AT 29 (70 page)

Cindy refused to let him go. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, the kiss she had dreamt of for months. When he tried to pull away she held his face tighter and kissed harder until he relented, returning her yearning with his own. Her coat fell to the floor as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

“I'm too old for you,” he whispered, as he laid her down on the bed. Cindy pulled him down, kissing him more passionately than before.

They held each other for what seemed like forever. Neither Jimmy nor Les felt the cold. Their embrace was all they understood, all they recognized in the shimmering white shadows of a winter night. He felt a dam of desire burst in his heart as all doubt was cast aside by her touch. She needed him as much as he needed her. Words were uncalled for. The months of obsessive longing were ended. The vast ocean between them would not block their love. He would find a way. He would never let her go.

The house was quiet when they entered. Les' parents were upstairs sleeping. She held Jimmy's hand as she ushered him down the hall to the kitchen. She beckoned him to sit at the table, but before he obeyed he took her in his arms and kissed her. The warmth of his lips made her shudder with passion. Her reason failed her as she clung tightly to his neck. All she knew, all she understood was blurred by the consummate joy of having him near. They had not spoken since their moment of recognition. In time, she reluctantly released herself from his embrace.

‘I'm so happy you're here,” she said, as she went to the refrigerator.

Jimmy sucked in his breath as he sat down at the table and watched her bring out leftovers from the day's feast. He couldn't take his eyes away, watching her every move. He knew he was as captivated as any man could be. It felt new and exciting, a fresh zest for life that opened a brand new world of excitement and anticipation. Nothing else mattered. He had no worries, no other place to be. He only wanted to be with her in that wonderful moment on Christmas night in New Hampshire, forever.

They talked for hours. She wanted to know everything that had happened to him since their parting in Melbourne. He wanted to know everything about her from the moment she was born. At times, the conversation grew serious as he explained the sordid details of his drunken years and the six months of introspection that followed. Other times, they laughed. He demanded, playfully, that she tell him about her first love, Stephen, who gave her the Claddagh ring she still wore. They held hands across the table, sometimes coming close for a kiss like teenagers. The performance at the Beacon Theatre came up. Eventually their individual accounts came around to the unusual sense they each felt at different times during the evening.

“I was in the upper balcony, far right.”

“By the side door that opens from the stairway?”

“There was a side door, yes. A man and woman used it to just before the concert began.”

“I took Kate, Rebellion's lead singer, up there to calm her nerves. We hustled back down when the lights blinked.”

“Yes, I turned to look. I can't say I knew it was you, but I'm sure I felt something.”

Jimmy nodded agreement. “At the end of the performance something made me search the audience. Most of the time I was looking up at the third balcony.”

“You knew I was there?”

“Something caused me to look.”

Miles made sandwiches as he began his story. Cindy, wearing one of his shirts and little else, leaned on the counter. She was only half listening as the meaning of what had just taken place took hold. Old or not, he was the one.

“I liquidated everything I own to buy the company. I did it without thinking about the consequences. Now, I have two-hundred dollars to my name and nothing else.” She watched him, hands shaking slightly, as he placed cheese on two slices of bread. “The cash flow looks like it won't cover the debt payments. I'm screwed.”

“But, the albums are selling well.”

“I factored that in. My projections showed Jimmy going platinum. All of a sudden sales are beginning to dip.”

“The tour?”

“I'm still short.”

“MacGregor's album is ready to go.”

“I don't have the money to release it.”

“Miles, there has to be an upside. I'm hearing Jimmy might be nominated for a Grammy.”

“That's what Mike Winfield thinks. He wants to talk next week.”

“Put the groups out on tour again.”

“There's no money. I can't borrow another dime.”

“You're overwrought. Promoters will be throwing cash at you if Jimmy gets nominated.”

“That's my only hope. I can't sleep worrying.”

“The music business is tough, but you've shown what you can do.”

“I've always had things under control. Now, I'm at the mercy of the bank.” The conversation went on for an hour. Gradually, he felt better. Just getting things off his chest calmed his nerves.

“You sold your house?”

“Yes.” He was embarrassed.

“Nowhere else to go?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Then you're coming home with me.”

“Cindy I can't…”

“That is, if what happened tonight meant as much to you as it meant to me.”

“You deserve a younger man. It wouldn't be fair to you.”

“Miles stop. I'm a big girl. I know how I feel.”

“When people ask questions? Laugh behind your back?”

“Is that all you care about?”

“I care about you, your reputation.”

“Tell me what I want to hear. I won't beg.”

“That you make me feel better than I've felt in years? That you're the only woman I've ever been interested in since I met my wife thirty-five years ago?”

“Getting warm.”

He squirmed. “That I think I'm in love with you?”

It was two o'clock in the morning when Jimmy sat back in his chair and tried to summon the courage to ask what was on his mind. Finally, he blurted it out. “How can we make this work?”

Les hesitated for a moment, the will to hold her desire crumbling. “I don't know.”

“Here or my house? We have to be together. It's only twenty miles away.”

She shook her head. “Not here, my parents are old-fashioned. They won't understand.”

“Then come with me to Chillingham.”

“We need to take it slow.”

“Slow? We haven't seen each other for months. You sent me away, remember?”

She took his hand. “I was afraid. I still am. I saw how the people adored you in New York. I don't know how I can fit into your life. The distance, we'll always be apart.”

“You can quit your job, stay in New York with me.”

“You have no right to say that!” She took her hand away. He grabbed it back quickly.

“No. I'm sorry. When do you go back to Melbourne?”

“After New Years Day.”

He was relieved. They had a week. “Then we have some time.”

“Yes,” she answered, hopefully. “Do you ski?”

“Not for a long time.”

“Pick me up in the morning. We'll go to Waterville Valley.”

“What time?”

***

Nigel mounted a wave and deftly guided his board into the curl, letting it carry him perilously close to the rocky shore where the froth rose up. In the distance, Illa watched from the front seat of his Ute. He had wondered and worried for several months
after Whitehurst suddenly disappeared from his surf shop down the road. Now, he was back. Illa was determined to keep him in sight. After he rediscovered the big man that hot day in Warrnambool, Illa had climbed up to the precipice above the twelve apostles. He retraced the steps he took as a boy with his father to the spot where tribal legend said the first Whitehurst met his end. The big man with the strange, but beautiful songs who lived with his ancestors long ago. The exact spot was beneath the cliffs, half way up the sharp incline and away from the newly cut National Park trail. A large boulder marked it, placed there by his great grandfather. Further down, far off the dirt path that veered into the bush from the Great Ocean Road, he'd gone to check on the old pickup truck, now rusted and all but invisible among the vines and bush that grew around the vehicle's fenders. Its one-time owner was Illa's part of the legend, the father of the man he shadowed today.

As he waited for a good wave, Nigel thought about his visit with Sister Marie on Christmas Day. She was overjoyed at his unexpected return to Melbourne and pleased that he was making progress with his singing.

“I'll go back after the New Year,” he told her. “Missed the hot weather and surfing at Christmas. Had to come home.”

“Your singing is going well?”

“I'm making progress. They're letting me do it my way.”

She knew it had to be. Nigel always chafed under the precise direction of Saint Malachy's choir director. The stubborn streak was part of his nature. Perhaps doing it his way was best.

They ate Christmas dinner in the dining hall. Nigel joined Sister Marie and the other nuns at the head table. The boys took their customary spots at other long tables all around. For Nigel it was comfortable. He had not been back for Christmas in years, but this was how he remembered it. The boys were loud and full of typical holiday excitement. It made conversation at the head table difficult. Eventually, he stopped trying to talk. He took it all in, enjoying the occasion and remembering the ones from his own youth in that same room.

They took a glass of port together outside in the warm dusk, overlooking the football field. For a while they sat together silent. Then Nigel spoke, still looking out at the field. “You never told me about my father.”

Sister Marie hid her surprise. “I always wait for the boys to ask. Most of them do. Only a few don't seem to care. How old are you now, twenty nine?”

Nigel nodded. “In another month.”

“He was a big man, even bigger than you, a farmer, I believe. He had one arm.”

“Did he tell you why he abandoned me?”

“It wasn't like that. Never think that.”

“That's what he did.”

“He cried. He said he'd come back if he could. I believed him. I'm sure he wasn't a bad man. Sometimes, circumstances can't be helped.”

“Did he tell you about my mother?”

“Only that they both loved you very much.”

“That doesn't tell me who I am.”

“He was old, in his sixties. Your mother had to be much younger.”

“Did you try to learn more about them?”

“I looked through the archives, requisitioned birth data, but I had so little information to guide me, nothing ever turned up.”

“So, I'm left to wonder.”

“Perhaps.”

Nigel took a sip of his port. “I hate not knowing.”

“He said your mother died. That's why he brought you to Saint Malachy's. He believed he was too old to care for you. There were no relatives, no friends to take you in.”

“All he left me was money. No heritage, nothing that tells me where I came from.”

“There was a bond. You were loved. For a year you asked for him. You missed him. You remembered.”

“No more. I'm lost.”

There was a man shoveling snow in the driveway when Jimmy pulled up to the house. He guessed him to be Les' father, in his seventies with white hair peeking out from under a stocking cap. The man approached the car with a serious face.

“Jim Buckman?” he inquired.

“Yes.” Jimmy scanned the front door for a sign of Les.

“My daughter left for Australia a few hours ago.”

Jimmy's heart sank. “Why?”

“A problem at the orphanage.” The elderly man reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “She asked me to give this to you.”

Jimmy leaned against the car as he read.

Nigel called after you left last night. Sister Marie had a stroke. I don't know the details. I've caught a flight out of Logan and should be back in Melbourne by tomorrow. I'm sorry I couldn't say good-bye. Please call me
.

The Grammy nominations were announced on December 30. Blossom Records and its star reaped a hoard that surprised the industry experts. Many jumped upon the bandwagon, pretending they knew all along. Jimmy went up in the big four categories. Kate shocked everyone by garnering a bid as well. Within twenty-four hours calls besieged the tiny label. They came from across the country, offering venues and dates, most preceding the Grammy Awards gala in February. Mike Winfield became Miles' unofficial advisor.

“Don't accept anything until after the show,” he cautioned. “Buckman's sure to win something. Use the time to up the ante. You can name your price the minute he makes his acceptance speech.”

Later, Miles sought Cindy's advice. “He's telling me to wait. I don't know. I need money, now.”

“It's only two months. I agree with him.”

“If Jimmy comes up empty, then what?”

“He'll still have the notoriety of the nominations. Blossom wins either way.”

The brain trust met in Miles' office on the third day of the newly minted decade of the eighties. No one knew if Winfield was right, but the prevailing opinion was to follow the DJ's advice. Jimmy was on the fence. The thrill of being nominated wore off more quickly than he expected. Les' sudden departure made sure of that. They'd spoken on the phone every day since she left. Sister Marie was out of danger, but the stroke left her paralyzed on the left side and unable to speak. The doctors initially feared that she would be unable to breathe without aid, but after several days on a respirator she rallied. Now, she was taking liquids. The long-term prognosis was rehabilitation as soon as she could withstand the punishing regimen. Jimmy wanted to be with Les.

“We can go back out in March,” Ellis said. “Same format as before. We alternate Rebellion and Weak Knees at the front of each show. Jimmy gets the star treatment.”