stones, and crumbling arches.

When the applause came, Sean bowed and joined the rest of Exile at the front of the stage. It was deafening. I looked up at him and saw him give me one of his big grins as he waved to the crowd before he turned to leave the stage. I turned to follow the crowd towards the exit, only to stop short at the approach of a tall, well-built, black-clad concert security guard.

“Miss, may I see your ticket please?”

“Okay.” I pulled the ticket stub slowly from my bag while giving the man a confused stare.

“If you would come with me,” he said, placing a hand on my left arm.

“Excuse me,” I said. As he led me further away from the exiting crowd, I dug in my heels. “Excuse me. Is there a problem?”

He looked down at me, a curious expression on his big face.

“No problem at all. Your ticket was selected to go backstage and meet the members of Exile.”

I shook my head with disbelief as he smiled benignly and led me through the thong of screaming people and line of security. Damn the man. Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. Before I knew it, I was ushered through the doorway of Sean’s dressing room. He sat sprawled out on the only sofa in the room. I leaned back against the door and cleared my throat, causing him to spill some of his bottled water.

A slow smile spread across his face. He looked both handsome and charmingly boyish as he hesitated there, one hand holding the water and the other hanging by his side. I tried to keep my lips from curving upward, but couldn’t do it for long. Instead, I started laughing. The famous singer was sitting with half a bottle of water on his already sweat-soaked shirt.

“I impressed you that much, huh?” he joked.

“I’m still speechless.”

“What’d you think of it?” His lips were grinning but I could see the seriousness peeking out from his eyes.

“You were wonderful and you know it. If New York didn’t love you before they are head over heels now.”

“Really?” He looked almost disbelieving.

I gave him the thumbs up. “Trust me. The critics will be raving.”

“Where’s Rena?”

“She had an emergency she had to take care of. She wanted me to tell you that she’ll catch you on the next one.”

“Hmmm…”

I watched as he stood, placed his guitar in its hard black case and snapped the locks closed. I opened my mouth to speak and let out a yawn.

“Stop that,” he warned. “You know yawns are contagious.”

I watched as he let out a large one. “Tired?” I teased.

“Hungry,” he responded. “Would you join me for a late night meal?”

“Sure, why not? I don’t have work tomorrow.”

“Let’s go then.”

“Okay.” I turned to open the door.

“Not that way.” Sean gestured to the door on the opposite side of the room.

He opened the door to reveal two guards standing in an empty hallway. He waved then goodnight and pulled on a baseball cap.

“Where are we headed?” I asked.

“This tunnel leads from Madison Square Garden to the office tower. Once we go through that door, we can just hop in the car without having to go through the crowd.”

I nodded. “Good idea.”

“Do you mind if we go back to my place first?” He seemed a little embarrassed. “I need to take a shower.”

I squinched up my nose, pretending to smell something rotten. “Yeah, you do need to hit the water.”

He opened the door to the black Lincoln Continental and gently pushed me inside.

Chapter 8

Ten blocks, forty minutes, and a bag of Chinese take-out later, I leaned back in Sean’s dining room chair.

“Nice setup you’ve got here,” I commented after Sean and I sat down at the mahogany dining table. He spread the boxes of Chinese take-out over the table. The man had ordered enough for an army.

“Surprised?”

“I didn’t think you were serious about spending time in New York.”

Not only was the real estate nice, but the apartment was gorgeous. The prewar two-bedroom had an open living room and dining area. I’d taken a peek into one of the bathrooms and had almost succeeded in killing myself on the slick marble floor. The large kitchen with new appliances and bright lighting would have made even my mother smile.

“Why do you think that?” His green eyes twinkled as he plopped a shrimp dumpling into his mouth.

After having to choose between going out and finding an empty restaurant where he wouldn’t be recognized or ordering in, we’d settled on getting food brought in. The shower he’d taken had done a lot to rid him of the adrenaline rush of playing to a packed arena. Sean reveled in the faded jeans and shirt he’d changed into. The man could wear some pants. He was blessed with the kind of body most men would envy. Broad shoulders, strong muscled arms, powerful chest and tight stomach.

“Like it or not, my friend, you’re a California boy.”

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the beauty of the city.”

The look he gave me made me almost made me lose my grip on the chopsticks. I’d have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind to miss the implication in his response. But even though I was fairly immune to Sean’s unconscious need to flirt, my heart still gave a quick squeeze. I concentrated on maneuvering my chopsticks and let the compliment fly way over my head.

“So how did the visit go with your family?” he asked.

I placed the chopsticks on the rim of the delicate porcelain dinner plate and picked up my wine glass. Taking a sip, I looked at Sean.

“It was great to be home again. Rena and I walked around South Street, gorged ourselves on Italian ice, cheese steaks, and French fries. Mom made all our favorite foods and Pop arranged for a surprise visit to Franklin Mills.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“A large shopping outlet just outside of Philly.”

“And your friend Lance?” Sean asked.

“Lance…” I almost choked on a bite of chicken.

There was a name that threw me. Sean and I had shared many secrets that night by the cliffs. Telling him about Lance was one of my biggest regrets. Yet speaking of past or present loves was something that we both shied away from, until now. Even as close friends we didn’t talk about the other’s relationships. For me there was no need since Sean’s latest love interests always appeared in the celebrity section of magazines.

“Rena mentioned that he stopped by for a visit.” He gave me a searching look.

I narrowed my eyes at the protective glint in his. “You and Rena must have done a lot of talking.” The mention of Lance’s name had brought with the unwelcome ghost of Sherrie.

“She’s just concerned about you,” Sean replied.

“Concerned?” I barked. “That’s just a nice way of saying she’s stressed.” Sean’s serious expression didn’t change.

“Look, for the thirtieth time, and please feel free to share this with my overprotective cousin, I’m over the man. Lance has been and will continue to be a friend. Anything more is just Rena’s overactive imagination,
comprendé
?”

I picked up my chopsticks and grabbed a broccoli floret. “How’s your dad doing, by the way?”

I wanted to change the subject. The thought of my cousin and Sean discussing me was unsettling.

He leaned back and put his hand behind his head. “I just found out that he’s getting remarried. I’m to be the best man.”

“Oh. Do you know the future bride?”

“Her name is Brigit. She was one of my mother’s friends.”

Open mouth and insert foot. Damn, apparently white women operated differently from sistas. You never dated your friend’s man and you sure as hell didn’t marry a friend’s widower. So much for loyalty.

“Are you okay?” I asked, not knowing what else to say and really sorry I asked.

“It seems natural. Her husband died of a heart attack three years ago. I guess it brought the two of them together.”

“I can’t imagine Pop without Momma.” The comment slipped out before I could stop it. Open mouth, insert other foot.

“He needs someone in his life to care for and vice-versa. My mother understood that about him.”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

He nodded. “Finished?” he asked, standing up and beginning to clean the table.

“Stuffed,” I honestly admitted, smiling faintly. I felt a wave of contentment wash over me at having a full stomach.

“You’ll be hungry in about…” He looked at his watch. “Three hours. Are you sure you don’t want to finish off the last of this sesame chicken?”

“Positive.”

He looked at me with that puppy dog look in his eyes and I just leaned back and smiled. “So do you think you can make room for your fortune cookie?” he asked.

He reached into the plastic bag and set two plastic wrapped Chinese cookies on the table.

“Okay, you pick first,” I said.

Sean tore open the wrapper, broke the cookie in half and pulled out the small white strip of paper.

“Mine reads, ‘Two things to aim for in life—to get what you want and to enjoy it.’ Now that’s pretty good advice.”

He put his down on the table. “Now you.”

I carefully tore open the wrapper and gingerly pulled out the fortune without cracking the cookie shell. Grinning, I waved the strip triumphantly.

“Okay, Ms. Perfectionist. What does it say?” Sean questioned.

I turned it over and read the words out loud, “‘Trust your intuition. The universe is guiding your life.’ ”

I placed the scrap of paper in my pocket. “Could you get a little more vague than that?”

“Sounds pretty straightforward to me.”

“It would. You’re one of the most ‘go with the flow’ guys I know.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m going to go put the rest of these leftovers in the fridge. Why don’t you relax on the couch? I’ll fix us some tea.”

I was reading the foreword in a book of Scottish history when he returned from the kitchen. His shadow fell over the page and I looked up to see his serious expression.

“Do you mind if we watch TV in the bedroom?” he smiled. “I just want to stretch out.”

If it had been anyone other than Sean who asked that question, I would have laughed the man out of the room. I stood up with an amused smile. “No surprise pillow fights?”

“Promise,” he replied.

I grabbed the tall glass mug he held out in his hand and then bent over to retrieve the book from the sofa before following Sean down the hallway. Quiet Japanese woodblock paintings lined the walls, while recessed ceiling lights led the way past what I guessed was the guest room.

I entered the master bedroom behind Sean and found it different from the one I’d seen briefly in his house in L.A. The person who had designed it must have known him well, judging from the sage green walls, frosted, curtainless windows, and the Japanese-style soft tatami rug. I admired the decorated fireplace with a screen of wrought iron leafy vines and log holder, which held what looked like old books instead of wood. A large, light-colored wooden bed sat in the middle of the room.

“So when did you become such a history buff?” I questioned, setting my cup on the nightstand before taking off my shoes and sitting on the bed.

“When I realized one night on a late flight over the Atlantic that we all carry the past with us,” he responded, picking up the remote control and turning on the large flat-screen television that hung on the opposite wall.

“Interested in learning more about your proud Scottish roots?”

“No, not in that way. I’m not wanting to change who I am by grabbing hold of my parents’ roots. I just wanted to know a little more.” He stretched out on the bed and leaned against the headboard. “I think about the highland lords who rode over the valleys and into war against the British. I wonder what it felt like for them to go to fight for a cause. I pretend that I can hear the sound of a thousand hooves beating against the earth, smell the smoke in the air, taste the bitter fear and feel the icy winds on my face,” he said.

“That sounds more like a nightmare than a daydream,” I commented after picking up my tea.

“No way, Leah. You’d love it in Scotland. Think about it.” He spread his arms wide. “We could go walking along the banks of shimmering mountain lakes and picnic in fields of wild heather.”

“Careful, your sentimental side is coming out,” I warned.

“I’m not kidding.”

“I believe you,” I replied, taking a sip of the herbal tea. The fruity taste of peaches and the tartness of ginseng slid down my throat. “I mean, one minute you’re happily settled in a new bungalow in L.A., the next you’re flying to Arizona to build a ranch in the middle of nowhere, then you pull a disappearing act and call me from Glasgow. So how’d you find this place?” I asked, referring to the condominium.

“Pete has an old college buddy who’s in the Manhattan real estate market. I saw a couple of places in Greenwich and Chelsea, but I liked the unexpected quietness of the area. Then again, with the name Hell’s Kitchen, I couldn’t pass it up.”

“Nice neighbors?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to meet them. Pete’s barely given me time to eat and sleep on the tour.”

“Speaking of the tour, when’s the last concert?”

He leaned back against the headboard and took a sip of his tea. “Two more weeks. It’s been a lot of fun, but all of us agree that Seattle can’t come soon enough. I’ve got too many things that I’ve put on hold for too long.”

“You guys have earned some time out of the spotlight. So what do you plan on doing besides taking in some much needed R & R?”

“For one, I’ve shamefully neglected our son.” He shifted to sit cross-legged facing me. “I’ll understand if you’re a might bit angry with me.” His half-hearted attempt to wipe the smile off his face didn’t work.

Simba. “I’d almost forgotten that you promised to take joint responsibility. You’re right,
your son
. He could definitely use some discipline. The oversized fleabag is bullying my next door neighbor’s chihuahua.”

“Did you say chihuahua?” he managed to get out between chuckles.

“Yes.”

“Then it’s not so bad then. Does he really have fleas?”

“No.” I paused. “What do you mean, it’s not so bad?”

“Can’t blame the cat for not liking the hairless overgrown rat, now can you?” His grin was devastating. I felt it roll over me from head to toe.

“You’re insane,” I laughed.

“No. I’m just a feline lover.”

I rolled my eyes upwards and laughed at his off-the-wall reply. Glancing down at my watch, I started to move off the bed, but stopped as Sean caught my wrist.

“Stay and watch cartoons with me.” He moved to stand up. “I’m just running to the bathroom. Promise not to disappear?”

“I’ll be right here.”

I moved to put down my glass mug of tea and found it next to a notebook. Curious, I opened it and looked at the date. The note was written last year, the day after he and I met on the cliffs. Fascinated, I read Sean’s words.

Memory. An image, a feeling, a smell, and sound. The past is like a cup filled with what could have been. It’s the sweetest mead to drink. The more you take, the more you want as the present moves back to past. Nothing but the honeyed nectar of childhood days seems to fill the craving. The addiction of memories. Wanting only the stuff of remembrance and dreams.

I turned to see Sean standing on the side of the bed. I hadn’t heard him enter the room. Embarrassment fought with guilt as I realized that I was invading the man’s privacy. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have opened this.”

“I’ve shared far more intimidate details of my life with you than the scribbles in that book.”

“Still,” I persisted. “I had no right.”

“Apology accepted.” Sean grinned and jumped on the bed. He looked over and glanced at the open page. “I’ve been thinking about turning that into a song,” he explained.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s been a while since I felt that way. I hadn’t realized how much I still held onto the past.”

I nodded. “As you said before, we all carry the past with us, it seems.” I wore mine like a jacket, keeping out possibilities.

“True. But I couldn’t let go of Mom,” he replied, sitting down on the bed.

“Have things gotten better?”

“Thanks to you and my music.”

“I can’t take credit for that. You took the first step to get your life back,” I reminded him.

“You helped, Leah.” He took my hand in his and kissed it gently.

“What am I going to do with you?” I shook my head, smiling.

“Stay up all night and watch cartoons with me,” he answered.

“It was a rhetorical question,” I replied, settling back down on the bed.

“And I was giving you a rhetorical answer. Now where’s that remote control?” he asked.

“Over there.” I pointed to the nightstand and rolled my eyes. Sean, a thirty-five-year-old man, was transformed into a ten-year-old kid at the touch of a button. I had gotten used to his changing moodiness. There were times when he was a little kid again and other times when he seemed to withdraw into himself just to hold the pain and turmoil of life away.

A couple of months into our friendship, I knew when to push and when to walk away. Everyone needed time to be alone, and Sean needed more than most. I respected it. I didn’t envy his life-style, the people, the money, and the fame. Its price was too high.

Soon after we’d settled into friendship, Sean had tried to give me presents and convince me to take on a job as his publicist, something I had no experience or interest in doing. I’d politely said no to both the job and the diamond/emerald bracelet he’d bought as a token of friendship. Spoiling for a fight, Sean had turned the whole thing into a battle. I didn’t call for two days, thinking to give him space. The following Saturday morning I opened the door to find Sean standing on the front steps holding a quart of chocolate chip ice cream and offering an apology.