Making a Comeback (18 page)

She nudged Max over with her knee and rubbed her palms over the cool sheets, then over her abdomen. Her body wanted…Her hand crept up, up, until it cupped her breast. She let out a ragged breath. Wanted…She slid her other hand lower, inside the silk pajamas. She was wet where she didn’t want to be wet. She pinched her eyes shut, but tears squeezed through as she stroked her clit, poked her fingers inside, stroked some more. Not long. No soft kisses on her throat. No tongue circling her nipple. No murmured words of love. The orgasm rippled through her, unsatisfying, and then she had nothing but the dark, and the longing.

Liz sat on Teri’s stool in her dad’s music room and stomped on the bass-drum pedal over and over, the vibration like a vigorous heartbeat. She needed Teri so much tonight. The CD-release party. The first show without her since college. She turned the gold band on her finger. The jeweler had polished it when she bought the new watchband last week. She tugged it over her knuckle and read the inscription that was almost worn off.
Yours Forever
. Teri was wearing hers when she was buried. Not forever.

“I worked hard on it, sweetie. Happy Anniversary.” It had been two days ago. No one in her family had given any indication they remembered. Jac knew, but only because she’d asked so many times this week what was wrong. Blind, but more aware than anyone she’d ever met.

Her dad popped in wearing a long-sleeved black Polo shirt, his hair parted a little unevenly, as usual. “People want to talk to you before the show.”

She rested her palms on the cool surface marked by Teri’s drumsticks. “I want her to like it.”

“You turned tragedy into triumph.”

Is that what she’d done?

“I invited reviewers from the
Chron
and the
Merc
.”

She wished he hadn’t. What if her hand cramped? What if those bad pains shot up her arm? The ones that made her back off with her left hand.

“Momentum.” He pumped his fist for emphasis.

Liz slapped the crash cymbal and the sound skittered around the space. Oscar lounged unfazed on the back of the couch, the tip of his tail swishing to some unheard rhythm.

“Come on, sunshine. Let’s give them a taste of what Randalls can do.” He held out his hand.

“I’ll be right there. Really,” she added when he frowned. She hit the bass drum one last time as the door closed. Taking four Advil from her pocket, she swallowed them with the half glass of wine she hoped would calm her nerves. She’d never been afraid before a performance. She hummed “Spring Time” for luck. Standing, she brushed wrinkles out of the gold silk pants, humming a different melody. “Carmel Sketches.” She wished Jac were going to be here.

“Showtime, Oscar.” He padded regally across the floor and rubbed against her leg, totally out of character for the aloof cat. He dashed over and jumped on top of the bass drum, then danced across the snares before scooting out the door. She covered her heart. “Thank you, sweetie.”

Walking across the street to the club, Liz held the ends of the fiery-toned scarf Teri had given her the first night of their tour. “Let’s set the jazz world on fire.” Now their dreams were barely a puff of smoke. Could she fan them back to life? The parking lot next to the restaurant was full, as were both sides of the street. Her dad’s promoting had paid off.

She wound her way through the packed club, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, answering questions. Doing what Teri had done so effortlessly. No condolences about Teri and she resented it. Had they forgotten her? Heading toward the green room behind the stage, she stopped at a table when she recognized her chiropractor. “Dr. Hammond. I’m so glad you could make it.” Her wife, Carla, stood and hugged Liz.

“Hi, Liz, and it’s Jamie, please. We wouldn’t miss this. Our friends Penni and Lori,” Jamie said, indicating the other women at the table.

After a few minutes of chatting, Liz said, “Hope you enjoy the show.” She continued winding through the crowd toward Cassie, who stood to the side of the stage, talking with a woman. Flirting, knowing Cassie. If she had to let anyone take Teri’s place, she was grateful it was Cassie. She was one of the best drummers in jazz and a longtime friend.

“You ready, girlfriend?” Cassie’s tunic and trademark headband rivaled Liz’s scarf for oranges and reds and looked rich against her mocha skin.

“I hope.” She made fists with her left hand, praying it didn’t fail her.

“I’ll get you through it.” Cassie put her arm across Liz’s shoulders and squeezed. “Wow, haven’t seen her around before. I’d remember.”

Liz followed Cassie’s gaze toward the entrance. Jac. She blinked. Yes. Sandwiched between Peggy and Roger. “That’s my friend, Jac Winters,” she said, hurrying toward her. God, she was happy to see her.

“Album co-producer Jac? You didn’t tell me she was gorgeous.”

Liz couldn’t take her eyes off Jac. She looked like a mirage in silvery-blue crepe pants, white tuxedo-front shirt, and lacy white vest. Elegant. She was really here. Her chest loosened with each step closer. Peggy smiled broadly as they approached.

“Hi, I’m Cassie.” She extended her hand toward Jac, then withdrew it, apparently realizing Jac was blind. She shot Liz a quizzical look.

“Cassie, these are my friends Peggy, Roger, and Jac.”

“Cassie James of The Cassie James Band,” Jac said. “Your last album was impressive.”

Cassie’s sunny personality rippled through her laugh. “Thank you.”

“Carl Randall,” her dad said, joining them. “You must be Peggy and Roger. I reserved a table up front for you.” He appraised Jac before saying, “And this must be the famous record producer.”

“I need to borrow Jac for a minute.” Liz took Jac’s arm and steered her around the edge of the crowd. “We’re at the bar. Stool in front of you. Red or white?”

“Cab.” Jac didn’t sit.

Liz felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. Kevin. “Good luck, sis.” He kissed her cheek.

“Kev, this is my friend Jac.”

“I hear you’re quite the wine expert. Let me see if I can impress you.” He went behind the bar and poured two glasses.

“You have excellent taste,” Jac said, after sipping it.

“I’ll have it sent to your table,” Kevin said, drinking most of his glass.

“How are you holding up?” Jac set the glass on the bar.

“Better. I’m so glad you changed your mind.”

“Had to practice this friend thing. How am I doing?” Jac’s face softened into an expectant smile.

“The best.”

Jac took Liz’s left hand and put something on her palm before sandwiching it between her hands. “I wore this for luck when I performed. You don’t have to wear it. Just put it in your pocket.”

Liz opened her hand. A gold musical note on a delicate chain. “Put it on for me?” She lifted her hair, and Jac hooked it inside her collar. “Thank you.” She put her palm over where it lay against her chest as she stared at the blue eyes, wishing they could see what she couldn’t say. She gripped Jac’s hand, suddenly dizzy, as the past swarmed around her—a different club, a different audience. The last time she’d been onstage. Teri squeezing her hand before stepping away to the drums. Smiling at her before tapping her sticks together and setting them off. She’d be on her own for—

“It’s all right, Liz.”

She hadn’t realized she’d made a sound. Her throat hurt like she’d swallowed a knife. Wrong. Everything was wrong.

“Liz.” Quietly commanding.

Liz took the glass Jac put in her hand, forced wine down her throat. Fear ricocheted through her like lightning.

“You put my name on it. You’re not alone.”

Liz’s heart did a roller-coaster loop, and when it landed she was able to take a deep breath. Not alone. Before she could stop herself she hugged Jac. To her surprise Jac hugged her back. She absorbed the strength and support she desperately needed. Not alone.

“Ready?” Cassie touched her back.

“Yes.” She kissed Jac’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Liz made fists with her left hand as she stood to the side of the stage between Sammy and Regan. Sammy looked relaxed, as always, in his retro fifties-style shirt, fingering his sax. Regan, in tight black jeans and T-shirt, adjusted the strap on her bass and shifted her weight back and forth on her black Converse tennis shoes. She should offer them words of encouragement, but she had none. She felt like she was about to step out of a plane, and she had no idea if her parachute would open.

Her dad stepped to the center mic. “Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for joining us. Jazz on the Side is proud to be the home of Up Beat. Tonight we’re celebrating the release of their new album
Up Beat Live in New York
. I’m also proud to announce that they will be performing at the Monterey Jazz Festival in September.”

Liz walked to the piano on unsteady legs. Sitting, she pulled the mic toward her. “We’re thrilled to share this special night with you. We’d like to start with ‘Fond Memories.’” She shifted on the seat and pumped the sustain pedal, trying to gather herself. She looked toward the audience. She couldn’t see Jac, but she was out there. Not alone.

She nodded to Cassie, who counted them down. She and Jac had decided to put this song first because it was her longest solo and her hand would be fresh. It hurt, but she dropped into that place where nothing existed but the music—no past to mourn, no future to worry about, just the present moment and the sound springing from the piano. She sent notes flying through her fingers—playing and playing and playing before withdrawing and letting Sammy’s wailing sax pick up the solo. She was vaguely aware of clapping and whistles, but she was too deeply inside the music to care. This was what she loved best in the world.

*

Jac let out the breath she’d been holding and joined the wild clapping for Liz’s solo. The power and beauty of it wound around her heart, blending with her own heartbeat. How had she thought she could miss this? She’d woken this morning knowing she had to come, knowing the need to share this night with Liz outweighed the threat of being recognized. Of course no one would give her a second look in a small jazz club in San Jose.

She noticed minor flaws in Liz’s playing, but the band was on fire, clearly in the zone. She remembered how that felt, when time meant nothing and the music felt like a living thing inside and around her. She sat on the edge of her seat, heart pounding, consumed by the music. Consumed by Liz. Forty minutes later she stood to applaud the final song. She assumed everyone was standing, but she didn’t care. It was a thrilling performance.

Finally, Liz spoke. “Thank you for helping us celebrate.” She sounded relieved and happy. “We’re going to take a break and then we’ll be back. CDs are for sale by the door, and we’ll be there shortly to sign them.”

Back? Dad. Damn him. He should have waited to put Liz through this. Making her do another set was crazy.

“Well?” Liz asked from beside her.

“It was breathtaking. Truly.” Jac gulped back everything she couldn’t say. “I’m so happy for you.”

“You’re doing really well at the friend thing.”

Chills went all the way to Jac’s toes when Liz put her hand on her arm. “How’s your wrist?”

“Tolerable.”

“You don’t need to do another set. You’ll sell a million CDs and get rave reviews as it is.”

“Dad wants a couple more songs. Any requests?”

“Whatever’s easiest on your hand.” Jac wanted to strangle that man. He and Malcolm were two of a kind. Business. “Are you coming back to Carmel tomorrow?”

“In time for our walk.”

“Don’t be late.” Jac tried to look stern.

“What did you think?” Liz’s dad asked.

“He means you.” Peg touched her arm.

She knew that but didn’t like the man’s challenging tone. “Superb.”

“Put that on your—”

“Dad!”

“I’d like to use the restroom,” Jac said to Peg. Yes, strangle him.

“You should head to the signing table,” her dad told Liz. “Half an hour and we’ll do the encore.”

We? Was it his wrist that was only six weeks out of a cast? She was still seething as she waited in the hallway for Peg to join her. Where were his priorities?

“Jacqueline Richards?”

Panic gripped her and she froze. No. Not this.

“I thought I recognized you sitting in the front row,” the woman said. “You wouldn’t remember me. I was a freshman at Juilliard when you were a senior. I always admired you.” The woman laughed. “Not that everyone didn’t idolize you.”

Jac braced her palm against the wall, her head spinning. No. That was twenty years ago and a continent away.

“I was hoping I could buy you a drink and we could catch up.”

She flinched when someone took her arm.

“Come this way.” Peg. “I think there’s a rear exit.”

“Jacqueline?” the woman called after them.

“Get me out of here.” She ducked her head.

“I’m trying.” Peg’s grip tightened.

“This can’t be happening.” Who was that woman? How could she possibly recognize her after all this time? She knew the answer. The fame she’d once cherished. A door banged open and she was outside in the hot night air.

“It’s all right.” Peg loosened her grip.

“No, it isn’t.” Jac tripped over something. “Were there people around?”

“I don’t think anyone paid any attention.”

“I shouldn’t have come. I knew better.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Peg opened the car door. “I’ll get Roger.”

Jac slid into the backseat. The door closed and she gripped the edge of the seat, encased in silence except for her heart pounding against her ribs. Adrenaline flooded her, tensing her muscles, and fear coated her tongue with a metallic taste. Was the car under a streetlight? Would someone see her? She pressed the door lock. Calm down. She hadn’t just left a concert hall. Autograph seekers and photographers weren’t after her.

It seemed like forever before Peg and Roger returned, and then they were on their way back to Carmel. Would it still be safe there? Would that woman tell others? The press? Would they figure out where she lived? Oh, God, she couldn’t face that.

*

Liz collapsed onto her bed, too tired to take off her shoes. It was after two in the morning. The CD was out in the world. Now all that was left was waiting to see if it was well received.