Shadows Steal the Light
Colin Dunlow is caught in a web of alcoholism precipitated by his skyrocketing fame as lead singer of the world’s hottest hard rock group, Dumbarton. When he bumps into legal activist and sultry jazz singer, Jenna Lindstrom, he’s no idea what’s in store. How can he maintain his newfound sobriety whilst navigating a comeback and investigate who might want him dead? All of this and he has an AA sponsor who won’t allow him any serious relationship, not if he wants to live. What’s a rocker to do? Especially when the woman of his dreams hates rock and roll.
Shadows Steal the Light
by Christine London
Published by MuseItHOT Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Christine London
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Dedication
To Dad: for instilling in me a lifelong love of words
Acknowledgements
Seldom does one run across as magnanimous, inclusive and inspirational a person as the publisher of this novel, Lea Schizas. Thank you for giving my story light.
To my editors Fiona Young-Brown and Antonia Tiranth, I send my gratitude for their careful caring suggestions and encouragement. Thanks for the roots and wings.
To my parents for their unending faith in me and my work.
To my family for the hours missed of time spent together, warm meals and a clean house.
To Alex for her creativity, beautiful website design/maintenance and friendship.
Shadows Steal The Light
“My name is Colin and I’m an Alcoholic.”
“Hello, Colin,” the group answered. The AA meeting held in the library of St. Alban’s Primary School in Holborn was walking distance from Colin’s suburban London flat.
“I’ve just been released from Phoenix House resettlement accommodation this mornin’ and I’m lookin’ forward to returnin’ to my band, Dumbarton…maybe you’ve heard of us…Anyways…we’re goin’ on tour beginning this very Friday night. My mates have been great, postponing gigs, findin’ suitable replacement for me.” He shifted his eyes to stare at the floor. “Truth be known, I’m scared shitless. I dunno how I’m gonna handle bein’ around it all the bloody time. Always bein’ offered it, the intoxicatin’ smell…it’s everywhere. Yeah, I’ve the tools I learned in rehab, but…” His voice trailed off as his eyes reddened, tainted by withheld tears.
The early evening light knifed through the entry door’s glass fanlight spilling in a pool at the feet of the group facilitator. “You’ve made it here, man. This is your anchor, now. We’re all behind you.” Geoffrey Burns, a recovering alcoholic for thirteen years and a group leader for ten of those, noted Colin’s distress and ran his hand through his hair. “The sooner you’re back at it, the better. You’ve not got any impending life crisis to impede your progress toward returning to your regular schedule, have you? You’re sober. You’re a contributing member of society. You’ve got important work to be done, man.”
Colin shifted uncomfortably in the school chair that was too small for his six-foot frame. “Sorry…you’re right, of course.” His voice caught with emotion. “Can I just pass for the moment?” Geoffrey nodded and called on another member anxiously raising her hand to be recognized.
His sponsor, Robert Bayle, took a firm hold of Colin’s left shoulder and gave a supportive squeeze. Colin looked up from the floor, a fleeting, but genuine, smile of appreciation flashing across his face. He returned his gaze downward in an attempt to control and disperse the uncomfortable emotions churning in him. The children’s charming artwork splashed across the walls could not distract him from his intense focus on the memories that haunted him. A flashback of last fall’s post-performance visit to Bennett’s Bar in Los Angeles streamed through his mind.
“Remember the face, then,” Colin had growled, the tails of a Native American headdress streaming down his back in a cascade of symmetrical feathers. He had just prevented a fight between a drunken stranger at the bar and his best mate, Liam. The stranger now on the ground, had threatened to find him and come after him, no matter what it took. Small wonder the American barfly-turned-fighter was furious after being head butted by Colin in an attempt to jolt him back into reality. “You’re not thinkin’ straight, man. You need to go home and sleep it off,” Colin slurred as he stumbled against the wall. The room was spinning and his friend, Liam, had already escaped out the back door.
“I’m coming after you, dude. I swear I’ll find you,” the wiry American on the ground reiterated.
It was only in the cold, sober light of the day after that Colin realized the absurdity of his pronouncement the previous evening. How could a drunken bar brawler ever recognize his face; covered, as it was, with the war paint he and his band mates had “borrowed” from backstage at their gig that night at the Shrine. “All in good fun…we’re goin’ to show these American blokes how it’s done,” had been Colin’s justification for their outing.
I looked bloody ridiculous, he reprimanded internally, mentally dragging himself back into the present as he continued to stare at the floor. No good to the band or myself…let alone any woman. This was but one of the many examples of his former inebriated flamboyance that came to mind whenever he attempted to deal directly with his six months of newfound sobriety.
“Where are ya, man?” Robert’s low but persistent tone yanked Colin from his painful recollections.
“Sorry, Robert,” Colin whispered, refocusing his attention on the woman now speaking at this, his first AA meeting, sober and completely on his own.
“Coffee after the meeting, mate. We need to talk,” Robert ordered.
* * * *
Jenna held the cordless mic tight in her hand. After performing four well-received group numbers, it was time for her solo, still eight bars away. She felt the familiar rustling of butterflies in her stomach that happened every time she took the spotlight. She glanced over at the five other members of her group, and then out into the sea of faces in the auditorium. The speaker, pointed toward the performers on stage to allow them to hear each other’s close harmonies, reflected her sultry alto voice as she took the lead. As always, she thought she might actually be sick right before performing solo. It hadn’t happened in a month of Sundays, but she surely didn’t look forward to disgracing herself in front of thousands. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, she chanted internally. The acid at the back of her throat nearly choked her as she squeezed the mic tight enough to break. Who am I kidding? I’m no goodie two shoes.
It had been two years since she was asked to join the exclusive sextet of professional jazz/pop singers, A Choired Taste. Their gigs had started out as an artistic outlet for her, but had grown in importance, as their skill and popularity increased. They were in the process of cutting a CD for distribution in the local Southern California area, when the opportunity to sing for a crowd of thousands at the Shrine Auditorium had been offered by the long established vocal jazz quartet, New York Transport. Jenna’s sextet was the warm-up group this evening. The crowd had begun the set listening politely, but with an air of anxiousness, waiting to hear the headliners. As Jenna finished the song, a wave of applause and cheers flooded across the auditorium.
“Miss Jenna Lindstrom, ladies and gentlemen,” the bass of A Choired Taste, Brian Bardlow, said into his mic, raising his arm toward Jenna in introduction and appreciation.
A smile spread across Jenna’s face and she bowed to the enthusiastic crowd. They chanted for more as she walked off stage. “Jenna…Jenna…,” they roared.
“Guess you better give ‘em what they want,” Taylor Heath, soprano of New York Transport, said to Jenna as she brushed by her backstage. Jenna froze in her tracks, turning toward Taylor with a look of disbelief.
“Our set is over…aren’t you ready to go on?” Jenna asked. The chants of the crowd increased in volume. “Jenna…Jenna….”
“Get out there, girl…they’re gonna stone us if we go on without letting them hear you again,” Johnny Damon, tenor of NYT jovially demanded in reply. “Our back up group will accompany you…just tell ’em the key. Sing that sexy one…”Continental Woman”. He turned her around by the shoulders and gently pushed her back toward the stage.
She looked over at the members of A Choired Taste as they exited the stage next to her. They were waving their arms in support of her, encouraging her to return for a solo. All except fellow alto, Leslie, who stood with an expression of chagrin on her face. Jenna looked at her a moment, before deciding that she was less than thrilled at the prospect of Jenna getting all the attention. Shifting her eyes onstage to Brian, she tried to ignore the knot of self-doubt in her throat, the queasy wash of uncertainty in her stomach. Brian was waving her on. She had no choice…sing or run. Could the floor open and swallow her up? That would end it and the taste of bile in her mouth.
As Jenna walked tentatively back on stage, signaling the band to play in G, the spotlight found her. The crowd roared and then hushed as the saxophone began the opening bars. Jenna held the mic once more. A long lost memory suddenly flooded into her mind. High school…her choir director standing in front of the group as they complained about stage fright. “Imagine them in their underwear.” After the adolescent giggling subsided, he’d looked at them intently. “Works, doesn’t it? You’ll be too busy chuckling about their embarrassment to worry about your own.” She looked across the crowd, painting them in white skivvies, and began in a low and tentative tone. “When she walked into the room, the breeze began to say…Continental Woman….” Her voice strengthened as she progressed, pouring her heart into the poetry and beauty of the piece. Why wouldn’t the damnable kamikazes in her stomach quit? She never had this trouble when singing as a group. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this solo stuff. Panic. Don’t panic, girl. They’re in their underwear!
She looked into the sea of faces below her as she held the last note. Would she self-combust with the end of the piece, or maybe they’d be kind and only throw rotten tomatoes. Closing her eyes as the notes of the sax faded, she prayed.
The auditorium erupted in applause as the music receded. Jenna looked out across the crowd, raising her hand in acknowledgement. Her heart continued to race, this time in excitement and relief. Breathe. Don’t forget to breathe.
How could this be happening to a woman who had spent her life in a quiet office job providing technical support to a group of lawyers who took on more than their fair share of pro bono work? She had always sung, in church choirs, at school, and in amateur group endeavors. Never in her imaginings had she thought she would be so well received by an audience that had come to see her idols and mentors, New York Transport.
Her wavy sun-kissed chestnut hair fell forward over her shoulders as she bowed. Her eyes eyes caught in the spotlight as she waved farewell to the audience.
“You’ve just built a hell of a fan base, luv,” the tall, handsome manager of NYT whispered in her ear as he escorted her past the press and backstage pass holders. Kyle Matthews held her tight against him with his arm around her shoulder as he expertly wove them through the throng of people wanting to talk to her. “No…no comments…not now,” he shouted as he pushed the door of the dressing room open. Directing her inside, he closed the door behind them. “Now, luv,” he said, “Let’s talk about where we go from here.”
Her heart took a leap north. Maintaining her naïve demeanor, she listened, knowing exactly where he was headed.
“You are going to need a professional manager and agent, Jenna. There is no turnin’ back after what just happened out there,” Kyle said with intensity burning in his deep chocolate brown eyes. “And don’t try to tell me you’ve a manager already. We both know that Brian is a hell of a bloke and great bass in your little group, but a professional at promoting new talent, he’s not.”
Jenna backed a few steps away from Kyle’s almost uncomfortable intensity. “We haven’t done too badly…our first CD is set to be released.”
“Jenn, you haven’t grasped the reality, yet. That audience wants you, darlin’…not A Choired Taste. As nice a guy as Brian is, he just doesn’t have the experience, the connections, the drive to steer you to the top…and that’s where you’re goin’, my dear.”
“Look, Mr. Matthews—”
“Call me Kyle.”
“Kyle. I’ve got real loyalty to those five people out there. They took me under their wing, me, a complete unknown paralegal from Santa Monica. I‘d be crazy not to—” jump at the opportunity. Her inner advisor goaded her on. A twinge of guilt twisted in her gut. It would be tough to leave them behind, but…. Jettison the group. They’ll survive. They did just fine before you joined them, they’ll do well after. No question - she’d leap.
“Yeah, just like they were crazy to scoop you up when they heard you sing in that college choir they were visiting.”
“How did you know?”
“Leslie told me the story. They were invited to sing in the ranks of your college group as a treat offered by your director. Something about him being best friends with Johnny.”
“Yeah. They went to school together.” She paused to collect her thoughts, trying to squelch the urge to jump into his arms and say yes. “Look, Kyle, I’m flattered that you would even offer, but I love A Choired Taste and—”
He put a custodial hand on the wall next to her and leaned close to her face. “You need me, Jenna and bloody hell, I need you, too.” His lips parted in a look of acute fascination.
Jenna turned away from him and walked to the center of the room, his focus on her unwillingly broken. As he lowered his arm and turned to face her, she said, “Please leave, Mr. Matthews. I need to change and have some time to—”
“Think about it, Jenna,” came his persistent response. “That’s all I ask. Talk to your group, as well. I think you will find them more receptive than you might imagine.”
“Goodnight, Kyle,” she said, trying to maintain just the right tension of control in the situation.
He reluctantly turned to leave. “Goodnight, Jenna,” he said with a wash of unrequited attraction seeping through the look of disappointment on his face. He closed the door behind him.
Jenna sat down in front of the bright lights surrounding the makeup mirror and sighed. “How am I gonna do this?”
* * * *
“You know you’re supposed to bloody well pay attention during your meetings man, don’t cha?” Robert said, as he watched Colin heap three spoons of sugar into his coffee. “I know the first few days are rough—”
“You’re understatin’ it. No excuse, though. I was allowin’ myself to slip backward.”
“Won’t be the last time, either, Colin. Try not to be so hard on yourself. It takes time, as all good things do. Now tell me, where are you stayin’ Friday night after your gig?”
“Some bloody motel in Liverpool. Charlie’s the one who makes all those arrangements whilst Kyle is abroad.”
“Kyle?”
“Yeah. He’s our manager, remember? Charlie’s sort of a glorified roadie who’s takin’ up the slack whilst Kyle is accompanyin’ that jazz singin’ group of his on their stateside tour.”
Robert’s eyes blazed with apprehension. “You sure of the meeting location, Colin?”
“You know they put us through the drill at rehab. We can practically smell a meetin’. I think I could find one at the North Pole in the midst of a blizzard.” Colin’s hand shook as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. He lowered it quickly, hoping Robert hadn’t noticed.
“It’s natural to be nervous, lad. Your emotions are as raw as an Englishman left out in the California sun. Seriously, though…you’re going to be fine. Your fans are anticipating your return as though you were the bloody Pope. You keep your eye on that prize and you’ll do well. You know I’m always just a phone call away.”
Colin assessed Robert’s expression with brows squeezed. “Yeah. I’m hopin’ I’ll be so busy, so preoccupied, that I won’t even think of you. No offense implied.”
“None taken. I hope you’re right,” Robert said, returning Colin’s inquiring gaze. “Of course, you’re right,” he said, looking away and reaching into his back pocket. “I’m buyin’ this one.” He threw a five-pound note down on the table. “Do you fancy some company on your run today?”
“Sure. Do you know the heath just up the road?
“Are you meaning Hampstead Heath?”
“The very same.” Colin lived in a flat off the high street on Hollyhill Road whilst he was in London. It fit his needs well, as it was in inconspicuous Camden, yet close enough to town that he felt connected. Since Dumbarton’s electrifying explosion in popularity, he had found maintaining anonymity most highly prized. “Come back to my flat with me. You can change into your gear there.” He patted his front jeans pockets for keys in an unconscious habitual gesture.
“Let’s go, then,” Robert said as he pushed his chair in under the table.
* * * *
Colin ran out in front. He turned to check on Robert. “Are you goin’ to do some press ups, Colin?” Robert called to him as Colin plopped down for a rest on the grass of the heath.
“Give me a minute.” Colin protested.
Robert lowered himself to the grass. He was a barrel-chested man of fifty and had a challenge keeping up with a fit thirty two year old. “You’re not goin’ to let this old man show you up, are you?” Robert jested, straining to catch his breath. The two men sat on the grass, enjoying the sun and the openness of the heath. Wiping the beads of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, Robert inquired, “So, what has all this done to your love life, man?”
Colin gave him a double take. “You’ve got to be jokin’.” He shook his head. “I’m not certain what I’ve missed more, the liquor or the sex. At least that’s one thing that won’t be sending me back to hospital. There are some truly fine women on the road at nearly every show, just waitin’ their chance.”
“You need to forget about it, man.” Robert pressed assertive fingers on Colin’s forearm. “You’re not ready. None of us are when we’re newly out, what with our emotions so raw and at the surface.”
“What am I supposed to do then, tie a bloody bow in it?”
Retracting his hand, and interlacing his fingers about his drawn knees, he chuckled, “You’re a lucky man indeed if you can do that.” His expression darkened. “I’m sorry to say, I’m deadly serious, man. There’s nothing that drives us back to the liquor faster than getting involved with the first pretty face that comes along and having the emotional rug pulled out from under us.”
Colin’s jaw tightened. “How long?”
“A year.”
“Bloody fuck, man! Now you really are jokin’,” he spouted.
Robert furrowed his brow, fully illuminating his resolute intention.
“Shit…you are serious,” Colin lamented.
“Deadly.”
* * * *
There was a knock at the dressing room door. “Who is it?” Jenna called.
“It’s Brian, dear.”
“Come in.” She turned from the mirror to look at him as he entered.
“You were magnificent tonight, Jenn. You know we aren’t gonna be able to keep you a secret much longer if you sing a song like that!” He walked over to her and gave her a kiss on the forehead. His silver hair caught the bright illumination of the makeup mirror and shone like spun moonlight. He was a handsome man, well into his sixties, with grey eyes that looked at Jenna in fatherly affection. She stood to face him.
“We were good, weren’t we?”
“It’s not ‘we’ that they were demanding an encore from, my girl. You know you were the star of the show tonight. I don’t think NYT got half the volume out of the crowd that your “Continental Woman” drew.”
Jenna scoffed, “You’re being kind, Brian.”
“I wouldn’t lie.” He ran his index finger along her cheek. “Now…what are we going to do about you?”
“You’re going to have a hell of a first release on the CD and probably a great string of concerts.”
His eyes twinkled with sincerity. “I’m glad you said ‘you’ instead of ‘we’ Jenn, because let’s be realistic. Your star is rising a lot faster than the rest of ours. I’d love to take you on, but I don’t have the experience, much less the time I know it’s gonna take to launch you the way you deserve.”
“Brian…” she struggled to be enthusiastic. “We are great together. You’ve always said—”
“Well, I’m telling you now that this thing is about to get away from all of us. We have jobs and families to tend to. Even if they had been cheering for us to come back on stage with you, we couldn’t manage the juggling it would take to follow you around on tour.”
“Who’s said anything about a tour, Brian?” She shrugged. “I’ve got a job, too.” She looked at him, enthusiasm warring with disappointment on his face.
“Yeah, getting underpaid pursuing those down and out legal misfits and their caseloads of poor, needy—”
“I never signed up with them to get rich.”
“I’m not saying you did, my dear, but the landscape has changed. There are many women who are inspired to help the less fortunate win their day in court, but they don’t have a set of pipes like you do. It would be a sin to keep your voice only present in legal briefs. You have to let the genie out of the bottle. You have a gift the world needs.” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You touched thousands of hearts out there tonight, girl. It would take your entire legal career to reach that many souls.”
“What’s more important, in the grand scheme, Brian?” she quipped, trying to muster the fervor to make herself believe she might actually turn down such a terrific opportunity. No use… she was hopelessly self-motivated.
Dropping his hands back to his sides, he lobbed, “Don’t give me your liberal, compassion speech tonight, Jenn. There is nothing more important in this world than to inspire hearts to carry on, to uplift, to strengthen, and yes, damn it, to purely entertain. You have a one in a million gift. It’s incumbent upon you—”
Turning to pace, Jenna retorted, “Now you’re trying to guilt me into agreeing to flush my day job?” Sounded surprisingly good to her. Ready to chuck her career for the limelight? You bet. Lifelong dream dangling like a golden carrot in front of her nose. Her only regret? Leaving the group behind.
“Nothing you wouldn’t do in defense of one of your clients.” Brian shook his head and raised his hand, motioning her to keep still and silent. “Kyle is pursuing you. He has one of the best records in the business for discovering new talent and bringing them to the forefront.”
“Has he been talking to you, Brian?” Please, oh please, say yes.
“He didn’t have to say a word. I saw it on his face as he whisked you off to the dressing room tonight. The only caution I have to offer when it comes to him is purely a fatherly one. He’s a lady killer with those looks and that English charm. Don’t you let him take advantage of you personally, but professionally…well, there’s nobody on the planet that could represent you as well, or take you as far. You know he’s been agenting Dumbarton for ten years, now.”
A sudden bolt of reality shot through her. Maybe the sexy Kyle Matthews wasn’t all cashmere and charm. “Yeah, Brian…a loud, hard-rock band full of hard drinking, womanizing…” She paused with a sigh. “What could I possibly have in common with that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe just fourteen triple platinum albums and millions of fans, not to mention the stacks of money.” He shifted tactic. “You seem to be forgetting NYT, he agents them as well. You’ve lots in common with them.”
“Just my point, Brian. They are a group of tight harmony, mostly a cappella singers who are the best at what they do in the business. They are what I‘ve always imagined us…you aspiring to be.”
“You’re right about that, Jenn, but you have a range of talent even outside their purview. Sure, we sound great backing you up on a song, but it’s you and that God given voice of yours that needs to be heard. We won’t be hiding you in the middle of a sextet any longer.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Leslie looked less than thrilled when I went back on stage tonight.”
“She’ll get over it.” He ran his hand through the hair at her temple. “You are like a daughter to me, Jenn. I’d say the same thing to my own flesh and blood. Talk to Kyle. Grab the brass ring.”
* * * *
Jenna looked out across the court in front of her 1920’s Cape Cod style bungalow at four little girls jumping rope. They swung their riggings in dizzying ellipses, double dutch. From her vantage point, seated at the kitchen table, the primroses in the planter box gave the impression of a glorious field of color under their feet. The illusion would have been a real source of amusement, had Jenna not been so preoccupied with thinking about the concert of the evening before.
Saturday afternoons were usually a time of calm reflection and lazy lingering over tea and cookies. As she stirred the slice of lemon in her cup, she thought of Brian’s admonition. He never would have urged her to contact Kyle if he didn’t genuinely think it was in her best interest. “I can’t believe I’m taking such a risk,” she sighed. Her stomach tightened at the thought of the ramifications of leaving the job she loved, to pursue something she had only dreamt of—a singing career. It seemed superficial, self-centered, even decadent. But that voice inside her head that always drove her shouted loudest. Brian’ll find another alto…and you’ve always wanted to travel. He’ll smooth Leslie’s feathers.
In an attempt to bring herself back in line with reality, she reached into her purse and fumbled for her wallet. Opening the billfold, she searched through the jumble of receipts, business cards and phone numbers scribbled on scraps of paper, for a note containing a needy client’s address. And work? Shit! She squirmed in her seat. Kyle’s business card fell to the floor. She leaned over to retrieve it, bumping her forehead on the edge of the table as she sat up. “Ouch!” She rubbed her brow, holding the card in the other hand. “Guess that’s what it’ll take, a good knock in the head.” She looked at the contact information printed under Kyle’s name. Her heart raced. She couldn’t deny the excitement she felt every time she remembered the chanting of the audience; the passion, the danger, even the stomach wrenching fear she felt for singing a beautiful song, solo. Impulsively scooping the cordless phone from its recharging cradle, she dialed Kyle’s cell. As it rang, a wave of panic shot through her. She pushed the off button. “I can’t. What if he…I’m not sure I…” Placing the phone down on the table, she rose and began pacing back and forth across the kitchen.
Scrolling her eyes toward the aquarium on the counter, she took two large strides toward Bart. Graceful purple fins waved effortlessly as he maintained his usual Beta indifference in the water.
“So what do you think?” She placed an inquisitive forefinger on the glass, staring as he turned slowly in the tank. “I could put an ad at the UCLA and Loyola law schools for a replacement.” She bent over to look at him, eyes at a parallel to his now curious form.
“No…it’s not time to eat,” she said, giving the glass a reprimanding tap. “You don’t need to swim to the surface.”
Looking into his round vitreous eye, she continued, “Give ‘em two weeks notice and let them handle it, eh?” She watched as Bert swirled at the surface in his Pavlovian dance of anticipation. “You go for what you want even when it’s not there yet.” Turning away to stare unseeing into the kitchen, she continued. “And this is Kyle Matthews we’re talking about. God he’s sexy.” And bad for you, said her internal mother.
“Shut up.” She scowled and gave Bert one more appraising glance. Looking about the room, she allowed her eyes to jump from one location to the next as though looking for an easy answer taped on a note to the wall or a cabinet.
A feeling of claustrophobia overcame her. She had to escape. Grabbing the hooded sweatshirt from the back of the chair and her keys from the counter, Jenna headed out the front door.
Turning the corner at the end of the street, she joined the growing crowd of foot traffic strolling along the Third Street Promenade. It was close to sunset as she walked toward the strip of parkland edging the cliffs overlooking Pacific Coast Highway and the beach. It was the place she went to whenever she needed to think. This evening, not even the sweeping effluent splendor of pinks and oranges stretching across the sky calmed her. She stopped next to the tall trunk of one of the palm trees lining the cliff and searched the horizon. The blood orange semicircle of sun was quickly dropping beneath the waves.
You need me, Jenna, and bloody hell, I need you too. Kyle’s words echoed in her ears. Watching the people strolling along the footpath winding along the perimeter of the beach gave her brief respite from her onerous decision. She wished she could take them all with her. She loved each and every member of A Choired Taste. Leaving them was going to be hard. Walking to a park bench facing the sea, she sat, drawing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around her shins. She dropped her head onto her knees and sighed. Images of her mother lying in the dim light of the hospice room flooded into her mind.
“I wish I had taken you with me to Arizona to paint,” her mother’s voice said weakly as Jenna held her hand. “I could have enrolled you in that reservation school. The colors there…the earth…” Jenna stood up from the chair next to her mom’s bed and reached her arms around her mother’s frail body, lying so still. She held her for a long moment.
“Mom, you did what you had to do at the time. How hard was it to be a single mom in those days? You always did what I needed, what you thought was best for me.”
Laura Lindstrom had been a fierce fighter for political justice and her daughter. All her life, she eked out a paltry living as an artist; painting the flowers that grew in the public gardens, the rocky cliffs off the Golden Gate, the bent and gnarled pines hugging the coast. Selling her work in the small galleries dotting the tourist areas around North Beach and Fisherman’s Wharf was an inconsistent income, but she knew she had to do whatever it took to have time to work at keeping America from getting involved in another Vietnam, to keep a lying bastard out of the White House, to keep food on the plates of the growing numbers of homeless that populated San Francisco’s cold and windy streets.
Jenna grew up in a small Victorian in an obscure little neighborhood adjacent to Nob Hill. The public school she attended was crowded, but she loved the heartbeat of the city, the ethnic diversity of her classmates, the chill of the fog as it crept over the hills and covered her world in its cool, gray mystery. It was no wonder that Jenna felt drawn to work for the disenfranchised, the poor, and the neglected. She came by it honestly.
Now her mother lay dying. It seemed so unfair. How could a woman who had struggled so hard to help others be taken by breast cancer at such a young age?
Jenna remembered her mother’s story of her early life. She had been only eighteen when she found herself pregnant and thrown out of her parents’ comfortable suburban home into a life on the streets of San Francisco. It was probably this experience that embittered her even further against the seeming insensitivity and misanthropic lifestyle of the conservative world of her parents. She had never spoken to them again. They were killed in a plane crash shortly after Jenna was born at San Francisco General. Laura had already been painting and making a meager living off her work.
Jenna drew her legs closer, fending off the encroaching coolness of the evening. She slid her gaze to the horizon, thinking of the efforts her mother had taken in keeping the specter of her father real.
She had always told Jenna of the love she’d had for the child growing inside her from the moment she knew of her existence. She had gotten carried away with her high school sweetheart, Todd Morrison. Young and in love, Todd had wanted to get married, keep the baby, but Laura’s parents had gone ballistic when they heard the news.
Todd had even tried to track Laura down in San Francisco. Laura made sure Jenna knew her father had wanted her from the start. Why had Laura thought it too much to burden him with fatherhood? Could the story of lost opportunities, the inability to pursue dreams of working within the system for right and earning a Juris Doctor to carry on the fight against inequality and oppression—could these have really been strong enough reasons for her mother to take on the awesome responsibilities of raising a child on her own? So the story went.
Laura painted under another name, hid in the anonymity of the streets, worked artist by day, waitressing by night, loving the little girl growing inside her and working at the shelter to keep herself going. By the time Jenna was born, she had scraped together enough money for that little apartment they’d called their own and a motherly neighbor named Sarah to watch over them. Jenna grew up thinking Sarah was her gran. In every important way, she was. Sarah took Jenna under her wing, like one of her own. She made sure she got to school when Laura was sick or working, nursed her through the night, went to her school vocal concerts, even attended her high school graduation.
Jenna winced at the memory of her caustic adolescent tongue.
“I’m seventeen. I know what I’m doing. There’s no earthly reason I need to go to college.” The look on Sarah’s face was her usual patient stoicism in response to such comments from Jenna, but her eyes had betrayed her disappointment.
“Maybe if you work for a year, child. Your mom and I could see about—”
“I can do it,” Jenna snapped and headed for the door. Shooting an angry glare back over her shoulder, she saw the hurt in her gran’s face. Cobbling indifference, she slammed the door behind her.
“Damn it!” She twisted her head to the side in self-recrimination and regret. Six months slinging hamburgers had been more than enough to convince her of the value of an education. Why did she have to learn the hard way and be a pain in the ass to her family while doing it? That five a.m. rising, the unreasonable demanding boss, ignorant co-workers cast in an inescapable repeating loop and the lousy wages were the icing on the cake. She wasn’t cut out for grunt work.
Ah…and beloved Sarah had been well into her sixties when Jenna was born. It was too soon when she died in her sleep the summer after graduation.
Hot tears welled in Jenna’s eyes and spilled onto her legs, pulled close to her in the cool evening air of Santa Monica. Ten years didn’t dull the pain of the loss. She missed both women every day of her life, her family, her connection to the past and sense of roots for the future. She was a strong survivor because of her Mom’s and Gran’s examples. They were what ignited her tenacious determination to make something of her life.
As she sat looking out on the fading dusk of purples and indigos in the sky and the faint path of moonlight on the water, she shivered. Her memories had numbed her to the brisk advance of the evening air. She hugged herself, running her hands up and down her arms. Brian’s words crossed her consciousness.
…Maybe fourteen triple platinum albums and millions of fans, not to mention the stacks of money.
“Money.” It came to her like lightning in the desert. She could provide the firm with the money they were always scrounging for. That clinched it. Her voice could be an instrument for good, only this time it could provide the worldly means instead of the organizational ones. She rose to her feet and jogged back toward the apartment, dodging the clusters of shoppers on the promenade. As she approached the steps leading to her bungalow, she could faintly make out the figure of a man sitting in the shadows of the top step.
“Jenna. It’s me, Kyle.” He stood and walked down the steps to meet her.
Shoulders relaxing in recognition and relief, Jenna breathed out. “You scared me, Kyle. What in the world are you doing here?”
“I got a missed call message on my mobile phone. It was your number, my dear. I thought I’d stop by to see if you’d considered my offer, had time to think.”
“It’s funny you should mention it. I was just….” She stopped herself from exposing her enthusiastic revelation. “…Out jogging, thinking of calling you when I got home. Sorry about before. I got distracted and had to hang up before I reached you.”
“I’m just thrilled to hear that you were callin’ me, luv. Now give me the good news. Tell me you’re goin’ to make us both very happy.”
Jenna looked up into his brutally handsome face and felt a pang of hesitation. “I’m really tempted.” She sent an all business glance his way. “But I’m not gonna marry you Kyle,” she said sarcastically. “So the good news is gonna have to wait.” She paused, flashing a wry smirk. “Yeah, I’m in it for the money.”
“Right, Jenna,” Kyle’s tone dripped incredulity. “Brian told me all about your work with the unfortunates. Let me tell you that you will make enough money to buy your firm and start subsidiaries, as well; all whilst sipping margaritas from the balcony of your estate overlookin’ the Monterey Bay, if that’s what you fancy.”
“It’s amazing to me how sure you are, Kyle. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life… it’s that there are no guarantees.”
“And if there is one thing I’ve learned to recognize as an agent and manager, it’s sure-thing talent. I’ve never been wrong about any of my clients, at least the ones that I’ve had this feelin’ about.” He stroked her cheek lightly with his knuckles and looked into her eyes.
“I’ve heard about your ‘feelings’, Kyle. They’ve left more than a few broken hearts in their wake.” She turned her cheek from him and backed away.
“This is a business arrangement. I don’t know what gossip you’ve been listenin’ to, but—”
“Isn’t that the way of things? Isn’t that how it all begins?” She tried to dampen the spark of attraction she’d felt for him ever since he’d swept her back to the dressing room. No doubt about it, he was a gorgeous man—so self-assured.
“I’m sure I don’t know your reference, my dear. Any personal relationships that I’ve had in the past have been totally consensual.” Kyle’s body stiffened as he squared his shoulders.
“I don’t want you thinking I have any intention of working with you in any way other than a professional relationship. That has to be clear from the start.” Her determination showed tight in her stance.
Kyle moved forward to hug her. “That means that we’ve an agreement then, luv.” He dropped his arms before reaching her.
“Exactly my point, Kyle. Let’s not pretend that you don’t attract the ladies and that you aren’t eye candy. I’m not blind or stupid. However, your type is not my type. Far too much looking in the mirror and far too little into the heart.”
“You’ve believed everything the press puts forth about me and my business. Music has its naff side, my dear, but there are decent people populatin’ its ranks, as well.”
“Just let me say that I’m skeptical as to whether or not I’m looking at one of them. Anyone who represents the likes of that Dumbarton has been more than likely partying way past dawn and reason.”
The corners of Kyle’s eyes crinkled in fond appreciation. “Brilliant lads, the lot of ’em.”
“I’m not questioning their intelligence, merely the manner in which they use it. Look, Kyle, I’m not a drinker or druggie or easy. If we are going to work together, I’d appreciate you keeping me away from those elements as well as keeping any romantic notions and your hands to yourself.”
“Fine.” He raised his arms out to his sides, fingers splayed as if in surrender.
“Now that we have an understanding, would you like to come inside to discuss the details of our contract so that I can present it to my lawyers Monday morning?” He dropped his arms and moved them behind his back, grasping wrist in hand in placation. “Lead on, Miss Lindstrom.”
* * * *
“Did you have a nice weekend, Jenn?” Sienna asked in a nonchalant drone, pretending to file her nails sitting in a casual slump on the chair facing Jenna’s desk. A telltale smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Jenna gave a double take from behind her desk. “You know it was. How can you even…?” She threw the wadded up piece of paper she had in her hand across at her. Sienna ducked in the chair, a look of mock-terror on her face.
“Whoa…you’re in a lethal mood today. Must be because you’re getting cocky. All those accolades in the press and that crazed crowd at the Shrine growing your head as big as your voice?”
“Shut up, girl. You know I was shaking in my boots before I went on stage.”
“Well that didn’t last too long, did it? Before you know it, I’ll be sitting behind this desk of yours, talking to all those clients in gossamer tones of compassion garnering their undying respect and gratitude.”
Jenna moved her head back and forth eyeing the Post-It notes she had stuck to nearly every available surface. “I don’t see the reminder to pack up my things here…hmm…. What’s this?” She lifted a manila folder from the corner of her desk, opening it like an anticipated good read. “Seems to be a contract…ahh very interesting.”
“So what’s new in a law office?” Sienna hummed.
Jenna grinned in mischief peering over the folder, then pushed it closed with a clapping motion. “Guess you’re not interested.”
Sienna was on her feet, lunging across the desk in a flash. “Give it here!”
“Oh no.” Jenna said in a singsong tease. “No breach of client confidentiality going to happen on my watch.”
A wrinkled brow and stiffened shoulders punctuated Sienna’s general combative stance as she dodged around the corner of the desk, shadowing tall over Jenna who tilted back in her chair like a CEO holding the yearly profits statement.
Sienna crossed her arms impatiently. “I know that’s nothing of ours. It doesn’t have the right coding on the file. Stop torturing me.”
“I think the billings are calling your name, S. Why don’t you just toddle back over to your office and punch some numbers.”
“Give me that.” Sienna swiped the folder successfully from Jenna’s grasp. Turning from her reach, she protected the folder with her body and opened it like a girl sneaking a look at report card grades. The rigidity drained from her body as she turned back toward Jenna and stood up straight, displaying an expression of slack-jawed astonishment.
“Cat got your tongue, S?” Jenna snorted in exhilaration, an anticipatory smile of enthusiasm spreading across her face.
“Jesus…this is a singing contract. Representation by Mr. Kyle Matthews…CD recording… concert rights…shit!” Sienna peered with saucer eyes over at her friend. “Tell me you’re gonna sign this…like, yesterday.”
“Yeah,” she squealed. “Just want Frank to have a look, but I think it’s pretty straightforward.”
“Oh my God, girl. You are on your way to the top. Do you have any idea who Kyle Matthews is?”
“No, tell me,” she emoted in a sarcastic slide of pitch. Then, as though flipping a switch, she leapt to her feet, grabbed Sienna by the shoulders and shook her. “I’m going to cut my own album and meet all sort of fascinating people and….” She looked into her friend’s eyes, her grin of excitement tempering as she came to a standstill. “…And miss you like no tomorrow.”
Sienna slid the folder back onto the desk and hugged Jenna. “It’s gonna be great,” she enthused. “And who says I’m not going to become like one of your biggest groupies?” Sienna pulled back from her embrace. “When are you gonna talk to Frank?”
“Right now,” she said, a look of determination on her face. “No time like the present.” She reached down to the desk for the folder. “Wish me luck.”
* * * *
“You survived on Cal Grants, rice and beans during your time at City College. I know that being a paralegal feeds you, Jenn.” Frank straightened up in his chair and peeled the reading glasses from his face. “When we offered you this job, you jumped at the chance, not just because of your mother, but because you wanted to rectify injustices, to help those who don’t have access to high powered representation. I don’t think I need to tell you how much you’re respected by everyone who works here…especially our clients.” Frank stood and walked around his desk to face Jenna. “The last six years here have been demanding for you, I know. It’s exacting work that would stretch anyone’s focus and organizational skills. You’ve done an incredible job in spite of the personal challenges.” He ran a curved index finger across the apex of her chin. “You can stop paying your mom and Gran back now. Let your conscience win.”
“Really, Frank…I’m not fishing for compliments.” Jenna said, heart lightening in anticipation of leaving the stress of the job behind.
“Well it’s time you learned how to accept them.” He walked to the water cooler next to the bookcase on the wall behind the desk. As he filled a cup, he continued. “This is the universe giving you the ultimate compliment.” He walked back to her, offering the cup. “You are being nudged into the direct path of your passion.”
Jenna opened her mouth, as if to retort. Frank held up a hand. “Don’t try to tell me that the strain of keeping all the thousands of details of our business in order is your passion.”
She closed her mouth.
“That’s better. Now, tell me about this Matthews character.” He smiled and offered a hand in congratulations.
* * * *
Colin strode offstage and back through the bowels of the Empire Theatre. The enthusiastic cheers of the techies, roadies, groupies and crew lining the hallway leading to the dressing room dampened the roar of the crowd.
“Fantastic, Colin!” Daniel O’Neil shouted. “You’re fuckin’ better than ever, man.” He had his bass guitar slung over his back, strap around his chest, so it looked reminiscent of Santa’s pack. Sweat was beading on his brow and his black hair flew wildly askew. “Shite, but we’ve missed you, mate!” He slapped Colin on the back then kicked the dressing room door open.
“The crowd loved us, eh? Where’s Liam, then?” Colin turned to ask. The door exploded open again, and Liam charged in, hoisting his lead guitar like a cumbersome tennis racket. Carter was in his wake, carrying his drumsticks and dancing like a Scotsman doing a jig.
“We’re back in business, mates!” Liam exclaimed. Charlie was draped over the sofa that was shoved up against the wall of the dimly lit room. Racks of costumes lined the other walls, obscuring the view of the beautiful, old world mahogany. Intricate plaster casting around the ceiling was the only visible indication of the ornate grandeur of the facility.
“Sshhh,” Charlie hissed, motioning for silence with one hand, mobile phone pressed to his ear with the other. “Kyle’s on the phone.” The four band members gathered around Charlie, pushing, shoving and making juvenile ‘be quiet’ faces at each other. Charlie flashed them the V-sign. “Bugger off.” Returning to his conversation, “No, Kyle, they love you. Send their hugs and kisses. Yeah, everything is smashing. Uh huh, Colin’s grinnin’ right here in front of me. Think his face might crack.” Charlie shoved the phone up into Colin’s hand. “He wants to speak to you.”
Colin raised the mobile to his ear. “Hey, Kyle. Yeah, we were bloody brilliant. Hope that California weather is worth missin’ the best fuckin’ comeback in history,” Colin crowed into the receiver.
“You’ve always been such a modest bastard, Colin,” Kyle retorted. “I would be flyin’ back today to catch your next gig, if it weren’t for a lovely goldmine I’ve discovered.”
“Just like you, Kyle, lettin’ the little head rule the big one. What tasty crumpet is catchin’ your eye, now?”
“It’s not that, mate, much as I wish I could say it were.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Kyle.”
“Shut up, Colin. I‘ve found a brilliant singing talent right under my nose, here in Los Angeles. She’s a member of the warm-up group for New York Transport, of all things. I’m meetin’ her here in the lobby in an hour’s time, God willin’, signed contract in hand.”
“Unbelievable, man. When’s the last time you signed a new talent, first time you heard ‘em?”
“You know it was you.”
“Just my point, you have your hands full with what you’ve got on your plate. She must be some talent, more likely some looker.”
“There hasn’t been anyone since Dumbarton that’s been such a sure thing. You have to hear this girl sing. She’s got an alto voice that will have you pantin’ as well as melting your heart at the same time.”
“Why don’t you bring her over? You know that Britain has a bigger fan base for jazz-pop solo work than the States, at the moment.”
“If you weren’t so invaluable as the lead singer for Dumbarton, I swear I’d hire you as my bloody right hand man. You’ve a talent for this business, mate.”
Liam pushed Colin, trying to grab the phone from his hand. “Stop all your yakkin’, Colin. We’ve got some serious partyin’ to do.”
“Sod off. You know I’ve got to be careful.” Colin turned to protect the phone from Liam’s advance. He spoke back into the mouthpiece. “Sorry, Kyle. The natives are restless.”
“Understandable, Colin. I’ll ring you when I know the specifics of my return. Give my best to the others. Tell ‘em I’ll see the lot of ’em soon. Cheers.”
“Cheers, mate.” Colin pushed the off button and handed the phone to Charlie.
“Is he back tomorrow, then?” Carter asked.
“No. He’s in love.”
“What? Again?” Daniel quipped.
“He says she’s the hottest thing since Dumbarton.”
“No comparison. She must be a goddess, or the next superstar,” Liam added. “Let’s get to the hotel, then. There are some lovelies awaitin’ us and we can wind this evenin’ down proper.”
“I’m goin’ to my Gran’s tonight, mates. She still lives just the other side of town, over the Runcorn Bridge.” Eyeing them speculatively, he held up his hand. “Stop! Before you protest, I need my space now.”
“Think of the women though, man,” Carter pleaded.
“I’ve got my reasons. Let’s just leave it at that. I‘ll be back around before you lot have rolled out of bed, by noon for sure.”
“Cheers, Colin. You don’t know what you’re missin’,” Liam tantalized.
“Yeah, I do.” Colin looked at him with a touch of melancholy. “Have a great time.”
“Comin’ with us, Charlie? You can fill in for Colin. The girls will hardly notice.” Daniel winked.
“Bloody hell,” Charlie looked thunderstruck. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Daniel grabbed Charlie’s lapel and pulled him up from the couch. The others jettisoned their instruments and pushed toward the door. “We’re away, then, Colin. See you tomorrow.” Liam brought up the rear of the group as they exited the dressing room. When the door closed behind them, Colin sighed.
“Shite, a fuckin’ year. I won’t survive it, Robert.” Colin looked up, as though Robert were a member of the League of Angels, listening to his complaint. He grabbed his coat from the chair and headed toward the private car park where his hired Jaguar lay in wait.
* * * *
Colin turned the key in the deadbolt and opened the ancient oak door gingerly. The floorboards creaked under his feet as he tiptoed toward the stairs.
“I’ve got some tea for you, dear.” Elise McNeil’s kindly voice drifted out from the kitchen. “Come and let me have a look at you.”
Colin stopped in his tracks and turned toward the kitchen to answer his grandmother’s call. As he rounded the corner into the warm glow of the cheery little room, he said, “Why are you waitin’ up for me, Gran? I warned you I’d be later than was good for either of us.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” The elderly grey haired woman sitting at the drop-leaf table in front of him pushed herself up to a standing position as her grandson approached. Peering over the top of her small round spectacles, she smiled. “Give us a kiss, my handsome boy.” Colin bent over to embrace her, kissing her on the cheek. She looked up at him. “You’re looking well. How does it feel to be back with the living?”
“I’d be lyin’ if I said it isn’t a bit scary, Gran, but it’s good…very good.”
“Did you have a successful night out, then?”
“It was fantastic. I felt better singin’ than I have in ten years. The crowd was great, really appreciative.”
“Are your friends showin’ their appreciation to you, dear, for bringin’ your talents back into the group?”
“It’s me who needs to be thankin’ them. They’ve been nothin’ but supportive through this whole long rehab ordeal. You know how I feel about the guys.”
Her eyes darkened. “It’s those lads that led you down the path of destruction. They didn’t do anything to keep you from—”
“That’s not really fair, Gran. Here, sit down.” He helped her back into her chair and pulled the other bentwood chair from the opposite side of the table to face her. “Is there anything I can get for you, Gran?” he asked, lowering himself into its ease.
“No, I’ve got the pot of tea right here under the cozy. Hand us the sugar, would you, dear?” She pointed at the delicate, off-white, oval sugar bowl just out of her reach across the table.
“It’s not me mates that could’ve brought me out of it, or for that matter, forced me to the drink, Gran. I had to hit bottom all on me own. You know it’s a disease, not a moral weakness.”
“Of course, Colin. I didn’t mean to cast aspersions on your character. It’s just that—”
“It’s equally unfair to do the same to the boys. Maybe I would have the booze around a bit less if I was a barrister or longshoreman, but it would be there as well. There’s stress and frustrations in any line of work, temptations, too.”
“I just think that they could have been a bit more observant of you, gotten you to help a little sooner.” She spooned a scoop of demerara crystals into her tea.
“Gran, they tried, believe me. You’re lookin’ at, possibly the most pig headed, obstinate man in England. You know I’ve always had to learn life’s lessons the hard way. It’s me who never believes warnin’s and jumps right into the fire when everyone else is runnin’ from the bleedin’ burnin’ buildin’!”
She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “I’ve known you all yer life, my boy. You’re a good man and I’ll not be deridin’ you.”
“What I’m sayin’ is the God’s truth and you know it as well as I do.” He cupped her small, frail hand in both his, surrounding it like a delicate piece of bone china. “I love you for your concern and support, Gran, and I’m so sorry for all the grief and worry I’ve caused you. I’m gonna be just fine, now. I promise. I’ll do everything in my power to make you proud.”
Her eyes misted over with a sheen of melancholy, “I’ve always been proud of you, Colin. This challenge in your life is here to make you an even stronger man than you were. There’s a reason for every door that’s closed to us, every mountain placed in our path. You’ve the soul of an angel, the strength of twenty men as far as your resolve and compassion are concerned. I know you’ll succeed in beating this malediction.”
Colin searched her eyes. “It’s the biggest most frightenin’ monster imaginable. I’ve got to slay it, Gran, or it will be the death of me.”