The Perfect Love Song (12 page)

Charlotte felt this way—that time was standing still. She looked at the calendar and counted the days until she’d see Jimmy, and yet the date never seemed to move closer. She kept track of his concerts and cities, but their conversations had dwindled from many times a day to almost every other day.

Her client, Mrs. McClintock, stood at the top of her staircase and spoke down to Charlotte—literally and figuratively: “Young lady, you promised there would be freeze-dried pomegranates on this garland, that you would add a splash of red.” The woman fingered the top of the garland wrapped around the staircase and slowly descended the stairs, one deliberate step at a time, emphasizing each word with the click of her high heels.

Charlotte released a long sigh, smiling through her gritted teeth. “I explained on the phone yesterday that the
supplier is out of pomegranates, so I used red berries instead. There is still a splash of red to accent the rest of your decorations.”

Mrs. McClintock reached the bottom of the staircase, but remained one step above Charlotte. “Yes, but this is the exact same garland that Edith Carson has in her foyer. And don’t try to tell me it’s not because I was at her Christmas party last night, and it is the same. Now, what are we going to do about this? My party is tonight, and I cannot have the same exact decorations as Edith Carson. I just cannot. So, my dear, what are you going to do to rectify the situation?”

“Well,” Charlotte said, “I can weave some dried oranges and then some magnolia leaves into the garland, and it will have a completely different look.”

“Yes, ‘different’ is one word. ‘Gaudy’ might be another word. ‘Cheesy’ might be another. Oranges? Are you kidding me? My decorations are red and white.”

Charlotte kept her smile. She wasn’t sure how, but years of practice helped. “No one has white and silver antique balls. I have a box of the most fabulous vintage mercury ornaments in all sorts and sizes. You wouldn’t be able to keep them, but no one, absolutely no one, will have anything like it. You’ll be the only one. I was going to use them for the mayor’s Christmas centerpiece, but if you want them, I’ll
give them to you and they’ll never know the difference. Your garland will be the talk of the town. Forget pomegranates.”

Mrs. McClintock finally smiled, and Charlotte knew she’d hit the right button—one-upping the mayor’s wife. “Perfect.” Then she scowled again, which was easy for her to do because once a face is used to being a certain way, it returns to its original features without any effort at all. “But,” she said, “I need it up in the next two hours. You understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” Charlotte said. “I definitely do.”

She walked out the front door of Mrs. McClintock’s house and tried not to think about the other fifteen decorations she’d made and hung for the woman—not one of which she’d mentioned. Charlotte ran her hand through her hair. She was slipping; she should’ve known better than to make two of the same garland for two women in the same social circle, but Charlotte had never been more preoccupied than she’d been the past two weeks.

She climbed into her car and turned the heat to high and dialed Jimmy’s number on her cell phone. She leaned back in the seat and waited, but it was his voice mail that picked up. Again.

“Hey, baby. It’s me.” She paused and stared out the window at Mrs. McClintock’s house. “I’m leaving a client’s
house. She was awful to me. Well . . . anyway. Call me, I guess when you can. I love you.” She realized there were tears on her face, and she didn’t even know she’d been crying.

She glanced one more time at her phone.

Nothing. Still nothing.

J
immy had looked down and seen Charlotte’s number flash on his cell phone screen, but he had a magazine interview in less than thirty seconds, and if he’d answered her, he’d miss the interview. He’d reasoned that he could call her when the interview was finished.

Milton came from the front of the bus and sat next to Jimmy. “How’s it going, man?”

Jimmy stared distractedly at his phone. “Waiting on the
People
phone call. What could they possibly want to ask me?”

“This is for their Christmas issue. Just say what you’ve been saying all week.”

Jimmy looked at Milton. “It’s starting to sound like someone else. All these interviews, man. I read them, but the articles aren’t about me. I say these things, I know, but then they move the words around and make me sound like someone else.”

“You’re complaining?”

“No,” Jimmy said, running his finger along the mist that had formed on the inside of the window. “I’m just so flipping tired. I just want to . . . sleep.”

“Well, you’ll be able to do that in the new year.”

“The twenty-third,” Jimmy said.

“Well, that’s why I’m back here to talk to you.”

The phone buzzed, and they both looked at it to see the 212 area code for New York City. “
People
,” Milton said. “Answer it. I’ll be back when you’re done. We’re an hour from Raleigh.”

L
eaving Mrs. McClintock’s, Charlotte calculated that Jimmy hadn’t answered the phone in two days, and when he called her back it was usually the middle of the night. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to have success. God, she just missed him. She put the gearshift into drive and headed in the wrong direction, which she didn’t realize until she’d reached the stoplight and had that odd disconnected feeling one has when they’ve gone the wrong way, or missed an exit, or when someone is missing someone else so badly that the details of life become blurry and unfocused. “Get over yourself,” she said out loud.

But that is the thing about the Christmas season: It’s difficult to get over hope for more. It is harder than any other time of year to get over “I want.” This was and is meant to be the time of year for gratitude and giving, but somehow the spirit gets confused and the “I want” takes over. But by the time Charlotte had reached Kara’s house, her mood had changed, and she smiled when her best friend answered the door. Like Mrs. McClintock’s face that formed itself into its favorite look, Charlotte’s soul moved back into its original delight.

Kara hugged Charlotte. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I need to borrow your vintage mercury ornaments for the night. Can I beg?”

“Absolutely. But then you must help me finish sketching out the chapel decorations for the nun in Galway. She needs me to fax them to her by tomorrow.”

“Faxing to a nun in Galway. Something about that doesn’t sound right.”

“I know. Isn’t that funny?” Kara laughed, which she’d been doing a lot of lately, what with her wedding now only two weeks away.

Charlotte turned her full attention to her friend and the wedding, remembering the wedding Kara had canceled to reunite with Jack. “The last time you were obsessed with every swatch of fabric, every bouquet, every smallest detail. You’re so much more relaxed now.”

Kara scrunched up her face. “Yeah, last time I think I was a bit more worried about the wedding than the groom. This time I care much more about the groom than the wedding. I just want to get to Ireland, see where Maeve grew up, and say ‘I do’ in that sweet chapel.”

“Oh, Kara, it’s all so amazing.” Charlotte sat in the whitewashed ladder-back chair. “Like a miracle. A real one.”

“I know.” Kara sat next to Charlotte and pulled out a photo of the inside of the chapel. “Okay, so here’s the picture. I told the nun I just want white roses on the end of each pew. The chapel is so pure, I don’t think I want any other decorations.”

Charlotte looked at the photo and ran her pinkie across the edge. “What about some magnolia branches on every other pew? You know, something southern. I can have them sent overnight. We can get them off that tree that you and Jack used to hide in when you were kids.”

“Yes,” Kara said, jumping up. “Perfect. You’re so good at this.”

Together the two best friends huddled over the chapel photo and talked about flowers and travel and the Christmas they all waited for.

M
ilton returned to the bus seat just as Jimmy was dialing Charlotte’s number. “How’d the interview go?”

“Same old, same old.” Jimmy slammed his phone shut. “Can I have a few minutes alone?”

“Nope, sorry. We’ll be in Raleigh in thirty minutes, and I need to talk to you before sound check.”

“What is it?” Fatigue pulled at Jimmy’s eyes; his insides felt weighed down with concrete, as if he were stuck in his seat.

“Well, look at you. You lost your Christmas cheer?”

“I’m just tired. That’s all. I don’t think I can hear ‘Jingle Bells’ one more time.”

“Well, you’ve got—let me count,” Milton ticked cities off on his fingers, “—six more times to hear it.”

“That doesn’t include sound check,” Jimmy said, groaning.

“Well, I’m here to cheer you up. I have great news.”

“Yes?”

“You have been invited to sing your song at ‘The Radio City Christmas Spectacular’ on Christmas Eve.”

“No can do.” Jimmy held up his hand. “I’ll be on a plane to Ireland by then.”

“You aren’t listening to me. You have been invited to sing at Rockefeller Center. Nationally broadcast. Christmas Eve.” Milton counted off the reasons on his fingers. “Right now only the country-music fans have heard of your song. That
night—on Christmas Eve—the entire world will hear of you. Don’t you understand? There are a thousand singers who would kill their mama for this chance. Are you kidding me?”

“Can I think about it?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah, sure.” Milton paused and stared out the window. “For two seconds. That is how long you have to think about it.”

Jimmy looked at Milton’s face. “You already confirmed, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then here is the deal. I’m on a flight to Ireland the minute my song is over. I mean, the
minute.
First class. And you reimburse Mr. Larson for my ticket on the twenty-third. You got it?”

“Look at you, getting a handle on this stardom attitude.” Milton smiled. “I think I like it.”

Jimmy exhaled. “It’s my brother’s wedding.”

Milton held up his hand. “If anyone would understand why you’re doing this, it would be him, wouldn’t it? It’s for you, but it’s also for your brother and for the band. Your band.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said and exhaled. “I guess you’re right.”

Milton walked back toward the front of the bus when Ellie walked back and then sat next to Jimmy. “You okay?”

“I’m good. You?”

“Couldn’t be better. I love this Raleigh stadium. You ever sung here?”

Jimmy laughed and shook his head. “I sang in a bar in Raleigh once.” He paused. “To six people.”

Ellie smiled. “Well, you’d better get used to the bigger places.”

“I think I am.”

“You getting used to all the attention?”

He shrugged.

“Seriously, you haven’t been able to get out of the bus without girls lined up down the street. They wait by the back door of the stadium after the concert. They try to follow us to the bars. Is it making you crazy?”