The Music Trilogy (35 page)

When Davina learned that Bianca’s real talents were in the costume business, she offered her a job designing the gowns she would wear for her concerts. Bianca accepted the challenge without hesitation.

Jean opened one eye and slowly looked around.

Bianca came up to them.

“Yes Davina, would you ladies like a drink or a snack maybe?”

“Well, what do you say to a refreshment?” Davina asked Jean.

“You have a bar up here?”

“We sure do,” Bianca said.

“Jesus, I must be dreaming. How about a Vodka? You guys got that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Davina, the usual for you?”

“
Si, Bianca, grazie
,” she replied.

“Uh, that wasn’t English, was it.” Jean asked.

“No, Bianca is Maltese but I don’t speak the language so we communicate in Italian. It keeps me practicing, although Bianca speaks English as well.”

“You speak a foreign language?” She asked incredulously.

“I do.”

Bianca arrived with drinks.

“Here we are. One Vodka and one Coca-Cola,” she said placing the drinks on the coffee table in front of them.

“Wow, that was fast!” Jean said impressed.

Davina laughed. She was thoroughly enjoying this innocent woman’s company. Or was she really that innocent? Well, we’ll find out soon enough, she thought, as soon as the computer spits out the information.

“I’m sorry,” Jean said, trying to keep her eyes open. “It’s been a long day.”

“That’s alright. I understand.”

“You’re very kind.” Jean began to breathe normally.

“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I’m Davina Walters.”

“Hi. I know, I think. Don’t you sing?”

“I do.”

“I saw you on the Tonight Show. You were great.”

“Thank you. Would you like a tour of the plane?”

“You mean, we can move around in this thing?” She asked, her eyes growing with astonishment.

“Sure, come on, I think you’ll like it.” Davina said getting up from her seat. “Here, let me help you with your seatbelt.” She unfastened it. “There, now let me show you around.” The DC-3 had been remodeled to Davina’s specifications. Acting as a tour guide, she began: “This is the lounge area. It doubles as dining and conference room. Next is the serving area, kitchen, and I’m sure you will note the bar.

“You cook in this crate?” Jean asked.

“Well, we really don’t like starving, especially on long flights like this one.”

“Oh my God! You mean we’re going to be up in the air for a long time?”

“About eight hours. It’s not too bad, and we really couldn’t just stop, we’re over the ocean.”

Jean let out a groan. “Oh my God!”

“Now what’s wrong?” Davina asked beginning to worry.

“I can’t swim,” she said flatly.

Davina laughed. “You won’t have to, and even if something did happen to the plane, there are life rafts and all of us on board are excellent swimmers. We wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I promise. Come on, let’s go see the rest,” she said guiding her toward the rear.

“This is your room.”

“
My
room?” Jean asked.

“Yup.”

“How do you mean?”

The room was small but cozy. It had everything a guest could want or need. A large bed, night stand, bookshelf with paperbacks and magazines, a small desk and chair, and its own bathroom.

“Wow, it’s beautiful.”

“Well, as long as you’re with us, it’s yours. I hope you like it.

“This has got to be a dream. Do I like it, she asks. Oh, it’s beautiful,” Jean said, repeating herself.

“Good, I’m glad.”

Moving along they entered a small room filled with computers. “This is our communications room. We conduct most of our business from here. And this is Jacques. I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced.” Jacques had been staring at one of the computer screens. He stood up and kissed her hand.

“
Enchanté, Mademoiselle
, I am very pleased to meet you,” he said with a smile. “You are right Davina, we hadn’t been introduced. I only had the pleasure of carrying the young lady when she was not feeling well. I do hope you are better. You seem to be. I am glad,” Jacques said in his charming French manner. “But now please excuse me, some information I have been waiting for is coming in.” He turned back to the computer.

“Uh...” Jean was about to thank him, but he was already busy.

Exiting the communications room, Jean asked Davina: “He’s not American either is he?” She had been overwhelmed by his manner.

“Jacques? No, he’s French. As a matter of fact we’re like a little United Nations up here. Captain Adam Spencer is English; Eric Shannon, his co-pilot is Irish. I know that sounds a little odd, but believe me they are the closest of friends. Then we have Bianca, whom you already know, is from Malta, and I of course am American. And in the back there are three more rooms,” she continued, “one for me, one for Jacques, and a spare one in case one of the crew should want to rest. Let’s go back up front so I can show you the cockpit and our drivers. “Gentlemen, this is our new friend Jean. Jean, this is our pilot Captain Adam Spencer, and our co-pilot Eric.”

Jean let out a scream. The men practically jumped out of their seats.

“What is it?” Davina asked, really not knowing what to expect.

“There’s no one flying the plane,” she said trembling and pointing a finger at the controls. They all laughed.

“The auto pilot is on. It’s flying itself you see,” Eric said smiling.

“Oh.”

“Okay, thanks guys,” Davina said to the men. “Jean, would you like another drink? Or maybe sleep some?”

“Sounds great, yes, thank you.”

They sat down and had another drink.

“I’ll be right back,” Davina said.

“I won’t go anywhere, I promise.”

“Good girl.”

Davina went to see Jacques.

“Your stray is an alley cat,” Jacques said. “She’s been in jail.”

“For what?”

“Assault.”

“How do you know? Are you sure?”

“Airport security sent it.”

“I’ll talk to her, try to get more information.”

“Be careful.”

“I will. Jacques, see what you can find out about her husband, ex-husband.”

Davina had seen a container of pills in Jean’s purse when she looked in it for her passport. At the time, she didn’t think this was so unusual. But now, she wondered, although she didn’t tell Jacques. It didn’t seem important enough, and Jacques might make too much of this probably insignificant bit of information.

“How are you doing?” Davina asked.

“Much better. I think I’m getting used to this. I’m just a little overwhelmed I guess.”

“Jean, may I ask you something? Your husband…”

“Ex-husband.”

“Yes, who is he?”

Jean lost her smile. “His name is Simon. Simon Grady. Fast talker, fast temper. More than that. He’s sick. If I had stayed at the airport, I wouldn’t be alive now. I know that. You don’t realize what you’ve done. You’ve saved my life.”

♫

LONDON

CHAPTER 12

Saving Jean’s life was all well and good, Jacques argued, but now it was time to say good-bye. But the woman had no money, no clothes other than the ones she wore, Davina argued, she didn’t even have a hairbrush. But Jacques was adamant. Give her some money and say good-bye. He reminded Davina that this was the first tour of her career. He did not want anything to screw it up, to make it anything less than perfect. Tonight Davina was singing at the Royal Albert Hall with the Royal Family in attendance. They were not about to bring a criminal into one of the most prestigious theaters in the world.

Davina did not believe Jean was a criminal. She could not imagine this frail, beautiful woman committing a violent act. But she knew Jacques was very sensible and had the best of intentions, and those were for her benefit. She agreed that she would give Jean money, enough money. But outside the Heathrow terminal when it was time to part ways, Davina decided to take Jean shopping.

“You be careful,” Jacques said to her in French as he opened the door of a taxi.

“Come on, Jean,” Davina said. “Let’s buy some clothes.” She winked at Jacques and followed Jean into the back seat.

In no time, Jean lost her composure. But this time, it only made Davina laugh. "In England they drive on the left side of the road, which is why the steering wheel is on the right. You’ve never been here.”

"I’ve never been out of Florida,” Jean replied, shaking her head. “You must think I’m…” She did not finish.

"Well, Europe is very old. Civilizations began here. The Europeans are very proud of their history and traditions. Europe really is very beautiful. Every country has its own character and color, and language of course. I’ve spent most of my life in Europe. I'm really very fond of it.”

Davina asked the driver to go past Buckingham Palace before going on to Mayfair, London's shopping Mecca.

“Look at those big black hats!” Jean said, looking at a royal palace guard, standing at attention on duty outside a gate.

“They’re trained not to move, not even to blink,” Davina said.

“How long do they have to stay that way?”

“Quite a while.”

“Oh, that poor man!”

“I guess they get used to it.”

“That they do,” the cab driver interjected, “but every once in a while, one of those poor sods faints from the heat of those hats.” The driver had plenty to say about the royal palace after that. Jean asked who else lived there because it was so big. He was a real dynamo.

Davina tried to pay the driver but he would not accept any money. “'Twas me pleasure driving ya 'round me city and ya said such nice words ‘bout us. T’wouldn't be right proper seeings I had such a celebrity. No sir, but if I could be so bold as to ask ya, Miss Davina, for your autograph. Well, for me wife, that is. I'd be eternally grateful, I would."

“My good man, it is always wonderful coming back to lovely London and her people. It would be my pleasure." Davina signed the small note pad the driver handed her. "Would you and your wife like to attend the performance this evening?”

“Dear Mary an’ Joseph, would that really be possible?”

“Yes.” Davina laughed. “What’s your name?"

“Wright, James Wright."

“Very well, James, the tickets will be under your name. Eight o'clock at the Royal Albert. And thank you again."

“Bless your heart, Miss D. Ta!"

They waved at the cabby as he drove off.

“That was so sweet," Jean said.

“Yes, the English are so nice."

“I mean you. You’re so nice. You didn't have to do that."

“I know, but look how happy it made him. And it made me just as happy."

“I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Davina blushed. “Stop. You’re making me feel almost saintly.”

“Maybe you are.”

“Come on,” Davina said walking in front of Jean to hold open the door of an elegant shop on Saville Row. “What about you, would you like to see the concert tonight?”

Jacques greeted Davina and, to his surprise, Jean at the Royal Albert Hall. The huge Victorian amphitheater was resplendent in red and gold with statues of Albert, Queen Victoria’s beloved, everywhere. The theater was a work of art.

“Good evening, ladies, how are you?" he asked, helping them with all their packages.

“Wonderful,” Jean said. “Davina’s a terrific tour guide."

“Yes, she is," Jacques said, looking at Davina. "The Royal Family will be attending. It has been confirmed.”

“Before I forget, Jacques, will you please leave two tickets at the box office for a Mr. James Wright, good seats. Thank you,
chéri.
"

“No problem," Jacques said and he turned to Jean. “Davina will be taking a nap as soon as she finishes rehearsing. “

“Jean, you might want to take a nap yourself,” Davina said. “Jacques can get you a room.”

“Certainly,” Jacques said. “Follow me.”

Davina’s six principal musicians, the ones who always performed with her, were warming up. They always arrived a couple of days before a performance to coordinate with the local musicians who made up the balance of the orchestra. They greeted Davina at the round stage in the center of the theater. There were still four hours before the concert, plenty of time to rehearse.

A huge bouquet or red roses was on the vanity in Davina’s dressing room, which matched the décor of the theater. Davina took the card that was attached to one of the roses. “
Eres el alma de mi vida…You are the soul of my life. Good luck tonight. You will shine like the brightest star that you are. Your Fox.
”

After a two-hour nap Davina was pacing her dressing room, cursing in Spanish, completely ignoring Jacques, Jean and Bianca.

“What’s she doing?" Jean whispered.

“She's swearing in Spanish," Jacques said.

“But why?” asked Bianca, who had helped Davina get into her gown.

“I asked her that myself once,” Jacques said. “She said that she enjoyed cursing in Spanish the most. It’s musical. It fills the mouth. She can do this all the while doing trills no less." Jacques laughed. "Every artist has his or her own little quirk. I know of a famous opera singer who used to vomit before each performance. I know another one who sits in a chair without talking for an hour before he goes on. It’s very normal. It alleviates them from pressures and stage fright. It actually relaxes them. By the way, you both look
fantastique
this evening.”

Jean was wearing a pale peach gown and, Jacques noticed, a pair of Davina’s earrings. She looked stunning. Jean had never worn anything like it before. Bianca wore a satiny azure dress with long tassels all along the hem.

"You look great in your tux, Jacques,” Jean said. “Thank you for helping me in Miami.”

“Davina deserves the praise, not me. She is a special lady. We all love her."

“Yes, I can see why."

There was a knock on the door. "Five minutes, Miss Walters," the voice said.

“Okay, let's give them a show," Davina said, stopping her pacing. Jacques, Jean and Bianca followed her to the panoply and waited for the introduction to finish. The orchestra started playing the opening song. Davina took Jacques’ hands and squeezed them. Jacques kissed her on both cheeks. This was the way it had happened the first time Davina performed, and now it was a kind of ritual. It was as if she were gathering his strength. It helped ease the pressure of knowing that hundreds of spectators would soon be watching her every move and hearing every note that came out of her mouth. But knowing people were out there to take pleasure from her presence and her talent gave her a natural high. She would give them her best. She became one with her audience.

Davina winked at Jean and Bianca. She took a deep breath and glided elegantly in her crimson gown to the center of the stage and curtsied facing the royal box.

Jean loved the music, she was right there just behind the stage to hear it all. After the concert, she met the Queen of England and Prince Charles, who called Davina the “Queen of the Music Empire,” which made everyone laugh because the man announcing the members of the royal party had introduced the Queen as “the Queen of the British Empire!” Jean was aware that she was not the person she used to be. She had shaken the hand of a prince. Miami was so far away. Miami. How could she ever return to her own home?

There was no time to tarry in London. The itinerary called for leaving promptly after the concert. And Jean, like a small pebble in rapids, let the river take her.

Once the Black Angel was airborne, Jacques, still in his tuxedo, approached Davina, who was alone in her room. “Am I interrupting?” he asked, knowing full well that she was about to call Alejandro.

“You’re never interrupting, Jacques,” she said, putting the telephone receiver down. “What’s up?”

“I have something to show you,” he said, handing her a paper.

JEAN ANNE CONRAD

Born October 1, 1960, Miami, FLA

Mother: Connie Conrad, deceased

Father: Kevin Conrad, deserted family 1965. Last seen in

Arizona after serving time for armed robbery.

No other known relatives.

JAC finished Miami High School 1977. Honor student.

Miss Florida. Scholarships to UMiami medical school

and FLA State. Did not attend college.

Offers from modeling agencies. Never accepted.

Married Simon Grady 1978. Divorced 1980.

Arrested for assault, not convicted.

SIMON KEITH GRADY

Born April 10, 1959, Miami, FLA

Mother: Samantha Ryan Grady, deceased

Father: Joseph Grady, deceased

No other known relatives.

SKG attended Miami High School 3 years. Dropped out.

Professional race car driver on national circuit 1977.

Married Jean Conrad 1978.

Arrested for assault and battery on wife.

Arrested for murder; charges dropped due to lack of evidence.

FBI reports he has become addicted to drugs, gambling.

Last seen in Las Vegas, NV.

“Quite a genealogy,
n’est-ce pas
?” Jacques said.

“I knew she wasn’t a criminal,” Davina said in French. “I saw that man Grady at the airport. You should have seen him, Jacques. His eyes. He looked murderous.”

“Just be careful.”

Bianca interrupted them. “Jean seems upset. She’s crying.”

“I’ll go to her,” Jacques said. “Don’t worry. And give my best to Alejandro.”

Jacques closed her door quietly and found Jean. He sat down next to her. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no,” Jean said, accepting Jacques’ handkerchief. “Yes, there is something wrong. My life.”

“Is there something we can do?”

“You’ve done so much already. And Davina…I’ve never met anyone like her.”

"Let me try to explain a little about Davina,” Jacques said. “I can see you cannot quite figure her out. That is understandable, for Davina is not your usual everyday person. She is special, not only to her fans but even more so to us, to her close friends. Actually she gives too much of herself and I am afraid that one day she will be hurt, and when she is, she will come down hard. She is strong. She can handle any situation thrown at her, believe me, I know. What she gives comes from her heart. “

Jean listened carefully to what the Frenchman was saying.

“But don't ever hurt her, Jean,” Jacques warned, “because if you do, you will have to deal with me. Do not misunderstand me. I am not trying to scare you, but Davina is very important in my life and I will not allow anything bad to happen to her."

“I understand,” Jean said, although she did not understand.

“
Bonsoir
, Jean.”

“Goodnight.”

Would this river, Jean wondered, take her to a waterfall? Or would it carry her to a meadow or a quiet forest, somewhere safe, a place nobody owned, a place she could be at peace for the rest of her life. And that could not be for long.

♫