AT 29 (72 page)

In the morning they ate breakfast downstairs in the restaurant. Jimmy was voracious as he piled his plate with everything he could. Les looked on humorously.

“Is it me or the long flight?” she asked.

“I need the fuel for later.”

“I've got to go back to work. I'm sure they're wondering where I am.”

“Tonight then.”

“We'll see.”

“I just flew ten thousand miles to see you. Tonight for sure.” He smiled as he spoke, so utterly relieved and happy that nothing could interrupt his contentment. “Besides, we have to plan.”

“Slow.”

“Like last night?”

“There was nothing slow about last night. It won't always be this way for us.”

He changed the subject, unwilling to let a hint of reality interfere with his mood.

“I ought to visit Sister Marie while I'm here. Why not take me to see her after breakfast.”

He was shocked at the extent of the nun's paralysis. The only sign of recognition she displayed was a brightening of her eyes when he came to her side. She could not speak. Les explained that she was regaining some control of the extremities on her left side. She sat by the bed, holding Sister Marie's hand as she spoke.

“You're improving. You'll be ready to start rehab in a few days. Soon, you'll be back with us at the orphanage.” The nun's eyes grew watery.

Jimmy slept the afternoon away, waiting for Les to finish work. She met him for dinner and they walked the city for several hours before returning to his room. Neither of them broached the subject of what came next. When the passion was fulfilled, he wrapped her in his arms as they both dozed. He never felt the urge to slip away to shower and be by himself.

The next day he called Ellis and told him where he was.

“You have to come back.”

“In few days.”

“The network called. They want you to perform
Peg
during the Grammy broadcast. Rehearsals start next week.”

“Where?”

“CBS. Black Rock in the city.”

“Who else knows?”

“McCabe, Cindy and me. Winfield says Blossom's going to have two tables for the ceremony. Something's up, I think you've already won. Maybe song of the year.”

“Call Sonny. Tell him I'll be back by Monday.”

“McCabe?”

“You said he already knows.”

“He'll want to know why you're in Australia. Me, too, actually.”

“Tell him I took a short vacation.”

Les wanted nothing more than to spend every minute with Jimmy. His unannounced arrival filled her with happiness although she still didn't know how their relationship could work. Her devotion to the orphanage interfered with what her heart desired, to be with him wherever he went. Sister Marie's absence put enormous pressure on her to keep Saint Malachy's running smoothly. Her five years at the helm of the orphanage's finances still didn't give her the experience to deal with the myriad of issues that cropped up. In the days since her return, she often felt overwhelmed and Sister Marie was no longer available to provide the counsel she needed.

The annual fund-raising gala was only days away. She had the list of benefactors, all scheduled to attend, but expecting the same steady hand at the podium that Sister Marie had demonstrated for decades. She was the face of Saint Malachy's. She was the one who single-handedly built the relationships with Melbourne's wealthy elite, cajoling them through charm, grace, humor and unyielding will to give more each year. The orphanage depended on this largesse. Without it, Saint Malachy's could not survive. Les worried that in the absence of Sister Marie, she would not be up to the task. Her's was not a grandiose personality that could engage the accomplished and the wealthy. She was an ordinary girl from New Hampshire. She preferred to be behind the scenes. She feared freezing. She feared failing.

Jimmy sensed something was wrong. Les went silent as they ate dinner on the third evening after he arrived.

“You're quiet,” he said, hoping she would open up.

“Work.” She reached across the table and stroked his hand. “I'm so glad you're here.”

“Tell me what's bothering you.”

She described the annual fun-raiser. “They come because of Sister Marie. She's the one that brings in the money. No one has ever filled in for her before. I've got to do it, but I'm afraid I'll freeze.”

“How do these things go?”

“Dinner and dancing followed by an auction of things that people have donated.”

“Doesn't sound too difficult.”

“Sure, in your world maybe. For us lesser types it's not so easy.”

“Got a date for this gig?”

“Saturday night.”

“I'll postpone my flight to Sunday.”

Les frowned. “I know you can't stay, but it's going to be hard.”

“I want you to come the Grammy Awards in New York.”

Les dropped her gaze. She expected this. She realized that it was useless to fight the love she felt for him, useless to try to withstand the overwhelming need to be touched by him. She was torn between her desire and her fear that she could not fit into his world.
Jim Buckman was a star, fast becoming a name on music's world stage. She was unaccustomed to the limelight and frightened by it. From the moment she saw Jimmy perform in Surfers Paradise, her love had grown. Now, she needed him. Night after night she tossed and turned, struggling with the dilemma his presence created in her life. Most of all she feared losing him. She looked upon the women who trailed after singers with a mixture of envy, jealousy and pity. Those lovers, wives and girlfriends, all so beautiful, who could be with the man they adored. She wanted to be like them, to be with her love, but what are their stories? So many broken hearts and marriages, filling the tabloids with sordid secrets that should never be revealed. The pressures of a public life were too heavy. She feared the risks that went with loving a star.

She was also comfortable and satisfied with her life in Melbourne. The orphanage gave meaning to her days. She loved her boys and she knew they needed her. Sister Marie needed her, too. This led her to contemplate what a long-distance relationship could be. In Amherst, the sweet joy of seeing him marked the happiest hours of her life. Here in Melbourne, it was intensified with anticipation during the daylight hours and bliss throughout the night. She began to wonder if their two worlds could fit together like this moment, that they could capture brief times while going on with their separate lives. Maybe it could work, she told herself. Maybe he could come to Australia like now. Maybe I could go to America. We could be together, alone and private, then return to our separate lives until the next time. But the pain of saying good-bye would be too much.

After dinner, instead of returning to the hotel, Les made Jimmy steer the car across the city, back to Saint Malachy's. “I'll just grab a copy of the agenda so you can see what you're in for.”

Jimmy waited as she rifled through the papers on her desk. Down the hall was the music room with the baby grand where they'd played his songs together. The memory filled him with comfort. He'd thought about that evening often. Being with her at the keys seemed natural, like they had done it many times. Australia felt that way, too. The odd sense of coming home that overtook him as he sang in Surfers Paradise returned again the very moment Qantas #12 touched down. He didn't know what to make of this feeling. He enjoyed his life in Manhattan, but he felt increasingly drawn to this land so far away. It was Les, of course, but it was something else, too. He wandered down the hall. Les found him at the piano.

“Good,” she said, and slid onto the bench at his side. “I was going to suggest this.”

Jimmy kissed her cheek and gently pressed the keys, launching into some chords that he'd been mulling in his head on the plane from LA. Les kept her hands in her lap, listening as he ran his fingers the length of the ivories, stumbling here and there as he tried to build the chords into a melody. After a few minutes, he found the connections. Les placed her hand on his back, massaging gently as she listened. She never felt more at one with another human being.

They did not go to the hotel that night. The hours went by, unnoticed, as they collaborated on the new song. In time, Les went back to her office to fetch a pen and paper. It was another good one, she thought to herself as she drew the lines and penned the complicated notes. Jimmy played on, looking over her shoulder as he tinkered with the timing. Sometimes she stopped, scrunching her nose in protest if he tinkered once too
often with a part she liked. It was good-natured. Les had no intention of thwarting his creativity.

Jimmy was at ease. Having her at his side inspired him even more than those times in the past when a melody suddenly sprang into his mind. He began to regard her as his muse, a prized vessel of passion that coaxed originality from his imagination. He could visualize better, see the music in his mind as if it was animate. She did that for him in a way that felt familiar. The trial and error of construction took on a loving quality. As long as she was near he could travel off to the distant imaginings that drove his compositions in the direction of the new and different. She watched, waited and wrote by his side as if it had always been, as if it always should be.

Saturday night came all too quickly. Les was in a state of high anxiety when he found her in the huge dinner hall. She barely acknowledged him as he approached in his rented tuxedo. He put his arm around her shoulder and brushed his lips over her hair. She looked stunning in a black gown trailing taffeta to the floor. The bodice rose to cover her breasts, but her arms and shoulders were bare. A brilliant set of pearls circled her neck, lying across her chest just above a hint of cleavage. Jimmy was instantly enchanted. He was looking forward to this evening in exactly the same way that she was not. He, for once, had no role other than to sit by her side through dinner. He could be completely anonymous while he watched her at the podium.

People began to arrive at seven. Two bars were set up on either side of the large hall. At the back, a section had been roped off. Five of the older boys had the job of ushering the patrons inside where they could enjoy their drinks while surveying the hundreds of items that had been donated for the auction. Les was busy making the rounds between quick visits to the kitchen. She left Jimmy standing alone in the midst of the gathering so often that he finally drifted off on his own to peruse the auction items. If any one recognized him he did not notice. The boys certainly did, but other than saying an excited hello when he approached, they concentrated on their duties.

Among the hundreds of donations were small crafts made by some of the orphans, cases of Yarra valley wine, exotic trips to vacation homes across the country, paintings and an assortment of oddities from surfboards to New Zealand bungee jumps. Jimmy was caught by surprise when he saw three autographed copies of
Back and Blue
prominently displayed in the center of one of the tables. Each item had a suggested opening bid taped to a sign up sheet. Many items had several bids of increasing amounts.
Back and Blue
had a dozen, the suggested bid already tripled to five hundred Australian dollars. He smiled and wrote in another higher bid, using the name Jimmy Button.

As he wandered the room he noticed a group of musicians dressed in dark suits carting their instruments through the door to the front of the hall. That would be for the dancing, he concluded, as he caught sight of someone he recognized. He worked his way through the crowd to get a closer look, searching his memory to place the young man carrying the drums. It hit him quickly when the youth turned. It was his drummer, the twenty year old who backed his tour from Perth to Melbourne, Travis. As Jimmy came closer the drummer looked up and recognized him immediately. Travis quickly set down the snare he was carrying and rushed over.

“Jim!” he exclaimed. “What're you doing here?”

They shook hands happily. Jimmy was delighted to see the kid, the term he came to use whenever he addressed him during the Australian tour. He was a skilled percussionist.

“Any of the others with you?” he asked, looking over Travis' shoulder.

“No, mate. Just me. I hooked up with this bunch after the gig with you. Have to take whatever I can get.”

Jimmy hid his disappointment. “I'm in town for a few days. Seeing a friend here at Saint Malachy's, Les.”

“Oh Les. Sure, she's the one who hired us. You gonna sing tonight?”

“No. Strictly a guest, keeping a low profile.”

“Too bad. I heard about your Grammy nominations. Stunning, mate!”

They talked on for several minutes. As Jimmy helped him set up the drums, Travis introduced him to the other five musicians who were genuinely impressed that their drummer knew someone famous.

“Got to get you up here with us later,” the group's leader said, hopefully. “Folks will be real happy to hear you sing.”

Jimmy demurred, content to be an observer. “On holiday.”

Les appeared at the podium. She tapped the microphone then summoned everyone to take their seats for dinner. Jimmy waited for her to descend, then took her hand and accompanied her to the head table. Her fingers were cold. She smiled, but it was forced. He knew she was nervous.

“Take a deep breath,” he encouraged. “Remember that everyone is here to aid the orphans. Make that your focus and everything will be fine.” Les nodded without confidence.

Over dinner Les made conversation with the couple to her right, a wealthy real estate magnate from Lillydale in the Yarra Valley. Jimmy found himself heavily engaged by a middle-aged woman on his left. Her name was Fanny Holmquist and she peppered him with questions about who he was and where he was from. As he answered, he thought about all the times he'd done the same with Cindy anchoring the chair by his side. So often those dinners were a fog of scotch induced torpor, followed by some silly act of drunkenness that Cindy was forced to cover. He fingered the glass of seltzer by his plate. Not tonight, he thought. Not with Les.