AT 29 (56 page)

“You asked. I couldn't resist.” He wanted it to be a lighthearted compliment, but it sounded impatient. Leslie didn't seem to mind.

“You met Nigel?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“No go.” He knew he'd have to explain everything again, but he liked hearing her voice. He waited for further prompts.

“I'm sure you had more to say to Sister Marie.” She was smiling. Jimmy hoped it was flirtatious. He launched into his story, making sure to tell her everything including Sister Marie's suggestion that he show his songs to Nigel. Their meals arrived just as he finished. Leslie did not speak as they split their chopsticks in unison. She expertly selected a piece of tuna and brought it to her mouth. Jimmy stole a glance, captivated by her every movement. She stared at him as if forming an opinion. She swallowed then turned her attention back to the platter and easily lifted another piece.

“You actually write your songs?” she asked.

“Sure, how else would I do it?”

“No, I mean write the bars, chords, and notes?”

“I sound it out and write a few reminders on paper.”

“So, you're really keeping the songs in your head?”

“I guess so. I let the pros preserve everything on paper.”

“Keep the arrangements in your head, too?”

“Same routine.”

“But you could actually write the music if you wanted to?”

“I've never tried. It's in my memory. That's good enough.”

She took this in while studying him further. He met her gaze, but only briefly. He could feel her looking through him, reading his mind. Nigel Whitehurst didn't interest him at the moment. He had dozens of questions to ask her; everything from her childhood to how she spends her time in Australia. The most pressing question, did she have someone special?

“Will you go back to see Nigel one more time?”

“Yes, but I think it's futile. He's not interested.”

“We'll see. Sister Marie might have something in mind.”

Jimmy let this go. He wanted to know more about her.

“Unusual combination, finance and history.” It was a statement, but a question too.

She looked surprised. “You remembered that?”

“Yes.” He tried to make it sound like casual interest.

“History came later, following my first stint over here. Australia, this part anyway, felt comfortable to me. When I made my first trip to the Great Ocean Road I was enthralled. I started reading about Australian history. When I went home and finished my undergrad work at Bentley I decided to go on to Boston University nights. I received a Masters Degree in Marine History. I wrote my thesis on nineteenth century whaling in Australia.”

“Do any teaching?”

“One short course for the older boys each year. My primary duties keep me busy.”

“What does it mean to be Sister Marie's assistant?”

“I keep the books, arrange financing when needed, pay the bills. Sister Marie is prepping me to take over when she retires.”

The dinner lasted three hours. Neither of them noticed the time as the restaurant workers cleared the tables and stood idly by, waiting to close. Jimmy got lost in the conversation, eager to learn everything he could about the girl across from him. He felt himself relax and, as he did, he opened up, telling her as much about himself as she cared to know and volunteering inner thoughts and emotions he never expected to reveal. It came easy and it felt natural. His guard came down even as his heart beat excitedly with the desire to remain with her talking the whole night through.

When the lights dimmed, signaling that they had stayed beyond their welcome, he reluctantly paid the bill, furiously calculating what he could do to keep their time together going. He thought of inviting her for a drink at the bar at his hotel, but the implication stopped him. He knew nowhere else to go and his heart sank as they entered the car and drove back to the orphanage.

As he parked and came around to open her door, he grew nervous once again, wondering if he should do what he was burning to do. He might never see her again. The thought filled him with disappointment. He had spent time with her twice, touched her in only the most casually innocent way. He wanted more. A kiss. He walked her to the door, finally giving up on any solution. Something inside prevented him from doing anything more urgent than a handshake and good-bye, fearing that being more aggressive might meet with rejection he could not bear.

“Do you have to leave?” she said to his back as he turned dejectedly back to the car. “I'd love to hear the songs you wrote for Nigel.”

He stopped. “My guitar is back at my hotel.”

“Do you play the piano?”

“Yes.”

She turned, opened the door and held it for him. “We have one inside. And, by the way, only two people in the world call me Leslie, my mother and Sister Marie. Everyone else calls me Les.”

She led him through the building to a large music room. At the far corner, a glistening baby grand beckoned. She gestured for him to sit then took her place beside him on the bench.

“No lyrics,” he said, lifting the cover from the keys. “The melody always comes to me first. If I knew him better I'm sure I'd know the words to use.” He played the first song carefully. She watched his hands move along the keys with singular attention to each note. He knew she was looking and he was happy to let her. He was in his element. Her interest pleased him and soon he lost all hesitancy. She said nothing after he'd finished, except to urge him on to the other two creations. As he played, a calm came over him. Soon, he was caught up in his melodies, thinking not of the beautiful woman at his side, but of the music and how it sounded. He pictured Nigel Whitehurst at the microphone in Willies, uttering unknown lyrics to an enraptured audience. It never entered his mind that these could be sung in his own voice. Perhaps if Whitehurst refused, he would make them available to someone else. But he knew in his heart that they would never be as good as they could be without Nigel's voice.

Another feeling came over him as well, the contentment of having her at his side. Something about the two of them alone at the piano, filling the room with sound, seemed preordained, like it had always been this way, a joyful activity reserved for them alone. When he finished he turned to her for a reaction. She was smiling and nodding her appreciation. His spirits soared.

“When he hears them he won't be able to resist.”

“He has something most singers don't.”

“Talent?”

“Plenty of people have talent, soul, drive, a magnificent voice. He's got the intangible ability to make music, any music, better. When he sings it belongs to him and him alone. Not another person on the planet can do it better in that moment when he brings it out in his voice. He's one of a kind.

“May I play them?”

“Sure, let me walk you through them again.”

“No worries, I've got it.”

Jimmy waited, convinced that she would stumble. No one could play three songs from memory after hearing them only once. He kept his hands at the ready, prepared to slip in the moment she hesitated. But she addressed the keys with confidence, bringing the song to life far better than he expected. She talked as she played.

“This one's a rocker. You see him in front of a stadium crowd, blasting out the words.” She went up-tempo, improving the melody.

He nodded. “Daisy would load this one with percussion.”

She finished flawlessly, sliding into the next song without stopping. “This one is deeper, a love song. You see him caressing the microphone, inviting the women to plead for affection.” He listened to his song played with insight. She made no changes, added nothing, but it sounded better. Then she moved into the third song, once again taking it up a beat. “This one doesn't need lyrics. You wrote it for the violin. It's the crowd pleaser, meant to show off his versatility. You think you don't know him, but you do. You know him better than he knows himself.” She ended with a flourish, running her fingers along the length of the keys. She turned to look at him with an excited expression. “Each one could be a hit.”

Jimmy was dumbfounded. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

“My mother bought me a piano when I was little. It's my favorite pastime.”

The time passed quickly. They played his songs over and over, tinkering with each one like partners who had been working together for a long time. It was two a.m. when he left her at the door, his head swimming with her ideas. He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly on the lips. It was a thank-you kiss from a man with a happy heart. She offered no resistance. He remembered nothing of the drive back to his hotel.

He arrived at Aireys Inlet late Monday afternoon and headed straight for Willies. Inside, he spotted Horace behind the bar getting ready for the night.

“Halloo!” Horace said, as Jimmy took a seat on the nearest stool. “Before you ask, yes, he's singing tonight.”

“How'd you know that's what I wanted?”

“He has his followers, even you.”

Jimmy checked into the same motel down the street. After stashing his things, he took a walk, soon finding himself at the foot of the Split Point Lighthouse. The tall white structure dominated the town on a rise overlooking the ocean below. The wind was brisk, coming in off the sea with a tinge of the frigid Antarctic from where it originated. Despite the cold, the sun shone brilliantly against the distant horizon. Hearty Australian surfers in black wet suits, captured waves in the distance. Jimmy wondered if Nigel Whitehurst was among them.

Les remained constant in his thoughts. He was accustomed to working alone with his music, but the glow of the previous night remained. The strange sense that the two of them, together at the keys, was somehow normal did not trouble him, but it was intriguing. How could she know his music so innately that she could play it through upon hearing it only once? How could she dare add chords without a hint of fear that he might take offense? After all, it was his music. Anyone else might and should feel presumptuous, not her. He wasn't remotely offended. He welcomed her ideas. Most of all, he longed for her approval.

The kiss that ended the evening was unlike any he'd felt before. Her lips were exactly as he expected, yet what was that expectation, soft, warm, inviting, natural? All of those things, but never did he expect them to be familiar. Why did everything about her make him feel so happy, so much a part of something more than himself? When she was near he felt whole like never before. She was there and he was secure and content. For the first time the mere thought of a woman made him light on his feet.

Later, at Willies, Nigel was at the far end of the bar, eating dinner with a pint glass in his other hand. Jimmy thought of taking the stool next to his target, but decided to wait. Horace placed a pint in front of him.

“I told him you were back. Didn't seem to mind. Fish and chips?”

“I guess. What's the fish? It tastes different from the States.”

“Flake.”

“Which is?”

“Shark, mate.”

“Oh.” Jimmy wasn't sure he wanted fish and chips anymore, but he kept his silence.

“By the way, I've got something to show you later.”

“What's that?”

“Family heirloom. Don't leave ‘til I show it to you.” Horace shuffled off to give Jimmy's order to the kitchen. Nigel slid from his stool and came his way.

“Back again, mate?”

“The boss asked me to take another run at you.”

“My answer is still the same.”

“Sister Marie still has her hopes, too.”

“Saw her again, did you?”

“She's hard to refuse.”

Nigel took the stool next to Jimmy. “How is the old girl?”

“Nothing like the nuns I knew as a kid.”

“Acts like she's my mother.”

“You should listen to her. She's only trying to do what she thinks is best for you.”

Whitehurst took a sip from his beer. He seemed to be considering Jimmy's statement. “You're welcome to stay for the show.” He slipped off the stool and started to walk away, but Jimmy caught his arm.

“I wrote some songs for you.”

Whitehurst turned back. “When?”

“After I heard you sing the other night.”

“Why?”

“No reason. They came to me so I wrote them down.”

“What will you do with them?”

“I don't know. They're no good for me. Maybe I'll find someone else to record them. That is, if you aren't interested.”

“My answer's not going to change, but since you're here why don't you play them later? Do
Peg
, too. Folks will appreciate it.”

Whitehurst returned to the other end of the bar. A few minutes later, several couples came through the entrance, followed by the same four musicians Jimmy saw the first time he was at Willies. They waved at Nigel. Then, as Jimmy watched, the fork fell from Nigel's hand, landing with a clink on his plate. His eyes blinked as he looked at the door over Jimmy's shoulder. Jimmy turned to see Sister Marie Bonaventuri studying the interior of Willies Tavern. Behind her, Les was whispering in the nun's ear as if describing the scene. Jimmy turned back to Nigel who now had his eyes fixed on him with an accusing look. As the two women stepped inside, they spotted him and waved. Then Les touched Sister Marie's arm and pointed at Nigel, sitting further down the bar. As Jimmy stood, Whitehurst brushed past and took Sister Marie in a hug. The bond between them was easy to see. Les came around and moved to Jimmy's side.

“What're you doing here?” Jimmy turned to Les, making no effort to hide his delight.

“Remember when I said I thought Sister Marie had something in mind? She's come to hear Nigel sing. It's the first time she's ever been to Willies.”

“And you, why are you here?” He hoped she'd say to see him, but it had to be as Sister Marie's partner.