Making a Comeback (19 page)

Her body was vibrating, her ears were ringing, and her skin felt like it had been sandpapered from being around that many people. No sneaking off to a quiet corner while Teri mingled and talked with fans. Had she said the right things? Been enthusiastic enough? She’d have to post something on the website and Facebook. And get a video from the show up on You Tube. And check sales on CD Baby. And make sure Regan got the CDs packaged and mailed to purchasers. The million things.

Jac hadn’t stayed for the second set, but that was okay. It must have been exhausting for her in all the commotion and without Max. They’d recap the show tomorrow. She fingered the pendant. Not alone.

Eight, nine, ten…Jac headed back in the other direction, warm slate under her bare feet changing to coarse rug. Her living room felt like a cage instead of a sanctuary. That’s exactly what her home would become if the press found her. Anxiety surged up her spine.
What about the accident, Ms. Richards
? The awful tugging in her gut started again, the rip current of guilt that always swept her back to that night. She swallowed more coffee to give her stomach something to churn on.

Had word spread already? Jacqueline Richards spotted in a jazz club? Was the press already looking for her? Damn it. She’d been Jac Winters, protected from having to answer questions about that night, for so long she’d become complacent. Now she’d put her carefully built life at risk the way she’d put her carefully built career at risk ten years ago. And for the same reason—a woman. Her reputation. All she had left of those years. It would be destroyed. She swallowed more of the lukewarm bitterness to chase away the anger and fear.

Liz. Everything was fine until Liz. Until feelings she shouldn’t have made her reckless. Now there were consequences. There always were when you let your feelings exist outside of the music, let them rule your life. How many times before she learned that lesson?

She turned up the volume, filling her mind with sound to block out the endless loop of thoughts. Beethoven. Fitting. His turbulent emotions had given power and beauty to his compositions and caused disastrous consequences in his personal life. She’d run through his symphonies by dawn and was now working through his piano sonatas. She stiffened when she heard a knock. Three raps. Peg.

Unlocking the door she said, “I don’t want lunch, either.” She hadn’t been able to eat breakfast.

“Well, I do. I’m starved. Sorry I’m late.”

Liz. Late? Oh, damn, they were supposed to walk this morning.

Liz walked past her. “Are you all right? Hi, Max.” Liz made smooching noises as she apparently petted him.

“Rough night.” Was she still in last night’s clothes? No. Sweats. Oh, hell, what difference did it make?

“I’m so glad you were there. It made all the difference. How about I take you to lunch today? I know this great little bistro on Dolores. We’ll revive you with wine.”

“I’m not walking today.” Maybe never again. Carmel’s protective stance toward celebrities had lulled her. She needed to be more vigilant.

“Okay. We’ll drive. I’m pooped, too. I’ll bet you have a ton of comments about the show you’re dying to share.”

“Go without me.” Jac resumed pacing as the next sonata started. Which one was this? Oh, yeah, number eight, “Pathetique,” one of her least favorite.

“I want to spend the day with you.”

“And I want to be left alone.”

“Are you upset with me because I did the second set? Is that why you left?”

She couldn’t stand the hurt in Liz’s voice. “Someone recognized me.”

“At the club?”

“A woman. Said she was at Juilliard when I was. Did you hear anything after we left?”

“About you? No. That’s why you left?”

She nodded, or at least she thought she nodded. Eight, nine, ten…turn. She stopped when Liz blocked her path and held her arms.

“Why are you so upset?”

“What if she told people and it got back to the press? I can’t face them invading my privacy.”
What about the accident, Ms. Richards
? Another shudder of anxiety shot up her spine.

“That seems like a big leap from someone you went to school with saying hello.”

“You have no idea what they’re like.” Poking at her life. Examining it. Judging her.

“I have some idea.”

“You’re not Jacqueline—” She must sound crazy.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but after ten years, aren’t you out of the spotlight?”

“The media is always looking for a sensational story.”

“Retired trumpet player…okay, retired world-famous trumpet player living in Carmel is sensational?”

“I want to be left alone!” Tears coasted down her cheeks in the wake of exhaustion and the guilt that had owned her for the last decade.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Liz hugged her.

She shouldn’t let Liz hold her. She should end the friendship. Now. Before her feelings made her any more reckless. The front door opened. Liz let go. Jac crossed her arms, trying to hold in the comforting feel of her.

“I’m glad you’re here, Liz,” Peg said. “Is everything all right, Jac?”

“No buzz after we left.” Jac swallowed the last of the coffee and her stomach growled.

“It’s going to be all right, honey.” To Liz she said, “We loved the show. You must be elated and relieved.”

“And starved. A picnic on the beach?”

“You two go celebrate,” Jac said. She wouldn’t see it coming. She’d have no way to escape from a reporter throwing questions at her.
What about the accident, Ms. Richards?

“Not without you,” Liz said.

“Take Liz to the beach where I painted her dad’s painting. There’s rarely anyone there. I’ll throw together leftovers for you.”

“Beach?” Liz asked, the question apparently directed at Max. His tail slapped the side of the recliner.

She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t.

“Come on. I want to talk about the show. If we run into reporters I’ll fight them off with forks and knives.”

Should she risk it? One last afternoon with Liz and then she’d have to return to the life that kept her safe. “I’ll hold you to that promise.” Liz wouldn’t defend her if she knew what she’d done.

*

“Dad’s going to love these pictures.” Liz took another photo of the small cove that Peggy had captured beautifully in the painting. All that was missing were the clouds. It was a beautiful clear day with gentle surf.

“Keep me out of them.” Jac tucked her hands into the pockets of her sweats rolled up to her knees.

“What, and miss a chance to make a fortune selling them?” She bumped Jac’s shoulder and got the raised eyebrow she loved. She took several pictures of Max chasing the waves, his tail arcing water as it circled. She texted one of them to Peggy, adding, “All good. Having fun.” Not quite true, but she didn’t want Peggy to worry. Jac was quiet and tense, and she didn’t know how to make it better for her. She didn’t understand why Jac was so adamant about not having anything to do with the press. She’d been injured in an accident and retired. That didn’t seem to warrant her panic about the press finding her. After discovering Jac’s identity she’d Googled her and, from what she’d seen, the press had loved her. Some harsh reviews, but no one was immune to that. True, they seemed overly interested in her personal life, but then a female trumpet player of her virtuosity was rare.

Jac took Max’s tennis ball from her pocket and teased him by waving it in the air. He crouched, then bounced around her, barking. She threw it and he charged into the surf after it.

“Dad loves the beach. I wish I could get him over to Carmel for a vacation, but he says not until after Monterey. He works too hard. Keeps adding shows to our fall tour. I can’t imagine doing any of this without his help.”

“It’s admirable how supportive he is.”

“I thought you didn’t approve.”

“It’s a tough business. You can never have too much support. He reminds me of Malcolm, my ex-husband. He thought the music should accommodate the business.” Max nosed Jac’s leg. She took the tennis ball and heaved it down the beach.

“He managed your career?”

“Unfortunately. It took me too long to realize he was overbooking and over-recording me. It was always about money with him.”

“Grandma had all your albums. I’ve been listening to them. It’s a little intimidating if I think about it too much. Who you are, I mean.”

Jac tossed her Max’s tennis ball. “Don’t think about it.”

“Eww. It’s soggy and sandy. Or is that dog drool?” Sand rained down on her as she threw it back into the water. She rolled up her jeans and waded in up to her ankles. Thirty seconds was all she could stand before she backed out of it. “Bad, bad dog,” she said, as Max shook water and sand on them.

“She doesn’t mean it,” Jac said, kneeling to ruffle his ears.

“Your family was supportive, if Peggy’s any indicator.” Max raced toward a seagull that landed on the rocks at one end of the cove.

“Yes, but they weren’t involved in the same way. I moved to Los Angeles to study with a teacher when I was ten, and then to New York when I was twelve.”

“I can’t imagine being away from my family so young.”

“I was obsessed with the trumpet and determined to be the best.”

“Peggy said your dad was in a jazz band. Why did you choose classical?”

“It wasn’t something I decided. I’d been taking lessons from the trumpet player in his band. One day I heard Hummel’s Trumpet Concerto in E-flat Major on a classical station in the car. I knew that was what I wanted. As soon as we got home I played a good part of the concerto from memory. They found me a classically trained teacher the next week.”

“So the album covers are right that you were a child prodigy.”

“I suppose, although I hate that term. I just knew the trumpet made me feel whole, as if it was part of me.”

“Same for me with piano and composing. I’ve always heard melodies. Grandma helped me arrange them. I was lucky to have her. Did I tell you she performed at the Monterey Jazz Festival in sixty-four?”

“She’d be proud of you.” A big wave washed up Jac’s leg, soaking her sweats. She stopped and turned toward the ocean. “I love this feeling. The shock of cold. The tingle. The sting of salt. Feet sinking into the sand as the wave goes back out.”

“Do you have a favorite beach?”

“One in Greece.”

“I was thinking locally.”

“Sand as soft as a blanket. Water so still it was like a lake.” Jac seemed lost in memory. “White cliffs surrounding it. One of the best afternoons of my life.”

Liz said nothing as they resumed their walk. How many times had a memory of Teri captured her in the same way? She had no doubt it was a romantic tryst Jac was remembering. With Maria? Jac had looked so heartbroken when she’d told Liz about her. What a terrible night that must have been—rejected by her lover, the accident. “I’d be happy with Hawaii.”

“It’s beautiful there.”

“My dream vacation.” All the music experiences they had in common and yet so many ways they were different. Maybe Jac’s fame did justify her fears about being recognized. Maybe she was being naive because Teri had handled the press. “I’m hungry.”

“Weren’t you eating croissants all the way down here?”

“Now that the show’s over I could eat and sleep for days.”

“It’s something, isn’t it? The effect performing has on your body?” Jac swished her feet through the ankle-high surf. “I had a specific routine I followed the day of a show, trying to gather and focus my energy, gear it up so it peaked for that short time on stage. Then it would be over, and I’d be left with all this unused energy. It would take me all night to come down. I’d sleep a few hours, practice all day, interviews, rehearsals, and always planning the next recording.”

“You make fame seem so glamorous.” She laughed as Max lifted his butt and barked at an incoming wave before charging it. “I see a lot of people chasing it. Playing music is all that matters to me.”

“That’s why you’ll be fine. How’s your wrist?”

“Okay.” She could barely tie her shoes this morning, and lifting anything was out of the question. She should have said no to the encore, but she didn’t want to let her dad down. Most bands would kill to have a home club, and she wanted to do her part to make it successful. “Can I keep the necklace until after Monterey? Maybe it’ll bring me luck there, too.”

“I meant it as a gift.” They walked for a while and then Jac said, “There’s a tide pool at the end of the rocks up ahead. You should go explore.”

“Like anemones and starfish?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Come with me.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Something I’ll bet you didn’t do on that beach in Greece.”

“You’re right. Something I’ve always wanted to do. Not see starfish and anemones.”

“Act blind and I’ll treat you like you are.” With a bit of “downslope the next ten feet” or “step up,” they crossed the rocks and knelt by a shallow pool. Jac swished her hand in the water, and Max eyed the ocean on both sides of the peninsula like he didn’t trust it.

“We went to the Monterey Aquarium a few years ago for my nephew’s birthday. This is way better than the touch tank. Give me your hand.” She put Jac’s finger on one of the creatures attached to a rock.

Jac tilted her head, smiling, the tension from this morning gone, but not the fatigue. “Soft. A little sticky. Tentacles. Anemone?”

“Try this one.” She moved Jac’s finger to another creature.

Jac traced from the center out to each of the five legs. “Starfish. Like leather, only prickly.”

“Keep your arm in the water, but pull up your sleeve.” Keeping it submerged she set the starfish on Jac’s hand.

A smile unlike any she’d seen made Jac’s face radiant. Her cheeks were pink, and the wind blew her hair off her shoulders. Beautiful. Sitting back on her heels, she let Jac have the moment. Something soft settled in her belly. She’d made Jac happy. She took out her phone. Peggy would love a picture. She put it back in her pocket. Some moments were private.

“Tickles,” Jac said as the starfish made its way up her forearm. Her expression was childlike, as if decades had been stripped away. “Is it safe for it to be out of the water?”