Yankee Doodle Dixie (29 page)

As I’m sauntering toward the bass player I can see clearly that he’s looking dead at me. I’m pretending not to notice him, though, by staring straight ahead. The closer I get to his chair I pick my spot and sit down on the edge of the pool dangling my feet into the warm water. After looking around nonchalantly, my eyes meet his and we smile at each other. My fingers flutter in the air and I mouth, “Hi.”

He stands right up from his chair, only ten feet or so away, and strolls over to me.
Ahhh, it’s working. I wish Virgy could see me now.

“Hi,” he says. “Mind if I join you?”

“Oh no. Of course not,” I say.

He sits down next to me on the edge of the pool and plops his legs in the water. “Have fun last night?” he asks.

“Yes. Yes I did. Did you?”

“It was all right. I didn’t do much after the gig. Pretty much just went back to my room.”

“It must be so much fun to get to travel to all of these great places,” I say.

“Yeah, it’s fun,” he says, dipping his hand into the water. “But it can get lonely at times. The road is a funny thing. It seems glamorous from the outside, but it’s hard on the heart at times, too.”

What a tender thing to say. “I hadn’t really thought about it that way. I can see what you mean,” I tell him.

He’s the sensitive type, I can tell—not necessarily the best-looking guy I’ve ever laid my eyes on but he’s not bad, either. I’m guessing he’s about Liam’s age, maybe a little older. His hair is dark, streaked with gray, and his five o’clock shadow is already making a show. He’s pretty hairy and his nose is a tad big, but he sure is nice. When he speaks, I can tell he’s never worn braces. “The really crazy part about the road is that you lose track of what day it is. They all run together. There’s nothing to differentiate between the days of the week, because our schedule is always the same. We travel, play, eat, and sleep on a Saturday or a Sunday as well as a Tuesday. I might not be explaining it well. You almost have to experience it to know what I mean.”

“No, you’ve explained it very well. Have you ever thought about doing something else?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. When music’s in your blood you can’t
not
play. I don’t think I could do anything else. Sitting behind a desk would never work for me. My brain’s not wired that way. Where’s White, anyway?”

“I’m not really sure,” I say, with a wee bit of sarcasm in my voice.

“That’s another thing about the road. If you’re not careful your days and nights can get mixed up. White gets in his room, closes the curtains, and watches TV all night. Then he sleeps all day. It’s a hard habit to break.”

That must be it. I’m feeling so relieved I want to reach over and hug him as hard as I can. I opt for a big smile instead. “That makes perfect sense,” I tell him.

“Me?” he says. “I can’t do that. I get up early, go for a run, or head down to the hotel gym. But I also go to bed right after the show. It’s Leelee, right?”

I nod my head. “Please tell me your name again. I’m sorry.”

“Phil.”

“Phil. Phil. I won’t forget it again.”

“No worries. You sure have a great smile.”

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you to say.” Slightly embarrassed, I trickle water over my knees.

“How’d you guys meet anyway?”

“At the radio station where I work.” I glance over at him. “He came in for an interview when y’all had your show in Memphis.”

He nods.

“And then he invited my best friends and me to come to the show, and then meet afterward in the green room. We got to know each other that night. And we met you briefly on the bus.”

“Now I remember,” he says. “You were a brave girl to hop on a plane and come up here barely knowing him.”

He might as well have put a knife in my gut. Suddenly I see Alice’s face on his body sitting right next to me, shaking her head. Even Phil, his bandmate, thinks it’s a little strange for me to just hop on a plane, jeopardize my job, throw caution to the wind and run up to New York like a groupie. I’ve put my good sense on the back burner and compromised who I am. And the worst part is, I’m doing it all for a man again.

“May I ask you something?” My hands are resting on the pavement behind me and I’m leaning back so the sun, which is streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the pool, can toast my cheeks.

“Sure. Shoot.”

Turning my head toward him I ask, “Is Liam … a good boss?”

He pulls one leg out of the water, bending his knee. “Yeah. He’s pretty cool.”

Hmm, “pretty cool” doesn’t seem all that convincing to me. “Pretty cool?”

A wry grin forms on his face before he takes a deep breath and slowly exhales.

What?
I’m dying to say.
Why are you hesitating?
“Is there something wrong?” I ask.

“No, no. We just…” He shakes his head and it’s obvious he’s purposeful when choosing his words. “We just … look at some things differently.” Now he’s looking into my eyes.

“Really? Like what?” I can sense he’s on the verge of telling me something important—something that might help me understand Liam.

I see his eyes leave mine and look up over my head, squinting from the sun. “Hey man,” he says.

I feel someone’s knee press into my back. I whip my head around and have the same trouble with my eyes staring into the sun. The person squats down next to me so we’re at eye level.

“Hey,” Liam says and smiles. He’s wearing a white T-shirt with “Rick’s Café” across the pocket, blue jeans, and brown leather flip-flops. I can tell he’s freshly shaven—around his short-clipped beard—and his shoulder-length, blondish-brown hair is still damp. Rested, gorgeous, and twinkle-eyed. Green twinkle-eyed.
Wow. You are the sexiest thing I have ever laid my eyes on.

“Sorry I slept so late.” Unlike me, who’s been frantic for hours, he doesn’t appear to be in the least bit worried about it. I can smell a hint of cologne as gives me a quick kiss. “What’cha been doing?” he says.

“Eating fruit, reading a little. Just enjoying myself.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Well cool. You wanted to go to the Statue of Liberty, didn’t ya?”

“I’m dying to go.”

“Let me call Deke and see if he can get us a car,” he says, digging his phone out of his pocket. He steps out of his flip-flops and rolls up his pants legs, dipping his feet in the pool. When he sits down, his eyes travel to my stomach. Now I’m happy about my spray tan.

“I went for a run all the way down there this morning,” Phil says. “It’s past Ground Zero, not far from Wall Street.”

Liam glances at Phil with a smirk on his face. “Thanks, man.” He shoves his phone back into his front pocket. Apparently Deke isn’t answering. “Let’s go.” After jumping up he reaches out his hand for mine. “See ya, man.”

“I enjoyed talking with you, Phil,” I say. And then I throw in a wink—just for the heck of it. Virginia would be so proud.

“Would you like to change? Or are you comfortable in your bathing suit?” Liam says and laughs, as I’m gathering up my things.

“I always wear my bathing suit when it’s sixty-something degrees outside,” I say, resting both hands on his shoulders. “Don’t you? It won’t take me long to change. I can meet you in the lobby in ten minutes.”

“Perfect,” he says, walking me over to the elevator. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with?” He flickers his eyebrows.

It’s hard to tell him no when he looks this cute, but I do it anyway. “I’ll be really fast.”

*   *   *

When the black Lincoln Town Car drops us off at Battery Park, we stroll over to the ticket office to purchase our passes. Liam leans into the ticket window and asks the woman behind the screen for two tickets into Lady Liberty’s crown and two for the ferry. When she informs him that the last boat of the day left thirty minutes ago, I am sorely disappointed. After changing into my jeans, I still had to wait on him another fifteen minutes in the lobby. The car didn’t even pick us up until two thirty. I can’t help but feel hurt by his cavalier attitude about the day. Unfortunately, neither of us ever looked at the brochure to check the schedule. I shuffle away from the ticket booth wearing my disappointment on my sleeve.

“Sorry, baby.” He reaches up to stroke my cheek. “I’ll make it up to you. We’ll go for a nice dinner tonight. Anywhere you’d like to go.”

“Anywhere?” I ask, as we’re walking back toward the street.

“Absolutely.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to the Boat House in Central Park. What do you think?”

“It’s a little touristy, and probably better during the afternoon when you can see the swans, but I’ll take you there tonight if that’s what you want.”

When we walk under the shade of a tree, I notice a bite in the air. Unfortunately I’ve forgotten my jacket. I see him staring at my left bosom and I have to think about what kind of bra I’m wearing. “What are you looking at?” I say, giggling.

He lifts a chunk of my hair hanging on top of my breast. When he tries running his fingers through it the curl stops him. “Your hair. It’s gorgeous. I love your curls.”

“If you say so,” I say.

“What? You don’t like your curly hair?” he asks, genuinely surprised.

I shake my head.

“You are crazy, girl. Do you know how many—”

“People would pay good money to have my hair? I’ve heard it a thousand times.”

He laughs and taps his forehead. “You at least like the color, right?”

“I started to appreciate it when my baby daughter, Isabella, was born with it. Seeing it on her makes me like it.”

As we stroll through Battery Park, I’m enthralled by the mimes dressed as Lady Liberty and the street performers. Singers, cartoonists, jugglers—there’s even a contortionist, about as talented as I’ve ever seen, stuffing himself inside a small clear box as he performs to the music of Michael Jackson. A thin, but tall, muscular African American man with dreads hanging all the way down his back, he calls himself “Yogi” and flips his legs over his head until he is completely flat with the rest of his body. Yogi has quite a following today, and the crowd shows their appreciation by stuffing the box once he’s done. Liam strolls over and throws money in, too. It’s worth every penny.

What if I were to marry Liam White? What would that be like? I picture myself with a gorgeous pale pink second wedding gown. Maybe something vintage. He’d rent a private jet and fly Sarah and Issie, Alice, Virginia, and Mary Jule, and their husbands, too, to our wedding in St. Barts or St. Kitts. Kissie wouldn’t want to fly on a small plane, but he’d buy her a first-class seat on a major airline. Once she got to know him she would love Liam. I fantasize about the first time they meet. She would act all shy around him at first but after five minutes they’d be best friends. She’d cook for him the most beautiful Southern meals, just like she did for Baker. Baker never appreciated it, but Liam would. I just know he and Kissie would become fast friends. Kissie would tell him all the stories about me as a little girl. She’d get out my baby pictures and brag about what a smart child I was. She’d tell him all about my equestrian days and all of my ballet recitals—all the things a parent is supposed to do.

Liam’s arm around my shoulder yanks me away from my thoughts. We meander some more, stopping at a few different tables where artists are displaying their wares—photographs of landmarks, sketches of the skyline, pictures of New York celebrities. When my stomach starts to growl, Liam laughs and says, “Hey, let’s get out of here and go back to the hotel. By the time we get back it’ll be late. I’ll order us dinner in my suite. How’s that?”

An evening holed up in a beautiful hotel with Liam White sounds even more romantic, and personal, than a public dinner at the Boat House. I turn up to his face and rub the line of his jaw with my hands, feeling his scruffy stubble. I lean into a kiss—a comfortable one, a relaxed one—that conveys my decision. When we separate, he drapes an arm around my shoulders and steers me to the street corner to catch a cab. He keeps it there the whole way back to the hotel.

*   *   *

By the time Liam digs into his jean pocket for the key to his suite it’s past six o’clock and the two of us walk slowly into the entry hall. I can see the sky over the tops of the trees in Central Park on the right and over the Hudson on the left. The red and orange reminds me that I had had my heart set on watching the sunset while on the ferry returning to Battery Park.

The wet bar in Liam’s suite is behind me and I can hear him uncorking a bottle of wine. I’m sure it’s some kind of expensive vintage that I’ve never heard of. Peter has heard of it, though. When I hear the sound of the desk drawer opening and closing I turn around to see Liam walking toward me with two red wine glasses and the room service menu tucked under his arm. “Here, baby,” he says, handing me a glass.

“Thanks,” I say, and put the rim to my lips.

“It’s a Beringer Private Reserve cab. Do you know it?” he asks, swirling the wine around in the glass.

“No, not really. I’ve heard of Beringer, though.” I sit my glass down on the table. “I’ll be right back, Liam.”

Slipping into the powder room I take one look at my face—my cheeks are rosy from the waterfront, and the exposure to the sun during the afternoon; my freckles have popped out and my eyes have practically disappeared. It’s been hours since I applied a fresh coat of mascara and without it I feel naked. With windblown hair and bare lips, I’m shockingly unadorned, undecorated. I debate going back to my room to freshen up; after all I’m with one of the most sought-after men in the country. Something tells me, though, that it doesn’t really matter.

When I close the door to the bathroom behind me, Liam looks up from the couch, where he’s strumming his guitar. Although it’s not one of his, I recognize the song right away. It’s one of my favorites from the Beatles White Album—“Julia.” Once he finishes, he pats the couch next to him and hands me the menu. “Take a look at this and order whatever you like. I’m getting the filet.” He goes back to strumming but it’s not a song I know.

After studying the menu I say, “I’ll take the filet, too. With béarnaise.”