I'll Sing for my Dinner (8 page)

Jeri took Cecily over to Fort Collins and she found a violin in a pawnshop. It was only fair quality, but she said it was fine for her purposes. I had never heard her play violin before, and sat in awe listening as she played. I was considered good enough, perhaps, to apply to some orchestras before my injury. The difference between me as a third seat in a medium-level symphony and her, was the difference between Bob Dylan and Pavarotti.

Cursing myself for a fool, I crawled up in the attic and found my violin. When I gave it to her, she lit up like a lightning bug. But she kept the pawnshop instrument. She took it down to a music shop and had a pickup put in it. Then she tuned it to play bluegrass fiddle.

Shortly before Halloween, Jared brought the band’s agent, David Thomas, to the bar to hear Cicely. The band was doing well. Dave was booking them all over the Rockies and putting them in some large venues. They were out of town most weekends now, and I could only get them into the Roadhouse on Thursdays, if at all.

Her performances varied widely, not the quality of the performance, but what she played and sang. It was her first performance after she got the fiddle and she played it a good deal, dancing around the stage to her own music. The band that night had a mandolin player, and she borrowed his instrument for a few songs. The variety put her in a lively mood, and she was much more animated than usual.

The mandolin player came over to the bar for a beer, and then leaned back and watched her. Shaking his head, he said, “Have you ever felt totally inadequate? How in the hell am I ever going to play that instrument again, knowing that it can sound like that?”

She also sang a couple of songs I’d never heard before. When she came over to get a drink on her break, I asked, “Are you singing your own compositions?”

“Yeah. Do you like them?” Her smile brightened.

“I like them a lot. I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got a couple of hundred I’ve written over the years. Do you want to hear some more?”

She didn’t know the agent was there. He was sitting behind her, and I saw his ears perk up.

“Yes, do you think you could do a whole set of them to finish the night?”

Smiling, she said, “Anything for you,” and kissed me.

She sang nine songs over the next hour. Ballads and love songs, and a song that would make a good dance number. At the end, she motioned me up to the stage, and using me as her foil, sang a hilarious song, making fun of herself by pointing out all of her supposed faults and foibles. It went on for thirty verses and included every supposed female fault that had ever been cataloged. The chorus at the end of each stanza was, “But the joke’s on you, because you think I’m perfect. Oh, how wonderfully blind love is.” She punctuated the end of the song by kissing me.

The audience loved it, laughing and joining her to sing the chorus.

She sang one encore, then turned the stage over to the band. Skipping across the bar, she threw herself into my arms, kissed me, and sang, “Oh, how wonderfully blind love is.”

“Cicely, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine and Jared’s. This is Dave Thomas. He’s the agent who books Jared’s band.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and gave him a fake pout. “So, you’re the one who’s responsible for taking Jared away from us,” she said. “We hardly ever get to see him anymore.”

“Guilty as charged,” Dave said. “But he’s making a lot of money.”

The fake pout disappeared into a bright smile. “Money’s good!” she said. “I guess I can forgive you.” She extended her hand and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Thomas. Don’t mind me, I’m in a mood tonight. I’ll be more subdued when I come down off the performance.”

“That was quite a performance,” he said. “Are you interested in singing professionally?”

“I am a professional,” she said proudly. “I get paid.”

“What I mean,” he said, “is I could book you into larger venues, ones with more exposure. I could put you in some big clubs in Denver and Boulder. I think you have the kind of talent to pitch to a record company.”

Her demeanor changed entirely and the smile disappeared. She became very serious, and very distant.

“Thank you, Mr. Thomas. I appreciate your interest. I don’t think I’m interested, however. I’m content just playing here at the Roadhouse.”

She turned away and went to the restroom.

He looked at me. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No. I’m sorry, Dave,” I said. “I don’t know where that came from. I thought she’d be excited. You really think she has what it takes to make it?”

“All the way, Jake. You were right. She’s a rare talent. The voice, the instrumental dexterity, and her stage presence are incredible. I think she can go as far as she wants to.”

He shook his head. “I also think that she’s too much for me. What I would do is take a small advisory fee and set her up with a big agent on the West Coast, someone with top-level connections. But we could start building her brand here in the Denver area while I can find the right situation for her.”

“I’ll talk to her, Dave. I never expected her to take that attitude. You saw her. She lights up on stage. She lives to perform.”

That night, I said, “I’m sorry, Cicely. I thought you’d be excited by the chance to get some gigs. Dave thinks you have the talent to become a big star. He’s not just blowing smoke. I’ve known him a long time, and he’s a straight shooter. He knows the music business.”

She put her arms around my neck and kissed me. “Thank you. It was very sweet, but I’m not interested. I’m happy here with you. All I want is to help you make the Roadhouse a success. Is that such a bad thing? To want to work with the man I love?”

Put that way, what could I say? She took me to bed, and all thoughts of anything but her went out of my head, as they always did.

~~~

Chapter 8

Cecily

I lay awake, listening to Jake breathing. I couldn’t remember ever being so happy in my life. I had a man who loved me, who treated me like a princess. I was able to perform, and people liked what I did on stage. It was everything I ever wanted. No, I wasn’t rich and famous. I wasn’t traveling around the world, seeing my name in lights.

But those were the dreams of my younger self. Before I screwed up my life and discovered what was really important. Maybe I should have given Jake a different name instead of telling him my real one. I hadn’t even thought about what it might mean to have my real name on that sign above the Roadhouse. But I also never expected to find love and kindness when I entered his bar. I didn’t even know those things existed. Before I met Jake, they were only words.

All I could hope for is that Mr. Thomas went away and left me alone.

Of course, there was another issue that I was refusing to confront. If I loved Jake, and I did, how long could I go before telling him everything? He deserved the truth. I knew that I would be angry if I found out he had a big, horrendous secret that might explode in the middle of us, wrecking our lives and our plans for the future. I was so afraid he would send me away, or turn me in, if he knew my deepest secrets. I couldn’t imagine how he would react if he knew how black my sins were. I knew he was going to heaven, and I was going to hell. My whole life with him was a lie.

He was talking about taking me to Hawaii for Christmas. But he would ask questions when I told him I couldn’t get on an airplane. You needed identification to do that. I wondered how long it would be until he offered me a ring. I didn’t care if he never did, as long as I had him. But he was an honorable man, and he would probably try to do what he thought was the honorable thing. In his world, two people married when they were in love.

As far as I was concerned, he could hide me under the bed and deny he even knew me, as long as he let me hold him and make love to him every night. I wasn’t important, but he was my world. Would he throw me out if I told him the truth?

I asked Jake to drop me off downtown the next day, telling him I would take the bus to work. Going to the library, I entered a search for Cecille Buchanan. I found a lot of entries on the internet, but nothing in the past year and a half. The last flurry of activity was when I cancelled the tour. Probably the worst decision of my life.

I entered Eddie’s name, and got a lot of hits. That also faded out, with nothing in the news during the past three months. In an earlier story, I found a reference to ‘a mystery girl’ that was connected to him, but not my name.

Relieved, I bought some ice cream and took the bus to the Roadhouse.

I managed to talk Jake and Jared into letting me clean out Mary’s closet and her other belongings. I also cleared their parents’ clothing and other personal items out of the attic. We donated it all to the church they attended when they were growing up.

Gradually, I turned the house into a home for Jake and me, not just a place to sleep. Jared only stayed there a couple of nights a week.

I had never done housework in my life. The vacuum cleaner was a complete mystery, but I found the instructions for it stuffed away in the ‘junk drawer’ and read them. Dusting, oiling the woodwork, cleaning the oven, all those sorts of thing I had seen people do. I learned to do them, and because I was doing it for Jake, I loved it.

Cooking was another story. I knew how to make a simple breakfast and sandwiches, but I had never cooked a real meal. Since Jake bought groceries, and had a freezer full of meat, I assumed that he did. I found a couple of cookbooks in a drawer in the kitchen that were older than Jake, so I assumed they were his mother’s. By following the directions exactly, and looking up every term I didn’t understand, I managed to avoid any disasters.

One morning, when Jake went into town on business and to pick up some groceries, I stayed at home, cleaning and doing laundry. His CD collection was a marvel. Next to the Grateful Dead was Gustav Holst’s
The Planets
symphony. And he had opera. I hadn’t even heard an opera in two years before he brought me home.

Mozart’s
Magic Flute
was playing at a volume where I could hear it throughout the house and I was singing along with it. Standing in the kitchen, I was singing ‘Hell's vengeance boils in my heart’, the Queen of the Night’s aria from act three. It felt so good to stretch my voice and hit the notes of the soprano coloratura part, and I was lost in the music.

I took a breath to ready myself for the next lines, and realized he was standing at the edge of the kitchen, watching me. The woman on the CD sang on alone.

“Hi, I didn’t hear you come in,” I said.

“My God, Cecily,” he said, “your voice is phenomenal.”

“I listened to a lot of opera when I was growing up,” I said, turning to continue wiping the top of the stove with the dishcloth I was holding.

“That’s bullshit,” he said, and I flinched. “I can understand you not wanting to tell me some parts of your life, but do you have to completely shut me out of all of it? No one can sing an aria like that unless they’ve been trained for it. Especially that one.”

I bit my lip, turning to face him. “Jake, I don’t know what to tell you. I never want to lie to you, so I don’t tell you anything. It scares me, Jake. I’m so afraid that if you find out who I really am, how screwed up and damaged I am, that you won’t love me anymore. Sometimes I want to tell you. Tell you everything. But I’m a coward. And I know that isn’t fair to you, and it’s tearing me apart.”

He walked over and took me in his arms. “Nothing could stop me from loving you,” he said.

My face hidden against his shoulder, I said, “You don’t know how bad I am. I don’t love me, how could I expect you to if you knew the truth?”

“How do I convince you to trust me?” he murmured into my hair.

“I trust you,” I said. “You’re the fool for trusting me.”

I felt him stiffen. “Are you so bad that you need to be punished?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” I whispered.

He picked me up and carried me across the room, slamming my back against the wall. Rough, careless hands pulled my shirt open, and tore my jeans off. With no foreplay or preparation, he penetrated me and pounded me, punishing me with his body. Feeling him driving hard and deep inside me as I rode the edge between pleasure and pain, it was as though he was driving a spear into all the evil and humiliation buried in my soul. When he climaxed, an orgasm slammed through me like a battering ram, and I screamed his name.