I'm Glad I Did (26 page)

“Come in here, baby. We've got some company,” he said.

Marla bounded into the foyer, threw her arms around Bernie and blew us kisses. “He's forgiven me for going to the police before telling him,” she murmured, nuzzling his neck. “Bernie knew I had to do what I had to do.”

“Yes, I forgave you for your flash of integrity.” He glanced at Janny. “One person in every family should have
integrity at any given time, right?” Bernie withdrew from Marla's embrace and smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Sit down now, Marla. I want to talk to you.”

Marla's forehead creased as she sat in an armchair. Janny and I eased onto the couch, hoping to make her more comfortable. But Bernie remained standing. “You were working pretty hard to try and frame me for Dulcie's murder,” he said calmly. “As you can well imagine, I'm a little upset about it.”

Janny swallowed audibly. I stiffened on the couch.

“What are you talking about, Bernard?” Marla's voice quavered.

“I'm usually a stickler for details, so I'm a little ashamed to admit that it took me a few days to figure this out. But there was only one possible way that necklace could have gotten into my pocket. You put it there. And there was only one possible reason for you to do that: so that I would be convicted of Dulcie Brown's murder. So now why don't you tell me how
you
got the necklace? Don't bother inventing anything. There's no point.”

Marla squirmed in her seat. A flow of emotions played across her face, and finally, maybe because there was no other recourse, she was the one who got down on her knees in front of Bernie. I almost rolled my eyes. The two of them were as dramatic as Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor.

“Please forgive me, darling,” she babbled. “I should have told you, but I was so ashamed. I went through your phone bill. There was one number that kept popping up, so I had it traced. Bernard, when I saw that it belonged to Dulcie Brown, I thought I would die on the spot. I was so
jealous, I couldn't contain myself. I went to see her, to beg her to break it off with you. She told me that she was sorry, but you and she had a bond and a history. She said that that you were going to leave me for her. I saw that necklace she wore, and I just knew it had been a gift from you. The table was set for dinner, and you had told me you were working late at the office, so I had a feeling that it was for you, Bernard—”

“It wasn't for Bernie,” I interrupted. Everyone turned. “It was for me. I was supposed to have dinner with Dulcie that night.”

“My God,” Marla breathed. “It's what put me over the edge. I pulled at the tablecloth so all the dishes would break. She came at me, and I ripped that damn necklace off her and ran.” She turned back to Bernie, clasping her hands in front of her. “I believed her. I believed that you—my husband, who I loved more than life—would leave me. I couldn't bear that. I wanted to hurt you, Bernard, the way you had hurt me …” She began to sob quietly at Bernie's feet.

He looked down at her as if she was some alien life form he'd never seen before. His eyes were curious, but his gaze cut through her hysteria like a knife. He pulled her gently to her feet, lifted her chin and looked into her tearful eyes. “I'm going to a hotel for three days,” he said. “I expect you to be gone when I get back. My lawyer—not my sister, my attorney who's a lot less forgiving and has a heart of stone—will get in touch with you. You'll find out what to do from him. As for me, I only want one thing. That's never to see you again.”

With that he turned and beckoned for us to follow him. Marla crumpled to the floor, sobbing.

He paused for a moment at the door. “You know, Marla, George gave me seven to three that we wouldn't last five years. It's the only bet I ever took that I knew I'd lose.”

Bernie could be cold-hearted and tough, yes—and even crooked—but he did have a heart. He actually put up the money for Nick's bail. Janny engineered Nick's release based on the fact that he had never even gotten so much as a parking ticket. He had a regular job, a spotless record as an employee, and was a respected member of the community. He'd decided to take a few days off until everything was sorted out and while Janny worked on a plea. Since he hadn't taken a sick day in thirteen years, no one objected.

The next day in the elevator, with Antonio at the helm, there was a lot of speculation about where Nick was, since the news hadn't hit the papers yet, but no one had a clue as to the real reason. And amazingly, like everyone else, I missed him. But now I had to put that aside. Now I had real work to do.

AFTER CHECKING THE ARTISTS'
list on the bulletin board, I waited for Rona to take a break and put in a call to Luke. “Listen,” I
said, “Ray Charles is on the list today. Bobby wants to pitch a song to him, and Dulcie was like a female Ray Charles.”

“So you want to play him her demo of ‘I'm Glad I Did'?”

“Sort of. I want to play him that song but not Dulcie's demo. Can you meet me at Dick Charles at six sharp?”

I could hear that smile through the phone. “What are we up to?”

“You'll see,” I promised. I hung up just as Rona returned. “Would you set up an appointment for me with Bobby tomorrow?”

Her face lit up. “You playing him something?”

“Abso-elvis-lutely,” I said.

She grinned. “Atta girl. It's about time.”

ROSETTA SHOWED UP AT
the studio at six on the dot. “I gotta be at work at seven,” she reminded us.

“Do you know the song?” Luke asked.

“What kind of question is that?” she barked. No doubt about it, Rosetta was Anna Mae Brown's granddaughter. Everything was a challenge, and nobody was any good.

“He just wanted to know if you needed to rehearse while Brooks was setting up the microphone,” I explained as gently as I could.

“Am I getting paid for this?” she demanded.

“How's twenty bucks?” Luke proposed.

She shrugged. “Better than nothing.” With that, she headed into the studio, slipped on the headphones and glared at the three of us through the control room glass.

Brooks got some levels and then looked up at me. I pressed the
TALK BACK
button. “You ready for a take?”

Rosetta nodded. Brooks cued the musical track from Dulcie's session. My plan was to replace Dulcie's vocal with her daughter's. Luke loved the idea. And fortunately Rosetta had the same range as her mother, so singing in the same key was perfect.

When the sound of the musicians playing that song came up on the speaker, I felt a pang in my chest. It transported me instantly back to that night. When Dulcie's voice kicked in, my throat tightened. Luke reached over and squeezed my hand.

Something was happening to Rosetta, too. She was actually smiling. She shook her head and looked at us. For the first time ever, I saw doubt in those icy eyes.

“I really like this song,” she said softly into the mic. “Mama sang on that demo like she meant it. I don't know if I can sing it as good as her.”

“Just sing it as good as you, Rosetta,” Luke told her from the control room.

Brooks rewound the tape and this time left Dulcie's vocal out. It was time for Rosetta to sing it her way. It was strange, but she seemed to become another person when she sang, softer and more sensitive. Her vocal quality had traces of Dulcie's huskiness, but what she added was all hers. It was tougher but more innocent, too—with youthful passion and a sense of hope for the future.

Twenty minutes later, we had it in three takes, just like with Dulcie. If she'd done it one more time, I would have dissolved into tears. As I watched Luke give Rosetta a thumbs-up through the window, I suddenly knew who he had written the words for.

“This was for your dad, wasn't it?” I asked, turning to him.

He nodded, his eyes still on Rosetta. “Like I said, JJ Green, you get me.”

ROSETTA CAME INTO THE
control room and listened back with us. I could tell she was pleased, though she would never admit it.

Luke took out a twenty. “Thank you for sharing your talent with us,” he said, his tone businesslike and professional.

Rosetta shook her head. “Keep your money,” she told him. “I can't take it. I was lucky to sing that beautiful song.” She turned to go.

“May I speak to you privately for a moment?” Luke asked her.

“I guess so.”

He followed her into the waiting room and closed the control room door behind them.

“What's that about?” Brooks asked.

“I'm not sure,” I told him. “Let's get a quick mix.”

It took us about fifteen minutes. We cut some acetates, and finally Luke walked back in. Brooks took the opportunity to take a cigarette break.

“I told her who I was,” Luke confided once Brooks was gone.

I swept him into my arms. “How did she react?”

“There was hugging involved.” Luke pulled back and grinned. “She didn't seem to mind this time.”

Our appointment with Bobby was set for three o'clock. But I had to face facts: the summer would be over soon. Even if Bobby liked our song, there was no way he could go out with it, pitch it, and assure me of a record before I started school on September ninth. I tried not to think about the agreement I had made with Janny. Rona had been right to nag me. I had gotten so caught up with Luke and Dulcie's death and Bernie that I hadn't realized that the days were slipping away. And I knew Janny well enough to know that I couldn't fudge it: a song of mine had to be guaranteed to be on a record before school began.

There was no way it could happen. Even the speediest record producers hung on to a whole batch of songs for weeks before they made their decisions. I had found a collaborator I wanted to work with for the rest of my life, and I had written my best, but I was still going to lose. Even if Bobby loved it and agreed to play it for Ray Charles, we were too late.

“Knock 'em dead, kids,” Rona whispered with an encouraging smile as she ushered us into Bobby's office.

I introduced Luke as my lyricist and told Bobby we had something to play for him that we thought would be perfect for Ray Charles. I told him not to get thrown by the fact that we had put a female vocal on it. We had chosen the singer because of her talent and not her gender.

“Never give excuses before you play something. Especially something I've been waiting months for,” Bobby returned. “Just give me the demo.”

The only person who could intimidate me more than Janny was the man seated in front of me. I bit my lip and handed him the record. He slipped it on the turntable, dropped the needle, sat back and closed his eyes.

As the intro to “I'm Glad I Did” began to play over Bobby's huge speakers, Luke reached for my hand. I was instinctively reaching for his. We met halfway. As we listened, I knew we had done the right thing.

Whatever Bobby thought, Rosetta's performance was gold. Whatever he thought, I was proud of the song and the demo. That was something I could live with.

When it was over, he opened his eyes and muttered,
“She sounds like someone.” But when I tried to tell him who, he shushed me. Then he replaced the needle at the beginning and closed his eyes again.

Luke looked at me as if to say,
Is this what he does?

I shrugged. I had no idea. I figured he was taking mental notes on all the things he didn't like about it.

We sat through it a second time. By this time, our clasped hands were getting sweaty. The third time Bobby put it on, I had to unclasp Luke's hand to wipe the corner of my eye, where a big, fat tear was trying to escape.