AT 29 (83 page)

Alice sat next to Jimmy on the flight back to New York. She looked exhausted with the same rheumy eyes he'd noticed in Winfield and Benson. Her articles continued to bring attention to Blossom Presents, but gone were the insightful observations that marked her distinctive style. More and more she dwelled upon the fluff. Her words lacked the literary depth that her more knowledgeable readers came to expect. Still, she had a huge following, especially in the more sensational trades that craved glitter, splashy pictures of scantily clad young women and the occasional hint of controversy. She played to those desires with expert skill.

“Did McCabe tell you about the numbers?”

Jimmy was aware. “You mean the album sales?”

“Yours and Whitehurst's.”

“Yes, we talked.”
Back and Blue
had slipped out of the top ten, still selling, but eclipsed by
Yarra
, which was at eleven on the charts and climbing. “We're all making money.”

“It should be something in two weeks when you all come together in LA.” The first of the Blossom Presents outdoor extravaganzas, involving its entire line-up, was scheduled for June 15 in the L.A. Coliseum. “I'm doing a series on Whitehurst when we get to New York.”

“Good. He deserves the ink.”

“I hear he's something to see onstage.”

“You should write about that.”

“Don't worry I will. I also hear he's into his weed pretty good.” She studied Jimmy for a reaction. He didn't take the bait.

“You're spending too much time with Benson and Winfield. It shows.”

“There's a time for work and a time for play.” She opened her notebook.

“What kind of play?”

She smiled coyly. “Big girls don't tell.”

Jimmy changed the subject. “Are you going to catch up with your family?”

“Maybe after the wedding. You?”

“Depends on Les. If she comes I won't have time.”

“Peggy will be disappointed.”

“I sent her tickets for the September gig at Shea Stadium. Joe, too.”

“Harvest might interfere.”

“They already made arrangements.”

“Wow. That's something. Joe never did that before.”

“Look, Alice, I'm serious about how you look. You need to stay away from that crew. Winfield is getting sloppy, too.”

“You think I'm getting sloppy?”

“I think you're getting in over your head.”

***

Miles met with Ellis and Cindy in his office. He had come to rely on them since Jimmy was unavailable on the road. With the wedding a week away and the tours temporarily taking a break, it was time to take stock and make any adjustments his advisors might suggest. Ellis always had a host of ideas. Cindy announced that this would
be her last official business meeting until after her honeymoon. She had seven days to get ready. She would focus fulltime on the wedding arrangements from then on. She made sure Miles paid attention. It was his wedding, too.

“Whitehurst is the best in the business already.” Ellis was full of energy. “You should see him work the crowds. The violin, it's something to see! We need to get behind him in a big way, move him to bigger venues. He's going to be huge!”

“I'm working on it.” Cindy jumped in. “LA is all set for the big event, Chicago in July, Dallas, Washington DC and then Shea Stadium through September, Atlanta and Las Vegas in October. In between, we run the same separate routines for the three tours.”

“What's the news from Europe?” Ellis missed Weak Knees.

McCabe read from one of his reports. “Smaller crowds, but sellouts nonetheless. Record sales have picked up. Hit gold a month ago and nearing five fifty. I'll bring them back with everyone else at the end of the year. New albums and then we'll see about a world tour.”

Ellis sat back, satisfied. “Everything is working out. Anybody talk to Jimmy?”

“He's on a plane from Sacramento right now.”

***

He called Les from his apartment. Lately, their conversations had become harder. Jimmy made no bones about his disappointment that she had taken the reins of Saint Malachy's. It grated that he could think of no way to be together, neither short-term during his exhausting tour, nor long-term when he secretly hoped for her permanent return to America. For her part, Les was hesitant to commit. She no longer brought up Alice's articles although, apart from their telephone calls, the writer's words were her only links to what was happening in Jimmy's life. Her heart ached with indecision. Neither one knew how to solve the dilemma of their separation. Neither one had the resolve to put the other first.

Jimmy found himself increasingly isolated. His fame overtook his freedom. Millions knew his face. Everywhere he went was an exercise in subterfuge just so he could escape the paparazzi and the dozens of hangers on who camped out in anticipation of his every move. Winfield, when he wasn't off somewhere doing what some had come to believe was cocaine, loved the publicity. He encouraged it, sometimes setting Jimmy up by alerting photographers in advance. In time, Jimmy caught on. He stopped sharing information, showing up only when absolutely necessary at promotional events long scheduled in advance and required under his contract. It was far easier for the others. Ted, Melinda, Sonny and Eugene could move more freely and the jam sessions gradually waned as they spent more time exploring the cities where they toured. Occasionally, Sonny stayed close, sharing room service with his friend who feared straying from his suite. The grind took hold.

The Riland brothers had their own following, young girls, some not yet teenagers, who swelled the sidewalks in front of the hotels. They, too, began to weary of the nightly gantlets where their shirts were literally torn off their backs as they sprinted to the limos. In a small way, this proved useful. They spent more time with Jimmy who offered sage advice and a few good chords to improve their repertoire. He became a coach and a friend, chiding their bickering with a soft touch and guiding them back to the music.

“Did you get your plane tickets?” he asked, as soon as Les came on the line.

“Yes, but it's only for a few days. We have new boys coming in.”

This was typical of their recent conversations. She always had something pressing at the orphanage. Jimmy and his travails took a backseat. “How long?”

“I arrive Friday and leave Monday.”

Jimmy was crushed. “That gives us two days with a wedding taking up one of them. Why bother?”

“Because Cindy wants me and I want to be there for her.”

It might as well have been a knife through his heart. She had even less sympathy for his complaints about the road. She listened to his descriptions of the hordes that followed him with no comment. When he attempted to explain what it felt like to be limited to his hotel room day in and day out, she moved the conversation to something else. The months apart seemed to close her mind to his life. Like she didn't want to know.

“Seeing me is secondary?”

“Jimmy don't, you know I have to be here.”

“And, if we were married? What would the excuse be then?”

“Are you proposing? That's a funny way to do it.”

He knew he was being childish. He moved on. “Okay. I'll pick you up at JFK. We'll have to make the most of the time we have.”

“When the tour is over come to Melbourne. It's just not good for me to be away.”

“You'd think with all the success, I'd be happy. Without you I'm miserable.”

“It's hard for me, too.” She told the truth.

“It doesn't seem that way to me.”

“You're tired. We'll be together in a few days. Get some rest. Dream of me.”

“Dreams are all I have of you.”

“When I go to bed each night my last thought is of you. When I wake up your face is the first thing I see. I'm dreaming, too.”

Despite his exploding success, Nigel was also struggling. Like Jimmy, he found himself surrounded wherever he went. He was unprepared for the constant crush of bodies. In many ways, it was harder for him. His old life was carefree. His new life was a prison, permitting little space, except when he sealed himself away in his suite. To soothe his spirits he turned increasingly to magic green. The sweet smell of pot permeated everywhere he went, his suites, the limos and his clothes. Benson was his connection, but he knew Chase supplied the goods. The roadie had a network in the cities Nigel visited, or close enough that a delivery could be arranged, always by hand in a tightly wrapped brown paper package left at the front desk by an anonymous courier. Nigel was totally dependent on the cherished weed and the shadowy Chase who provided it.

***

Les came through customs, scanning the faces for Jimmy as she rolled her suitcase along the floor. To her consternation, he was nowhere to be seen. After several minutes she became alarmed. The flight had arrived on time. He should be there, somewhere. Finally, she spotted a group of men in black suits. Each one carried a hand printed sign with a name in big block letters. Her name was on one of them. She angled toward the middle-aged, heavy-set man holding the sign.

“Are you waiting for me?” she asked.

“Leslie, from Australia?”

“Yes.”

He took the handle of her suitcase. “Car's just outside. Follow me.”

Bewildered and slightly uncertain, she let the stranger lead her to the door. At the curb a limo waited, idling in the late spring sun. It wasn't a stretch, but rather a non-descript black town car. Except for the windshield, the windows were darkly tinted. There was no way to see inside. The driver went to the rear, quickly opened the trunk and placed her suitcase inside. Then he came around and took the handle of the rear door. Les hesitated as the door swung open. Then she saw Jimmy and everything was all right. He grabbed her hand and pulled her inside.

“Mobbed wherever I go,” he said, apologetically as she settled into his arms. “This was the only way.”

***

On the eve of his wedding Miles McCabe spent a restless evening in a Manhattan hotel, apart from his fiancé. Thankfully, the next day's arrangements were completed. He took some papers from his briefcase, settled into a chair by the window and proceeded to study the words. But, unlike most times when he could concentrate for hours, his mind drifted to thoughts of her and the big day ahead. The past week had been hellish in that frenzied way that preparation for all weddings presented. Cindy had many friends and not a few relatives. They came from different parts of the country, eager to participate in the festivities made all the more enticing by the famous and powerful people who would be there. She had little time for him as she scrambled between entertaining those who arrived ahead of time and putting the finishing touches on the impending the ceremony. Her dress cost a fortune. No matter, he thought, as he put his papers aside and stood to retrieve an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. He was proud to have won her heart. Young, beautiful and greatly admired by all who knew her, Miles understood he was a lucky man.

He threw some ice into a glass and poured a long shot. As he took a sip there was a knock on the door. Winfield had proposed a bachelor party several days earlier. Miles declined. He preferred to be alone, that is, if Cindy was intent on holding to the tradition of separation that kept them apart on this night. Who could it be? He had no interest in fighting Winfield off again. He peered through the peephole relieved to see Jimmy standing with a package under his arm. When he opened the door, his singer bounded into the room followed by Ellis and Nigel. All three were in a gregarious mood as they glad-handed their boss, slapping him on the back as they offered congratulations.

“What are you doing here?”

“Les is with Cindy,” Jimmy answered, smiling. “I'm alone, you're alone, so here I am.”

Ellis chuckled. “Not the way he planned it, but you'll have to do.”

Ellis was right. Jimmy felt abandoned by Les. They rode to his apartment from JFK where she showered and immediately went to Cindy's place for the evening. They barely kissed. He was left to fend for himself. Ellis and Nigel saved the day when they stopped by to pick him up on the way to McCabe's hotel.

“We have a wedding gift.” Ellis nodded to the package in Jimmy's hands.

“Not tomorrow?” Miles countered, eyeing the package.

“It's not that kind of gift.” Jimmy handed it over.

McCabe's interest was piqued. He took the package and began to unwrap it, looking from one to the other and finally settling on Nigel who was standing to the side.
“How are you?” he asked the Australian, whose album was making a bundle of money for Blossom Records.

“Good, mate.” Nigel smiled. “Open it.”

Miles turned his full attention to the foot square box. He slipped it open and extracted a heavy platter-like object. He held it up, a shiny replica of an LP in gold. Printed along the top in embossed lettering was his name Miles Michael McCabe. In the center read Blossom Records and the date of his wedding to Cindy the next day. All around the disk were the neatly ordered signatures of Blossom's artists. At the very bottom read the words ‘To A Gold-Plated Leader'.

He was not prepared for this gesture. He was realistic. He knew he operated with a heavy hand. Respect was something he expected, being liked was something he only wished for. He was touched and unsure of what to say.

“You know what you're doing, Miles,” Ellis said, seriously. “Blossom's hit the big-time because of you.”

McCabe looked up at the three. “I don't know what to say.”

They only stayed for fifteen minutes. Ellis begged off first, citing a date with his latest paramour. Jimmy and Nigel called for a cab and waited a while longer to dash through the lobby before being recognized. They went straight to Jimmy's apartment. Over sandwiches they reconnected after months apart on their separate circuits.