Coming Home (55 page)

“Call me when you get in.”

She nodded, suddenly unable to speak.  For the first time ever,
she was having difficulty saying good-bye to him.  She took his hand and
threaded fingers with his, and they gripped each other tightly.  They stood
there looking at each other, neither of them wanting to break the physical
contact. 

“Oh, hell,” he said, and yanked her to him and kissed her.

It was the element of surprise that brought her into his arms.  It
was something else that kept her there.  Excitement shot through her, spiraling
upward from a core of longing deep in the pit of her stomach, the same longing
she’d felt on a moonlit beach in Nassau.  He plunged his tongue inside her
mouth, hot and wet and silken smooth, and the world tumbled and rolled around
her in a mad search for equilibrium.  She gasped, lungs bursting from the need
to breathe, and then he placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly,
reluctantly, pushed her away.  “Go,” he said raggedly.  “You’ll miss your
plane.”

It took her a moment or two to come back, and then reality seeped
in. 
Airport.  Home.  DC-10
.  “Shit,” she said, possibly the first time
in her life that she had ever uttered the word.  She hesitated, one hand
absently toying with the collar of his shirt.

“Go on,” he said again.  “It’s a long walk to Boston.”

“Damn you,” she said.  “Damn you to hell!”  And she turned and
raced toward the door that was already swinging shut.  “Wait!” she gasped, and
the uniformed attendant pulled it open again.  She flashed her boarding pass
and took a quick backward glance.  Rob was standing there with his hands in his
pockets, his expression unreadable behind dark glasses.  “I’ll call,” she
shouted, and hustled down the corridor toward the waiting plane.

The flight to Boston was endless, the drive home monotonous and
nerve-wracking.  She had a killer headache by the time she pulled into her
driveway and parked the Mitsubishi in the shade of the elm tree that dominated
the front yard.  Inside the house, it was cool, with that silence peculiar to
empty houses.  Her mail was stacked neatly on the kitchen table next to a plastic
freezer bag of snapped beans and a half-dozen ripe tomatoes.  Beside them was a
note in Jesse’s precise handwriting. 
Gave some beans to Millie.  Had to use
the ripest tomatoes.  These should last a few more days.  Might want to check
on the cukes, they’re about ready
.  Brief, businesslike, and to the point. 
That was Jesse.  He was as dependable as the change of seasons, as steady as a
rock, civilized right to the marrow in his bones.  Half the women on the planet
would consider him a prize catch.  Only she seemed to prefer cave men.

She took aspirin for the headache and went upstairs to unpack. 
Her bedroom was hot and stuffy, and she threw open a window to let in some
air.  Hoping the headache would slow down to a dull roar, she  left her
suitcase on the floor and lay down on the bed.

Instead, the scene at the airport returned to haunt her, and to
her chagrin, she went hot all over.  Groaning, she covered her face with her
hands.  The man had no decency at all.  He’d never learned one iota of
civilized behavior.  He was a barbarian, and she had every intention of telling
him so the next time she talked to him.  How could he have kissed her like
that?  How could she have kissed him back? 

Because you liked it
, that little voice inside her said. 
Because you wanted it as
much as he did.

She knew what she needed, and the need for it was turning her
inside out.   But it was out of the question.  Most certainly out of the
question, for God’s sake, with Rob.  What she needed was a discreet, civilized
little affair.  A few quick tumbles between the sheets.  No commitments, no
expectations, no impossible-to-keep promises.  Plain, simple, recreational
sex.  Maybe she could post a notice on the bulletin board down at the
Wash-n-Dry. 
Hot-blooded widow seeks stud muffin for mutual pleasure.  For a
good time, call....
 

Or maybe she simply needed to acquaint herself with the concept of
cold showers.

She looked at the phone in distaste as she lay on her king-size
bed in her too stuffy, overly prissy bedroom.  How was she going to face him
after the little scene at the airport?  How was she going to talk in any sort
of civilized manner when all she really wanted to do was slug him?

Dread turning the inside of her mouth to cotton, Casey picked up
the phone and dialed his number.  It rang four times, each time making her
heart beat a little faster, and then, to her relief, his machine picked up. 
She released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.  “Hi,” she said. 
“It’s me.”  She took a breath.  “I’m on the ground, I’m exhausted, and I’m
going to take a nap.  Give me a call when—”

There was a click, and then he said, “Hi.”

She wet her lips.  “Hi,” she said.

Silence.  On the road in front of the house, a car went by, too
fast.  For the first time in fifteen years, she didn’t know what to say to him.

He cleared his throat.  “How was your flight?” he said.

“Terrible.”

Again, silence.  “Did they feed you?” he said at last.

“Yes.  I think it might have been chicken, but it was hard to
tell.”

“I’ve been thinking,” he said.

“Marvelous.  Should I applaud, or just run up the flag?”

“Maybe you’re right,” he continued, ignoring her.  “Maybe I should
move east.”

She ignored the adrenaline that shot through her veins.  “Suit
yourself,” she said.

“Maybe Boston,” he said.  “We could spend weekends together.  We
could rent one of those little sailboats and go out on the Charles.”

Inexplicably, her eyes watered, and a single tear spilled and
rolled down her cheek.  “I told you already,” she said.  “We’d end up drowning
ourselves.”

“Are you crying?” he said.

“No,” she lied.

“Fiore,” he said, “you’re the lousiest liar I’ve ever known. 
What’s wrong?”

She drew in a ragged, shuddery breath.  Pulled a tissue from the
box on the dresser and dabbed at the corner of her eye.  “It’s nothing.  I’ll
be fine.”

He let out a huge sigh.  “Look,” he said, “we hit the road in two
weeks, and I’ll be in pretty heavy rehearsal until then.”  He paused.  “You
know how it goes.”

She knew.  “Yes,” she said, and swiped her nose with the tissue.

“Sure you won’t change your mind and come with me?”

That she found the offer tempting told her just how far around the
bend she’d gone.  She squared her shoulders.  “Bad idea,” she said.  “But
thanks for the offer, just the same.”

“Yeah,” he said.  “I guess you’re right.  Look, I gotta run.”

They were both silent, but neither of them hung up.  “Flash?” she
said.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Call me from the road.  Anytime.  I’ll be here.”

Life on the road took its toll on everyone, and you did whatever
it took to get through the night.  In his years of touring, Rob had seen it
all:  the drinking, the drugging, the backstage whoring.  He’d never been much
into partying.  He drank a little, but then so did everyone.  In his younger
days, he’d smoked a joint or two, but he’d never touched hard drugs.  He’d seen
too many road musicians so strung out on bennies and ludes that they couldn’t
function without them.  Too many others so deep into the white powder that
they’d have sold their own grandmothers for a single snort.  Everybody had
something that kept them sane, but he was getting too old, too tired, for the
party scene.  It was his phone calls to Casey that helped him maintain his
tenuous hold on sanity.

He lived for precious stolen moments like this one, leaning against
a dirty cinder block wall with a telephone receiver pressed to his ear, while
around him, the crew broke down and packed up the equipment so they could move
on to the next stop.   As he waited for Casey to answer the phone, somebody
walked by with an open box of pizza, and he reached out and snagged a slice. 
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

She picked up the phone, and he swallowed the bite of pizza. 
“Hey, pudding,” he said.

“Hey,” she said groggily.  It was astonishing that she could pack
so much warmth into a single syllable.  Even half-asleep, she managed to sound
as though she’d been waiting all day for his call.

“I woke you,” he said.  “I’m sorry.”

“I can sleep anytime.”  She must have shifted position, because he
could hear the rustling of the bedclothes.  “I’d rather talk to you.”

It was difficult to find anything meaningful to say in five
minutes, once or twice a week.  Instead, they dwelt on mundane details of their
lives, concrete topics that were easy to talk about.  Her nephew’s new baby. 
The drummer he’d fired in Buffalo after the guy went on stage stoned one too
many times.  The proposed sewage treatment plant that had all of Jackson Falls
in an uproar.  The teenage groupie who’d somehow managed to sneak onto one of
the buses and hide in the bathroom, and hadn’t been discovered until they’d
driven nearly a hundred miles.  He’d made the girl call her parents, and then
he’d put her on a bus for home.  “At your own expense, of course,” Casey said
dryly.

“What was I supposed to do?  The kid was fourteen years old, and
she had six bucks to her name.”

“You’re too soft, MacKenzie.  People take advantage of softies
like you.”

“You know me,” he said.  “Always a sucker for a pretty face.”

“Oh?” she said coolly, primly.  “And was she pretty?”

“Very pretty.  Jealous, pudding?”

“Certainly not.”

A pair of roadies rolled a heavy amplifier past him, nearly
running over his toes.  He tucked himself in closer to the wall.  At the other
end of the hall, Jerry Nelson, his road manager, held up an arm and pointed to
the watch on his wrist.  Rob glared at him, then sighed.  “Sweetheart,” he
said, “I gotta go.  Jerry’s giving me the evil eye.  Did you get the tickets I
sent for Portland?”

“I got the tickets.  I’ll be there.”

“Next Friday,” he said, in case there could be any mistake about
the date.

“Next Friday,” she agreed.  “Listen, try to keep sane.”

“I’m trying.”  He paused, itching to say more, knowing he
couldn’t. 

“You’d better go,” she said, after a minute.  “You wouldn’t want
to screw up your itinerary.”

“Hell, no,” he agreed.  “Wouldn’t want the world to come to an
end.”

“You need an attitude adjustment, MacKenzie.  Get with the
program, for God’s sake.  You know the routine.”

“Yeah.  Money for nothing, and chicks for free.”

“Exactly.  Quit your sniveling, wipe your nose, and get your
carcass on that bus.”

In spite of his misery, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. 
“Thanks, Sarge,” he said.

“You’re welcome.  See you next Friday.”

And she hung up, leaving him holding a dead telephone receiver.

***

When Casey and Jess stepped from the hotel elevator, the din shook
them.  People cluttered the hallway, standing in clots and leaning against the
frames of open doors.  “Take a deep breath,” she warned him, “and just plough
through.”

From somewhere, in booming stereo, Jon Bon Jovi was singing about
being shot through the heart.  As the bass line thundered in a vibrating rhythm
around them, she and Jesse squeezed between bodies flying under the influence
of various substances, both legal and illicit.  She knew many of these people,
and those who still hovered somewhere in the vicinity of planet earth nodded or
raised bottles in greeting as she passed. The air was thick with cigarette
smoke and the stench of burning marijuana.  They passed a scantily-clad young
couple who were drunkenly groping each other with total disregard for their
audience.  Casey glanced back at Jess.  With his customary aplomb, he was
taking it all in stride.  “Class,” she said to him over the music.  “These
people have such class.”  And Jesse shook his head in good-natured disbelief.

It took them twenty minutes to locate Rob.  In the midst of the
mayhem, they found him sprawled across the foot of a king-size bed, nursing a
Heineken and staring glumly at the moving pictures on a silent television
screen.  “At last,” he said, “the cavalry!  I thought you guys would never get
here.”  He offered a hand to Jesse.  “Jess,” he said.  “Thanks for coming.”

“I didn’t know what to expect,” Jesse said.  “But I have to admit
I was impressed.  It was a great concert.”

“Coming from you,” Rob said, “I consider that a real compliment.”

They chatted for a few minutes before Rob said, “Listen, can I
talk to Casey in private for a minute?”

“Sure thing,” Jesse said.  “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Ever the diplomat, he discreetly shut the door behind him, leaving
her to face Rob alone.  “Hey,” he said.