AT 29 (90 page)

He scratched the grass with his shoe. He needed a hit. Benson and Chase, what a mistake it was to let them latch on with Whitehurst. As bad as the cocaine was for him, it
was twice as bad for the Australian. He took to the stuff like a natural. Natural addict, that is. And, now he was doing heroin with Alice. Benson egged them on, the half-baked drummer and his connection hanging around at the parties after every show, making the stuff available to everyone, especially Nigel and Alice.

No one was on those two to pay. Not like Chase was harassing Winfield. And, the bikers were demanding one last big party. What did they expect him to do? He couldn't just snap his fingers and make something out of nothing. Get us a big house in Miami, they ordered. Big house! What? So they could trash the place like they did in Atlanta? Who's on the hook for that? Not them. The stupid groupies were all over the place naked, doing coke, cheering when the bikers started fighting and breaking furniture. Damn Benson, right in the middle of it all. Then when it was over, Winfield was left with the bill. He got the house though. Out on Marvel Island, isolated and away from the prying eyes of the cops, tough luck for the bikers. If they wanted to party, they'd have to leave their bikes on shore, take the launch over to the island like everyone else. It would be safer that way. And, a twenty thousand dollar deposit, Winfield's last pile of cash! The tour couldn't end soon enough. It was getting too expensive, too dangerous.

Alice was hurting. Too bad she got ganged by some of Chase's pals. She seemed to be physically okay, but now she had fear in her eyes. If Whitehurst ever finds out there'll be hell to pay. She clings to him like the groupie she is, the two of them doing the drugs and sleeping the days away before each show. Her articles are still good. That's been a real help to ticket sales, but she's wasted most of the time.

He looked up at the half constructed stage, two more days then the last show and the last party. Winfield thought about Australia. He was still on the fence about going. The coke was here in America. Maybe Chase could keep him supplied over there, but it was risky. Getting busted in the U.S. was one thing. Getting busted in another country was a whole new ballgame. Of course, there was no reason to think anyone would get caught. Just the same, it's risky.

***

Hillary took the call in the kitchen of her farmhouse.

“I'm breaking the rules, Hil,” Winston Smith said from his office in New York. “You can't breath a word of this to anyone, not even Alice.”

Hillary sucked air into her lungs. Winston was one of her dearest friends, a frustrated writer, but a powerful publisher who sat on the board of review for the Pulitzer Prize.

“It's her's?”

“I canvassed everybody off the record, unanimous.”

***

Jimmy flew into Miami alone in first class. Everyone recognized him, but the flight attendants did their best to act like he was just another passenger, albeit one who deserved extra attention. It was a short flight, but the galley was open for snacks and drinks, even at mid-morning. He had his first scotch before the wheels left the ground. As he settled into a state of relaxation, he ordered another from the young flight attendant who hovered close-by. She had it in his hands quickly, calling him ‘Mr. Buckman'.

Two days before the last show. Jimmy allowed himself to luxuriate in the thought. Soon the long tour would be over. He'd had enough. His mind traveled back to Perth and his first step toward this moment. It seemed like another time, so far away that it was no
longer real. Then he was freer. People came to hear him sing, but no one stalked his every move. He could run, eat in restaurants, and even walk the streets with no concerns. Now, he needed the help of others to get around. Miami would be more of the same. The plane would come to rest at the terminal. The other passengers would exit the doors, but he would have to wait until the fuselage was empty before leaving his seat. Airline security would be there to meet him. Then they would escort him to a side door and down some stairs to the tarmac and a waiting limousine. Nigel and Kate got the same treatment, too well known, too targeted by the prying lenses of the paparazzi for the airport authorities to risk an all-out scramble through the terminal. Soon it would be over.

Les entered his thoughts. The memory of her smile lightened his mood as he ticked off the number of days remaining before they would be together. After the Melbourne gig, there would be Christmas together and as much time as they needed to solidify their relationship once and forever. The ring was on order. It would arrive sometime before Christmas care of his Melbourne hotel, a twenty-five thousand dollar present to both of them. Of course, she would say yes. Miles McCabe and his plans would have to wait. If she wanted to stay in Australia, he would stay with her. George had it right. Jimmy would not make his mistake. The decision was made. Les came first.

***

Miles waited for Cindy, checking his suitcase one more time as she dressed. The flight to Miami left in two hours. A lot had transpired in the weeks since the last time he'd seen his stable perform in Shea Stadium. Winfield was a mixed bag. He'd come through on his promise of the tour's success, but on a personal level his partner was not to be trusted. Extricating him from the Blossom Presents production company would be a costly hassle. It had to be done. The video was only one of many transgressions. Luckily, Ellis got them off the shelves without too much damage. Felix helped with his Interpol contacts in Europe. The facts were the facts. Winfield clearly broke their contract. Maybe he'd go away with a quick settlement. He had to know he'd lose in court. The girls and the parties were another thing, and the drugs. What on earth possessed the fool to think he could hide it all? Brilliant? Yes, Miles concluded the man was brilliant, but there were flaws in his character. Under no circumstances would he let those flaws jeopardize Blossom. Mike Winfield had to go. The telephone rang. Felix was on the other end.

“Are you going to Miami?” he asked, hinting at something.

“Yes.”

“Mind if I come along?”

“No. Why?”

“That biker bunch I told you about, the Vultures.”

McCabe remembered, something about their connection to one of the men on the road crew. “What about them?”

“A dozen of their crew left New York yesterday on their bikes. They're headed for Miami.”

“So?”

“My son says the Bronx DA is building a case against them. They've been under surveillance for six months, drugs. They have a tape of one of them saying something about a party that your man Winfield is planning after the Orange Bowl show. It's probably nothing to worry about, but since the DA is looking I think it would be a good idea for me to be around.”

“Be my guest.”

***

The arrangements were made. Les gave careful instructions to the staff about Nicky. He was to be monitored closely. Yes, he was making progress, but he was far from ready to be left unsupervised, except when he was safe in his room sleeping. He could easily wander away from the orphanage. He spoke, he smiled, he ate better and he was making the first tentative steps toward mingling with boys his age, but he still needed close attention. She typed Nicky's daily schedule, ran several copies then went through the building making sure to affix a copy to each of the bulletin boards. At the bottom she included her Miami reach number in big bold print.

Sister Marie was back in rehab, working on a set of exercises that were expected to be her last. Her recovery was all but complete. She needed a cane, always would, but her mobility was near normal. Her speech was also much improved, slower and more deliberate, but absent the slurring that had frustrated her so deeply. Les needed her mentor less. That didn't mean the two women had grown apart. The opposite was true. They spent more time together than ever, but their conversations had become more equal. The nun confided in Les, offering inner thoughts she'd hidden in the past. The stroke softened the woman. She needed a confidant with whom she could express the emotions that came from no longer feeling invincible. She'd faced death. It expanded her thinking.

Les brimmed with confidence. Being treated as an equal by the Mother Superior was only part of what made her think she could overcome any obstacle. Nicky played the major role. He was the first child for whom she'd taken personal charge. He was thrust upon her without warning, handed over by her mentor who had always been the one to accept the most challenging cases. At first, it seemed impossible. Yet with patience and love the little boy had progressed. And, as he made strides, woman and child bonded. Les' heart was filled with happiness and love, the kind of love that had no bounds, the kind of love that told her she could do anything, face any challenge no matter how great, and right the path of another human being. Nicky loved her. He needed her. He now belonged to her and she was all too willing to let him into her heart to be loved completely like all mothers love their children. He cried when she told him she must leave. She held him tight, calming his shaking body and soothing his fears.

“I'll be back soon.”

The taxi was on its way. She turned her attention to her other love. Jimmy was the next challenge. She had a plan, at first just a fantasy born from Cindy's belief that Jimmy was drinking again. Maybe Cindy was wrong, but Les would know soon. Of course, it was inevitable. He was an alcoholic. The rigors of his profession with all of its temptations and all of its demands, made it hard for even the strongest to withstand. He needed help, her help to overcome his addiction. She knew she could do it.

He hinted at his intention. The recent telephone conversations had returned to their earlier intimacy. As the weeks drew closer to the time when they would see each other again, he'd become more like his old self. She, too, was filled with joyous anticipation. How would he do it? Her intuition told her he would ask. At the piano, their happiest moments, seated side by side as he played one of his songs for her? Maybe it would be over dinner in some quiet restaurant on the waterfront. Or, when they were alone in his room. Yes, Jimmy, yes, yes, yes! I will marry you!

First, he must defeat alcohol. Engaged, yes, but no marriage until she was sure he had done it. She would help him like she was helping Nicky. It didn't matter how long they would have to wait. Time, patience and love would see them through. Then they would be married. Together, they would adopt Nicky, take her child into their new home in Australia. Yes, it would be Australia. He also hinted at that, didn't he? He could still have his career. When he had to be away she might travel with him, Nicky, too, sometimes, at least. The rest of the time she would run the orphanage and the Buckman household. Everything would be lovely.

She carried her suitcase down the stairs to the waiting taxi. Jimmy didn't know she was coming. Just as well. This was the best way to find out if he was drinking again. Maybe it wasn't fair or even honest, but she had to know for sure. Then she would stick close to help him through the last performances in Australia, until he was free from distraction and they could concentrate on their future together.

***

Peggy didn't like the way Alice sounded on the phone. Her voice was low, raspy and tired, like she was having trouble breathing.

“You okay, sis?

“Just a cold.”

“Are you getting enough rest, taking anything for it?”

“The best I can. It'll all be over soon. Then I plan to sleep for a month.”

“Hillary loved your article on the LA performance. Your portrayal of Whitehurst was something special.”

“I sent it to her first, even before my editor. It means a lot to me that she liked it.”

“You've enjoyed traveling with Whitehurst?”

“He's a good guy. We get along.”

“How well?”

“C'mon, Peg, don't ask like that.”

Peggy was always direct with her little sister. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“What do you think?”

“Do you care for him?”

“No. Stop with the questions. We have fun together, that's all. He goes back to Australia. I go home.”

“When are you going to grow up?”

“To each his own. I don't want the farmer's life.”

“You really don't sound good at all. Are you sure you shouldn't see a doctor?”

***

The Riland Brothers Band opened at five p.m. The last vestiges of natural light faded quickly before the first set was finished. The temperature was in the low seventies, heading lower with the promise of a cool and clear autumn night in south Florida.

Les bit her lip nervously as she waited for the line to move so she could board the plane in Chicago. She had cut it too close. All that could go wrong did go wrong on the long journey from Melbourne to Miami. First, there was the two-hour maintenance delay on the ground at Tullamarine Airport in Melbourne, then the head winds over the Pacific that forced the plane to land for more fuel in Fiji. Five hours lost even before she landed in LA. Of course, she missed her connection. Another hour's delay before she could catch a flight to Chicago, just in time to board this flight for south Florida. She was
harried, exhausted and irritated. She knew she had no chance to make the concert. Cindy was supposed to meet her, but that was hours ago. They talked by phone from LA. The best option was for Les to take a cab to her hotel. Cindy would meet her there after the show. Then they'd set out to find Jimmy. Les was beginning to think this whole thing was a bad idea.

MacGregor took the stage at six-thirty. Miles watched from his seat in the luxury box atop the stadium. He was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the Riland Brothers' set. The months on the road had improved their play. The stadium responded with enthusiasm. No wonder sales of their album had taken off. The kids were crowd pleasers. MacGregor approached the microphone just as a few shouts trailed off in the night air. He, too, was better than the last time. The Canadian had a single in the top forty.