A Different Kind Of Forever (16 page)

“Normal? Shit, that’s deadly. Sure, I’d love to come. Can I wear my hat?”

“No, you may not. Maybe the boots.”

“I have something to ask you, too. My father wants to meet you. Lunch at the Country Club was his suggestion.”

“Really? Oh, my. The Club. I’d love to meet your father. Any day will be fine.”

“Fantastic. I’ll let you know. Stand up - the set’s over. We’ll get trampled.”

She stood up quickly and leaned against the railing as people surged out the door and onto the sidewalk. Diane was watching them when she heard someone say Michael’s name. She turned and saw Jonelle, the singer from the band, wrap her arms around Michael’s neck and give him a slow, deliberate kiss in his lips.

“Michael, baby, you look fine,” Jonelle cooed. Michael smiled.

“Hello Jonelle. You all sound great.”

“Yeah, we’re doin’ good.” She was leaning against his side, one arm around his shoulders. She was petite, pretty, with close-cropped hair and dark, honey-colored skin. Diane watched her with interest. She could tell by the way Jonelle acted, her careless familiarity with Michael, the intimate smile, that they had been lovers.
 

“What’s with the hat, baby?” Jonelle teased, her hand rubbing Michael’s chest. You goin’ to the dark side?”

Michael chuckled and shook his head. Jonelle turned deliberately to Diane.

“Seth said you had a new lady,” she said flatly, looking Diane up and down.

“Yes. This is Diane.”

Jonelle turned back to Michael, ignoring Diane. “You gonna play later, baby? We used to play good together.”

Michael smiled faintly. “Maybe,” he said, a slight edge to his voice.

Jonelle took her arm away. “So, ask the new girlfriend. Maybe we could do a request.” She looked at Diane again. “You got a request?” she asked.

Michael looked over to Diane. She smiled innocently. “How about ‘The Man That Got Away’?”

Michael’s mouth twitched. Jonelle cocked her head. “Two points for you, honey.” To Michael, “That would be good, right baby?”

He nodded, grinning. “Sure. But no intro, okay?”

“Sure, baby. But lose the hat. Ain’t nothin’ so sad as a rich white boy in a cowboy hat playing blues, okay?” She turned on her heel and left. Diane looked at Michael with her eyebrows raised.

“Oh, man, I’m going to be in trouble for this, I can tell,” Michael said, laughing and taking her hand. “Come on, let’s get back. I need another drink.”
 

Seth and David were at the table, Seth in deep conversation with the redhead he had been dancing with earlier. David was smiling and drinking heavily, watching the people around him. When Diane sat next to him, he immediately brightened and launched into a discussion of American blues. Diane sipped club soda and tried to hear through his thick, slurred accent as Michael watched, grinning. Then the band started up again, and they were back on the dance floor, now more crowded than ever.

Seth sang with the band a couple of times, to great applause. Finally, Jonelle waved the crowd quiet and invited her ‘good friend’ up to join them. Michael took off his hat and set it on Diane’s head with a long kiss. He went on stage and sat at the upright piano. The crowd was noisy and restless, but after he hit a few chords, they were silent, listening.

Michael played alone, the rest of the band members silent, and Jonelle sat beside him on the piano bench, her voice soft and sexy. When they were done, and the crowd was screaming, she whispered in his ear and he nodded, and they began another number, familiar to Diane, an old love song. This time, the bass player started in, and the drummer hit the snare. When they were done, Michael stood up and walked off-stage, grabbing Diane’s hand as he hurried out.

“Can you drive?” he asked her as they walked toward the truck. She nodded, got behind the wheel and watched him as he took off his hat and sank down into the seat.

“You okay?” she asked, pulling away from the curb.

“Yeah. Just tired. That last beer and shot didn’t help.”

“You could do that all night, couldn’t you? Just sit behind a piano and play for somebody like Jonelle.”

“Easily. I’d love it. If the band ever breaks up, that’s what I’d probably do, get a nice steady gig someplace, work weekends, no hassles.”

“What about writing music?”

“I’d always do that. But I write for myself. If somebody else plays it, or hears it, then I’ll get paid. But the fun is in the writing. I can’t wait to start this movie thing. I’ve got so many ideas. David is really sharp. He’s going to be a big help.”

“You’re pretty amazing, aren’t you? I’m used to smart people, and talented people. I work with them. But you are something special.”

“Shucks. Now I’m embarrassed.”

“Cut it out. You know how good you are.”

He looked at her, curious. “Do you think I’m arrogant?”

“No, not at all. You’re very comfortable with who you are. You’re one of the most self-assured people I’ve ever met. I mean, that guy tonight? Jackie? Most men I know would have had to make a point, somehow.”

“I did make a point. Bobby will fire him.”

“Really?”
 

“Not because he pulled that shit on me, but because he pulled that shit, period. When people pay money to listen to good music and have a nice time, they shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of asshole.”

 
She glanced over at him. His eyes were closed, his face looked very young and peaceful. He opened one eye.

“What?”

She grinned. “So, you and Jonelle were kinda close?”

He closed his eye and sighed. “You picked up on that?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I met her when I was just eighteen. She felt there were certain, ah, gaps in my education.”

“I see. So is there anything in particular I should have thanked her for?”

He chuckled. “Maybe. When I started my senior year in high school, the prettiest girl in the whole class, hell she was head cheerleader, asked me over to her house to watch ‘General Hospital’ after school. She made a pass. I was shocked. She had never so much as looked at me before, but her sister had seen us playing over the summer, and I guess she thought it would be cool to screw a guy in a band. She didn’t want anyone to know. Not only was I the shortest guy around, but I’d skipped third grade, so I was younger than everybody else. It really sucked. But two or three afternoons a week, we’d be at it. Unfortunately, she lacked imagination, and any time I suggested anything other than the missionary position, she freaked. When I met Jonelle, my technique was rather limited. Jonelle, on the other hand, had been hopping in and out of bed for years. Twenty going on forty-five, you know? She gave me a rather advanced tutorial.”

“Remind me to send her flowers.”

He yawned. “I’d like to think I’d have eventually improved on my own. There’s a Marriott just ahead. Pull in. We’ll get a room.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. It’ll take us at least forty minutes to get home. It’ll be fun. Besides, you’ve been getting me hot and bothered all night.”

She turned the truck into the parking lot. “I thought you were tired.”

“Not that tired.”

She shut off the truck and turned in her seat to face him. “And you can’t wait?”

“I’ve been waiting all night.” He got out and walked around to the other side of truck, opening her door and pulling her out.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she scolded, walking past him. He grabbed her and pulled her back to him, pressing her against the truck. He kissed her very slowly, one hand sliding up her skirt, the other against her breast. He kissed her again, more deeply, and her arms went around him, and she opened her legs as his hand crept further up her thigh. Abruptly, he pulled back, and she leaned back against the side of the truck, blood pounding, her lips swollen.

“So, you want to drive home or what?”

She licked her lips. Her skin felt on fire. She couldn’t catch her breath. “You son of a bitch.”

He grinned. “It’s the hat.”

T
HEY PASSED INTO
the summer together. After Emily and Megan moved down with their father, they were together almost every day and night. Michael was working on the score for the movie. The band had decided to take on the project. Michael had been hooked when he saw the first rough takes of the film. Gordon Prescott was filming a version of the Canterbury Tales, with a script based on the original stories. His pilgrims were a group of people taking a bus trip to Atlantic City on the Canterbury Bus Line. During the course of the trip, various tales would be told, all in flashback. It was a fascinating idea, and beautifully acted. For Michael, it was a chance to develop distinct themes for each of the characters. And so it had been agreed. Michael would do the writing. Seth and Joey would produce the soundtrack. The band would record at least three original numbers, and Prescott would get other bands to contribute to the soundtrack.

They spent most of their time at Michael’s house. He would work all morning in his studio. David Go, the elfin Irishman who had been tapped to do the orchestration of the score, had moved into one of Michael’s guestrooms. Seth Bascomb had moved into another. Seth owned five different homes, but none in New Jersey, so he always stayed at Michael’s.

Diane started spending mornings on the sailboat. She had spent enough time with Michael that she felt confident enough to go out on her own. She would go over to Merriweather in the afternoons to prepare for her new class. A graduate level class, an analysis of three works by Arthur Miller, required at great deal of research. This was the kind of work she had not done since her doctorate days, and she enjoyed it thoroughly.
 

She was invited to Marie’s for the Fourth of July. Marie and Steve had a beautiful 100 year old Victorian in Madison, with high ceilings and beautiful woodwork. Out back there was a large yard and a patio and pool. When she and Michael arrived, the place was already crowded with family, Marie’s friends and co-workers, as well as Steve’s family. Steve was a director for a major pharmaceutical house, and he had invited his whole department.

They mingled with the crowd. Diane had been accepted warmly by his family. Marie waved happily at them, and a few minutes later, Angela came running up to them, her face flushed with the heat.

“I have some hot news for you, Diane.” Angela said, giving Michael a quick kiss on the cheek “Guess who’s back in the States and planning on returning to Merriweather?”

“Not a clue,” Diane said, taking a sip of cold white wine.
 

“Quinn Harris.” Angela said excitedly. “He’s bringing his Coward revival, the one that did so well last season in London, to the St. James for a limited run, sometime in the spring. Sam told me all about it. So Quinn asked about taking on another class here, this fall. Isn’t that great? That would be such a coup for Sam, getting him back. We got a lot of attention last time, remember? And with your play going on while he’s here could mean some impressive coverage, don’t you think?”

Diane had to take a deep breath. Quinn Harris, back at Merriweather.

“That’s great. For Sam I mean,” Diane said. “Quinn is quite a catch.”

“Who’s Quinn Harris?” Michael asked.

Angela told him. “He’s a very famous director in England, and he was here a few years ago as a visiting Professor. It was very exciting for us drama types.”

Michael had been watching Diane’s face. “Did you know him?” he asked casually.

Diane met his eyes. “Yes. Usually I wouldn’t be hanging around the Merriweather drama department, but Sam had just decided to workshop my play, so I did get to know him.” She smiled briefly, then caught sight of Marie. “Your sister looks like she could use some help.” She gulped more wine and moved away from Michael.

Her heart was pounding. Quinn was returning. She never imagined she would see him again. She could hear voices around her, but they seemed to be at a great distance, and her hands and lips turned icy cold. Quinn.

She had been invited to a cocktail party to welcome Quinn Harris to campus, and she had not wanted to go. But Sam French had insisted, and from the moment she saw Quinn, she could not take her eyes from him. He caught her staring at him, and when she did not turn away, he made his way slowly across the room until it was just the two of them, standing in a quiet corner, talking for a few minutes that made all the difference in the world to both of them. They met the next day for coffee, early in the morning, and by dinner that evening she had fallen, so swiftly and surely that she could not even remember how she had felt about her life before she met him. That evening he told her about his wife. He would leave her, he said. They would be together. They were meant to be together. And she had believed him. But in the end she had said no. He was married. She said no, and her heart had broken.

Diane reached over to take a basket of grilled chicken from Marie’s hands, setting it on the table. Now Quinn was divorced and coming back. She had not thought about him in months, certainly not since Michael. Now, knowing she would see him again caused a powerful reaction, totally unexpected and unwelcome. Diane had no desire to face him again. She did not want any old wounds reopened.

Michael had come up behind her and put his arms around her waist, pulling her away from the table and against him.

“My sister has hired scores of people to help her with this stuff,” he said into her ear. “You‘re supposed to be a guest, remember?”

Diane smiled and leaned back against him. “Sorry. It’s automatic.”

“Yeah, well you’re depriving people of their gainful employment.”

She rubbed her hands against his arms. “Sorry.”

Diane could feel the question hanging in the air before he asked it. “What about this Quinn Harris?”

Diane chewed her lip. “Did you ever meet somebody, and in like, three minutes you’re thinking, wow, this is who I’ve been waiting for my whole life?”

Michael stepped back away from her. When Diane turned around, his face was blank.

Diane continued. “Well, that’s how I felt when I met Quinn. But he was married. So nothing really happened. Then he went back to England.” She reached out to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw, running her fingertips over his lips. “It was a long time ago. Things are different now.”