Sweet Christmas Kisses (46 page)

“Yes?”

“Well.” He sat on the sofa and took a deep breath. “It's this. I've thought about my life, and I've looked at every element. I believe I should stop singing.”

Joanna chin dropped. “What?”

“Yes.” Conran looked at his hands. “You know, I like to compose songs, and I like to sing them too. But I don't really like the concerts.” He took a deep breath. “Oh, I admit it was head-turning at first. The red carpet, the admiration, all the champagne, the bright lights . . . “ He shook his head. “But it pales. And after a while, things become so . . . stale. Stale and fake. I had the impression I was losing myself. And all it entails . . . this becoming a public property, being eaten alive, being watched every second . . . that's killing me. I hate the mindless fans, those who cheer because now, it's me at the top, but the next instant, they cheer for the next celebrity. All of this . . . it's killing the joy I have in my profession, and ultimately, it has killed Dimitri.”

Joanna's mouth was dry. “So?”

He sat up straight. “So I decided to quit being a start.”

“Quit being a celebrity? Is it that easy?”

“Easier than you think. One juicy scandal, and the masses won't look at you anymore.”

Joanna raised her eyebrows. “So you're planning to create a juicy scandal?”

He smiled. “No. I'm taking the slower way out. If I stop giving concerts, my fame will gradually subside. Fans will forget me, and then, I'll be free again to do what I want.”

She frowned. “But are you free to do that? Aren't here contracts, this kind of thing?”

He shook his head. “I've had them checked, and none of them are long-term. By the end of next year, I should be out.”

“Wow.” Joanna stared at him.

“What do you think?” He placed his empty glass on the low table and looked at her. “Does the idea shock you?”

“I . . . no.” Joanna chose her words with care. Something inside her burned warm and bright because he had chosen to discuss such a fundamental change with her. “What about the money? It's easy to get used to being rich. Not quite as easy to return to a normal level.”

He smiled. “I'll still work. I'll never stop making music.” He shrugged. “I couldn't. It's part of my soul. I need it.”

“So the money is no issue?”

“No.”

“Then. . . . “ Joanna took a deep breath. “I think it's a good idea. You have to be true to yourself. And if you feel that you've lost yourself in the chaos of being a superstar, then go back to where you feel at home.”

“I had hoped you would say that.” His smile became lopsided. “Not many people will share that view. I'm not looking forward to talking to my agent, for example.”

“What does Mimi say?”

“I haven't told her yet.” His gaze held hers. “I haven't told anybody yet. Anybody but you.”

Joanna could feel the warm feeling spread inside her until she tingled up to her fingertips.

Conran looked at his hands. “I also started to compose another song. The one about guilt. The one you told me to write.” When he looked up, his jaw was clenched. “It's the hardest thing I've ever done. I read a quote somewhere that said writing a novel is easy, you just sit down and sweat blood. I probably misremember it, but that's how it felt.”

She nodded.
Go on. Don't stop.

He shook his head and frowned. “There's so much anger inside me. Rebellion against fate, against my life. I'm angry at fate, angry at myself, and it's all so useless, so futile. I tried to pound it all into the music.” He swallowed. “There's one last thing I haven't told you. At Dimitri's funeral, his mother came up to me and cursed me. Literally. I hear her words all the time. And then everything dries up within me.”

Joanna took his hands. “It's understandable that she did that, as a mother. But on the other hand, she believed that drowning would be his fate, otherwise, she wouldn't have kept him from water all his life. Let's face it: If she had taught him to swim, he wouldn't have drowned. Fate would not have had a chance without her cooperation.”

He stared at her. “You make it sound so logical.”

“It is. The more you fear something, the more dangerous it becomes.” She pressed his hands. “Don't let it conquer you. Other people have made mistakes, too.” A memory stirred inside her. “A few years ago, a young man from Stony Brook University went driving. He was drunk, and he had piled four friends into his car. When he hit a tree, all his friends were killed, but ironically, he survived with a minor injury.”

Conran was white around the lips. “What did he do?”

“He left the area. Took another name.” Joanna shuddered. “But I don't want to know what he feels at night, when he's alone or down.” She looked at him. “Finish that song. It'll help people.”

Conran took a deep breath and got up. “Do you think Hugh is still camping on your doorstep?”

“I should hope not.” She followed him.

Conran pulled her to him. “Thank you for being you.”

“It's not difficult to be me.” She smiled and inhaled the fragrance of his skin.

“Isn't it? Sometimes I think it's the most difficult thing on earth.” His lips covered hers, tender and soft.

Joanna placed her hands onto his cheeks and pulled him closer.
I love you
. She stiffened. Had she really thought that?

He lifted his head. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” Joanna swallowed. “Say. . . .say hi to Mimi, will you? And to Dimitri, of course.”

“Will do.” This time, the kiss became more intensive, stronger, demanding.

Joanna felt as if she was soaring on a soft breeze. She forgot where she was, forgot everything but the man who kissed her. The world and all its troubles got lost far below her.

Something vibrated in his pocket.

She jumped. “What's that?”

“My stupid phone.” He sighed. “I forgot to switch it off. Let's ignore it.”

“Maybe it's something urgent.”

He pulled it out and checked the display. “It's Mimi.”

Joanna pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans to avoid touching him. “You'd better answer it.”

“Mimi? What's the matter?” Conran's face changed. “He did what?” He looked at her. “Dimitri has chewed up her jeans and has now upchucked the remains.”

“That's good,” Joanna said.

Conran turned back to the phone. “She says it's good.”

A high-pitched squeaking came through the phone.

He held it away from his ear and suppressed a chuckle. “What? Well, clean it up, of course.”

Long after Conran's car had disappeared down the snow-covered road, Joanna still stood in the doorway of her house without feeling the cold, staring after him. He was a man fighting against himself, against his history, and she felt with him.

You'll make it.

It felt like a prayer. She closed her front door with a feeling that something precious and intimate had happened to her, something she could not share with anybody, not even Sally.

I

It was a glorious winter day. The sky arched blue and fragile over Stony Brook, and the sun sparkled on the fresh snow that had fallen early in the morning. The air was crisp like champagne. Joanna found she was singing on her way to the clinic, and all through the day, things came easy to her. 

At three o'clock in the afternoon, Bernice exploded into the room. “You will NEVER believe what just happened.”

“Don't tell her.” Conran appeared behind her. He looked tired.

Joanna's heart skipped like a happy five-year-old. “Hi.”

He smiled. “Hi.”

“Of course I have to tell her!” Bernice turned around and stemmed her hands onto her hips. “She'll wonder anyway.”

“What will I wonder about?” Joanna couldn't stop smiling. With difficulty, she turned her gaze away from Conran's face and knelt down to welcome the panting Dimitri. “Hello, little boy.” She patted his round belly. “You've just had a late lunch, haven't you?” Dimitri jumped up and down and managed to lick her nose.

“Ugh.” Joanna reared back and laughed.

Conran folded his arms in front of his chest. “He not only had lunch, which he didn't deserve by the way, he also managed to eat something far worse.”

Joanna looked up. “Is that why you're here?” She frowned and looked at the puppy. “He looks fine. What is it?”

“I'm pretty sure it won't harm him.” Conran's mouth was set in one firm line. “Though he was in danger for a moment.”

“What do you mean?” Bernice bent down, too and inspected Dimitri closely. “What happened?”

Conran looked at Joanna. “I finished that song. The one we talked about.”

Joanna caught her breath. “You did?”

“Yep. It took me all night.”

“Was it good?”

His eyes held her gaze. “Very good.”

“Well, here's someone who doesn't have any inferiority complex.” Bernice straightened and shook her head. “Talk about conceited.”

Joanna ignored her. “I'm glad.”

He returned her smile. “I even did the lyrics. I had to do them. Nobody else could have put it into words.”

“Yes. I understand.”

Bernice looked from one to the other with a puzzled frown. “Worse than conceited. Next you'll say he's bigger than God.”

“That's a thought.” Conran grinned. “I thought I had moved a whole mountain by the time I was done, and I was exhausted when I dropped into bed. However,” he pointed at his dog, “. . . this little monster decided to wake up early this morning and ate my music for breakfast.“

Joanna's chin dropped. “He didn't.”

Bernice started to laugh. “Oh, that's famous. Don't you know that puppies love paper? It makes such a fascinating sound when crinkled. You're lucky he didn't pee onto it.” She doubled over laughing.

He gave her a glance that spoke volumes. “I didn't know that puppies have a thing with paper. This dog has eaten something of incredible value.”

“Can't you reproduce it?” Joanna looked at him.

“The music is no problem; I know the melody by heart. It's the words. When I saw what Dimitri had done, I tried to recall them and wrote them down again, but something is missing.”

Bernice shrugged. “You'll remember them with time.”

Joanna shook her head in dismay. “I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry.”

“It doesn't matter.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “This is it. I want you to read it.”

Bernice squeaked and started forward. “A new song by you?”

“Bernice.” Joanna stopped her with a glare. “Could you please refill the supply of bandages in room two? We ran out of them this morning.”

Her assistant gave her a look that spoke volumes. “It can wait.”

“No.” Joanna closed her mouth with a snap.

Bernice sighed, shrugged, and flung herself out of the room. The door closed with a bang that made the glass bottles on the shelf rattle.

Joanna turned to the scrap of paper in her hand and started to read.

fate would not have had a chance

left alone to its device

I was like a man in trance

now I have to pay the price

Chorus:

Where do I take my guilt?

Who can forgive me now?

What can I use as shield?

How do I live, oh how?

life has given me a glance

of living hell in motion

not for me another dance

my guilt is like an ocean

Chorus:

Where do I take my guilt?

Who can forgive me now?

What can I use as shield?

How do I live, oh how?

nothing worse than “it's too late”

never can I turn back time

nothing left but endless hate

for this desperate soul of mine

Chorus:

Where do I take my guilt?

Who can forgive me now?

What can I use as shield?

How do I live, oh how?

Goose bumps covered her arms. Her throat tightened. She opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, the door flung open.

“Done.” Bernice rushed into the room.

With a quick move, Joanna hid the paper in the pocket of her trousers.

Conran turned his back to Bernice. “I wanted to take you for a walk, Jo.”

Joanna had to laugh. “I would love to, but I can't go for a walk in the middle of the afternoon. The waiting room is full, and . . . “

Bernice interrupted her. “The waiting room is empty.”

“What?” Joanna's chin dropped.

“Unusual quiet day today.” Conran gave Bernice a warning glance. “Must be the cold weather.”

“She won't believe you anyway.” Bernice rolled her eyes. “ She knows we still had several people waiting.”

“What did you do?” Joanna went to the waiting room. Nobody. The room seemed eerie, white and empty. She turned back to Conran and Bernice, her face a question.

Bernice leaned against the wall, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and shrugged. “I'm not supposed to tell.”

Joanna squared her shoulders. “Conran, this is my life. My business. It's extremely important to me, and I depend on it. I can't afford to drive people away. I . . . ”

Bernice looked at the ceiling. “Oh, they didn't mind. On the contrary.”

“What?” Joanna looked from one to the other. “What on earth . . . “

Conran had a stricken look on his face.

Joanna felt more nervous by the minute. “Tell me.” She swallowed. “Please.”

“He bribed them.” Bernice flung out her arms. “He gave everyone who promised to leave and return tomorrow two hundred dollars on the spot.”

Conran pushed his hand through his hair. “I'm sure they didn't mind.”

“They didn't.” Bernice made a grimace. “They loved it. It'll be all over town tomorrow.”

Joanna stared at him. “You're kidding. How many people were here?”

“Six.” Bernice said. “I counted.”

He gave her a dark look. “It seems I forgot to bribe you.”

Bernice grinned. “You can still do that.” She took off her white lab coat. “Well, I guess I have the afternoon off, too, don't I?”

Joanna looked from one to the other, torn between laughter and helplessness. “I can't believe this.”