Moments In Time Read online

  “Yes.”

  “Is it good?”

  “It’s a dandy,” he nodded, grinning mischievously as he buttoned his shirt. “You’ll hear it tonight.”

  And a dandy it was. She’d sat on the steps that led to the stage, off to the right side, three of the crew members seated in front of her to block the way of any errant fans. The closest speaker was twenty feet away, but even at that distance the noise level was unbelievable. It’s a miracle more people don’t go deaf from this, she’d been thinking as she heard for the first time the love song he’d written just for her.

  “The thought comes to me, from someplace deep within my mind,

  The wonder of it—can this be real?—this dream I never thought I’d find.

  Lost in you, I’ve found it all, all that life can be.

  Sweet, sweet Maggie, can’t believe you’re loving me.”

  Maggie sat quietly on the step, attempting to maintain her composure, there in the cavernous room amid thousands of strangers, listening to his voice, watching his face. Memories of that night in Atlanta would return to her in the years to come, and she would always feel that same surge of love for him that she felt that night whenever she recalled it. It was the last city she would travel to that tour, and she would always remember Atlanta as the city where the course of her life had been set.

  “That was so wonderful, so beautiful,” she told him as he exited the stage at the conclusion of the performance. “I can’t believe you did that for me. Hey,” she asked as he swept her into the dressing room, “where’s the fire?”

  He pushed her through the door that led into the shower area.

  “What are you doing?” She watched his face and, seeing both mirth and passion mingled there, protested, “You can’t be serious. For God’s sake, Jamey, what if someone wants to take a shower?”

  “They’ll find the door locked and they’ll wait,” he said, grinning.

  “Well, just where are you planning on…” She looked around the room, which was devoid of furnishings.

  “In the shower, of course,” he replied, smiling into her eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt.

  “In the shower?” She raised a curious eyebrow. “How do you do it in the shower?”

  “Take your clothes off and I’ll show you.”

  Maggie woke at dawn on Monday morning. Her sleep had been troubled, and she was not rested. She turned over and studied J.D.’s face as he slept, smiling as she took in the features she knew so well and loved so deeply. The dark hair tumbled onto his forehead always gave his face the appearance of a man much younger. She wanted to touch him, feel his skin, kiss his mouth. She hesitated, wondering if she should wake him so early. This time tomorrow I’ll be home in my own bed, she reminded herself. All alone.

  She considered the loss of her pills, acutely aware that they’d been playing Russian roulette all weekend. Oh, God, she thought, please let it be all right, then stopped, knowing that prayer as a means of birth control was an exercise in futility. Love and desire were at war with logic and reason. She was smart enough to know which would win the battle for her will.

  She leaned over him and with her fingers traced the lines in his face. He smiled slightly in his sleep. She leaned closer, kissed his cheek, his chin, worked her way to his mouth, and felt his response, slow at first, then slightly more intense as he began to emerge from his slumber. Her kisses became more insistent, and he answered her need. They took their time, as if they had all the time in the world, knowing it would have to last what would seem like an eternity before they could be together again. He kissed her face, tasted the salty tears, kissing away each one as it slid down her face, holding her as closely as he could. They each searched for something to say that could hold back the gloom that was creeping in around them like a dense fog.

  “Come into the shower with me,” he said after they had lain in silence for what seemed to be a long time.

  “You have got to be kidding,” she said with raised eyebrows, “you couldn’t possibly.”

  He laughed. “You’re right. I couldn’t possibly. But I do need a shower. And besides,” his voice softened as he cuddled her, “I still need to be near you. I want to keep the closeness as long as I can. I love you so much, Maggie. I don’t have words to tell you what I feel for you.”

  She held him in her arms, memorizing how it felt to hold him, then, knowing time would start to run short before they would have to leave for the airport, pushed him back a bit and said, “I get to set the water temperature this time, though. You damn near froze me out in the dressing room the other night.”

  She got up and pulled him with her, pushing him toward the bathroom door.

  “That water wasn’t cold, Maggie. It was temperate,” he said innocently.

  “It was frigid. I’ll show you temperate. And I get to wash my hair first.”

  “Bossy broad,” he murmured. “Jesus, Maggie, this water’s too damned hot.”

  “Shut up and pass the shampoo.”

  She laughed and pretended to take her time. Finally he reached over and turned the cold water faucet far enough to bring down a steady stream of cool water.

  “God, that’s cold!” she protested.

  He laughed, picked up the soap she’d dropped when the cool water first hit her, and laughed again as she opened the door and all but jumped into a towel.

  She was drying her hair when he came out. She saw the melancholy in his eyes, saw the blues settle into his face. She put her arms around him and held him, smoothed the wet hair from his forehead.

  “I’m not whole without you, Maggie,” he told her.

  “I know, love. I’m not either.” She bit her lip and held him closer.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered, and she watched the tears form in his eyes. “Stay with me. Please, Maggie.”

  “I can’t, Jamey. Not this time.”

  He pulled away from her and went into the bedroom. She finished dressing slowly, then followed him. He sat on the edge of the bed, depressed and desolate. She sat behind him and massaged his shoulders.

  “Maggie, will you marry me?” she heard him say in a low voice.

  She’d not anticipated the question and so sat silently.

  “Maggie?”

  “Jamey, that’s a big commitment…”

  “I know. And I’m more than willing to make it.” He turned around and took her face in her hands, his fingers tangling the still damp strands of hair around her temple. “Are you?”

  “Yes,” she replied simply.

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?” she asked.

  “Today would suit me just fine,” he offered, only half joking.

  “Might take a few days to get a license.” She smiled, then suggested, “How about when the tour is over, when your travel’s done.”

  “We’ll still have this long, lonely month ahead of us, Maggie.”

  “I know, but it will take a while to get the paperwork together, my divorce papers, and I don’t know what you’ll need in the way of forms, since you’re not a citizen. And I want my family to meet you first. And I want to get married at home, with my family…”

  He sighed. “Well, I guess I could last four weeks if I knew for certain I’d never have to be without you again. That we’ll always be together after that month’s over.”

  “We will be.” She kissed his chin.

  “The minute you get back home, find a calendar and decide on a date. And then call your parents.”

  “Uh-uh. I want them to meet you first.” You just didn’t waltz into that house with a stranger and say, “This is Jamey. We’re getting married.”

  “When can we do that? I’ll be away for the next four weeks.”

  “I’ll see what we can work out. And once the tour is over and you don’t have to leave anymore, will it matter if we get married right away or if we wait a few weeks beyond that? If we’re together, will it matter if we’re married?”

 
; “No, not for a little while. But keep in mind that I’ll need to be going back home before too long, Maggie. And when I do, I’ll be taking you with me, so you’d best get them prepared.”

  “I’m not certain of the best way to do that,” she said as she pondered the possibilities.

  “Tell them I’m a piano player,” he suggested, “that should break the ice.”

  “No good. They’ll be expecting Van Clibum. Or Liberace.”

  “Then just tell them I’m with a band.”

  “Tommy Dorsey.” She shook her head playfully.

  “How ’bout just saying that I sing?”

  “Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett.”

  “A visiting Brit?”

  “Prince Philip.”

  “Why don’t you just tell them the truth?” he asked pointedly.

  “Jamey, my father hates rock music. He’s having a coronary because his only son has taken up the drums. When he finds out who you are, his mind will close like a steel trap.”

  “Well, sooner or later, he’ll have to know. And it just seems to me the sooner you get it over with, the better it will be for everyone.”

  13

  THE LIGHTS IN THE LIVING ROOM WERE HOT, AND Maggie raised her hands to lift what suddenly felt like a heavy veil of hair from her neck. The air felt good as it touched her back. I should have worn my hair up, she told herself, instead of down the way he likes it, just to irritate him.

  She resisted the urge to tune back into the conversation. Hilary had apparently asked him about that lag he’d had a few years back, when he couldn’t buy a hit record. It had been a bad time for him, she recalled. He’d been depressed and seriously considered retirement. Realizing he didn’t have too many options other than music had served to depress him even more. He had no education to speak of, had never made a living doing anything else. It had been Rick who’d lit the fire under him then, prodding him to try again, which of course he had done, producing his biggest-selling album up to that time.

  He’d been miserable until he’d completed that record, hanging around the house listlessly, following her and getting underfoot, looking to her to direct him somehow. She had three little ones to keep up with and had just found out she was pregnant with the fourth. It had been unexpected—they’d all somehow been unexpected. None, of course, she recalled ruefully, as unexpected as the first one had been…

  By the beginning of the second week in June, she knew for certain something was wrong. She was two weeks late— never in her life had she ever fluctuated by more than three days. She knew it was time to pay the piper for the four-day dance in Atlanta. The doctor merely served to confirm her own diagnosis. Her child was due the first week in February.

  Numb, she’d returned to her apartment, caught in the emotional crossfire of angrily reproaching them both for their stupid, irresponsible behavior and sheer panic at finding herself in such a predicament.

  She reached for the phone a dozen times, each time rehearsing a different opening line, a different conversation, but could not bring herself to dial the number of the hotel in Phoenix where he was staying. How would he react? Would he be angry? Indifferent? What if, a tiny anxious voice inside suggested, he's changed his mind about you? What if he’s met someone else? What will he think about a baby? What if he doesn’t want it? What if he walks away? What if? What if? What if?

  By two a.m. she had managed to work herself into a state of frenzied confusion. She picked up the phone and dialed the hotel. Rick answered. She could hear a party in full blast.

  “Hey, Mags, congratulations. J.D. told us the news. We’re happy for you, baby. As a matter of fact, we’re celebrating the big event right now. And we’ll celebrate again in L.A. and in San Francisco, that is, of course, if J.D. permits us the time to do anything besides—”

  “Maggie?” J.D. had abruptly taken the phone from Rick.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Ah, well, I made the error of telling everyone we’d decided to get married, and it seemed like an excuse for a party, I guess. Somehow everyone ended up back here at my room.” His voice sounded odd. Was he drunk or annoyed that she had intruded into what sounded like a great party?

  “You sound like you’ve been hitting the Scotch.” She was annoyed to find him enjoying himself when she was crazed with panic.

  “Not really,” he said somewhat impatiently. “Maggie, hold on. Let me try to redirect these people elsewhere. Give me a few minutes to get everyone out of here, and I’ll call you back.”

  She lay in the darkness, the phone beside her on the bed, her hand on the receiver, waiting for it to ring. Why is it taking him so long, she wondered, to kick a few dozen people out of the room? When the call finally came, shattering the silence, she glanced at the clock on the table before answering. It had taken him almost an hour.

  “Why are you up so late tonight, Mags?” he asked, and she pictured him in his hotel room, settled back against the bed pillows, one arm bent behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles on the bed, relaxed and unaware that she was about to drop a heavy bit of news into his unsuspecting lap. Her throat constricted and she began to lose her nerve.

  “I needed to talk to you. Why didn’t you call the past two nights? I’ve been worried.” She tried to control her voice, which sounded, even to her ears, a bit shrill.

  “No reason to be. It was late by the time we got back here both nights, and I know there’s a difference in the time between here and there. I didn’t want to wake you up in the middle of the night. And besides, I’ve been a bit distracted…”

  “Distracted? By what?” She tapped the footboard of the bed with her big toe.

  He hesitated. “I don’t know that now’s the best time to go into that.”

  A fog seemed to settle into her brain, jumbling her senses. Through the loud buzzing inside her head her thoughts scrambled in confusion. What was he hiding from her? Her mouth went dry, and she could not respond.

  “Tell me why you called, sweetheart. Is something wrong?”

  Ignoring his questions, she pressed him. “When will be the right time?”

  “When I get back there.” He sighed impatiently. “Maggie, is there something you wanted to talk about?”

  “No.” For the first time, she felt like an unwanted intruder into his life away from her.

  “Things okay at work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your family?”

  “Fine.”

  “Then what, baby?” he pleaded with exasperated gentleness.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry I called, Jamey. Remind me not to do so again unless there’s a death in the family.”

  “Maggie…” he began, obviously alarmed by the snappish, shrewish jolt of her voice.

  “We’ll talk about it next week when you’re here.” When you’re back home and you're the man I know again.

  “Ahhh, well, about next week. There’s been a slight change in plans. I’ll be in L.A. a bit longer than we’d scheduled.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That means I’ll be back between San Francisco and Toronto the following week. But unfortunately it won’t be for six days, as we’d planned.”

  “How long?”

  “Two. Maybe three days at the most.”

  “Why do you have to stay so long in L.A.?” A tingle of apprehension spread through her.

  “There’s something I have to do that’s very important to me” was all the explanation he offered.

  Her eyes burned. Everything was starting to fall apart. He had always been so eager to be with her, so miserable when he was away from her. Why, now of all times, when she needed him so desperately, was something else more important to him than being with her? And how dare he be so nonchalant when her life was falling apart.

  “That’s all you’re going to tell me?” She could not believe the casual way in which he seemed to brush her off.

  “Yes. I don’t want to go into it right now,” he again told her. “
Maggie, I’m tired. Exhausted. I’ve barely slept in three weeks…”

  “Let me know when you can fit me in.” She broke into a sweat and slammed the receiver into its cradle.

  She knew that he would be upset when he heard the dial tone. She wanted him to be upset. She wanted him to be as crazy as she was. She wanted him to hop the next plane east and come home and tell her it would be all right, that he loved her and would love this child, this tiny being of whose existence he had not yet a clue. Her anger—toward him over his part in her predicament as well as his absence, toward herself for her inability to tell him—had taken on a life of its own and seemed to control her, instilling in her a hostility she did not wish to feel. But it was there and it grew and she had exploded with it.

  Why, she asked herself as she lay alone in the dark, do words of anger and bitterness come so easily to me now? Why can't I just tell him the truth, that I’m pregnant and terrified and I need him so desperately and that I love him more than anything in this life? Am I so afraid that I’m losing him that I'd push him the rest of the way out the door rather than confront him honestly?

  He had called again the next night, gently solicitous, but clearly bewildered by her attitude. She knew she’d been flat-out bitchy, and she had cursed the evil hormonal demon that had seemed to take over her mouth and dictated her very words. He’d sounded sad, distant, a note of frustrated resignation in his voice, but he was not coming home. The hazy, unthinkable possibility that maybe he’d found someone else took on the shape of the image of a ghost she’d seen in a bad movie when she was a child, a wisp of smoke that floated in midair without form or substance, and it terrified her. There's someone else in his life now, and he doesn’t know how to tell me…

  She sat in the chair by the bedroom window, huddled in the darkness and took a few deep breaths, trying to will the trembling inside and the tightness in her chest to stop. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself in a boat speeding out of control toward the horizon. He stood alone on the shore, shrinking into an ever-smaller speck as she tried frantically to turn the wheel and head back to him, to keep him from fading from view completely, but the boat seemed to be powered by some force beyond her control. And so it continued to skim across the water on its rapid course out to sea, where she was surrounded by a terrible loneliness and an endless fear.