Making a Comeback (10 page)

“Nap time,” Jac said when Peggy took the plates to the kitchen. She stood, her head tilted as if in thought. “Ten years. I’ve been blind ten years.” Without another word, she ambled off toward her cottage, Max trotting by her side.

Liz stared, her hand over her chest, until Jac disappeared behind the door with the gargoyle knocker. Would she ever not be caught off guard by Jac? She fought the urge to follow her, to see her home. She heard notes in her head—a new part to the melody from last weekend. Humming, she gathered the rest of the dishes and went to the kitchen.

Peggy handed her a plate of cookies. “Come by for coffee in the morning before your audience.”

Again Liz heard both fondness and humor in the statement. She wished she and Hannah were as close as Peggy and Jac seemed to be. At her car, she stopped and went back. “Do you know where I can buy blank CDs?”

“I might have some in my office.” Peggy was back in no time with a handful. “I’m grateful you’re going to let Jac help you.”

She was the one who should be grateful. She headed home, her steps light and her mind spinning in a good way. She imagined telling her dad she was getting help from—Darn. Jac was insistent she not tell anyone, but that was a big thing to keep from her dad. He read her blog religiously. She’d ask Jac about telling him.

Doubts surfaced as she loaded the music onto the CDs. What if they disagreed?
Jazz Notes
. Those were serious creds, but maybe she’d be too calculating and intellectual about it. Or think they were still immature. What would it be like to work on an album with someone other than Teri? A new bout of anxiety set her nerves jangling. What if she broke down?

“I’m trying, sweetie, but it’s so hard without you. I met the woman who writes
Jazz Notes
. She’s going to help me pick the songs.” She could almost hear Teri’s long whistle at the news.

The computer signaled the last CD was done. Almost twelve hours of music. How could Jac be ready to discuss songs tomorrow? Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

*

Jac knew she’d overslept the instant she woke. An hour nap refreshed her. Anything beyond that made her foggy and irritable. She twisted under the light blanket, nudging Max with her knee until he heaved himself up and resettled marginally farther off her legs. She rubbed her fingers along his back. There were worse things than a Labrador who was a bed hog.

How she had longed for Maria to sleep with any part of her body touching hers. “Too hot, darling,” she’d say in her Italian-tinged voice, one leg flung out from under the covers in yet another luxury hotel. After Maria dropped off to sleep she’d inch as close as she dared and rest her fingers on Maria’s thigh. She’d stay awake, aroused by their lovemaking, never satisfied as easily as Maria, wanting more, always wanting more.

Then Maria would turn away from her and the contact would be broken. That distance should have told her what to expect. How things would end. Anger erupted, shooting daggers through her heart. How could she have been so stupid?

Peg’s three rapid knocks on the front door pulled her from unwanted memories. Max hurried off the bed. He knew Peg would give him treats.

“Here are the CDs from Liz. I put Braille numbers on them. Liz listed the songs on each CD and I transcribed them to Braille,” Peg said, setting something on the dining table. “I’m proud of you for helping her.”

“A moment of arrogance I’m sure I’ll regret.”

“Why did you change your mind?”

In part she hadn’t wanted to be seen as a layperson, but it was more than that. “Her first quartet was a winner. Couple of Grammy nominations. They were headed to the top.”

“And?”

“Teri got leukemia.”

“Oh, how awful for her.”

“She has talent, Peg. Real talent. She seems determined to go on without Teri. If she doesn’t make it now, she may never. It’s a fickle and unforgiving industry.”

“Oh, honey.”

“This isn’t about me. I’ll help her over this hump. It won’t be hard to put together the songs for the CD. I just have to get her to use her emotions in the right way. Get her past the nostalgia and into what’s there in the music.”

“No one can do that like you can.”

The reverence in Peg’s tone made her chest tighten. She closed off that line of thought.

“You know I’ll do anything I can to help.” Peg was silent too long. “Malcolm left another message this afternoon.”

That bastard. “What now?”

“He said he doesn’t want this to become a legal issue.”

Jac barked a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Legal issue? That’s not what this is about. Money. It’s always money with him. The answer is no. Today. Tomorrow. Next year.”

“We should hire an attorney.”

Fatigue washed over her. “I want to be left alone.”

“Maybe it’s time to—”

“No.”

“Is this really the life you want? You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s no reason for you to live—”

“Don’t—”

“In exile.”

She turned her back to Peg and stepped to the French doors. Palming the glass she absorbed the coolness. There was a garden she couldn’t see and an ocean beyond that. She folded her arms and buried clenched fists in her armpits. If she didn’t argue, Peg would leave.

“I want you to be happy.” Peg’s voice sounded like she was holding back tears.

She was as happy as she deserved to be.

Peg squeezed her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Dinner at the usual time?”

She nodded once. The front door closed and the silence was unbearable. She took the top CD from its sleeve and put it in the changer. She settled in her recliner and Max settled in his bed. Everything as it should be. The first song allayed her fears that they hadn’t advanced beyond their immaturity. By the end of the first CD her body was tingling and her mind was consumed by the beautiful music. Lively. Sophisticated. Exceptional arrangements. And Liz’s playing took her breath away.

But she heard problems. Problems that were the wall between a decent album and a chart-topping album. It was going to be an interesting weekend, and an exhausting one.

Jac opened her front door. Liz was right on time. “Come in.” Liz’s scent as she walked past—citrusy perfume and, today, a hint of lavender. Subtle. Pleasant. “Did you sleep well?”

“Okay.” Liz’s voice said otherwise. “Hey, Max.” Her footsteps were barely audible on the tile and then disappeared. She was on the area rug that covered most of the living room, a concession for better acoustics. “Your home’s lovely.”

“Peg has good taste.” Jac walked to the kitchen for coffee.

“That’s some CD collection,” Liz said from the direction of the cabinets on the far wall. “I’ve had to go to mp3 for lack of space.”

“I prefer the sound quality of a CD. How’s your wrist?”

“I forgot my pain pill last night, and it’s not bad this morning. The swelling’s gone in the fingers, and the cast isn’t as tight. They use screws and a plate to fix the bones together. Sci-fi, huh?”

“Quite.” She tried to keep judgment out of her voice. It wasn’t her place to talk Liz out of surgery, and perhaps it was the best option. “I want you to be comfortable here, but please don’t move anything.” The space was so familiar that she never thought about it. She needed all her concentration for the music and for Liz. She’d stayed up until early in the morning to listen to all twelve hours. She knew what needed to be done. Now it was time to find out if Liz was up to it.

“Sure. Where can I plug in my computer?” Liz set something on the dining table.

“There is fine, but you don’t need it yet. Come, sit.” She went to her recliner and motioned Liz to the couch.

She sat on the edge, hoping she was doing the right thing. Max didn’t come to his bed. He must be with Liz. Good. “I know what today is.” Six months since Teri’s death. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“It has to get done.” Resolve in Liz’s clipped words; sadness in the flat tone. “We need to build momentum for Monterey.”

“Monterey is a showcase. You don’t have to generate an audience.”

“Dad says we need to get the album out before our fans forget about us, especially since I can’t do shows for a while.”

Dad again. “What’s your slot at Monterey?”

“Opening the festival Friday night on the arena stage.”

“Impressive.” Yes, everything was riding on that show and the album. She took a deep breath. “Tell me about Teri.” Liz was silent so long Jac thought she wouldn’t answer.

“I’d rather not talk about her.”

“I’m not asking to cause you pain. She’s here in this room with us. She’s in the music. She’s who you want to be working with on the CD. I don’t know her. I need to if I’m going to help you.” Jac laced her fingers together and waited.

“Were you married?”

Not a question she’d expected. Was it worth it to help Liz? “Ten years. He was in the music business. It ended around the time I became blind.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you like Miles Davis?” Jac would need something to fill the silences and give structure to her emotions as she listened to Liz talk about loss and grief.

“Yes.”

“Preference?”

“Something from his early years.”

“No
Bitches Brew
?”

“Not this early in the morning.” Good. A touch of humor.

Jac put in
Kind of Blue,
one of her favorite albums, and resumed her place on the recliner, sitting back but not reclining. And waited. Max was still by Liz and she missed him, but Liz needed him more.

“What do you want to know?”

“Start at the beginning.” Another long silence.

“I met Teri at…” The cadence slowed and softened over her wife’s name, much as Jac’s voice had once spoken the syllables of her lover’s name. It strengthened and sparkled with happiness when she talked about their years at UOP. Jac’s days at college had been some of her happiest, too. Resentment coiled up from its nest in the pit of her stomach. Young. Idealistic. Arrogant. She’d thought she could have it all.

“We formed our first band…” Liz’s voice rose and fell as she talked of juggling jobs and shows as their reputation grew.

Jac heard the sacrifice and struggle buried inside the excitement over their success. Anger flared like a match as memories paraded past her. She snuffed the anger out. This wasn’t about her.

Liz’s voice tightened around the phrase “diagnosed with leukemia,” became strained as she talked about that battle. It lifted on the word “remission,” became strong again when she talked about finding Regan and Sammy and forming a new quartet. It soared when she talked about the tour and then was barely audible after “it came back.” And through it all was “us” and “we” and “our.” And that was the problem.

Jac waited through Liz blowing her nose, through going to the kitchen for a glass of water. Max returned to his bed, and Jac buried her trembling fingers in the soft fur on his chest. When Liz returned she said, “Thank you. Shall we begin?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded weak, but clear. It was enough.

“Let’s eliminate a quarter of the material.” She needed to ease Liz into letting go.

“What if we did a double album?” Her voice was tentative, grasping.

“Your choice. Let’s work on cutting duplications of the core songs you played every night.”

By lunchtime they’d cut one version of each of the fifteen core songs. Fifteen out of eighty-one. They had a long way to go. They joined Peg for lunch. She would have preferred to eat while they worked, but Liz needed the distraction.

*

“Looks like rain,” Liz said, throwing tennis balls for Max as they strolled back to the cottage after lunch with Peg.

“I can smell it.”

“I’m sorry you’re giving up your walk. Should we take Max down to the beach?” They were in front of the door, and the gargoyle looked like a warning. More cutting. Liz knew it was the right way to begin, but it chipped away at her heart.

“Maybe later.” Jac held the door for her.

Liz stepped into the cocooning quiet and simplicity and order. She put her shoes and socks in the closet by the door. She wanted to be barefoot like Jac and was surprised the floor was warm. Peg had done a masterful job in the space that was living room, dining room, and kitchen—sage-green walls, sand-colored leather couch and recliner, bleached-wood furniture. Beach-like. Casual yet elegant, like Jac. The dominant features were the Carmel ledgestone fireplace in the center of the far wall and the cabinet that took up the wall to the left—CDs floor to ceiling and a stereo system behind a glass door in the center. The sound was as good as she’d ever heard, even in a sound studio, and the acoustics were amazing.

“Let’s go through the songs you performed only once and rank them.”

“Yes. Good.” No cutting. She sat on the couch, a notepad on the coffee table. How did Jac keep it straight in her head? This morning she’d pointed out differences in specific passages from memory. Jac’s ear was as good as hers and, although she hated to admit it, better than Teri’s. It was different than working with Teri but, so far, not uncomfortable.

“It’s a great song,” Jac said three hours later. It was the last of the twenty-one songs they’d played only once. “Genius how you arranged the melody to bounce back and forth between piano and sax.”

“Thanks.” Liz yawned and got up to stretch, walking to one of the windows that flanked the fireplace. She looked out to the small garden, obviously Peg’s work. A hot tub was off to the left, and a chair sat next to a small table to the right side of the flagstone patio. Life for one. Jac seemed happy with it. Would she adapt in time?

“What’s your first choice?”

“‘Soaring Hawk.’ It’s one of Teri’s favorites.” She couldn’t hear it without remembering the day that inspired it—a spur-of-the-moment picnic at one of their favorite open spaces, the meadow alive with poppies, Teri nuzzling her neck, the hawk appearing and soaring in circles, she humming the melody as the moment became song.

“Second?”

“‘Rush Hour.’ We were stuck in traffic up in the city, and to keep me calm Teri had me come up with melodies that mimicked the sounds. By the time we arrived at our destination we had a new song.”