Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy) (23 page)

She pulled up her shoulders in that well-known gesture of denial but did not reply.

“So do you want to go?” Jon repeated. “Do you want to go to Naples and Positano?”

A sudden, painful yearning filled Naomi. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, Jon, I want to go. I want to go very much, as soon as we have the time. Please, yes.”

P
arker saw the cavalcade of limousines come up the road, but they turned into the small back street that led into the garage of the hotel and vanished.

Silently cursing, he crossed the pavement to get from the tree-lined sidewalk along the lake to the hotel entrance and walked inside past the liveried doormen.

No one stopped him from sitting in one of the couches and ordering coffee from the bar, but he could see there were security guards standing by the elevators and a couple of very stern men denying a small group of women access to the doors leading to the stairway.

Fans, they were the best indicator that someone had arrived who was not keen on publicity. He imagined he could hear commotion behind those thick walls, feel the hum of the elevators as they ran up and down with the luggage of the illustrious guests, and finally, with her, taking her into one of the suites on the locked-off floor where no one had access except the most trusted personnel, and even those were accompanied by security.

There was no way to get to her except to lie in wait here for hours and hours, hoping she would venture out on her own for a shopping or sightseeing trip and her husband would choose to stay in hiding.

The thought alone made Parker swallow bile. He had seen the press releases from the other cities, read the raving review of the Munich concert and seen the photos of Jon leaving the venue after the show, walking through a throng of fans with her by his side, one arm around him, laughing. She had looked so pretty in that rose silk dress, the same one she had worn for their interview, her braid falling over her shoulder. Seeing that picture, Parker had made one of his editors call the newspaper where it had been issued and ask for a copy. Once printed, he had hidden it away in his desk drawer, peering at it every ten minutes to stare at that smile, at the dark eyes gazing up at Jon, wishing with a gutwrenching fervor that it was meant for him.

In a moment of sanity, while navigating the hallways of Heathrow, Parker had realized he was about to fly to Hamburg, where he would lurk in hotel lobbies, on sidewalks, and in backstage entrances, all in the wild hope of catching her alone, of having her to himself.

Dazed and despite the early-morning hour, he had made his way to one of the bars and ordered a stiff drink. He was stalking Jonathan Stone’s wife. He couldn’t help himself. Drink downed, he had hastened to the gate when his flight was called. He could not help but wish that the plane would fly a little faster, cross the Channel with lighting speed and take him to Hamburg, take him closer to where Naomi was.

“
W
e could go after the European leg of the tour.” Jon said, tossing his jacket on the couch. “We would have six weeks before the tour starts again in the US. Why not put that time to good use, lazing in Italy. I really like the idea!”

Carefully, just peeking, Naomi pushed the curtains aside and looked out of the window at the steady drizzle of rain. Right across the street was the lake with the fountain, more of a large pond compared to Lac Léman in Geneva; but there were cruise boats on it, going toward a bridge at the far end, crossing under it into a larger body of water. Just to the right, around the curve of the lake, she could see the facades of the old buildings, shops on the ground floor, the inviting side streets with the expensive flagship stores.

“I really wanted to use the time to get some work done on the Brooklyn house.” She remembered walking down those streets with her mother one day and buying a purse. They had searched for a nice place to have lunch but had found only a steak house, which had made them return to the hotel, slightly disgruntled. Her father had laughed at them and taken them back across the street, up a flight of stairs in one of the massive buildings, and ordered one of the best oyster meals she’d ever had. There had even been champagne. Olaf had poured for her, stating how he enjoyed taking out his wife and daughter, he was so proud of them, the beautiful women in his life.

“I wanted him to love me because I’m his daughter, not because I’d be important to the business someday. Love me just for me.” It came out of nowhere, a sudden, bitter outburst; and it made Jon stop and listen to her.

“All the while,” Naomi said softly, “all the time he was scheming and plotting and thinking of me as a pawn.” She turned around. “There were stories, Jon, in my head. Sometimes I felt like I had one foot in another world, listening to other people’s lives. I wanted to write it all down so badly, but there was never the time nor space for it. I would go to a party or dinner with my parents, and in my head this scene was humming that wanted out so badly.” Her hands fluttered nervously with the need to explain. “Like a bubble growing inside my chest, something that has to be poured out, brought to life. And I tried to stop it, tried to suffocate it; and it made me sad, silent, and angry.” With a little shrug, embarrassed at her outbreak, she added, “And then, one day, there was you; and I knew where I had to take that need to write. When I heard you on the radio, everything made sense. Everything else became meaningless.” The old pain tore her spirit. “I wanted him to be proud of me for what I am, not for what he wanted me to be.”

Holding her breath, she waited for a response, but Jon just looked at her, waiting.

“You…” Her heart skipped, and she had to hold on to the table beside her. “I’m married to you! I don’t have to spend a single moment of my day thinking about my father if I don’t want to. I can sit down and write a novel, and no one will tell me it’s a waste of time, worse, nonsense.”

Jon shook his head. “To be yourself, Naomi, to do what you want, for that you don’t have to be married to me.” He grinned and moved toward her. “I like it way better like this, of course, but you doing what you want to do with your life has nothing to do with me. For crying out loud, babe, let’s go out right now and buy you a new laptop, and you can sit down here in this hotel room and start writing that novel that’s clearly waiting in your head! You’re way beyond song lyrics, Naomi, and way beyond writing plays. You need to start your real work. Let’s go!”

Stunned, she took a step back.

“Don’t you see?” Jon didn’t touch her, didn’t even come close enough for it. “The only one holding you back is yourself. I’ve been telling you over and over. You don’t have to keep yourself small and hidden, or live in my shadow!” He pointed in the general direction of the hotel telephone. “Go ahead, call Harry. Tell him you’re ready to finally write that movie script he wants from you; make his day! Lock yourself in and write the great American novel!”

A small giggle escaped her at his dramatic gesture, and she hid it behind her hand.

“Stop laughing, you silly chick. I’m trying to make a point here,” Jon said, but he smiled. “You can do whatever you want, and you can do it now. Like, let’s go out for lunch and buy you a computer, and then let’s think about going to Italy. It’s time we started to seriously enjoy our lives. I’ve had it with the sorrow and the pain.”

With a shaking finger Naomi pointed at the building where Olaf had taken them out for lunch. “Over there, we sat in that restaurant, and I remembered just now what a blast we had, my parents and I. That was such a carefree, easy day; and for once there was no pressure, no looming future. I was happy that day, Jon!  I was happy with my family, and I loved being who I was. For that one day.”

“Come here.” Gently he pried her from her corner. “We’ll go out now. We’ll go out and enjoy the day, and I’ll buy you the best laptop this town has to offer. Then tomorrow we’ll do the show, and then we’re off to Italy. What do you say?”

Her body was stiff in his embrace.

“What? What now?”

Uneasily, her face leaned against his chest, Naomi mumbled, “If we really want to go to Positano, I’ll have to call my mother and have her arrange it. I haven’t been there for ages, Jon. I don’t even know if I’d recognize my relatives.” Slowly, her brow wrinkled, she looked up at him. “I think if we decide to go, my parents will want to come. And, well, Joshua…he hasn’t met his family there.”

That made him let go of her in surprise. “Never? You’ve never taken Joshua to meet your mother’s family? Why? Why, Naomi?”

“It just never happened.” Again she shrugged. “We were in Halmar.
  My life was small, hidden, quiet. I didn’t travel. I did nothing but raise Joshua and work and write sad songs.” Slowly, with a small sigh, she gave up. “I guess it’s time, yes?”

Jon nodded.

chapter 21

“
T
hey let people come all the way to the back entrance,” Sal said on the bus, uneasily glancing out at the highway on which they were traveling. “That’s one thing I’ve never liked about Hamburg. They think security is a courtesy and not something vital. These Germans, they have no concept of danger.”

“Maybe they just don’t treat their celebrities the way we do.” Sean leaned back in his seat and drew his baseball cap down over his eyes. “Maybe they still see them as people and not as public property or someone to be stalked.”

Jon, sitting by himself a few rows behind them, snorted, but didn’t comment. He had closed his eyes and folded his hands on his stomach, legs stretched into the aisle, snatching a few last moments of rest before they arrived and the routine of a show night took over.

“Europeans are easier about these things.” Art turned around from where he was sitting right behind the driver. “But as long as it’s this civilized, who cares?”

Jon opened his eyes. “I do. I want safe in addition to civilized, especially now that Naomi is on the road with us.” He exchanged a glance with Sal.

They had both seen the blond, tall man in the lobby when they had gone down to give a few autographs just before they had left for the sound check. He had kept his distance, mingling with some other reporters, chatting, exchanging business cards, commenting on their cameras; but his eyes had darted back to them. Naomi had not been there; she had chosen to stay behind and play with the laptop he had bought for her at the department store next door to the hotel. When he left, she had been sitting on the couch, legs drawn up, fingers gliding over the smooth, black surface of the thing, hesitant, as if she was afraid to open it, as if opening it meant altering the fabric of reality; and she had barely looked up when he said he would be right back.

N
ow, on the bus, he wondered how it was for her, if owning this one piece of technology really made that much of a difference, if it felt to her like a new, custom-made guitar felt to him when he made it hum for the first time. His gaze wandered back toward Jones, who was seldom without his favorite instrument. Even on this short ride from downtown Hamburg to the venue he had it on his lap, his hand resting on the strings, singing softly under his breath. Jon thought he recognized the melody but he wasn’t sure. The bus left the highway and entered a narrower road leading through a stretch of forest. They passed a huge garbage facility with a line of trucks waiting to dump their loads. The chimneys rose up into the sky above it, but there was hardly any smoke, and no smell at all. Everything was clean, neat, efficient. Right outside the fence a trailer had parked, its side windows open, with a woman selling sandwiches and sodas to the workers who had come out for a break. They too did not look as if they handled muck; their orange work suits were spotless.

“They don’t do gritty in Germany,” Sean remarked. “Isn’t it amazing? I think these people clean their waste before they put it in the garbage.”

For some reason this made Jon think of his promise to take Naomi to Newark someday, and it made him grin.

“Naomi wants to see New Jersey,” he said.

Sean nodded. “Yes, I’ve been thinking of getting a house somewhere there. Maybe down by the shore. If it’s not too much hassle to drive into town every day.” Laughing, he slapped the armrest of his seat. “Look at us; we’re going to be New York City commuters soon!”

“Yes.” It seemed right. It felt right, this prospect of settling down and starting something new, going in a different direction. “But New Jersey, Sean? Really? I mean, everything I’ve seen of it is…” Jon sought for a word. “Dismal?”

They had stopped at a red light, ready to turn onto the street leading to the venue. There were police cars, ready to close off the road behind them and keep other traffic away.
What a strange place
, Jon thought, looking out, with the concert hall on one side of the narrow driveway and the football stadium on the other. It seemed displaced, so removed from any kind of neighborhood, planted in the middle of empty land. A plane crossed overhead, so low that he knew the airport must not be too far away, and he could see a highway overpass in the distance. But close by there was only industrial land and greenery.

“Are you sure we’re in the right spot?” he asked when the bus pulled
up at the back entrance of the ugly concrete building, “Looks more like a prison.”

But he knew. He had seen the tour posters glued to the gray walls and the announcement on the billboard over the entrance. It made him wonder who would come all the way out here to see them.

There was a small group of fans waiting, maybe fifteen, nothing compared to the throngs he was used to; and they kept their distance, quietly obeying the guards’ orders. There was no press. They waved his way when he got out, but no one even tried to approach.

“I’m going to say hello.” Sean hitched up his jeans and sauntered over to the waiting group, where he was greeted with pleasure and surprise.

“And you?” Autograph cards in hand, Sal waited for Jon’s answer.

“Yeah. What the hell.” Jon took them and followed Sean. The cheers got considerably louder.

I
t was hot behind the venue. There was little shade, and the pavement smelled of gasoline and molten tar. From where she stood, cell phone in hand, she could see the row of container trucks parked neatly along the fence, fourteen of them now. One was still open, with some of the tour technicians climbing in and out.

Joshua told her, quite simply, that he had no interest in traveling to Italy in the heat of summer; and anyway, he had an invitation from Harry to spend a few days at his home in LA with him and his wife, Grace, and their daughters. They were going to surf and have parties, maybe drive along the coast and have some fun. And sure, he added, he was pleased for them; Naples was going to be exciting, but not for him. His Italian was shaky at best; and right now, with his grandparents in NYC and spoiling him rotten, why should he leave.

Naomi’s heart stopped for a second. “Your grandparents?”

“Yeah, they live here now, don’t you know? You with all your traveling and never being at home; of course you miss everything. Grandma is all crazy with the idea of you going to Naples; they took me out to some Italian restaurant yesterday, and she talked to the waiters in Italian the entire time. Grandfather laughed his head off at her, said it was high time for a visit with her family. Seems they haven’t been down there in a while too. Strange, eh? We are one weird, spread-out family. I wonder if we’ll ever be together in one place, for Christmas or something.” He paused to talk to someone else and came back, his voice slightly breathless. “Hey, wouldn’t that be something? We could all celebrate Christmas together this year, at the new house. With all my grandparents and the rest of the family. Let’s do that, Mom.” There were street noises in the background, other voices, a girl’s silver laugh, and the siren of a police car, someone else calling Joshua’s name. “I have to go,” he said. “We’re having breakfast, a few friends and I. Later, Mom.”