A Lie for a Lie (34 page)

“That’s Grady for you. He left here and left everybody behind. Then he comes back like a hero and pretends he doesn’t know a one of us.”

“So you did know him.”

“Know him?” She gave an ugly little laugh. “I was his accompanist all through high school. I went to his voice lessons with Mrs. Billings, our choir teacher. He went to
my
lessons so my piano teacher could give us pointers. I practiced with him. I taught him the scales, sang lines to him so he could learn them, because he couldn’t read music worth a damn. Half the time he was reading right to left. I spent hours helping him get ready for the big audition.”

Now I knew which of Esther’s students had been Grady’s personal pianist and made a mental note to tell her. “Did you play for him? For the
Wayfarers
audition, I mean?”

“Exactly why does any of this matter? I didn’t kill him. I certainly wasn’t fond of him, but his being here was a good thing for me. It put me center stage for a while. I have some new piano students because of the Idyll.”

Maybe she went to
their
homes. My fingers were crossed.

I managed a soothing smile. “I’m sure you didn’t kill him. Forgetting you wasn’t a capital offense. But I hoped you could tell me more about high school. How he got his start. You know.”

She made a sound of disgust. “There’s not that much to tell. We worked our tails off helping him. He sat back and let us. Then he left us high and dry. Veronica, most of all, of course. And that Nonie person, although I never did understand what Grady saw in her. Look where she ended up. Waiting on Veronica.”

I wanted to defend Nonie, who had everything going for her, while this woman probably needed her cat just to keep the rat infestation at manageable levels. There was a lot I
wasn’t
saying this morning. I plunged on.

“How did the
Wayfarers
audition come about? It’s pretty extraordinary, isn’t it, that he would write such a gorgeous song, one that was so perfect for the film that they actually used it? And him, to boot.”

“The moment I heard it I knew it would be a hit, if they could just get it into the right hands.”

I nearly missed the important word there, then it penetrated. “They?”

“Yes, he and Veronica.”

“What did Veronica have to do with it?”

“Oh, she helped him write it. I’m sure she was more or less his scribe. Like I said, he had his problems reading music, much less putting it down on paper, but he was the talented one. Of course you’d think they were Lerner and Loewe or something, the way Veronica acted about it. She’s nearly as good at claiming credit for things as Grady is.”

My brain was spinning. “A team, huh?”

“Between us, I wasn’t one bit surprised when he decided to try out for
Wayfarers
without her. Of course it threw her for a loop, but that’s showbiz.”

“Of course.” I had no idea what she was talking about, but I was afraid if I asked, she would clam up. I made
tsk
ing noises. “But poor Veronica.”

“She had a nice enough voice, a little weak, but it went well enough with Grady’s. They practiced and practiced. I got so sick of playing for them, but that comes with the territory of any artist.”

“So they rehearsed together?”

“Oh yes. I remember the day Veronica told us she’d managed to get them an audition time in the afternoon. Spots were hard to come by, but she pulled strings. She had plenty to pull. She was so excited. She was convinced they would both get roles in the movie. I never figured out why that meant so much to her. She already had everything. I could see how it would change Grady’s life, though. He wanted to get out of here.”

“But they didn’t try out together after all.” I made it a statement.

“No, he called me that morning at the crack of dawn and told me he’d gotten an earlier time. He begged me to come and play for him, so I dragged myself out of bed and went down to the room at the college where they were having the auditions. Veronica wasn’t there. Grady told me she’d decided not to come, and he’d be singing alone. I didn’t question it. I figured he’d finally wised up and realized she would drag him down.”

I was putting all this together at the speed of light, trying to stay one jump ahead, but I was pretty sure Lisa had hit the fingernail on the ivory key with that last observation. Grady was loyal to Grady and nobody else. That had been established. The moment he realized he would do better at the audition without Veronica was the moment he’d made other arrangements.

“I imagine Veronica was miffed when you showed up that afternoon and Grady didn’t,” I said.

“Oh, I didn’t go. I had no idea Veronica was still going to try out. Grady led me to think she had decided not to bother. But apparently she came, and when neither Grady or I was there, she got completely shook up. They had another pianist, but, of course, she didn’t have a copy of the song with her. She thought I’d be there, and I had it memorized. So she had to try out alone, a capella.” Lisa’s eyes lit up, as if she was enjoying this. “And I hear they stopped her about a third of the way into it and sent her on her way.”

“Poor Veronica.”

“Yes, well, poor Veronica had to learn she couldn’t have everything, didn’t she? Life’s just filled with difficult lessons.”

Why hadn’t I heard any of this before? Veronica had helped write “Sailing toward a Rainbow,” yet she’d never mentioned it? Was she just embarrassed that she’d been taken in by the boy she’d risked her own popularity to help? Then Veronica had been cruelly surprised and humiliated when Grady abandoned her at the
Wayfarers
audition without even telling her his change of plans.

“Apparently she forgave him,” I said carefully. “Or else why would she have invited him back to judge the Idyll?”

“Oh, well, they were both grown-ups by then, weren’t they? Knowing Ronnie—Veronica—she probably reminded Grady that he owed her for the way he’d treated her as a teenager. She probably saw his coming here as payment for what he put her through. She could bask in a little reflected glory and use him to turn those old events to her advantage. She’s a schemer, our Veronica. I wouldn’t put it past her to threaten him, either. Playfully, of course, but real nonetheless.”

“Threaten him?”

“Right, threaten to get the word out that she helped him write the song. Although, of course, there was no proof and who would care now anyway? But if Veronica wanted Grady for the Idyll, of course, she would find a way. That’s the kind of person she is. And she certainly did, didn’t she? Too bad for him.”

 

 

I parked in front of Camille Beauregard’s house and wondered how my theory of house ownership applied here. Unlike Lisa’s, this one was old, brick, and substantial. It was a graciously constructed original and not a flimsy imitation like most of those in Emerald Estates, although judging by the acre of land it sat on, the sheer height and breadth, it had cost the moon. The neighborhood was not in-your-face prestigious, but subtler, with more variety in size and age of the homes. I saw touches of Camille. No-nonsense good taste, and great bones with nothing padding them. I decided Camille had bought the house because it represented the woman she was, and not because of the attached prestige.

Okay, I was wasting time on pop psych, but I sat there a moment longer anyway. When I called Camille after my trip to Lisa Lee’s, she invited me to come over, but only if I was willing to work out with her in her home gym. She did a second workout every day from eleven to twelve, and she thought I might want to join her.

About as much as I wanted to yank out my toenails.

I dragged myself out of the car and pulled down the coral tank top Vel had given me last Christmas. Complete with shelf bra and enough spandex to string a slingshot, it matched my black V-waist shorts with a coral stripe up the side. Vel had been on a fitness kick at the time, and she’d wished the same for me. When Camille had warned me not to wear anything that could get caught in the machinery, I’d thought of this outfit, still in the gift box in a drawer.

“The things I do because I’m nosy,” I muttered, as I walked up the sidewalk.

Camille was jogging in place when she answered the door, two yapping Yorkies at her feet. I glimpsed contemporary furnishings, neutral-colored walls, everything spare and clean and not a whiff of cat urine. I breathed deeply. I was afraid I’d need the oxygen.

“Downstairs,” she said, trotting off. I followed her, pumping my arms as I went to try to get into the mood. Wisely the Yorkies stayed behind.

We jolted down a set of stairs into the basement. We ran by a media room, and what looked like a home office, before Camille flung open a set of French doors into a torture chamber worthy of the Inquisition.

“Good Lord!” I stopped dead and stared at the piece of equipment in the center of the room. “I swear I’ll tell you anything you want to know. And the earth
is
the center of the universe. It is, it is.”

“Don’t be a wuss.”

“Oh please, can’t I?”

Camille was still jogging in place, and she hadn’t even broken a sweat. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Gorgeous
was hardly the word. The “thing” was almost as tall as Camille’s ceiling, and with the seat that jutted out from one side, considerably wider. It was crammed with barbells, pulleys, and levers. I was almost sure it could stretch a man thin as a pancake in less than a minute.

“It looks lethal.”

She, foolish girl, thought I was kidding. “Don’t you love my gym?” she cooed.

Did I? I would have loved more exits, that’s for sure. Right now Camille was standing between me and escape. I looked around. The place was huge. I saw a punching bag in one corner, a stationary bike and stair-climber in another. There was a treelike thingie holding a series of round disks, and a rack with even more barbells. The floor was some sort of foam jigsaw puzzle. Mirrors lined the walls, and “Gonna Fly Now” from
Rocky
was being piped in through giant stereo speakers.

“I’ve already done my stint on Godzilla there,” Camille said, nodding toward the apparatus in the middle. “I’ll set you up, then I’ll ride the bike while you work, and we can chat.”

“Chat?” I was fairly certain my responses would be limited to “
oomph
” and “
ouch
.”

Didn’t matter. In a few minutes I was lying at an incline on the seat, my feet resting on foot plates. Camille had taken pity on me and only added wuss weights to start me off. My job was to slowly extend my leg almost to its length and hold it, then bend that knee again and try the other leg.

“Do ten on each leg, then I’ll add more.” Camille trotted off to the bike and began to pedal to Beijing.

I pushed and nothing moved. I tried a little harder and my leg inched along. I was already panting.

“I think I need less weight,” I said between puffs.

“You are such a cutup.”

“Nope, I’m serious.”

Camille jumped off the bike, came over, and made the adjustment. “You’re
serious
, all right. You’re in serious need of help, Aggie. We’re going to have to set up a schedule for you to come and work out with me.”

“You can call me at the hospital once I’m ambulatory again.”

“So what was your great idea?” Camille was back on the bike, pedaling so fast I was afraid the whole thing was going to lift off the ground.

Camille and Veronica were friends. Camille and I were friends, but Veronica had been in her life longer. So it had made little sense for me to call Camille and tell her I had questions about Veronica that I’d rather she didn’t mention to anyone else. I wasn’t sure Camille would answer them, and I was darned sure she wouldn’t keep them to herself.

So I’d come up with a little “shades of gray” lie to tell Camille. Now I justified it to myself by thinking about Sister Nora.

“I had a fund-raising idea, nothing on the scale of the Idyll, but something to bring in money for the pediatric wing. I thought maybe Veronica would consent to have a small concert of her songs, you know, the ones she’s written herself. And we could dedicate it to Grady, because the two of them used to sing together. I think people would come just to honor them both.”

“Veronica must really like you. Hardly anybody knows about her songs.”

My foot almost slipped off the plate. I had guessed correctly. I took a moment to make sure my sole was solidly back on before I spoke. “Actually, it wasn’t Veronica. Somebody else told me. I guess I’d better not say who, if it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Oh, Veronica’s just a private kind of gal. She has this face she shows the world, the perfect society matron, you know? But underneath she’s very sensitive and creative. Weird, isn’t it, that she chose the life she did?”

I could almost see Veronica sitting at my kitchen table, and hear her talking about her own mother, and the fluffy little life she hadn’t wanted. How badly hadn’t she wanted it? Badly enough to try to hang on to Grady’s coattails and pretend she’d helped him write a song that became a worldwide hit?

Somehow, I didn’t think so.

“Do you think she has enough songs for a concert?” I asked.

“Oh, she has oodles. And they’re good, at least the few she’s shared with me. She’s very talented. The problem, I think, is that they’re not what people are looking for now. Not edgy enough. Not rock, not hip-hop. More Barry Manilow and Neil Diamond stuff.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by a problem.” I was sweating now, and my legs were shaking from the unaccustomed activity.

“A problem selling them. From what she says, a song-writer really needs a performer who’ll get excited about her work and record it. That’s how they make their way to the top.”

I knew I had to be careful, very careful now, and not with my feet. “With Veronica’s people skills and contacts, it seems like she’d have luck approaching some appropriate performers, doesn’t it? She’s so good one-on-one.”