AT 29 (105 page)

“Yes?” Recognition turned to a questioning look.

“Nigel needs you.” He handed her the slip of paper identifying Geelong Hospital. She took the paper and glanced at it. Her mouth opened to speak, but Jimmy turned and rapidly walked away.

It's fatal one hundred percent of the time. That's what the experts said. Not so, as my case eventually proved. One in three hundred defy the odds. I am living proof
.

- Alice Limoges

The plane landed at Logan Airport just as Boston's evening commuters snarled the routes north. Jimmy avoided the traffic by catching a thirty-minute turbo prop to Manchester, New Hampshire. From there he rented a car and drove south to Amherst. He didn't know what he would say when he saw her, but that didn't matter. She was in emotional pain. He would help her get through it.

Her father answered the door. It was cold, a typical December day that foreshadowed the long New England winter ahead. The elderly man did not smile when he held the door for Jimmy to enter. Jimmy didn't smile, either. It wasn't a time for smiles. A woman stood a few feet behind. She was younger than her husband, early sixties Jimmy guessed, still attractive. The resemblance to Les was unmistakable. She offered her hand, making eye contact in that way that signified good breeding. She gestured to an opening into a sitting room elegantly furnished. It faced toward the carriage road with large windows draped in shimmering white curtains floor to ceiling. Jimmy took a chair near one of the windows. Where is she? He wondered. Why didn't Les come to the door? Her father came into the room. He looked at his wife who turned to address Jimmy.

“May I offer you something, Mr. Buckman?”

“No, thank you. Actually, I was hoping to see Les.”

“I'm afraid Leslie isn't here.” Mother and father moved to a couch and sat down in unison. “She left yesterday.”

His heart sank. He looked from one parent to the other, trying to form a question. Her father cleared his throat. “She said you might come.”

“Where did she go?”

“We wanted her to stay. Christmas is only a week away.”

“There was a tragedy at the orphanage. Is she all right?”

“Yes, she told us about that poor little boy.” The woman hesitated. “She's taking it very hard. I wish she didn't leave.”

“Then you know where she went?”

“Yes,” her father interjected. “She asked us not to tell you. The people at the orphanage called. She doesn't want them to know, either.”

“I don't understand. Why?”

“Our daughter is very independent.” He looked at his wife. “She is our only child. We never wanted her to go to Australia. She's all we have and it's so far away. She won't return to the orphanage. She intends to travel until she decides what to do.”

Jimmy sensed that his role was insignificant. “Did she tell you about me?”

“Some,” her mother answered. “We watched the Grammy Awards on television.”

“Yes,” Les' father enjoined. “A fine song.”

“About us, I mean. About our relationship.”

“I remember when you came that morning last year. I had my notions by the way you reacted when I told you she returned to Melbourne, but she holds those matters private.”

The mother spoke up. “She came back to the United States more often this year. We presume it was to see you perform. Maybe it meant more, we'd be the last to know.”

“She told you I might come.” Jimmy looked at Les' father. “Did she give you a message for me?”

The man shook his head. Jimmy stood to leave. He could have asked more questions, probed further. Perhaps he could have convinced her parents to divulge her whereabouts. Les didn't want him to know. She didn't want him in her life. Her father accompanied him outside. For the first time since arriving home Jimmy felt the cold. He shook hands, said his thanks and went around to the car door. Her father talked over the hood.

“I hope you understand that we feel we must honor her wishes. Call us from time to time. If she changes her mind we'll tell you where to find her.”

***

McCabe took the call in his office. The man on the other end identified himself and explained that he was with the American Consulate in Singapore.

“The Singapore authorities are holding two men, Benson Warren LaSalle and Chase Thomas Barone. They have given your company as their place of employment. Can you confirm this?”

Miles maintained a formal tone. “Yes. Mr. LaSalle is a drummer under contract with Blossom Records. Mr. Barone is a salaried employee.”

“What does Mr. Barone do for your company?”

“Construction and tear-down of stage sets for our singing groups. What is this about?”

“The men have been arrested for entering the country with narcotics. Singapore has very strict laws concerning drugs.”

“What will happen to them?”

“Their situation is not good. Singapore citizens are executed if they are found guilty. Non-citizens usually escape that sentence, but your employees could be caned, followed by up to twenty years in prison.” Miles forced his voice to remain calm.

“Canings? They still do that in the twentieth century?”

“In some parts of the world, yes.”

“Do they have legal representation?”

“I'm working on that. Mr. LaSalle identified several firms in New York and New Jersey. Of course, they will need local representation as well. The Singapore justice system is intricate. It requires first hand knowledge and experience.”

“Am I required to do anything as their employer?”

“No. I am merely confirming the information the men have provided. Beyond that, there is nothing you can do. I will assist with their efforts to obtain counsel.”

Felix remained aloof when Miles related the conversation.

“You stay out of it. They have to face the consequences.”

***

As the days dwindled toward the new year sales of Blossom's three blockbuster albums, months past their peak, slipped below the Top 50. Miles reviewed the figures. It didn't surprise him, nor was he worried. The Riland Brothers and MacGregor both took up some of the slack. As hoped, their stars were rising. Weak Knees was doing well in Europe. Sales of its album continued to be brisk and the group performed at weekly
sellouts cross the continent. The crowds did not match the Blossom Presents tour in the States, but the money was very good.

Several new talents were in the studio, readying the release of debut recordings. They would be paired with the Riland Brothers and MacGregor when a new Blossom Presents tour was organized. All in all McCabe was satisfied. The latest offer was thirty-five million. That's what one colossal label in Los Angeles was willing to put up if Blossom was for sale. It wasn't. Three times annual revenue, not counting the separate Blossom Presents partnership with Winfield. That was more profitable, one mega tour that had tallied gross receipts of seventeen million, far more than Winfield predicted. Miles Michael McCabe was a rich man. Jim Buckman was wealthy, and Nigel Whitehurst. In fact, everyone made out extremely well, including Ellis Dorman.

Ellis was in Europe. He did not return to New York from Australia, preferring to rejoin Weak Knees with whom he appeared to have a special rapport. Soon, Miles thought, I'll make him the offer. He knows the European scene. If he accepts, I'll give him free rein to make Blossom Europe as big as Blossom Records in the U.S. He'll have to give up being an agent. That shouldn't be an issue. I'll pay him more.

Winfield was in a Georgia rehab facility, secretly dealing with his drug problem as his leg healed from the gunshot wound. McCabe was scheduled to visit him in two weeks. He wondered how much it would take to buy him out. He could play rough, but whatever the amount, he was willing to fork it over so he could be rid of the man. He didn't need him anymore.

The manufacturing facility would be on-line by February. No more vinyl, just cassettes and CDs. The cassettes would be phased out gradually as CD sales ramped up. The video production center, which he added at the last minute, would be ready at the same time. The format battle raged. That was something he didn't like, Betamax versus VHS, Sony versus Panasonic, two gigantic Japanese companies trying to corner the market. How long would it take? He'd have to wait and see until the market sorted itself out. In the meantime, Blossom would manufacture both, just like audiocassettes and CDs. Still, it grated. Making two different vehicles to carry Blossom's music was inefficient and a waste of money.

Kate was due to start work on her solo album. Rebellion ought to stay together if it can find a new lead singer. Cindy was handling the search. It should come together okay. The songwriters had their orders. A fresh set of tunes would be ready for the artists when they arrived. He turned his attention to Buckman and Whitehurst. Jim went dark as soon as he returned from Australia. Miles wasn't too concerned. He'd catch up with him after he cashed Winfield out. A world tour, if one were to occur, would come later, after Jimmy wrote and recorded a new album. Cindy said he needed a break. Jim didn't like touring. Too bad, he commands an audience. Whitehurst screwed himself up, drugs and now the surfing accident. He was still in the hospital with pneumonia and a cracked knee. He wants to clean himself up. Good, but it will take time. How long before he's ready to work again? The chance to capitalize on his amazing success would have to wait.

Music Television was off to a terrific start. On cable since August and already the hottest thing to happen to the music business since Elvis Presley hit the airwaves. Alan Sanchez called every week. “No,” Miles demurred. “The pirate tape of the LA Concert is not available.” But, he had something else, the tape of that three-song encore in Melbourne. “No, it's not ready. Wait until the editing is done. Then you can have it.” Of
course, editing wasn't the issue. Miles wanted to be sure his manufacturing operation was at full strength. When MTV put it on the air it would take off, another new revenue stream for Blossom Records. The video would sell.

He turned his attention to personal matters. Christmas would be with Cindy's sister and husband in Connecticut, followed by a week in Hawaii. He could use the rest. What a roller coaster year it had been. From certain financial failure to riches he never dreamed possible, a new wife, a new home, a new life. Back in January to start fresh, much to do, much more success to be had.

At Hartford, Jimmy turned north toward Vermont. Although he'd been drinking steadily for a week, there was no alcohol in his system at the moment. It was Christmas Eve. He was on his way to Peggy's house and he didn't want her to see the signs. Twenty-four hours to go then he'd be free to drink again.

Alice wouldn't be there this year. He heard the worry in Peggy's voice when they talked on the telephone. Alice's pneumonia was not responding to treatment. There was a tinge of blame in her voice as well, touring, partying, sex and drugs, all the elements of the rock ‘n' roll world that drew her sister like a moth to flame. Maybe she blamed Jimmy. He hadn't taken the time to look in on Alice at Columbia Presbyterian. Why not? The truth would have hurt more than simply saying nothing. He was drunk most of the time. He slept late and struggled to rise. Losing Les hit him the moment his eyes opened. The waking world was too heavy to bear. His limbs, his mind and his heart weighed him down. The only relief, a scotch induced haze, minutes after daylight interrupted his only other form of peace.

Little Alice and Charlene brightened the evening then they added more charm to the festive scene on Christmas Day. It helped Jimmy get through the hours until he could make his getaway.

“I'll visit Alice when I get back.” He promised, giving Peggy a hug.

Hillary wasn't convinced. “Something's troubling him.”

Peggy nodded. “He's drinking again.”

Winfield looked terrible. His skin was ashen. He had the shakes and his protests sounded like croaking whispers as Miles explained the facts of life. The DJ threatened a lawsuit, but the mere presence of Felix in the room warned him off. They had all the cards. If the facts got out, Winfield would go to jail. Miles offered a million. Winfield countered for five. They settled on two. A week later, lawyers drew up the papers ceding full ownership of Blossom Presents to Miles Michael McCabe.

In New York, the Vultures were split apart, housed separately in dreary cells, no bail. Stick recognized the betrayal. He tried to make a deal. First, by recounting the drug habits of Blossom's big name artists, then by turning on his fellow bikers and blaming them for the South Bronx cache of money, guns and drugs. Hank got wind of the proposed deal and turned the tables on the leader of the Vultures. He made a better deal, implicating Stick and the others while entering witness protection. In the end, it mattered little for Stick. By February, he was in the prison hospital with a mysterious illness, his body wasting away.

Alice Limoges proved to be a difficult medical case. One after another of the best medical experts in New York found themselves stumped. The pneumonia was stabilized, but her recovery was much too slow. Her body wasn't rebounding the way it should. In
the elderly this was common, but this woman was in her twenties. Her heroin addiction didn't help, but the methadone kept that part of the challenge at bay.

A young resident arrived from San Francisco just as she was scheduled for a new battery of tests. Trained at Stanford and fresh off a brilliant two-year internship at California Pacific Medical Center, he was assigned to monitor the young woman, administer the tests and present a preliminary evaluation. He'd seen the symptoms on the west coast. He had his own opinion before the results came in.

On June 5, 1981 HIV/AIDS was identified for the first time by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. By then, the insidious killer of gay men and drug addicts was raging in San Francisco. That's where the new Resident at Columbia Presbyterian became familiar with the signs. After gathering all the details, he wrote a thorough report. Then he attached the test results and sent everything to the CDC in Atlanta. The first case of HIV/AIDS in a New York woman was all but confirmed five days later when a team of medical investigators arrived from Atlanta by government jet.