What the Librarian Did (15 page)

“That’s because I’ve drunk too much champagne,” Katherine said, laughing. But when she turned to the man by her side, Rachel saw the real reason for her sparkle. “Matthew, this is Devin’s sweetheart, Rachel.”

Sweetheart
. The old-fashioned poignancy of the term struck Rachel like a blow, but she kept the smile on her face. “Not sweetheart,” she corrected, shaking Matthew’s hand. “Friend.”

H
EARING THE AMENDMENT
as he extricated himself from the crowd and joined them, Devin scowled. His nerves were strung tight since Zander’s arrival, and he really needed an ally tonight, but Rachel persisted in keeping him at arm’s length. Okay, he’d snapped at her earlier, but he’d apologized and meant it.

Frankly, if anyone needed to cut anybody some slack here, it was the librarian. He’d laid his feelings on the line this afternoon, a difficult thing to do, and she wanted to think about it. Any other woman…He stopped himself. But wasn’t that the point? Rachel wasn’t any other woman.

Still, sooner or later she needed to meet him halfway, and tonight—especially after what Dimity had just told him—would be a good start. Particularly when Devin was doing his best to protect Rachel and Mark from the media. If he ended up suing Zander, everybody close to them would be embroiled in a media circus.

He’d hedged this afternoon when Zander had asked him to rejoin the band, partly out of shock, mostly because he wouldn’t have a showdown in front of their mother. Did Zander honestly think he could placate Devin by waving Rage in front of him? It was a goddamn insult.

Devin looked at the grizzled man with his arm wrapped
possessively around Katherine, and found a target for his anger. “So you must be Matthew Bennett, the guy who’s banging my mother?”

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Katherine’s face fell and both Rachel and Matthew looked disgusted. Devin wanted to hit something, preferably Zander. As he opened his mouth to apologize, Matthew said quietly, “I think your mother deserves more respect than that.”

Devin didn’t need to be told how to treat his mother. “Yeah, well, when I want advice from a five-minute fling I’ll let you know.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rachel flinch, but then Matthew murmured to Katherine, “You haven’t told him,” and a tingle ran down Devin’s spine.

“Told me what?”

“Matthew asked me to marry him today.” With apologetic defiance Katherine put her arm around her lover’s middle-age spread. “I said yes.”

Devin nailed the older man with a hard look. “She hasn’t got any money of her own, you know. And everything I’ve bought for her is in a trust.”

Matthew held his gaze. “Not even the boorish behavior of her younger son is enough to put me off. I love your mother.”

“How touching. Mom, I’ll set you up with a prenup lawyer, first thing Monday.”

“Devin, please,” Rachel said in a low voice. “This isn’t L.A.”

All his frustration boiled over. “It’s amazing how easy it is for you to care about everyone’s feeling but mine.”

“You’re the one who shuts me out when it’s convenient,” she snapped.

“We’ll talk about this in private.” He couldn’t discuss his dilemma with Zander in front of his mother.

“Oh, that’s right, public and private are kept separate.” As Devin tried to work out what that crack meant, Rachel turned her back on him and lifted her glass of orange juice in a toast. “Congratulations to you both. Katherine, I’m sure what Devin is
trying
to say is that he only wants your happiness.” With a last glare at him, she stalked off, her dress a swirl of moving color around her legs.

Devin saw his mother looking at him anxiously. “Of course I want you to be happy,” he growled. “But I also want to protect you from gold diggers.” He shot the man a cursory glance. “No offense, Matthew.”

“This works both ways, you know.” Matthew’s authoritative tone dragged Devin’s gaze back to him. “I’m a retired cop and your reputation hardly enhances my good name.” With a glint in his eyes, the older man added politely, “No offense, Devin.”

He started to like this guy. “That makes for some interesting family dynamics, I grant you.” Devin held out his hand. “Maybe we should get acquainted before we jump to conclusions.”

The lines on his mother’s face deepened as she smiled.

“Sure.” Matthew returned the handshake. “I can see why you’d suspect everyone’s motives,” he conceded. He gestured to Zander’s entourage. “It’s obvious that hangers-on come with the lifestyle.”

“If that’s a polite way of saying who the hell are all these people…I don’t know. Sorry, Mom.”

“I’m enjoying it,” she said loyally. “Now go make up with Rachel.”

Across the crowd, Zander beckoned. Devin ignored him.
Mom was right. Right now, he had a more important priority. His gaze gravitated to Rachel, who was standing near the hors d’oeuvre table with Mark. Between mouthfuls, the kid was gesticulating with a passion that suggested they were talking about music. At least those two had bonded, so one good thing had come out of this weekend. Devin wished he’d told Rachel about Zander earlier.

He realized abruptly that he suffered when he was out of favor with her; the librarian’s opinion had become that important. With every other woman, it had always been easy to walk away. But if Rachel wouldn’t—couldn’t—love him back, he was in deep trouble.

He was heading over to join them when the background music stopped. The vacuous Dimity clapped her hands. “Zander Freedman would like to say something.” Oh, hell,
now
what? Frustrated, Devin turned.

His brother leaped onto the half wall that ran around the courtyard and separated the raised beds of canna lilies and native ferns from the paved courtyard and pool. It was fully dark now and the flaming torches around the garden flickered shadows over his face, making him look every one of his thirty-eight years. “Welcome, everyone. It’s great to be hosting Mom’s birthday and wonderful to be visiting the country I consider my spiritual home.”

A smatter of applause muffled Devin’s snort. His brother used that line or something like it in every city and country they ever toured.

You’re the rockingest city in the U.S. of A., Pittsburgh!

I’ve always felt a kinship with the Irish!

Tokyo is my favorite place in the world!

And people bought it. Maybe it was the break in the husky voice, the soulful look in those deep-set eyes, the
hand over his heart. Scanning the crowd, Devin saw they were buying it now…. Except Rachel, who stood with her arms folded, frowning slightly.
That’s my girl
.

Quietly, Devin resumed weaving through the crowd toward her.

“So, Mom, come up here,” Zander called. “Your sons want to sing to you.”

Devin stopped dead as the crowd erupted into ecstatic applause.

“And who knows—” Zander winked at the partygoers “—maybe you’ll be seeing us performing together more often in future.”

I’ll kill him
.

The Everly Brothers tribute band bowed out, leaving their instruments free. Dimity opened the gate to the driveway and the press started shoving to the front with cameras. Maximum pathos, maximum publicity and—with a sinking heart Devin saw his mother’s delight—impossible for him to refuse.

Accepting the inevitable, he made his way to Zander, smiling and waving. “You manipulative son of a bitch,” he muttered when he got there.

Zander held out a Washburn electric-acoustic guitar. “It’s called marketing, bro.” Dammit, Devin should have guessed it was a setup from the instruments, too high-spec for a tribute band. Accepting the guitar, he lovingly imagined bringing it down on his brother’s thick skull. Zander’s triumph turned to dismay as he read his intent. For a long moment Devin let him sweat, then he put the strap over his shoulder and bowed in Katherine’s direction. “Only for you, Mom.” As one professional to another he said to Zander, “How do you want to do this?”

His brother’s face sagged with relief. “‘Love Me Tender’ segues into ‘Happy Birthday’ after the second chorus. I’m thinking the Marilyn Monroe version, but replace the sex with gutsy blues.”

Devin nodded. Musically, they’d always been in perfect harmony.

Zander raised his voice. “We’ll start with a hit from the decade of your birth, Mom. Something from the King.” He nodded his cue; Devin struck the first note. Held it.

Beside Rachel, Mark twitched with barely suppressed excitement. “We’re gonna remember this our whole lives.”

She didn’t respond. Another note joined the first, resonating through the hot night. She closed her eyes. As yet, the melody sounded nothing like “Love Me Tender” except in the mood it evoked—slightly melancholic, heartfelt, deeply emotional. After first meeting Devin, she’d listened to one of Rage’s later albums, but was immediately alienated by the hard rock style. Now with this simple solo she understood. Devin didn’t play the guitar, he prayed with it.

The tune changed and became familiar. Rachel opened her eyes. Zander began to sing, his deep, powerful voice lifting and falling in a duet with the guitar. Elvis’s ballad drew to a close, and seamlessly, Devin changed instruments to a bass, seamlessly transitioned into “Happy Birthday.” Together, the brothers sang it like a spiritual, made the old familiar tune both new and extraordinarily moving. Rachel saw her own awe reflected in other people’s faces.

Her disappointment over Devin rejoining the band suddenly felt petty and trivial. Who was she to hold him back? She heard the answer in her father’s voice.
Nobody
.

The notes faded, the audience stirred. Then the applause
started, rapturous. Wiping her eyes, Katherine stood and embraced her sons. As media and well-wishers swamped them, Devin glanced up, obviously searching for her. Rachel stepped deeper into the shadows. They were done.

A
T TEN O’CLOCK
, when Mark found himself alone with Zander Freedman, he officially upgraded an amazing evening to the best night of his entire life.

It happened by accident. He’d been on his way back from the bathroom when he’d caught the glow of a cigarette, then spotted a shadowy figure alone on a terrace. “Hey, kid,” Zander called in his distinctive voice, “Do me a favor and bring me another bottle of Scotch.”

Mark didn’t need to be asked twice. “Sure.” Within a minute, he was back with a bottle. Propped against the glass-and-chrome railing, Zander held out his crystal tumbler and, as he started pouring, Mark registered two things simultaneously. Zander was drunk and the cigarette wasn’t tobacco.

“Whoa, careful there, you’re spilling it. You know how much this stuff costs?”

Embarrassed, Mark shook his head. At least the half-moon wasn’t bright enough to reveal his blush. Somewhere close, the sea hissed against the shoreline.

“Me, neither.” Zander’s laugh turned into a cough. “Jeez, this local weed is strong.” Blowing a smoke ring, he studied Mark through the fragrant cloud. “You’re the kid staying at Dev’s, aren’t you? What’s the deal again?”

Mark tried to answer without inhaling. “We’re classmates.”

Zander laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. “Yeah,” he gasped, “that still cracks me up…. Hold this for a sec, will you?” Handing over the joint, he wiped his eyes on the tail of his black shirt, then took it back. “I thought the novelty would have worn off by now and he’d be back where he belongs.”

In his excitement, Mark forgot his shyness. “I
knew
that was why you’re here!”

“Right on the money,” said Zander. “You want some of this?” He held out the joint. Mark wavered, delighted to be asked and reluctant to offend. Having a cop as a dad gave him a healthy respect for consequences. As he hesitated, Zander peered at him through bleary eyes. “Oh, no, you’re a kid. Forget I said that.” He took a long drag, held it in his lungs. “So you and Dev are friends, huh?”

“I like to think so,” Mark said awkwardly. “I play bass and acoustic, too, and Devin’s kinda my mentor.”

“Yeah?” Exhaling, Zander looked at him with real interest. “You must be good then. Dev’s got a great track record of picking talent. In fact, the guy I replaced him with was once his protégé. I’d hoped it would make my little brother jealous but…” Frowning, he tapped the ash off the end of his joint.

“So…you did ask him back?” Mark ventured timidly.

Zander slugged some Scotch before answering. “Didn’t I say that? But on my terms. Devin seems to have forgotten who runs the show. No one has loyalty anymore, kid.” He held out his tumbler for a refill. “Exactly how old are you, anyway? You look about twelve.”

Mark tried not to look insulted as he refilled Zander’s glass. “Seventeen.”

“Older than Dev when we started.” Zander stared into his drink, silent for a moment. “I used to have to protect him, you know. He’s forgotten that.”

“No, I haven’t.” Devin climbed the two steps that separated the paved terrace from the garden. How long had he been there? “Which is why it hurts so much that you’ve been screwing me over. And you shouldn’t be smoking pot in front of a teenager.”

“It’s fine. I mean, he didn’t offer me any,” Mark lied. No, that sounded as if Zander was a tightwad. “Not like I’d ever accept.” He turned back to Zander. “I’m not trying to sound judgmental or anything,” he finished miserably.

The older man laughed. “I like you, kid. You ever need a start in the music business, you come to me. I’ll find something for you. Now scram while I talk sense into my little brother.”

Mark left, grinning from ear to ear.

God
, thought Devin tiredly,
what I’d give for that naïveté again, that faith
. He frowned at his brother. “You’re damn lucky Matthew and Mom have left. The guy’s an ex-cop.”

“I might be reckless, but I’m not stupid.” Zander gestured after Mark. “You were like that kid, wet behind the ears…trying to be cool but so not. Jeez, I must’ve been crazy to let you into the band.”

“You were only twenty yourself,” said Devin, responding to the ache of nostalgia in his brother’s voice. “No more equipped to deal with what happened to us than I was.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Zander grinned with his old bravado. “I was born to be famous. Yeah. It’s all I ever wanted. And I knew how to brand before the cowboys.” Flinging back his head, he drained the liquor, then hurled the tumbler into the dark, where they heard it shatter
against the rock wall. “Shame your alcoholism screwed everything up for us.”

“Drunk, stoned and talking shit as usual.” Devin took the joint from Zander’s nerveless fingers and ground it out under the heel of his boot. “You might have started by taking care of me, but the reins changed hands a long time ago and you know it. The only way my drinking affected the band was when I couldn’t be your buffer anymore, smooth things over with all the people you alienated. That’s the real reason you want me back. That and to bribe your way out of a lawsuit.”

As usual his brother tuned out what he didn’t want to hear. “And to add insult to injury you’re turning on me with this legal crap.” Patting his breast pocket, Zander produced another joint and a lighter. He lit it and the tip glowed red as he sucked on it angrily. “I made you and I made the band. Without me you’d all be nothing.”

Devin leaned against the handrail and folded his arms. “Yeah, so what’s happened since we all left, Zander? If you’re so pivotal, then why are you having to work so damn hard to sell Rage with new band members? But you made me believe that for a lot of years, the bullshit you spun. Like we’d be laughed out of the studios if they thought a sixteen-year-old had cowritten our songs.”

Zander waved a hand. “It was the only way I could force the record label to sit up and take notice. And dammit, you
agreed
I should take sole writing credit to help us get ahead—”

“I was a kid, Zander.”

“
And
I’ve been slipping you royalties on those songs for years.”

“But as it turns out,” said Devin softly, “not anywhere near my share.”

Zander turned away, searching for his glass, obviously forgetting he’d smashed it. “You wanted to be famous, you wanted to go where only I could take you,” he said irritably. Giving up on the glass, he took another toke. “Maybe legally you have a case, but morally I deserve the lion’s share of royalties. That’s why you’ve never challenged me before.”

“I never challenged you before because all I cared about was the next drink. Even sober it took a long time to believe you’d screw me over. Dammit, I trusted you.” Anguish threaded his voice. “You were my big brother.”

“I’m still your big brother,” Zander insisted. “I needed the money, Dev, or I’d never have cut back your payments.” He proffered the joint. Devin accepted it to slow Zander down. “This comeback tour is costing me a frickin’ fortune.”

“Is that why you’re considering letting our two biggest hits be used as soundtracks for commercials?”

His brother glanced over sharply. “Dimity told me,” said Devin. “‘Sweet Stuff’ and ‘Summer Daze’ will flog luxury cars and—wait, let’s savor the irony—vodka.”

“They’re my songs to do what I like with.”

“No, Zander, they’re
our
songs. And I want my name on them as cowriter so I can stop you destroying all we have left—our legacy. I can’t trust you anymore as a custodian.”

“And if I refuse?”

Sorry, Mom
. “Then I’ll sue you and you’ll lose the deal, anyway. No one’s going to touch songs in dispute. And I’ll win, Zander, you know I will. I have original music scores, notes about suggested changes.”

“Dev,” his brother’s voice grew petulant, “if you do that then I can’t pay back what I owe you.”

Devin looked down at the joint in his hand. He wanted
to stub it out, but that would only prompt Zander to light up another. The habit of looking out for his older brother would probably never die. “I’ll let you off the back payments if you commit to visiting Mom once a year. She misses you…I miss you.”
I’ve missed you for ten years or more.

“Then why the hell are you trying to ruin me?”

“This isn’t about you…or me. Some of our songs are anthems—” he remembered what Rachel had called them “—the soundtrack of people’s lives. You want to be proud of something, then be proud of that. You can have Rage, you can promote the illusion that our band was all about you, but you’re not prostituting our musical legacy. I’ll fight for that, Zander. And I’ll fight for your sake as much as mine.”

Devin thought he saw a flash of comprehension, then his brother shook his head. “Still a frickin’ dreamer.” He took the joint from Devin. “Come back,” he said quietly, and Devin knew he understood all too well.

“The magic’s gone, Zand. We’re done.” He laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Move on.”

“I can’t.” Zander looked out to the black horizon, the joint forgotten in his hand. “You’re right, in the end it’s not about the money. What would my life be if I never heard the roar of a full stadium screaming for me? Never again felt that loved? Some addictions can’t be cured.”

This was the first evidence of self-awareness Devin had ever seen. Even Peter Pan, it seemed, eventually had to acknowledge a world beyond Neverland. He tightened his grip on his brother’s shoulder.

Zander straightened, moved away. “I’ll get my lawyers onto it, but it’s my idea. Hell, I need the publicity if this tour’s ever going to get off the ground.”

“And Mom?”

“You weren’t the only reason I came home.”

“Good.”

Zander handed him the joint. “Now if you excuse me, my public awaits.”

Devin could see him take on the rock star’s mantle as he walked away, the shoulders back, the swagger coming into his stride. The rocker grin, the lovable rogue…the self-destructive ego.

He became aware of moisture on his cheeks; it must have started drizzling. But lifting his face, he saw the sky was still clear, brilliant with stars.

A
T ELEVEN
, Rachel tracked Mark to the lounge, an ostentatious space characterized by strong angles, vaulted ceilings and tubular-chrome-framed black couches, artfully placed on a pale marble floor that echoed with conversations.

He was sitting on the curved steps leading to the private quarters, eavesdropping on a couple of musicians. To her intense relief, Devin was nowhere in sight. “The cab driver’s here,” she said. “Ready to leave?”

He stood. “Let me go get Dev.”

Rachel laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sure he and Zander have a lot to finalize…and they can’t really talk with us around, can they?” As the only person at the party who didn’t want to spend time with Devin, she’d found it easy to evade him. And on the couple of occasions he’d run her to ground, she’d avoided a tête-à-tête by staying close to Mark or Katherine and her fiancé.

She might have accepted that Devin was rejoining Rage—the only topic of conversation for most of the partygoers—but Rachel wanted to perfect her happy face before he told her. From the reaction of the photographer
on their arrival, that was going to take a lot more practice. And she couldn’t bear to give Devin even a hint of how much his impending departure hurt.

“Then I’ll just go tell him we’re leaving,” said Mark.

Rachel’s grip tightened on his sleeve. “It’s okay, I told Dimity to…” Her voice trailed off; she stepped closer and took another sniff, then recoiled. That smell. Acrid and unmistakable. “You’ve been smoking marijuana.”

“Shhh! Keep your voice down.” Mark pulled her up the stairs and into the corridor. “I haven’t.”

If anything, the smaller space only intensified the odor. The music faded away, the sound of conversation. Rachel’s gaze telescoped to Mark’s face, taking in each rapid blink, the guilty sideways shift of his eyes. “Who gave it to you?”

Instinctively, he glanced down the corridor toward the back of the house. “Rachel, you’re wrong—”

“Never mind.” Stalking down the hall, she wasn’t surprised to meet Zander coming the other way, a bottle of Scotch in his hand. “If it isn’t Ms. Robinson.”

He reeked of it. Rachel slammed him against the wall. “Did you give Mark a joint?”

Zander gaped at her in surprise, then flung back his head and laughed. And just like that, seventeen years of repressed maternal instincts were released in a tidal wave of anger. She lifted her fist.

Mark grabbed it. “Rachel, no.”

She’d spent the evening feeling sorry for herself when she should have been looking out for her son.

Zander read her expression and sobered. Augmenting Mark’s grip on her fist with his own, he held up his free hand to placate her. “I don’t offer drugs to children.” He gestured outside, beyond the French doors. “Ask Dev. He was with us.”

“No,” she said automatically. “He wouldn’t…” She turned in time to see Devin drop a joint on the stone patio and grind it under his boot. Inarticulate with shock, Rachel put a hand out to the wall to steady herself.

Why wouldn’t he?
Because falling in love with him had blinded her to his flaws.

Zander shook his head. “Let me guess…You think you’re the woman to change him?”

Rachel pushed off the wall and he stepped behind her son. “C’mon, Mark, the grown-ups need to fight.” Half staggering, he steered the teenager back toward the party.

Devin was looking at the sky. He glanced her way when Rachel opened the French doors. “This is a nice surprise.” He sounded happy again. Not hard to figure out why. The son of a bitch hadn’t just pulled the wool over her eyes; he’d trussed her up on a spit and slow-roasted her over a burning fire.

“You smoked dope with Mark.” Her voice trembled with fury.

“Whoa, there.” He held up a hand. “Zander smoked. Mark and I were bystanders.”

She gestured to the stubbed joint at his feet, still releasing a coil of telltale smoke. “So, you were just
holding
it for your brother?”

Devin’s mouth twitched. “Actually, yes.”

His amusement only added fuel to her anger. “You really think I’m that gullible.” Like she didn’t already know the answer to that.