I'm Glad I Did (19 page)

No one ever understood me quite the way Luke did. Loving someone whose ethics you hated was one of our bonds. He and his dad were mirror images of my uncle and me. Luke and I were both struggling to come to terms with our feelings. But even so, I knew I had it easier. He needed to find peace within himself since he could never make peace with his father. I still had a chance with Bernie.

“Listen, JJ, I honestly believe your relationship with Bernie will find its way,” Luke said, sitting beside me on the sofa. “Just don't push it right now.”

“You're right,” I said. “I need to let go. Get my mind on something else.”

“I've got something that could help.” He hopped up and grabbed a piece of notebook paper from the desk and handed it to me. “Tell me what you think. Be honest. It's called ‘Something Like a Miracle.' I mean … unless you think of something better.”

I nodded, gripping the paper tightly.

My hands trembled as I read the lines, once, twice, three times. I loved every word. I loved that it was more than the
I love you; why don't you love me
type of songs that Bobby liked. I loved that it was about a deeper love, a love that could bring salvation to someone whose spirit was broken. I tried not to let myself wonder if this song was also autobiographical, if the “you” scrawled on the paper was the “me” sitting across from him.

But it had to be, right? I was drawn to Luke in so many ways—emotionally, physically, and creatively. There was a cloud of sadness over him that I wanted to lift. I was never happier than when I was making him smile, but I had no idea if he felt anything more than a growing friendship toward me. He'd never made any kind of move beyond the gentlemanly kind. Maybe we were just pals. If that was how he felt, I'd have to accept it.

“Are you going to tell me what you think?” he blurted out.

I took a second to collect myself. Best just to focus on the real possibilities. “It's … um, extraordinary. It's inspirational. Will you let me try to write to it?”

“That's why you're holding it. I was hoping you'd want to. Listen, tonight is my last night in the apartment. We have a Bösendorfer there. I'd love to hear you play it.”

“A real Bösendorfer?” I gasped. I knew I sounded like the biggest music nerd in the world, but it was enough to get a smile out of him. “Are you kidding? I would love the chance to hear what one sounds like.”

He jerked his head toward the door. “Come on, then. I know you turn into a pumpkin bagel at eleven.”

After a short bus ride and a walk, we arrived at 67th Street and Park Avenue, one of the swankiest blocks in the city. A white-gloved doorman opened the door for us, and we rode up to the fifteenth floor in an oak-paneled car, operated by a uniformed elevator man. I really felt as if I was in Oz when the elevator opened right into the apartment. I had only seen that in movies.

I looked around in awed silence, trying to wrap my head around the fact that Luke lived here—or at least that he would until tomorrow morning. The rooms were huge, the ceilings were high, the walls were adorned with intricate moldings and the furnishings were as elegant as any I'd ever seen. But there were no boxes. All the books and knickknacks were still on the shelves.

“This is your last night?” I asked turning to Luke. “Give it to me straight; you brought me here to pack, didn't you?”

He laughed quietly. “The buyer purchased it fully
furnished. I just have to grab my suitcase. I never was attached to all this stuff, and now somehow it all feels tainted.”

I shook my head. “But this was your home.”

“Not really. Dad sent me to Eaglebrook in seventh grade.” He paused when he caught my baffled look. “It's a boarding school. I can't blame him; he was my only parent, and his job was his life. Besides, it wasn't that bad. From there I went to Hotchkiss, another boarding school. I'm supposed to go to Princeton next year, but …”

“But what?” I asked. Mostly I was thinking,
Princeton is close. New Jersey is just across the river. A train ride away
.

“But I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I mean, now that I know what Dad was really up to and the truth about my past.”

I nodded. It was the first time he'd even acknowledged to me that his race might affect his future. I really wanted to know what his feelings were about that, but I also knew that he wasn't ready to share them yet.

“I was thinking of taking a break …” He looked up with that half-smile that always made me want more. “Why are we even talking about this? I brought you here to play our Bösendorfer.”

Before I could protest, he waved for me to follow him and vanished around a corner. There, in another lavish living room—the music room, I guess—was the most gorgeous grand piano I'd ever seen, long and ebony, its black curves gleaming. I made a beeline for it, easing myself onto the bench, my eyes hungrily roving over the keys. I'd read about its warm rich tone, and of course I'd heard
it on records. I knew about the geniuses that played and swore by it, like George Gershwin.

Reaching back into my musical memory, I managed to recall Gershwin's “Rhapsody in Blue,” a piece I'd learned when I was still taking lessons. I played as much as I could remember. The piano's tone was everything I imagined it would be. It sounded like the light in the room: warm, rich, and perfect. It even made me sound like a better pianist than I was.

When I glanced up, Luke was sitting next to me. I hadn't even noticed. I lowered my eyes, my pulse picking up a notch.

“I love that you played that,” he said. “Believe it or not, my dad was nuts about Gershwin. It was a part of him that I love to remember.”

“Do you have the lyrics to ‘Something Like a Miracle'?” I asked.

The Bösendorfer had stirred something in me, and I didn't want to lose the inspiration. Luke pulled the folded paper from his pocket and slid it onto the piano's music stand. I groped around for a while, but it didn't take long to find a melody—Gershwinesque in its blues notes and jazz changes, but pop, too. When I'd repeated it a few times, Luke began to sing with me.
“I needed something like a miracle to get me through / I needed someone just like you.”

We sang the chorus over and over, both laughing out loud just because it sounded so good. When I stopped, we sighed in unison.

The seconds ticked by. If I could have frozen myself
there—in that place, in that moment, with the connection I had to this boy—I would have done it in an instant.

“The lyrics are about you, you know,” Luke said out of the blue. “You saved my life. I have never met anyone like you.”

My knees turned to jelly under the keyboard. Was I imagining things in my desire to make everything perfect with Luke? No, I wasn't. Everything always fit somehow when it was the two of us. He'd said the words I'd prayed he'd say. My head fell to his shoulder. I'm not even sure I'd thought to put it there.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Please don't think I'm unoriginal if I tell you I feel the same way about you.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to reconcile the sudden and overwhelming joy I felt with the fear that crept in. “Where are you going tomorrow? Where will you be living?”

He laughed softly, his breath nuzzling my forehead. “Well, to describe my new place generously, it's a crummy basement apartment in a brownstone in Greenwich Village.”

“But why are you moving into someplace like that when you must have sold this place for a fortune?”

Luke sat up straight, so that I had to take my head off his shoulder. He took my hands in his. His cat eyes bored into mine, and he spoke with an intensity I'd never heard before. “I did. But JJ, I have to live my way now. No matter what happens, I'll be okay. I'm going to use that money to pay back the people my father ripped off. At least as many as I can. It's the only way I can live with myself. In the meantime, I got a part-time job at Sam Goody's. I'll be selling records until I figure out whether I'm going to
college in the fall. I don't know yet. Like I said, I might be taking some time off.”

I searched those glorious green eyes for hope. “Maybe we'll get a song recorded, and you won't have to do that for long. When we finish this one, we'll have two songs for Bobby to pitch. Maybe we can be real songwriters who earn a living at it.”

He shrugged. “That would be nice. But JJ, you know what's out there. So much on the radio is crap …” Only then did his eyes brighten. “You know there's a guy who plays and sings down in the village who just put out a new album I want you to hear. His songs really say something. I don't know if we'll be able to find singers who want to record songs that say something, but we could try.”

I thought of Bobby and his obsession with the charts. “We could try,” I echoed.

Luke started to slide away from me. Instinctively I reached out to grab his arm, to keep him there, to keep him right next to me.

“What's the name of the album?” I asked, trying to cover for how I'd pounced. “I want to get it.”

“It's called
The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan
. Trust me, you'll like it a lot.”

“I'm sure I will,” I whispered. “I trust you. But let's stop second-guessing the future. Let's just work on our songs together. Let's just … be together.”

At first I was terrified I'd said too much.

He didn't respond. Without warning, he leaned forward and kissed me softly on the lips. He tasted like Dr. Brown's cream soda, and sweetness, and every possible
wonderful thing I could imagine. His lips were like velvet. I kissed him back. I'd never really kissed a boy before, not in any way that meant anything. I let him take over.

I'm not sure how long we made out on that piano bench. All I know was that the clock was striking eleven when I walked through the front door of our silent apartment. My family was fast asleep. I knew that I would replay tonight a hundred times in my head before I joined them in the morning.

I don't know why, but the next day, even though I put on an outfit I'd worn many times before, I felt beautiful. When I got to work, I floated into the copy room to find Rona waiting for me.

“What new slavish chore do you have for me, mistress?” I cracked.

But Rona didn't smile back. “I just want to give you a little advice,” she said seriously. “Bobby isn't happy that you haven't played any songs for him. He knows about the studio time I booked for you.”

The dreamy feeling faded. I looked at her, unsure of what to say.

“I'm on your side, JJ,” she said, pulling me close. She lowered her voice to make sure nobody overheard. “I've got a feeling you've got a guy or something that's distracting you. Sometimes you're not all here. I just want the boss to know you're doing the songwriting he expects you to do. You have a contract, remember?”

I nodded, the bliss now escaping from my body as if I'd sprung a happiness leak. “I … okay. I get it. Thanks, Ro.”

“That's what friends are for,” she replied as she headed for the door.

“That sounds like a song title,” I muttered.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Bobby wants love songs, not friend songs. Oh, by the way, you got two calls. Marla Rubin and a Detective Frank McGrath.” She paused and turned to me, sympathy in her eyes. “You can use the phone at my desk when I take my lunch break, okay?”