Pretend Mom (21 page)

"In another couple of days, I'm
sure."

Not soon enough. She'd be leaving in a
couple of days. Dixie felt her heart sink. Trying not to dwell on
her own feelings she asked, "You really enjoy working for Mike,
don't you?"

"Oh, dear, yes. I've never had a family
of my own. Taking care of others has always been my job. I used to
work in a nursing home. When Mike and Mandy moved back to town, he
put an ad in the paper and I applied immediately, since poor old
Mrs. Williams died. She was such a dear and I'm afraid I got too
close to her. I just couldn't take it any more. But … I wish Mike
would find himself a nice young woman and get married. He often
seems so lonely. He tries not to let on, but I've seen him staring
off into space, lately, as though he had something important on his
mind. I only hope it isn't that Janet Wilkinson."

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

"For her sake," she said, gesturing
toward a nearly sleeping Amanda.

This revelation hit Dixie in the heart.
Mike—lonely? He needn't be, she thought whimsically.

"At least he has you." Dixie assured
her.

"I only hope I can stay around when he
does find someone."

"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't dream of
letting you go."

"I hope not. But that might depend on
whom he marries. Well, thanks again, Dixie, and come visit us
sometime."

"I will, and thank you. Bye,
Mandy."

Yawning and stretching, the tired
little girl gave Dixie a kiss on her cheek and whispered, "I love
you."

"I love you too, darling." Dixie cried
the rest of the all afternoon.

CHAPTER TEN

Two days later in New York, Dixie tried
to wipe away the gloom. She expected to feel better. She didn't. A
knot in her throat grew, the pain in her heart swelled. Entering
her empty apartment, she immediately felt the void. She missed her
brothers making racket all day long. She missed Emily fussing over
her. She missed two large, dark brown eyes staring at her lovingly,
wanting her to play pretend Mom. And, most of all … she missed
Mike.

Ed explained that she had several
scheduled interviews the next day with a couple of offbeat
journalists. Dixie nodded, assuring herself that the sooner she got
back to work, the better she'd feel. Her work usually kept her so
busy she had little time to contemplate much of anything else. She
needed to put overwhelming thoughts of Mike—and what could have
been—out of her mind.

The first night home, Ed wanted to talk
business, but Dixie was exhausted and insisted on a good night's
sleep, telling him she worked better when well rested. She wished
she had someone to confide in. Perhaps she'd feel better if she
could unload some of her sorrow.

The next six weeks passed in a haze and
Dixie was busier than ever. Her tour schedule had been messed up
and the details were jumbled. On top of that, severe weather
necessitated a change in flight schedules. Ed had also scheduled
her to do a concert in Chicago on the 4th and she dreaded
it.

She found herself cranky and out of
sorts. She had headaches frequently. Nothing seemed to please her.
The harder she worked, the harder she pushed herself to
work.

During the little time she had for
herself she began to write music. Creating the music she yearned to
sing, she put her all into it. While her work sounded good, it
definitely wasn't rock.

Would it sell? The gamble might be
worth it.

When she showed Ed the fruits of her
creative labor, he screwed up his handsome face and glared at her.
"You're a rock star, for crying out loud. What are you writing this
for, love? This is the stuff Nashville creates." He spat the word
Nashville with distaste.

"I like it, Ed. It's what I've always
wanted to do."

***

"Are you ill?" Ed asked one night,
after a long struggle in the conference room about a delayed
concert.

Dixie had been working long hours to
catch up on her recording contract and had spent the entire day
arguing over a contract that was already signed. She sighed as she
thought how pointless it all seemed.

"I'm fine," she lied. Of course, she
wasn't fine at all. She wanted to go home. Where she knew she
belonged. Her heart wasn't in her music any longer. She longed to
write music, not be a performer.

Dixie felt a distinct state of unease
creeping over her. She became temperamental, and late for
rehearsals. She became increasingly more difficult to work
with.

"I'm not so sure." Ed paced her
apartment with a purpose. "You've been a pain in the butt to work
with, love. You're beginning to build a bad reputation for being
difficult in the industry. Taking ten-minute breaks every
half-hour. Refusing concerts, not wanting to do interviews. How can
you possibly stay at the top of the charts, if your fans don't see
you?"

Fans. Another draining part of her
life. She no longer looked forward to the swell of the crowds, or
the backstage moments with young hopefuls wanting her autograph.
Just walking off a stage and going straight home was beginning to
hold enormous appeal. Not that she didn't appreciate her fans; but
the total lack of privacy was unbearable at times.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" Ed
asked gently.

Dixie heaved a monumental sigh, knowing
Ed wouldn't leave her alone until he knew. "When I was a little
girl, I wanted to write compositions. Performing before an audience
was never my dream. That's one of the main reasons I chose rock
music, because I could hide behind the facade. I wrote a lot of
songs back then and I kept them. I held on to that dream. And when
I grew up, I was determined to have it my way. I never realized my
dream, but I came as close to it as I could get. I'm tired, Ed. I'm
too old for this charade anymore. I want to go home."

"Methinks I hear the biological clock
ticking. Maybe we should get married," he suggested
hopefully.

Dixie indulged in another long sigh.
"It wouldn't work, Ed. I'd make you miserable. I…I'm very fond of
you … I care about you a great deal, but …" She hesitated, not
wanting to hurt him.

"If you love me at all, it's enough,
Dixie," he said, his face more serious than she expected. "We're
good together. I could manage your career, and you could lean on me
more."

Dixie smiled warmly at Ed. "I'm sorry,
Ed—really," she said softly.

"I'm crazy about you, Dixie. I'd make
you happy. We'd work and play together. It would be sensational,
and together who knows? We'd get a sensational write up in the
paper."

Dixie chuckled. "Poor, Ed. Always so
concerned with what the papers will say. They had a field day with
me at that last concert teaming me up with that other joker,
remember?"

Ed laughed and shrugged. "Okay, so sue
me. I'm not exactly a romantic."

"Besides, I don't love you that way,
Ed. It would be terribly unfair. I don't want to cheat you, Ed—or
myself. And I've got to admit, I want a little romance."

"You wouldn't be cheating me," he
promised.

"But I don't—"

"I know, I know." He drew her into his
arms, hushing her from repeating the inevitable. "But I do,
Dixie."

"That's not enough." She pushed him
away, the frustration of the situation beginning to take its
toll.

"Then maybe it's time you found a new
studio to work for." Ed's comment caught Dixie by surprise. "I just
don't think there's room here anymore." Obviously he was feeling
the strain, too.

"Ed, you don't mean that," Dixie
said.

"Yes, I do. It's too hard working with
you day to day and feeling the way I do, love. We're through, as of
now, Dixie. I release you from your contract."

"But I thought we had a good working
relationship, Ed. You can't let personal feelings stand in the way.
I'm good at my job."

"No, you were good at your job until
you decided to take that vacation. Maybe you're right. You are
getting too old for this." He pulled Dixie into a hug and then held
her at arm's length, saying, "You're pretty good at tearing a man's
guts out, you know?" He gave a slight chuckle. "If you decide to
stay, I won't be working with you any longer. Good bye, love." With
that, he gave her a final kiss and quickly left the conference
room.

***

Two weeks later Dixie found herself
alone in New York, finding it impossible to get an agent. No work.
It was scary. Scary enough to shake her up and make her realize if
she was going to make it, she had to do it herself, and quit
relying on others. For the first time in her life, Dixie was truly
on her own.

"Go home", a voice kept whispering in
her ear, but she refused to pay heed. Stubborn pride kept her here,
alone. Besides, she felt certain that Mike wouldn't believe her if
she told him how she felt about him. He didn't trust her and,
without trust, how long could their relationship possibly
work?

Dixie sank herself into her work,
writing songs. She pounded the sidewalks of New York trying to
interest different agencies in representing her. She offered
beautiful love ballads. Beautiful bittersweet songs that would sell
like hot cakes as soon as she found a promoter. She didn't lack for
drive. She gave up relaxation—and sometimes, eating—for
work.

Each day she would hurry home to her
apartment, and make herself write what she was feeling. She put
down on paper the pain and agony of having loved and lost. As
painful as it was, she poured her heart and soul into her writing,
and felt as if she were coming alive again.

Maybe she really could become a
successful songwriter, and fulfill her dream. Everything she wrote
evoked heartfelt emotion. Now, she had to wait. Finally,
establishing a promoter, she poured out the music. The man came
highly recommended an agency had said, but he worked mostly out of
Nashville, and it might mean another move.

Two weeks before Christmas, New York
was hit by a heavy snowstorm. As she watched the snow fall, Dixie
had the sinking feeling that she'd be alone from now on. To realize
one's dream was one thing, to realize them alone, was quite
another.

Then one evening, tired and cold, she
trudged home in knee high boots and heavy woolen coat, kicking at
the snow like a child, juggling her two sacks of groceries.
Reaching her apartment, she realized the phone was ringing.
"Dixie," came the drawl that she remembered so well.

"Mike! How are you, is everything
okay?" she asked in an almost frantic voice.

"Everything is fine, sweetheart.
Listen, I called to tell you I'm flying up there tomorrow. Will you
meet me at the airport?"

"Flying up?" Panic constricted her
throat. "B…but you can't. I…I mean, the weather here is terrible.
It's not a good time to fly to New York, Mike. Is it important? Is
there something I can take care of for you instead?"

"'Fraid not, sweetheart. This is
something I need to do in person. Flying's the fastest way to get
there. Now don't be late. I'll see you tomorrow. I'm coming in on
Flight 207, should get there around noon."

"Mike…wait!" she cried but it was too
late, he'd hung up.

What was so important it couldn't wait?
Didn't he realize the danger he was putting himself in? Memories of
Audrey flying into New York that summer flooded Dixie. She'd been
on her way to see her, too. Dixie had been waiting at the airport
for her, when they announced the flight would be late. She
waited—then in a matter of minutes, Dixie's world came crashing
down around her. Flight 119 had crashed shortly after takeoff at
DFW airport. A thunderstorm had nearly canceled the flight. There
were no survivors.

"No, this can't happen again!" Dixie
screamed. "I won't let it happen again."

She picked up the phone and dialed
Mike's number. There was no answer. She called her mother—she had
to reach him.

"M…mom, this is Dixie."

"Hello, dear, so nice to hear from you.
How are things in New York?"

"Fine. Look, mom, Mike just called and
said he was flying up here tomorrow. You've got to stop him.
Please, it's important."

Dixie couldn't keep the panic from her
voice. Her hands shook as she held the phone close.

"Stop him?" Emily chuckled. "I'm the
one who talked him into going. Don't you want to see
him?"

"Yes, I do. But he can't fly, Mom. He
just can't," Dixie cried into the phone.

"Why, dear, what's wrong?"

"When Audrey flew here to see me that
summer she never made it. I can't risk the same happening to Mike,
Mom. Please, you've got to stop him," Dixie pleaded. "I just can't
go through this again."

Emily's voice calmed. "Dixie, dear,
please stop worrying so much. That was an accident. The chances of
it happening again are one in a million. Oh, I wish I could be
there to hold your hand and assure you it would be all right. But
it looks as though you're going to have to face this alone. Mike's
already left for Dallas. He's so anxious to see you. He wanted to
talk to you about the house, dear. Said it couldn't wait. Now,
please don't worry. He'll be fine. And Dixie … it wasn't your fault
about Audrey."