AT 29 (73 page)

In time, he was able to turn the conversation around. He learned that Fanny Holmquist was a one-time world-class skier from Switzerland. He marveled at her perfect English. She married an Australian surfer from Melbourne. Together they started a sporting goods business, trading heavily on her former Olympic fame. The surfer was long gone, but the business grew. Twenty retail outlets dotted cities across Australia and New Zealand.

“Are all these people successful, like you?”

“Oh no,” she chuckled. “Most of them come from money, inheritance and the like, especially the younger ones.” She pointed to a twenty something couple at the next table. “No fault of theirs and no harm, either, but don't be intimidated. There are a few prominent painters and one sculptor that I know of. You're the first singer I've met at these things.” Jimmy could tell she was digging for more. He let it go, leaning toward Les to get her attention.

“Interesting group of people,” he whispered.

“I have to open the auction,” she replied, ignoring his comment. “I'm so scared.”

He squeezed her hand. It was still cold. “I'd like to make a contribution.” Les pushed her chair back, preparing to stand. She gave him a curious look. “I'll sing a few songs if you think someone will pony up some money.”

“You don't have to…”

“You decide. I'm willing.” His reason was ulterior. He wanted to plant an idea in her head, something to think about other than her nerves.

Her opening remarks came haltingly. She explained Sister Marie Bonaventuri's absence and gave an update on her condition. Then she opened the auction, stumbling at first, clearly uncomfortable. Jimmy felt her embarrassment, not because he had ever been in her place, but because he realized the difficulty of her mission. For some, the spotlight is easy. So many in his line of work craved the attention. For others, including him before he met Kevin Royce, it was much harder. Les didn't have someone like Kevin ready and able to give her confidence. She had been thrust into her role without prior warning, without time to prepare.

For the orphanage the stakes were high. The people who came out that night did not do so for altruistic reasons. These were the city's elite, there to be seen and admired by others not so successful or fortunate. The next day's society pages would be filled with their pictures, as they so desperately desired. Sister Marie, with her all-consuming drive to keep Saint Malachy's financially sound and with her own steely ego, yes, Jimmy had concluded, the good sister had a big ego, easily fit with the people in the room. She was one of them, successful in her own way and eager to be acknowledged as such. Les had little ego and no desire to own the spotlight. Her only wish was to fill Sister Marie's giant shoes until the nun regained her health and could reassume the helm at Saint Malachy's. Les was twenty-nine years old, certainly skilled enough to keep the orphanage running smoothly from behind the scenes. Yet, she was not in league with those who now watched her from the tables. She was an unknown American transplant with no cachet. Why should they open their wallets for her?

As each item went up for bid the dollars grew less. Many in the room went silent while others turned away, preferring to talk among themselves, ignoring the struggles of the woman at the podium. After thirty minutes things were getting out of hand. Jimmy wanted to rush to her side and shout through the microphone, but all he could do was watch as Les fought to regain the attention of the self-absorbed sophisticates. After an item that should have received numerous bids went unsold, it seemed that a rout of silence was on. Then, as the inattentive murmurings throughout the hall grew into a cacophony of disinterested conversations, something came over Les. Jimmy could see it as her face blushed and a determined irritation took hold of her voice.

“It is clear that you fine people of Melbourne have forgotten why your presence tonight is so important.” She waited impatiently for the rudest among them to stop talking and return their attention to the podium. “Perhaps you need Sister Marie Bonaventuri to remind each of you that there are people less fortunate than you, people who struggle mightily due to sickness, lack of opportunity, and neglect. It is disappointing that she cannot be here to make the case for your generosity. She is among those less fortunate, fighting for her life in a hospital only a few kilometers away. Like her, I love this institution. I love each one of our boys, these stalwart young souls who have been dealt life's severest blow, a destiny that must be pursued without the patient, loving guidance
that a family can provide. Saint Malachy's must be their family and you must be their protectors. You may regard me as an inadequate stand-in for that fine woman. I doubt that anyone can fill her shoes. That is precisely why I must insist that you honor her tonight. Give of your hearts so that she may rest easily and soon return to her children at Saint Malachy's. It is the least that you can do for a woman who has dedicated her life to others.”

Prattle broke from the back of the room. Fanny Holmquist slowly rose from her chair and waited for it to end. She tapped Jimmy on the shoulder before she spoke.

“I know each of you,” she said, turning to the room. “We all miss Sister Marie. We come each year and spend our money because of her, for her boys. I have also come to know that Leslie, who stands in her place, is every inch the measure of that great woman. I have learned that she is single-handedly keeping Saint Malachy's functioning. She, for all her youth, is maintaining the standard for which our orphanage is held in such high regard. Yes, our orphanage, yours and mine. I have visited Sister Marie many times in the weeks since she became ill. She cannot speak, but even before her incapacitation she told me that her beloved boys could not survive without the young woman you so rudely ignore tonight. And, now, thrown into a role she did not seek and facing the kind of dismissal that only wealthy, egocentric people like us can so boorishly convey, she is saying enough. Pay attention people! Pay attention before she is driven by anger and frustration to embarrass us all. Leslie asks us to open our hearts. I demand that we open our checkbooks.” She turned to Les and winked. Then she put her hand under Jimmy's elbow tugging him to stand.

“While many of you may not know the lovely woman at the podium, you may recognize the man who is her escort this evening. He is Jim Buckman of
Back and Blue
fame.” Polite applause rose up, followed by a few shouts, signaling recognition. “He flew all the way from New York City, ten thousand miles ladies and gentlemen, just to be with us tonight.” She winked again at a horrified Les. “He did this not for Sister Marie, but for the woman who struggles for our attention at the front of this room. Next month he will be sitting in another place back in America, not unlike this one. Only then it will be on the telly and beamed around the world. He will be waiting to learn if he has won music's highest honor, a Grammy Award. Obviously, he is very busy, but not so busy that he could not find the time to be here tonight. Not so busy that he could ignore Leslie and the boys of Saint Malachy's.” She turned to Jimmy. “Will you sing for us?”

Jimmy looked at Les then at the hundreds in the room, all staring back at him. “It's up to Les,” he stammered.

Fanny looked up at the podium. “If he will sing
Peg
, I am prepared to donate twenty thousand dollars to Saint Malachy's.”

“I was saving him for last,” Les lied. “We have many other items to auction off first, including these recent ones that received so little interest.” She waved confidently at the last few items that received no bids.

“Let's see them again!” A man shouted from one of the tables.

Jimmy closed the evening with four songs from
Back and Blue
. The bidding topped out at fifty thousand dollars. The largest single donation Saint Malachy's Annual Auction had ever garnered.
Peg
received a standing ovation. Travis laughed when it was over.

“Like old times, mate.” They exchanged contact information.

The next day's society pages were filled with pictures, many featuring Jimmy arrayed with the biggest names on Melbourne's social circuit. Leslie was also pictured, a large photo of her at the podium looking poised and lovely, accompanied by a lengthy story describing the successful event.

Jimmy's Sunday morning flight was early. He and Les were exhausted after staying up through the night making plans for her return to New York for The Grammy Awards. Despite their impending separation, each was filled with elation. Jimmy slept most of the way back to America, his mind clear and his heart bursting with romantic love for the first time in his life. Les returned to her office at Saint Malachy's, brimming with newfound confidence and determined to do whatever it took to make their long-distance relationship work.

“You got a message from a real estate lady. I think somebody wants to buy the house.” George was at the door when Jimmy arrived. They embraced then George carried Jimmy's suitcase inside. He was matter-of-fact, but Jimmy could tell he had more to say. George brewed some coffee and they took seats at the table in the kitchen.

“Okay, tell me what happened in Germany,” Jimmy insisted.

George smiled sheepishly. “She's still as pretty as the day we met. We picked up right where we left off. I'm goin' back for good as soon as I can sell the Chevy and make arrangements with my finances.”

“I want details.”

“She never met no one else. She went back to school and became a doctor. Then she practiced in Mannheim for all those years whilst I was workin' at Kendall.”

“What did she say to you?”

“She told me she figured I hated her since she just up and left. ‘Course, I thought the same on my end since I didn't want to take her home from Florida. It was a misunderstandin' with a bad dose a pride.”

“Did she get your letters?”

“Yep. Showed me every one tied in pink ribbon. Said she shoulda answered, cried, too.”

“So you'll live in Germany?”

“Long as she'll have me. Forever, as far as I'm concerned.”

“I'm happy for you.”

They caught up on everything that happened. George was delighted to learn about Jimmy's success although he knew nothing about the music business. After a few hours he drove his Impala into Liston and parked it in Hinckley's lot with a large ‘for sale' sign. Jimmy followed in the Saab. They had a quick dinner, soon followed by delayed jet lag that sent Jimmy to bed for the night.

George's months of work paid off. The real estate agent came by in the morning with an offer.

“Fastest sale I've ever made,” she said, enthusiastically. “That is, if you take the offer. It's a straight cash deal. Not many of those around, either. This place is pristine. The buyer is anxious to move fast.”

Jimmy looked at the amount, only a few thousand less than the asking price. He signed the offer sheet. The realtor beamed with pleasure as she exited the front door.

“I'm sure we can close in a few days. I suggest you make arrangements for the furniture and other things. They want to move in right away.”

George immediately got on the phone and found takers for nearly everything. Most were used furniture shops and organizations for the needy in Liston. Only a few items had to be discarded. He set about collecting them for a trip to the town dump.

An offer for the Impala came by phone the next morning. It wasn't what George expected, but he took it anyway. The car didn't mean that much to him anymore. Jimmy drove him back to Liston to close the deal. After they removed the plates they drove around the city, finally arriving at the soup kitchen. They went inside for one last look. Some of the volunteers recognized Jimmy and came over to say hello. They grabbed trays and went through the line, then found an empty table to eat.

“So, you got yourself a girl.” George said, more of a question than a statement.”

“Yes.”

“Australia's a long ways away, worse than Germany.”

“We'll make it work. She's coming back for the Grammy Awards.”

“Still off the sauce?”

“Doing fine.”

“Good. You got a real pickle to deal with.” Jimmy gave him a confused look. “Don't go doin' what I done. If she's the one you gotta be real honest with yourself.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“I ain't sayin' it'll be this way, but now that you're a big star you'll be gettin' tugged in a lotta directions. It ain't gonna be easy for you and it ain't gonna be easy for her. Sooner or later one of you is gonna be forced into a decision.”

The closing happened five days later. George stayed at the house while Jimmy went to the bank to sign the papers. By late afternoon, the last pieces of furniture were picked up. Jimmy returned to find George sweeping the floors of the empty rooms.

“Electricity's been turned off. Telephone people say the phone gets disconnected tomorrow. Rooms are all empty and clean. I think we're done here.” Jimmy nodded, approvingly.

George's flight to Germany was Thursday morning. Jimmy booked two rooms at the airport hotel for the night before. They ate dinner at Faneuil Hall Marketplace. Much of the conversation returned to George's years at Kendall Academy. He rehashed old stories from the past. Jimmy let him talk while he thought about Les. The next morning they said good-bye at the gate. George hugged Jimmy's bigger frame with uncommon strength for a man his size and age. When they released there were tears in the older man's eyes.

“You gonna be okay?”

“I'll be fine, George.”

“We gotta keep in touch.”

“I've got your number, you have mine.”

“Stay off the sauce, forget the past and be a friend to everyone you meet.”

“I will.”

“All right, then.” George wiped his eyes and stooped to pick up his carry-on. “She'll be waitin' at the other end. I'm doin' the right thing.”