Jonathan had sent Melody a ticket for
one of the VIP Boxes at their opening concert. Hank hoped she would
come, but realistically, he didn’t believe she would.
He sent front row tickets to Jimmy the
doorman and Sunny Sheldon. His dad, as usual, would be in one of
the VIP Boxes, along with the wives and families of the other band
members.
It was a short walk from his hotel to
the venue. The air was cold and crisp, and the sky shimmered ice
blue above the jagged New York skyline. If Hank could have ordered
perfect weather for Valentine’s Day, this was it.
When he arrived at the Garden, it was
alive with activity. The stage manager issued orders worthy of a
five-star general. Audio techs and lighties made fine adjustments
to their already precisely installed equipment. No wire or bulb
went without inspection. The backline roadies were busy cleaning
and tuning instruments, and checking plugs, wires, and amps. He
stopped to see how Rick was doing, and while he was there, took a
moment to sit on the throne so he could adjust height and distance
on the kit.
Hank glanced at the day sheet, noting
the times he was needed for the sound checks and wardrobe fittings.
BlackWing had never been much for costuming, preferring to focus
more on their music than on theatrical gimmicks, so the wardrobe
fittings for him consisted of making sure his shirt was clean and
his fly was zipped. The wardrobe stylists were necessary, however,
for the small group of backup singers, who traveled with the
band.
He welcomed the opening band, who was
on stage preparing for their sound checks. Handpicked for the gig
by Guy, they were an eager group and somewhat dazed by the size and
scope of the production they were now a part of. Standing in the
center of the stage looking out at the empty arena, he understood
their nervousness.
BlackWing had started out small but
rocketed to the big time under the expert guidance of Guy Nichols.
He hoped the young opening act they’d booked for the “Melody” tour
was equally as lucky. They were good and would do an excellent job
of warming up the crowd.
Hank walked down the side stairs to
the floor of the arena and sat a few rows back from the stage. He
watched as they went through their sound checks. He always found
the hours before a concert to be a special time, where layer by
layer, the excitement built, and with it, his anticipation of
taking the stage.
Hank sat in the empty arena and for
the first time in his professional life felt—nothing. He grimaced,
knowing plain and simple his heart wasn’t in it.
The giant screen behind the stage came
alive with a view of him sitting all alone. He smiled and waved
until they switched camera views. They tested the various cameras
placed around the arena. With modern technology, everyone would
have a close-up view of what happened on stage. From vocals to
drums, they wouldn’t miss a thing.
He thought back to Blackwing’s early
days, playing frat parties and country club dances—schlepping their
gear from gig to gig in a rusted out Ford Econovan that probably
shouldn’t have been on the road at all. They’d come a long way in a
short period of time, and he didn’t regret a single moment of it.
His success was a dream come true, an adolescent boy’s fantasy come
to life. He still believed in the dream, even if it had lost some
of the magic.
The opening band completed their sound
check and filed off to await their stage call while the backline
techs ran through the line checks on BlackWing’s instruments. Hank
made his way backstage. The rest of the guys would arrive soon, and
it would be their turn.
Chapter
Thirty-five
Melody checked again to make sure she
had the VIP pass and copies of the news articles she wanted to ask
Jonathan about. She touched the gold key around her neck. She
always thought living like the “normal” people was what she wanted,
and she did. She wanted the quiet small town life Hank offered, but
like him, there were times like today when she would have to bow to
her status. She wanted to slip into New York, attend the concert
without Hank knowing she was there, and quietly slip out of town
again the following day. The terse note he’d sent with her birthday
CD and his silence since told her all she needed to know. He didn’t
want to see her, and the wound he had inflicted was still too raw
to be poked at anyway.
She’d watch the concert
because it was Jonathan’s return to the stage and
he
, not Hank, had asked
her to be there. Afterwards, she would find a few minutes to ask
her questions.
She boarded the private jet that would
deliver her without fanfare to New York. As the plane left the
winter-gray skies of London behind, she powered up her laptop and
tried to put into words the tumultuous emotions churning inside
her.
Sunny was waiting for her when she
cleared customs. “How was the flight?”
“Long. Tiring.”
Sunny’s car and driver were waiting
for them at the curb. Melody slid into the backseat and sighed. In
what seemed like no time at all, she was curled up on Sunny’s sofa
with a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
“Why don’t you take a nap?” Sunny
asked. “There’s plenty of time before we have to leave for the
concert.”
“I don’t think I could sleep a wink.
I’m too nervous. What if Hank finds out I’m there? I’m not ready to
face him yet.”
“He won’t. If we follow Sir Jonathan’s
instructions and arrive after the opening band is on stage, no one
will take any notice. He said someone would be waiting for us,
right?”
“Yes. He promised his security guard
would meet us at the gate and escort us to our seats. He’s supposed
to stay nearby, just in case someone recognizes me.”
“We should be fine. Go. Lie down for a
few minutes and rest, at least.”
She rested, but couldn’t sleep, so she
took a shower and dressed for the concert. She chose faded jeans
and a black knit turtleneck. She tucked the gold key under the
sweater, the cold metal startling against her warm skin. A pair of
comfortable boots and a red scarf completed her simple outfit.
Nothing about her attire would draw attention among the thousands
of fans crowded inside the arena.
Sunny waited for her in the living
room, similarly dressed. Melody argued against stopping in mid-town
for dinner, but her friend insisted. Too nervous to eat, Melody
only pushed the food around on her plate. Jonathan's security
detail was right where he was supposed to be, and a few minutes
after arriving at Madison Square Garden, they were at the VIP box
where Henry and Miriam had already been seated. Melody introduced
Sunny over the deafening sound of the enthusiastic warm-up
band.
All eyes in the sell-out crowd were
trained on the young band on stage. She wondered how their lives
would change when the “Melody” tour was over. To open for BlackWing
was a singular honor, and according to her research, several other
opening bands had gone on to great success.
The set ended, and roadies scurried to
strike the equipment. BlackWing took the stage. A familiar swagger
caught her eye and her heart slammed against her ribs.
Hank.
His hair was longer. He’d dressed in
his usual style—worn jeans, sneakers, and a button-down shirt in a
shade of green to match his eyes. His shirtsleeves were rolled to
expose his muscled forearms, and she didn’t need to be any closer
to recall the texture of his skin, the softness of the hair dusting
his strong arms and hands. Her skin tingled, remembering the feel
of his hands playing across her body. Her mouth went dry. With
practiced ease, he sat on the throne and picked up the sticks lying
across the snare.
Sunny elbowed her in the ribs and
pointed to the giant screen behind Hank. Four cameras showed a
close up of each band member. The crowd screamed their excitement.
The band members adjusted their instruments and microphones, and in
unspoken agreement, they turned to Hank.
There was an almost imperceptible nod
shared among them. Hank raised his sticks to chest level and tapped
out the beat. The band launched into one of their more popular
hits, and the crowd roared their approval.
Chad stepped to the microphone, and
the crowd drowned out his lyrics. She didn’t care if she heard Chad
or not. Hank was on stage, and nothing else mattered.
Images from the stage cameras flashed
across the big screen. Stationary views alternated with ones from
the roving handheld cameras moving from one band member to the
next, providing the audience close-up views of everything happening
on stage.
There were no less than three cameras
on Hank all the time. One hung directly above the drum kit,
somewhere in the massive rigging holding the lights and speaker
system high above the stage. Another was low and to one side,
allowing a view of his lower body and the drum kit. Still another
one must have been in the front of the stage rigging and captured
his face.
The band was magnetic. They drew the
audience into the music, and in turn, fed on the energy coming from
them. Spotlights panned the arena, and the stage lights pulsated to
the pounding beat of the music, adding to the electric
atmosphere.
She was aware of everything happening
at once, but all of it was perceived in her peripheral vision. She
focused on Hank and Hank alone. She drank him in. He belonged on
stage. In the studio, it had been easy to see how much he loved to
play, but here on stage, he was at home. The close-up views
revealed a light in his eyes and an unmistakable set to his
shoulders.
He loved what he was doing. He loved
the music, the screaming fans. She could almost hear the blood
pounding in his veins across the distance. From the overhead
camera, she watched his hands and arms, the muscles of his thighs
bunching as he worked the various foot pedals. Energy and
excitement radiated off him in waves and danced across the
crowd.
He was magnificent. He was brilliant.
She understood how the thousands of women in the arena would be
attracted to the men on stage, and raw jealousy pulsed through
her.
He’s mine!
In a flash of insight, she understood
a little of her mother’s torment. Another generation of women had
felt the same rush of desire for her father at one time. She
understood why her mother had wanted to distance herself. How
difficult it would be to witness the adoration day in and day out.
How hard it must have been for her mother to know so many coveted
what she claimed as her own. Her mother hadn’t been strong enough.
She walked away from the man she loved.
Her heart ached for her mother, for
the loneliness she endured over the years as a result of her
decision. Her mother had been faithful to her father, but was the
reverse true? Could any man withstand the type of temptation this
lifestyle presented—especially when the woman he loved denied him
her companionship? Melody doubted it, but she forced the question
from her mind. Hank was different. She was different.
BlackWing alternated their hits with
the covers from the new CD. The tempo varied along with the
instrumentation. Sir Jonathan joined them midway through the
concert to a standing ovation. It was long minutes before the crowd
settled enough for them to continue. Melody squeezed Miriam’s hand
as the older woman watched Jonathan on stage for the first time.
She knew exactly how she was feeling, and they shared an
understanding glance between them. Miriam would be all right. She
loved Jonathan, and judging by the expression on her face, she
understood how much it meant to him to be back on stage.
He sang the old familiar lyrics,
paying homage to his deep friendship with her father. Her heart
swelled with love and pride. BlackWing stepped back ever so
slightly and gave him the stage. Jonathan rocked the house. He had
lost none of his stage presence over his years of his self-imposed
retirement, and the crowd reacted with wild enthusiasm.
After his brief solo performance,
Jonathan blended seamlessly into the band, and the concert
continued. Her gaze rarely strayed from Hank. She noticed when he
reached for a water bottle. She saw when Rick handed him a fresh
towel or passed him another set of sticks. She made a mental note
to thank Rick for watching out for Hank.
The hot lights along with the physical
exertion took a toll on him. She noted the thin lines of fatigue
around his mouth and eyes, but he kept him going. Adrenaline was
his drug of choice, and it would keep him going, night after night,
for the next six months. No wonder he wanted to live on his farm
when he wasn’t on tour.
She pictured Ravenswood in her mind
and knew it was the place her father sought out for redemption
following a strenuous tour. Hank would like it there,
too.
The crowd showed no signs of mellowing
as the evening wore on. If anything, they grew louder and bolder.
They stood in front of their seats, dancing, singing, and waving
their arms. The sequence of songs was designed to gradually bring
the event to a close. Each song decreased in tempo by infinitesimal
degrees. Her heart threatened to knock a hole in her
ribcage.