The Way You Make Me Feel (3 page)

“It's a nice house,” she said. “Have I lived here long?” She found it wearying, remembering some things, but not others.

He drew a deep breath. “About six months. You came back from Grenada, a Caribbean island, and bought it. You were away for a year after your divorce. I've always liked this house. Sometimes I drive by just to look at it.”

“Oh, I like
your
house. It's a palace.”

“A palace I rattle around in. I'm thinking of selling it and getting a smaller place.”

“No, don't…” she began. “I mean it's so beautiful.”

He leaned forward and touched her face. “You like my house, do you? I'm glad. Your opinion means a lot to me.”

He sat wondering just what in hell was going on with him. His body was taut with desire. Desire? Good Lord, he was helping Stevie through her pain, saving her. Desire had no part in this. But it stayed all the same.

A truck pulled in behind them with Luna the Locksmith painted on the sides and on the door. A stocky black-haired Latino man, about thirty-five, got out and came to the car.

“Hi, amigo,” Damien said.
“Buenas dias.”

The man returned the greeting and Damien explained the problem as the locksmith nodded. “It will be simple. I give you a great price.”

Damien shrugged. “Be good to yourself. I appreciate the speed.”

Walking up to the house she noticed that the impatiens beds were beginning to wilt and remembered that they needed frequent watering.
How
did she know that? Apparently so much of her mind did remember; now if only the rest would kick in. She shook her head, well aware that she didn't
want
to remember certain things, had better
not
remember.

Inside, the house was cool and Damien turned up the thermostat. Stevie admired the decor, with its Spanish influence, bleached oak furniture and red, aquamarine, turquoise and navy pillow accents. There was a book-lined wall with widely varying titles. The drapes were a colorful flowered print of tomato-red and green. A grand piano sat near the windows and a beautiful satin-finished blond-wood guitar lay on the piano stool. Had she been playing it before she went away? She picked it up, plucked a few strings, then tightened them.

Damien held his breath. “You remember your guitar?”

“This is one of them. There're a number of others.”

“Hey, great. You keep them in a special room.”

“I know.” She pointed toward the door of that room.

She removed her jacket and he admired her lush body in the navy sheath. Something was happening to him, and he wasn't sure he liked it. He took her on a tour of her own home as the locksmith moved about, changing the locks, intent on his drills and other tools.

The downstairs was airy, spacious, bright. There was a basement with a rec room, a huge hi-def TV and a wine cellar for her homemade wine. The fitness room was well equipped and there was a treadmill for running or jogging when the weather was bad.

Surprisingly she said, “It's conceit that makes me feel like I need a wine cellar for the little wine I make, but I flatter myself. My wine is good. I remember that.” Damien looked at her with amazement. No telling what she'd remember next and he felt high with hope.

Upstairs there were four bedrooms and four baths. They stood at the door of the master bedroom and she exclaimed, “My room!” It was a woman's room of billowing eggshell ninon triple drapes and rose velvet decor. The carpet was burgundy plush. Damien found his breathing compromised as his body hardened. He had been a long time without a woman, but that wasn't it. Plainly and simply he
wanted
Stevie, wanted to hold her, caress her, kiss her long and deep and hard.

Her beautiful smoky-brown eyes were on him now and they drew him as he had seldom been drawn in his life, even with Honi. Now she was a magnet and her face, as she gazed at him totally without guile, was beautiful. Just inside the bedroom door, he started to kiss her, then sharply reprimanded himself: Don't add to her troubles. She isn't ready for this.

“We'd better get back,” he told her. “But pack a good-sized bag with enough clothes for a week or so. Or two bags. I'll come and get them. Be sure you bring some exercise gear. I work out and I'm going to push you to do the same. In a stressful time like this, you'll need something to help you relax.”

He went downstairs then, and she stood in the middle of the floor thinking: He had been going to kiss her. She was sure of it. Why hadn't he? She wanted his kiss even though she knew he was just being kind. She wanted him, needed his kiss. Going to the closet she selected wash-and-wear clothes. She could wear the navy outfit he'd bought for her on outside trips. But she selected a totally frivolous exercise suit that was dusty rose, her best color. Was she leading him on? She shrugged. There had been a drought of love and romance in her life. Was it about to end? A new revelation that once again shocked her but thrilled her at the same time.

Pedro was still working on the locks when she went back down, announcing that she wanted to see her backyard. It was a brilliant blue day and her yard was lovely. There were birdbaths and a big fountain where birds frolicked. It was a very large yard and at the bottom there was a double running track. There were impatiens here, too, as wilted as those in the front.

“I'll get someone to come over and water your plants,” he said.

“I have so much to thank you for. How can I ever repay you?”

“You already have. You made a lot of money for us, Stevie, and your presence lit up our studios. You were one of our best, and I'm hoping you will be again. Just get well and come back. Will you?”

She nodded. “I'm leaning in that direction.”

They stood under a big oak tree and he said to her earnestly, “I'm going to keep talking to you about the past, stoking your memory. When we leave here, we're going to Club Insomnia. Maybe Bretta will be there. I know Jessi will. They were your best friends…”

She stiffened, but did not tremble. Did mentioning Jessi along with Bretta take away some of the stress?

Inside, they found Pedro just finishing. “I looked at your security system. It's a good one.”

“Yes,” Stevie murmured. “Would you like coffee or something else? I'm a forgetful hostess.”

“Hey, thanks, but I'm fine. I believe you're all set. Call me whenever you need me. Bye,
el capitano
. You may or may not get a bill from me. I like repaying favors.”

Damien grinned and the men shook hands. “I'd
better
get a bill. You're not in this for your health.”

“If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have a business like this.”

“Always happy to help.”

Stevie observed the two men, who seemed so at ease with each other. Way back in her mind she had begun to remember Damien from days past. He had always been kind, even when Honi, his fiancée had left him for the prime minister of a Caribbean country and he had walked the streets of Nashville, looking like a wounded ghost, his heart crushed. But Honi had stayed away only a year and had come back, contrite, to an unforgiving Damien.

On Honi's Caribbean island, when she had been the first lady, she had been the toast of Black Nashville and the Black-owned paper had had a field day. On her return, she had given an interview saying that she loved and missed the United States and certain people and found she could not live elsewhere. After her divorce, gradually she and Damien had become friends again, but gossip said he would never forgive her.

Stevie gasped a little. Now, how had she remembered all that? Like her name, it seemed a part of her. For a moment, she looked forward to going back to Dr. Winslow, until she thought of how frightened she had become.

Walking over to the piano, she ran her fingers over the keys and looked at the Gibson guitar. Picking it up, she began to pluck a song. The same song Damien had sung to her the night before.

Pedro stood stock-still as she began to sing.

After two verses, Stevie paused with her eyes half-closed. Pedro grinned and gave her the A-OK sign. But she felt very self-conscious because Damien was gazing at her with a dreamy expression on his face.

Pedro clapped and whistled urging her to continue when Stevie hesitated. “Lady you've got it in spades. Hurry back!”

For a moment Damien seemed lost in another world. He looked somber and bothered before he relaxed. “That was beautiful, Stevie.”

“I remember it all,” she said softly, her eyes shining. She finished the song and took a bow.

Both men applauded and whistled. Pedro smiled and then bowed. “Lady, you're the best and I've loved you and your music for a long, long time. You started early and I've been a devoted fan from the beginning.”

“She's got a zillion fans,” Damien said, “and she deserves them all.”

Pedro nodded. “You're all set and I'm outta here. Now, I'm hoping you start singing again.” He looked keenly at Stevie and grinned widely.

When Pedro had left, Damien turned to Stevie. “How d'you feel? Getting tired?”

“Better all the time. He's a nice man.”

“Yeah. I'd better get your bags. I'm going to take you by Club Insomnia so you can see Jessi and Nick. Ron should be there, too. They're people you knew. You're part owner of the club.”

Stevie laughed. “A nightclub and I'm part owner?”

“Yeah. You came to me one day all excited and told me about it. You sing there on Thursday nights and the line to get in is very long. Nashville is proud to still have you.”

Stevie blushed. “I'm really good then?”

“The best. Well, we'd better get going. Listen, love, if you want to wait for this…”

She thought a moment. “No, I want to get started. I want my life back, or at least I think I do.”

Downstairs alone, waiting for Damien to come back, she reflected that she was fast growing less afraid. That was a blessing. And she thought, too, of his carelessly calling her “love.” He probably said it to all women, but it sounded close and warm and she found she liked having him call her this very, very much.

C
lub Insomnia was closed in preparation for that evening; Wednesday was always a good night. Damien rang and a slender, tan woman with reddish-brown hair and a pretty face flung the door open and whooped with delight as she caught Stevie to her in a bear hug.

“Honey, where have you been? I thought about sending the cops after you. Did you and Bretta go over to Atlanta?”

That name again.

Stevie looked at the woman blankly, causing her to swallow hard and say, “Stevie?”

Damien explained it all then, and the woman looked in shock. “Well, I'm Jessi Colton,” she said, “and we've been friends for a very long time. My younger sister Bretta is your best friend. I haven't seen her either for a couple of days.” She hugged Stevie again, her eyes filling with tears as she said, “Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.”

“I thought if she met you, saw this and other places, it might help,” Damien said.

Nick, a big dark-brown bear of a man, fit and amiable, came up and hugged Stevie.

“I was beginning to think you were absconding,” he said, “and there's gonna be a riot if your fans come Thursday night and you're not singing.”

Jessi explained to him what had happened and he stood with a sympathetic frown on his face. “A damned shame, but except for a few scratches you look fine. Stacked as usual. Charming the world. Oh, Stevie, it's so good to know you're okay.”

Stevie laughed a bit then. She really liked these people and was glad they were her friends. Her past life must have been at least pretty good with friends like these.

They were near the front of the club and Stevie looked around. It was a lovely place with highly polished parquet floors and off-white walls. A bar with sparkling barware and bottles of liquor lined one wall. There was a bandstand with a dark-red stage and Stevie's eyes narrowed as a vision came to her of her standing on that stage with her favorite guitar. She sang and people crowded around her as she sat on a high stool. Her heart swelled with joy and she looked at the three people with sparkling eyes.

“What is it, honey?” Jessi asked. “You're smiling so.”

“I'm seeing myself sing. Imagining the people.”

“Or
remembering
them,” Jessi prompted. “At some point you
will
regain your memory. Come on back to the kitchen. They always want you to come and talk with them.”

The several people in the kitchen crowded around her. When Damien told them what had happened they were shocked and sympathetic. An older man said, “Well, if anybody can help you get that memory back, it's us. The way we love you, you'll remember everything.”

A fine young man with long black dreadlocks and black eyes came to her and hugged her. “Hey, Mama, you're looking good!”

Stevie thanked him and flirted a bit. “You're not looking so bad yourself.”

Jessi cut in smoothly, telling him what had happened. His mouth fell open as he expelled a harsh breath. “Well, you know anything I can do to help. You act like you remember me.”

Stevie shook her head. “Sorry.”

He grinned. “Well, you will. I'll see to that.” And he repeated, “Anything I can do. Anything at all…” He hugged her again.

Back outside, Damien, Stevie and Nick sat down at a table. Jessi excused herself and came back in a few minutes with her wallet. “Pictures should help,” she told Stevie. First she took out photos of two children, a gangling brown teenage boy and an adorable two-year-old girl with blond ringlets.

“Rip and Mia,” Jessi said and waited for recognition.

Stevie began to shake her head, fighting to remember. The kids were so precious. She wanted so badly to remember.

“They're like your own kids,” Nick said. “The three of you have a real love affair going on.”

“This is really going to hit them hard,” Jessi said slowly. “D'you think it would help for me to bring them to you tonight? You'll be home?”

“She's staying with me,” Damien told them, “until she can pull herself together.”

“I like the idea of that,” Nick said, “but of course you're a busy man, Damien, and if you run out of time, we'll be glad to take over Stevie's care.”

Stevie held her breath. She didn't want to leave Damien.

“I'm taking all the time in the world,” Damien said. “I've got nothing hanging in the fire and even if I did, Stevie's been one of the best for me. She helped me a lot when Honi and I broke up, even when her own heart was breaking with her divorce.”

Stevie looked at him sharply. He hadn't said anything to her about that. Evidently they had a friendship history.

Jessi slipped the photos from their slot and gave them to Stevie. “Keep them. I've got plenty of others. This will remind you. We'll explain to Rip, of course, but he'll be crushed that you don't remember him and his sister. You know how self-centered a teenager is.”

Piped music played then and the tune was infectious. Stevie found herself moving her shoulders to a tune she did and did not remember.

“It's one of yours,” Jessi told her.

Putting the photos into her purse, Stevie leaned back. She felt comfortable here, as if it were a second home.

Jessi opened her wallet again and extracted another photo. “And, oh, this is Bretta. I'll bet you remember Bretta.”

Stevie stared for a long time at the photo and Damien waited with sharply indrawn breath for her to show the edge of hysteria again, but she didn't. Instead she sat still and suddenly dazed. She seemed numb, Damien thought. The color photo was of a beautiful tan woman with long, curly brown hair. She looked as if she put a lot into life and got even more back.

Stevie shook her head. “I don't remember her.” Her mind was closing on her, going into a narrow, concentric circle and she couldn't reach it. She was closing down and panic was the only thing real to her. She seemed calm to Jessi and Nick, but Damien saw the signs.

Jessi looked at her friend with sorrow and her shoulders drooped dejectedly. “I guess I just thought…you two are so close. I haven't heard from Bretta and if she wasn't with you, then where is she? This isn't like her.”

The doorbell sounded and one of the workers got it, letting in four people, at least one of whom had had too much to drink.

“Greetings!” said the man who came into the room first. He looked at Stevie and his eyes widened, then narrowed. “Never expected to see
you
here,” he said as he came toward them.

Stevie drew back. She didn't like this man. Her eyes went to Honi Holmes who stood by him. “Better today?” she asked Stevie.

“A lot better, thank you.”

“I was at Damien's when Stevie stumbled in and a sorrier sight you never saw,” Honi explained. “My hat's off to your powers of recuperation. But then Damien has always had a way with women. God knows he's known enough of them.” She went to Damien and kissed him on the mouth. Her look was both flirtatious and mocking. Stevie felt jealousy hit her.

“Okay, Honi, knock it off,” Damien said tightly.

“How about we put two tables together and sit with you?” the man said.

Damien took Stevie's hand as the man's eyes narrowed again. “Stevie, this is Jake McGowan, your ex-husband.”

Stevie nodded coldly. “I don't remember him.” Damien noted that her hands trembled slightly and her eyes seemed even more glazed. But she
did
look Jake over. Medium height and fit, he had a big, football-player's form, brown hair, nut-brown skin and a trim beard. He looked derisive and mocking as if he demanded a lot and gave little. He surely didn't look like anyone she'd have chosen for herself.

“What!” Jake said. “Oh, come on. Let me introduce you again to my lawyer, Ruff Maddox.”

The slight dark-skinned lawyer bowed and Stevie nodded. He thought that if she remembered him, it would be with hatred after the hard time he'd given her with the divorce.

“And my bodyguard, the best, Nip Riley—called Nip because he never passes up a nip.” He laughed at his joke and the hulking cocoa-tan man nodded.

“If we could trouble you for a drink, I'd make it worth your while,” Jake said to Nick.

“Sure, we can do that,” Nick answered smoothly. He didn't like the way Stevie looked so miserable since the four had come in. They stated their preferences and Nick went to mix the drinks.

Jake looked at Stevie and grinned without sympathy. “Honi here tells me you've gone and lost your memory. Now what'd you go and do that for?”

Damien cleared his throat. “Don't tease her, McGowan. She's in no shape to be teased. Loss of memory is no funny thing.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Hell, at some point in every day I wish I could lose mine. I don't
like
remembering, for instance, the way Stevie cut me loose and how much of my money she took me for.”

Stevie looked indignant. Damien reached over and pressed her hand causing Jake to ask, “You taking her under your wing and under your roof, man? I'll never forget the good times Stevie and I had making out at first. You remember, babe?”

Stevie drew herself up, and said haughtily, “I remember
nothing
about you, Mr. McGowan, and I wouldn't
want
to remember if I did.”

Jake roared with laughter. “Always the feisty broad—in and out of bed.”

“That's enough, Jake,” Damien commanded. “If you have no compassion, at least have good manners.”

Jake stroked his beard and his expression was lecherous. “I never forget Stevie's kind of woman, and since you've got her, neither will you.”

Stevie looked at Damien. “I want to go now,” she said softly.

“And I can understand why,” Jessi said bitterly. “Shame on you, Jake McGowan.”

Jake leaned back, laughing. “What'd I do? What'd I say? I don't pretend to be Mr. Sophisticate like Steele here. I'm a rough diamond. That's why I'm a record mogul in R&B. It's not a field for pansies.”

“Let's go, Stevie,” Damien said. He barely nodded at Honi who had said nothing else, but who was still giving Damien provocative looks. He was worried about Stevie; she looked so still, so numb. “See you Nick, Jessi,” he said as Nick brought the drinks on a tray

“You're leaving so soon?” Nick asked as an annoyed Jessi looked on.

Jessi stood up and hugged Stevie fiercely. “Now I'm coming over to Damien's sometime tomorrow so we can talk alone, or he can bring you here and we'll talk in my office. I'll help you to remember. Meantime, I'm going to call everywhere Bretta might have gone.”

Tears stood in Jessi's eyes as she gripped Stevie's hand. “May God go with you, my love” was all she could say.

Jake stared at Stevie and Damien as they walked out and his eyes were cold as he looked at his lawyer. “I'll get her back,” he declared, “one way or the other.” The lawyer only shrugged.

 

Out on the highway, Damien patted Stevie's knee lightly, asking, “You okay?”

“I'm—fine.”

“You must be hungry. I know I am.”

“A little.”

“Would you like another hot dog?”

She looked at him, smiling. “I'd much rather have a half smoke.”

Damien laughed. “A real teenager's appetite. I know a place where they make great ones and there's a park nearby. We can sit there and eat them.”

He was pleased that she didn't seem too upset any longer, and reflected that as long as she was alone with him she seemed to feel safe and happy.

He pulled into a parking space in front of a quaint building where they got the half smokes with everything and Stevie's mouth watered. In a nearby park that held few people, they sat on a bench and devoured the half smokes and drank giant sodas. After a minute, Damien patted his belly and turned to her saying, “I want to be really good to you because you were really good to me.”

Surprised, she looked at him. “When?”

“Too bad you don't remember because you'd be proud of yourself.”

“What did I do?”

“Saved my life. Listen, I was drowning in my pain when Honi left me and married someone else with no warning. We were going to get married that June and in May she went on a modeling shoot on this little Caribbean island. She met the bachelor prime minister and a week later she told me they were getting married. Said he just swept her off her feet. He gave her a Rolls Royce and made her his first lady.”

He paused a minute. “Honi came back in tears, declaring that she had found she loved only me, a fact I doubted. Later, her husband divorced her on grounds that she refused to bear him a child, just as she had refused me. She not only betrayed me, she lied,” he finished grimly. His voice was raw with pain. Didn't that mean he still loved her?