Read Kimberly Stuart Online

Authors: Act Two: A Novel in Perfect Pitch

Tags: #Romance, #New York (State), #Iowa, #Sadie, #Humorous, #midwest, #diva, #Fiction, #Women Singers, #classical music, #New York, #Love Stories, #Veterinarians, #Women Music Teachers, #Country Life - Iowa, #Country Life, #General, #Religious, #Women Singers - New York (State) - New York, #Veterinarians - Iowa, #Christian

Kimberly Stuart (17 page)

“Everything,” I said with a shrug. “Drew, these days, everything is funny.”

He went back to chomping on his cud until Mac signaled for our exodus.

22

What's In a Name

At Mac's house an hour later, Joel and Emmy were napping and Drew was coloring quietly on the floor of the living room. Mac nodded toward the front door and I went obediently, clutching my hot cup of mint tea in both hands.

“We'll be on the porch, buddy,” Mac told Drew. He bent down and kissed his hair. “You're a good artist.”

Drew started to smile but had to resume his tongue-out-of-mouth position to continue his work.

I pushed open the squeaky porch door and inhaled sharply. I'd been so busy with the noisy disembarkation of the children, I hadn't really noticed Mac's house. To be frank, I couldn't believe a heterosexual man had such an eye for color. The porch wrapped around his house, a two-story number painted a slate blue-gray with bright white trim. Polished copper and ceramic pots dotted the porch and front steps. Even without flowers, the pots added pretty color in all shades of patina, blue, turquoise and orange, set against a neatly painted porch floor.

I turned to my host. “You did this.” I stated it as a fact.

“You'd better hope so or I've been hiding a wife in my basement.” He sat down on a wide swing hanging to the far right of the front door. He leaned back and draped his arm along the top of the swing. “Come sit.”

I did. We rocked in silence for awhile. I could easily imagine the porch as a welcome oasis in the middle of an Iowa summer, which, I'd been told, could put hair on the most dainty of chests.

I cleared my throat. “Thanks for the heroic rescue.” I turned so I could see his face. “I'm not,
um,
used to needing help, but those three are a force unto themselves.” I shuddered involuntarily in a flash of remembrance.

He chuckled quietly. “They can sure take it out of you, can't they? I think Jaynie should get an award.”

“Or at least a hefty paycheck. What she endures on a daily basis, all in the name of preserving humanity …” I shook my head. “And no one even notices.”

“I think Cal does,” Mac said thoughtfully. “I notice. She has some good friends who are right in the thick of parenthood themselves and I'd guess they can empathize.”

“Well, it's a noble profession but certainly not the one for me,” I said, setting my teacup on the porch railing. “Not in a million years could I do what she does, nor would I ever want to.”

“Never say never,” he said, continuing to rock us slowly back and forth.

“Nevernevernevernever,” I sang in a fast trill. Mac laughed and we sat in the vibrating silence. The chains on the old swing creaked and I wondered how many times Mac had watched sunsets from his solitary vantage point.

“Mac, if I may be so bold, why
don't
you have a wife in your basement?”

His eyebrows shot up and he stifled a grin. “Typically, the women who interest me are not ones that take to living sequestered. Why? You got somebody in mind?”

I slapped him on the thigh and tried not to think about how good he looked in his jeans. “I'm serious. Why aren't you married? Good looking, smart, funny, wildly arrogant man with his own business and a flair for home décor.”

“Keep going.”

“Where's the wifey?”

He gave the swing a good push with his legs. “I came close once,” he said quietly. He shook his head. “Just didn't work out. She was too much woman for a guy like me. Wait a minute. You know her!”

“I do?” I asked, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

He made an hourglass with his hands. “Curves that won't quit, plays the piano like a dream. You know—Norma ‘Purr, Kitty, Purr' Michaels?”

It took a moment to register but I socked him on the arm. “You sick and twisted man,” I said. “I was all ready to feel sorry for you. Norma Michaels.” I copped my best scolding voice. “You shouldn't joke. Norma would make this house her home in a split second. She fawns over you.”

He sobered. “I don't mean to make fun. Norma's a sweet girl. We've known each other since we were kids. She's just not, ahem, my type.”

“So why, again, aren't you married?”

“Tenacious little bugger, aren't you?”

“Answer the question, please, senator.”

He shrugged. “I really was engaged once.”

I crossed my arms.

“No, seriously. A girl I met in vet school. Her name was Maggie. We'd even reserved the church. But then,” he drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Dad got sick and Mom needed more hands than Cal could give. So I came home a semester early and finished up from here. Maggie stayed on campus and I never saw her again.” He shrugged. “She wrote me a letter, saying she'd met someone else. It was probably for the best. A person shouldn't live with a heart divided.”

We rocked in silence. The sun's timid spring rays had gathered intensity in the afternoon and now shone through the budding canopy of a tree in Mac's front yard.

“I'm sorry,” I finally said. “Maggie must not have been a very smart girl.”

Mac looked sideways at me and raised his eyebrows. “She graduated
summa cum laude
and is making a pile of money in South Dakota.”

I waved the entire state of South Dakota away with my hand. “There's more to life than that.”

Mac narrowed his eyes and stopped the swing. “I'm sorry, did you misplace my Sadie? Where's the cell-phone–toting, Blackberry-obsessed, impractical-footwear girl I like so much?”

I squirmed. “I'm more than that.” I was trying to soothe the wounds of this sorry bachelor and he pointed out my more shallow traits?

“I know you are,” Mac said, turning to face me in the swing. His eyes twinkled. “You and Norma are the only girls for me.”

I rolled my eyes. “You should cut your losses and stick to the pianist.” I took a deep breath. “Just a minute—I don't think I can smell manure.” I inhaled again and closed my eyes. “No poop. Just blue sky, new grass, zero pollutants, Iowa air.”

“Careful now,” Mac said as I lay back on his shoulder. “You could get used to it.”

For the first time in my existence, I tried to picture it. Sadie Maddox, Iowan. I got stuck trying to figure out where I'd be able to procure fresh Parmesano Reggiano before it was doomed to a green canister. I did like the porch. And Mac could make a girl think twice about her bare-bones needs. But as I listened to Mac's heart beat softy through his soft cotton shirt, I felt a heavy feeling form in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want to join the ranks of
summa cum laude
girl. A heart like Mac's didn't need to be broken twice.

That evening, I sat at the Hartleys' kitchen table. The light over the stove cast weak shadows over the space. The dishwasher, filled to overflowing with the day's carnage, hummed industriously in the background. Jayne and Cal were upstairs with the kids, catching up on their day with the anti–Mary Poppins and getting them to bed. I sat with my cell phone in front of me. It was fully charged and immaculately clean after my concentrated polishing efforts. I had nothing left to do but dial.

Avi answered on the third ring. “Hello.” His voice dropped and I knew he'd recognized my number.

“Avi,” I said timidly. I cleared my throat and overcompensated the second time. “It's Sadie.” My voice sounded too loud in the empty kitchen.

“What can I do for you, Sadie? I'm just stepping out.” His voice was civil but generously laced with distrust.

“I won't be long.” I cleared my throat and began the speech I'd prepared. “Avi, I've greatly appreciated the work you've done on my behalf over the last several years. You are an excellent agent and I've been fortunate to partner with you.”

“That will be enough.” Avi sighed. “I know you're signing with Judith Magnuson. I heard over a week ago. I'm surprised it took you so long to call.”

“Oh, well,” I stammered. “I wanted to make sure I was making the right decision.”

“You are,” he said. “I'd love to make money with and for you but,” he paused, “it's a tough business, Sadie. You know that.”

I sat up straighter in my chair, regaining some of my lost composure. “It absolutely is. Which is why I think we'd do ourselves both a favor to seek out different options.”

“Fine,” he said curtly. “I'll send you the paperwork first thing Monday. As you recall, our contract is binding only as long as both parties find this to be a profitable relationship. There will be no settlement fees.”

“Thank you,” I said, though I wasn't sure why.

“One more thing.” The edge in Avi's voice was no longer veiled in propriety. “I want this to be clear to you: I worked my tail off trying to get your numbers back to where they should be. You're good, Sadie, but there
is
no magic formula for selling a million CDs. And as much as you might not like to hear it, in our world you are only worth as much as you sell. Even with all her talk, Judith can't make her promises come true any more than I could without people wanting to hear you sing.”

My breathing became shallow. The air in the kitchen felt still and warm. I clutched the phone and searched my mind for a reply but Avi piped in again before I uttered a word.

“Expect the contract by FedEx on Wednesday.”
Click
.

I kept the phone to my ear until an automaton named Claire offered to connect me to customer service. Jayne found me there, sitting motionless and staring at the yellow striped wallpaper.

She stood before me and squinted in the darkness. “Everything okay?”

I shook my head slowly.

She pulled out a chair opposite me and waited in silence. Finally, she whispered, “I hope my children haven't done this to you.”

I pulled my gaze from the wallpaper to Jayne's eyes. “I just fired my agent.”

She bit her lower lip. “I'm sorry. At least, I think I am. Unless you're relieved?” Her eyebrows knit together in uncertainty.

“I don't even know,” I said, shoulders slumped. “All through my career, I've felt like I'm watching a great story unfold. I've worked hard, don't get me wrong. But for the most part, I've sung well and have been lucky enough that people have paid me to do it. But now,” I trailed off. “I don't know what's next, and I think I'm … scared.” I surprised myself at the strength of that word but I didn't regret using it.

Jayne stared at me as I wallowed in fear and no small amount of self-pity. After a few moments, she smiled shyly. “And I thought you were going to tell me that seeing Kryptonite-green baby poop had scarred you for life.”

“Well, that didn't help my emotional state.” I raised an eyebrow.

“I'm so sorry,” Jayne said, though she was laughing too hard to be believed. “Drew said you used an entire box of wet wipes.”

“For once, he is not exaggerating.” I shivered at the thought. “You're the one who should fire someone, get some better service around here.”

She wiped away a tear and sighed. “Unfortunately, it's lonely at the top. The only one I could think about firing would be Cal and I like him.”

I smiled. “He'd never make it without you, anyway.”

Jayne leaned across the table and looked me in the eye. Hers were still teary from laughing. “Sadie, I'm over my head here with agent hiring and firing, singing careers, CD sales, and such. But,” she reached for my hands, “do you mind if I do what makes
me
feel less overwhelmed?”

I remembered Jayne's enthusiastic and vocal response to the facial in New York and pulled my hands away slightly. People with that lack of verbal inhibition could be dangerous in a time like this. “What do you have in mind?”

“I'd like to pray with you,” she said. Her eyes softened. “If that's okay.”

“That would be nice,” I said. I bowed my head and she spoke softly.

“God of grace, thank You for making Yourself available to us all the time and everywhere, even in a tiny kitchen in an old farmhouse. You are our rock, and we are grateful for someone so steadfast who listens to our prayers.”

I could feel my heart pounding. Jayne's hands wrapped mine in warmth. She took a deep breath and continued.

“Your Word tells us You know us by name. You've counted the very hairs on our heads.” She paused and said, “
Humph
. Well, thank You for the perspective that fact gives to everything we face, from poopy diapers to professional singing careers. We love you, God, and thank You for loving us first,” she said, awe filling her voice.

I sat with my eyes closed, hot tears streaming past my eyelashes and making mascara tracks down my cheeks. Minutes later, my eyes still closed, I heard Jayne's chair being pushed back. I felt her kiss me on the forehead before leaving me to stay where I was, basking in the warmth of a God who knew me by name.

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