Hurts So Good (23 page)

* * *

Neil threw a dart at the pages tacked to his office wall, print facing the paint.

The dart speared another tiny hole, speared another memory in his head, one of too many that wouldn't go away no matter how numb he tried to get.

The audience was thinning. He couldn't compose.

He didn't care.

He longed to be dead. And just maybe he would be in another year at the rate he was going. It hurt, Lord yes, it did. But the memories hurt so good that he couldn't let them go, and he lingered in this seductive death.

Neil poised another dart, but before it could fly, the door banged open. Next thing Neil knew, Lou was shaking him by the shirt. Then Lou released him and sent his chair, along with him, smack against the wall.

"Got you somethin', you good-fo'-nothing son of a bitch."

"Don't you ever talk about my mama that way," Neil slurred.

Lou tossed something on his desk, and it landed on the open ledger. Neil stared at the pink heart-shaped diamond. And then he slowly closed the accounting book.

Lou flipped it open, picked up the ring, and shoved it under Neil's gaze.

"Look at it, Slick. Take a good, long look and see what you be throwing away. The best thing you ever had is gone come tomorrow. That is, unless you act quick. Drink some coffee and forget the show. Take yo' ass off this chair and hustle it fast as you can to where it belongs at the only home you've got. Unless you do, you ain't welcome in mine no more."

"Is that all?" Neil demanded, unable to look away from the ring.

"Pretty much. Except I'm givin' you my notice. You got one week to find another pianist or give me a reason to stay. What I'm lookin' at ain't no son of mine or Liza's. You're a disgrace to us and a disgrace to yo' mama, not to mention yo'self. Better hang on to this ring." He slapped it into Neil's palm. "Keep this up, and it won't be long 'fore you need to hock it for another bottle of booze."

Neil was still staring at the ring when he heard the door slam. Dully, he picked up a dart and sent it sailing. The dart fell short of the wall and hit the floor.

He tried to put down the ring, but he couldn't. And so he took it with him as he went to collect his darts. The one on the floor was easy enough, but the ones embedded into the wood weren't so agreeable. A sheet tore at the edge when he yanked out a metal tip, and the corner turned down, the print facing him.

It couldn't get any worse than this, could it? Before he gave himself time to think, he jerked out the darts, one by one, and laid them in a heap on the floor. And then he began to pull out tacks, releasing the pages from the wall. Down they came, one after the other, until his hands were full and the wall was blank but for minuscule holes marring its surface.

"Okay,
chere,
here goes. Make me bleed what little blood you ain't already sucked up and spit out."

Neil forced himself to put the pages in order. And then he forced himself to read the first sentence.

'"There is a gentle cruelty about his mouth,'" he read aloud, "'a cruelty that is kind and generous. He makes us laugh, he makes us weep. He makes us hurt, but the hurt is so good, we beg for more...."' The first paragraph gave way to the second and then the third and then he was turning the page and the page after that. He couldn't stop reading, his eyes feasting on what he was too stunned to completely absorb.

And so he read it again. And again.

He repeated aloud the closing clincher: "'Neil is everything and nothing the public has perceived. He is his music—passionate and unpredictable, a devil-may-care joy ride into the darkness of blinding light. The audience is full. The stage is empty. And still the crowd remains rooted in a standing ovation, crying out: "Where did you go? Why did you leave?" as they applaud for an encore.

"'He is an artist shrouded by myth, a musician of incomparable genius. But he's much more than that. A soul who has emerged triumphant over tragedy, a champion of the human spirit. That, as much as his music, defines him. Neil Grey, a man who is every man.

'"A man whose legend is destined to live on long after the curtain closes.'"

After the third reading, Neil pressed the stack of paper to his face. For long minutes he held her words to him, then put them down and went to the door.

"Lou!" he yelled. "Hey, Lou, get yourself in here!"

"What the hell do you want?" Lou growled shortly after. "Another bottle before you quit cuttin' my checks?"

"Forget the bottle. I want a pot of coffee. Better yet, make it two. And while you're at it. tell the manager there's no cover charge tonight, and to get a fill-in for me."

"Either I need to get my hearing checked or you done asked for a pot of coffee."

"Your hearing's fine. Now test out those eyeballs." Neil pulled the flask from his back pocket and hurled it ten feet into the trash can. "Got you a question, Lou. How do you think this ring looks on my pinkie?" Neil wiggled it back and forth before pressing the stone to his lips.

"Looks like it don't belong there. It'd fit a lot better on a certain woman's hand it was made for."

"Absolutely. Another question. Am I as dumb as I look?"

"Hell, no. You be at least ten times dumber than that."

"Wrong, Big Daddy. I've been stupid, real stupid, blind and deaf to boot. But I learn fast when I need to. Did Andrea say where she was headed?"

"Wouldn't say nothing, 'cept she didn't want you to find out. Can you blame her?"

"I don't blame nobody but myself. I've got a date with a razor and the shower. I'd appreciate you bringing me that coffee while I'm at it."

"Two pots of coffee, comin' right up!" Lou gave him a high five and danced his way to the door.

"Daddy?" Neil shucked off his shirt and flung it toward the trash can where his flask was staying for good.

"Yes, Son?"

"Ever since Mama left, I've been lost and done my best to join her in the mist. Andrea blew it away and took me home. If she goes, I'll have to live without even the mist to get lost in, because I see too clearly what I've done. Music's always been a drug for me, one I've needed even more than booze. But Andrea, she makes them both look like child's play. I need her, Lou. Even when I hated her for what she'd done, I loved her. I'll always love her. You think there's a chance she might still be able to love me?"

"I'm the wrong person to ask. The coffee's on its way."

As Neil shut the door, the weight of his crime did battle with hope.
What could he possibly do to make it up to her?

Chapter 18

At first she thought it was the wind whistling outside the bedroom window. The sustained crooning became louder, then rippled into a cascade of running notes.

Andrea dropped the unfolded blouse into an open suitcase on the bed. Though she commanded herself to shut out the sweet, sinuous sound and to hasten her packing, her ears refused to obey, and so did her trembling hands.

Only a fool would be seduced by the aching entreaty from the saxophone below. Only a fool would follow the Pied Piper's lure to open the glossy white French doors.

Only a fool like her would stand outside on the wrought iron balcony and fill herself up with the sight of a man who had wrung her heart dry and sought to woo it back... too late.

He stood on the sidewalk in the moonlight and continued to play a song she'd never heard. A melody so poignant that her eyes stung with tears. She blamed it on the cold air, and she told herself the uncontrollable shaking of her body was due to her not wearing the coat she'd laid out for tomorrow's journey.

Her
coat. Everything he'd given her she was leaving behind. Except for the memories they shared that swept over her now. As she watched his lips make love to the mouthpiece and his fingers stroke the gold keys, her breasts, so tender of late, felt heavy and full. Her womb quickened and stirred, responding as if it were she he touched.

Drawing upon the hard core that threatened to dissolve as she stood there staring down into his beseeching gaze, Andrea shook her head and retreated.

When she shut the balcony doors, the music stopped.

Over the raucous beating of her heart she heard the building's front door close and then the heavy tread of his steps moving quickly up the stairs. She frantically threw things into her luggage.

"And where the hell do you think you're going with that?" he demanded, stalking into the bedroom.

"None of your business. As you so eloquently put it earlier, scram."

"Not till you listen to what I've got to say."

"Sorry, Slick, but this time I don't want to hear it. You had your chance, and you blew it. Now blow."

Andrea decided to take what she had packed and forget the rest. She clicked the fasteners shut, then hauled the suitcase from the bed. Whirling around, she collided with his chest. She tried not to notice that he wore a fresh, starched shirt, that his stern face was nicked but cleanly shaven, and that the clench of his fingers over hers generated a too-familiar sizzle.

Jerking her hand away, she belatedly realized that it allowed him to claim the luggage. He sent it skidding across the room, then caught her shoulders with a firm, caressing grip.

"Wanna slap me? Take your best shot and make it count. I don't intend to offer ever again."

"No thanks, I've already expended too much energy on you. As for any future rights to slug you, we have no future."

"Why not? Because you don't want to marry an idiot who betrayed
your
trust by refusing to listen when he should have believed in you and forgotten his stupid damn rules?"

They were stupid rules, but surely no more stupid than she was, standing there, soaking up his touch, and eagerly listening to his every word when she should be clamping her hands over her ears and dashing for the door.

"I think that sums it up pretty well," she said, making an effort to keep her voice icy while she warmed to his.

"No
chere,
that's not half the tally of my sins against you. Any mistakes you made can't compare with mine."

"I'm glad you realize that. I suppose you read my article?"

"I did. Felt like I had my teeth kicked in and my brain jarred loose. I've done terrible damage to you, to us. Everything you ever accused me of is true—ducking out when I can't call the shots, leaving my messes behind for someone else to clean up. Trying to run home to a mother who's dead and gone when my home was here with you all along. How you ever loved me is beyond my limited comprehension."

"It's not necessarily limited," she said hesitantly. "Let's just say extremely slow."

"I am truly a terrible man," he said, kissing her palm. "Not a boy, not anymore, Andrea. I'm pleading with you to believe that the boy's been laid to rest with his mama and a man's come home to tell you he's learned from his mistakes, that he wants to spend the rest of his life making it up to you. Starting now. I made a couple of calls before I came here. One was to an editor I promised a copy of your article to. Good thing he was working late, and I hadn't thrown away his business card. We're not exactly good buds, but he does give me a call every now and then with a standing invitation to do an interview. I could hear him salivating on the other end when I made him a deal that was sweeter than a praline. Heard enough? Or would you care to know the deal?"

"You—you actually called an editor on my behalf?" Who cared about the deal? she thought, trying to temper her joy. She didn't even care if her words made it to print.

"Not only that, I negotiated the fee while I was at it. Hope you don't mind. I got him to pay you not for one piece, but two. There's some big news in the recording world I guaranteed him an exclusive to—with the understanding that you cover the assignment."

"Exclusive... assignment...?" She was dizzy, clutching at his arms for support, and he scooped her up and sat on the bed's edge, holding her so tightly, so close, that his voice was muffled against her neck.

"That's right. Complete with a photo shoot and the story behind the songs I'm scheduled to record on an independent label. Just so happens I've got a musician friend who went into that end of the business last year. He's struggling to get a foothold, but he's honest and flying right high since we reached a gentleman's agreement on the phone. Soon as we hung up, I ran over here fast as I could. Felt like I'd smoked a carton. I've been going through more than two a week. Hear me out and I'll quit, cold turkey."