Morning Song Page 18

  Then he turned. In his eyes was such raw agony, such fury and inner hatred that her very breathing stopped. She could not reach out to him or speak to him, nothing moved except the silent path of tears down her cheeks. Never had she seen such torment on a human face. She would not have believed it possible to withstand such pain as she felt for him in that moment. ‘And that,’ he said coldly, very lowly, ‘is the legend of Shane Holt. A washed-out junkie and a murderer. ‘Tell me, Lauren,’ he demanded bitterly, ‘who you love now.’ But, without waiting for her answer, he turned and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lauren could not believe she had overslept. She had lain in still agony throughout an endless night, thinking morning would never come, but like a thief slumber had crept over her in the black hours before dawn. Now morning light spilled into her eyes and made them burn, and she flung back the covers to the chill air in a bolt of panic. She had a terrible feeling that if she did not hurry she would be too late.

  Throughout the night she had fought the urge to go to Shane. But she had known he would not welcome her, and she had forced herself to stay away. As she rushed haphazardly into her clothes and ran a comb through her hair she felt strongly that there was not a moment to lose.

  On the stairs she found the truth in her premonition. ‘Lauren!’ exclaimed Jimmy happily. ‘I was hoping we’d get to see you before we left.’

  ‘L-left?’ she repeated, stammering.

  He nodded. ‘I’m going back to Los Angeles with Shane for a little while, to work out the details and meet some people, you know ...’ His face clouded a bit. ‘I’d really rather be going home, of course, but ...’ he smiled, ‘I’d better get used to it.’ He took her hand, squeezing briefly. ‘We’re leaving this morning and I was afraid I wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye, or to tell you—what a good friend you’ve been, even though we haven’t known each other long.’

  She hesitated, trying to adjust to the abruptness of this new information. Leaving—this morning! With no goodbye, no warning ... No, Shane would not leave her without saying goodbye. She would not let him.

  Then she looked at Jimmy and wondered if she should be afraid for him. Was he really starting down that turbulent road which had led to Shane’s destruction? And was it her fault? But no, she refused to accept that. She smiled at him, squeezed both his hands, and told him, ‘You’re going to be terrific.’ Then she saw Shane standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  She came slowly towards him, a fluttering in her chest overpowering the ache which had been there since last night. And in his eyes she did not see rejection, nor the awful self-hatred and reserve which had been there the night before. There was sadness, yes, and his face looked haggard, but also in some measure peaceful, resigned. He said, ‘I wasn’t going to leave without seeing you.’

  She nodded, barely finding her voice. ‘I know.’

  ‘Will you walk with me, one more time?’

  Again she nodded, and silently turned up the stairs to get her parka and her boots.

  His hand moved to cover hers naturally as their footsteps crunched on the still white carpet of snow and their breath frosted the air. The sun was brilliant and cold in a pale blue sky, shadowing their footsteps with the echoes of the night before. And then she could wait no longer. She could not go on not knowing what was going on within his mind, not knowing what he might be thinking or feeling. She had to tell him ... ‘Shane,’ she began anxiously, but he cut her off.

  ‘No,’ he said quietly, and through her wool gloves she felt his fingers tighten, ‘I don’t want you to say anything this morning. Last night was a shock and anything you say is only going to be in reaction to it—reassurance or pity.’

  ‘No!’ she gasped, but he went on.

  ‘I’ve lived with this longer than you have, Lauren. Just believe me when I say it takes time. Do this one thing for me.’

  But she did not need time. Nothing would change a week from now or a month from now, and the only thing which had changed last night was in her understanding of him. But she knew he would not accept anything she said in the aftermath of the storm, and because it was so important to her that he believe in her, she silently conceded his wish. She asked only, quietly, ‘Why did you wait so long to tell me?’

  Shane looked at her briefly. The reflection of the snow in his eyes made them look like crystal. ‘Because,’ he answered simply, ‘I didn’t have the courage to face the disappointment in your eyes when you found out the man you thought you loved was only a myth.’

  ‘And last night,’ she asked, anxiety making her voice a little breathless, ‘after you told me, what did you see?’ His eyes were squinted against the brightness of the snow; he refused to answer. ‘I almost didn’t tell you at all,’ he said at last. ‘I wouldn’t have, only ...’

  ‘Only?’ she prompted, searching his face, trying to make him look at her.

  ‘Only you became more important to me than I’d planned,’ he answered flatly. ‘I knew we couldn’t go on this way. I’m not proud of my past,’ he went on in a firmer, more decisive tone. ‘But I’ve learned to live with it. I couldn’t live any more with your not knowing.’ He took a slightly unsteady breath, his eyes straight ahead, his shoulders squared. ‘If you only knew,’ he said lowly, ‘how tempting it was to let you go on believing ... what it was like to look into your eyes and see everything I always wanted to be but never was. God, sometimes you almost had me believing it myself.’ But he shook it off abruptly. ‘That wasn’t healthy, for me or for you. The facts are what they are. I’ve changed, it’s true, I pulled myself out of something a lot of people never escape, and I’m proud of that. But that part of my life will always be with me. I can’t undo the damage, or make up for the lost time, and I think that’s what hurts the most.’ Her fingers tightened about his in aching support, and though there was no response from him, it seemed to encourage him to go on. ‘It still haunts me day and night, Lauren,’ he said roughly, refusing to look at her. ‘The flashback nightmares, the temper I can’t control, the loss of memory ... knowing that I’ll never be completely free of it, that I could slip any time and be right back where I was five years ago.’ He took another sharp, almost painful breath. ‘Two entire years completely wiped out of my life, at best only a blur of impressions and confused images. The wasted time, the lives I destroyed ...’ His voice fell. ‘I can’t change any of that.’

  For a long time the silence was broken only by the crackle of their footsteps on a new crust of snow, and the occasional plop of a broken branch. They circled the house, and started towards the back door. And Lauren had to find the courage to ask the question she was afraid she knew the answer to already. ‘Why are you leaving?’

  He stopped, and looked at her. There was anguish in his eyes, but he was trying to hide it. His voice was very firm. ‘It wouldn’t be fair,’ he said quietly. ‘I can’t ask you to live with my problem, even if I did have the courage to face what I would eventually begin to see in your eyes ... disillusionment, hurt, disappointment.’ She drew a quick breath, but he silenced her swiftly with a rough, ‘And I can’t be tempted by your fantasy any more. I wish this were a fairy tale in which we could both live happily ever after, but it just won’t work. You would always be reminding me of what I might have been and I would always be disappointing you, and eventually we’d start to hate each other, can’t you see that?’

  Lauren shook her head blindly, tears burning her eyes and closing her throat and turning the landscape to one nebulous blur of white agony. Why wouldn’t he believe her? Why wouldn’t he let her tell him that she loved him and it was forever and nothing made any difference? Only because he didn’t want to hear it ...

  She heard a sound from him—of frustration, exasperation, or pain. She could not see his face through the hot film of tears and the pain inside her precluded any perception of what he might be feeling. His hand released hers. ‘It’s better,’ he said after a time, in a very low voice. ‘This hurt will go away. You
’ll see.’

  But it wouldn’t. Not ever.

  The sound of a car horn behind them made them both turn. Van had pulled the car up and Jimmy was stuffing luggage into the back. Van got out of the car and crossed the crunchy snow towards them.

  He must have seen on their faces the trauma of the goodbye, and for a moment he seemed torn between urging Shane to stay and hurrying him on his way. In a moment he said, ‘We’d better start for the airport.’

  Shane was looking at the car. ‘Yes,’ was all he said.

  Van smiled and dropped a hand on Shane’s arm. ‘You see, it wasn’t so hard, was it? You made the right decision with Jimmy, it will be just like old times. It doesn’t have to be you onstage, you can do it all through him. This is going to be good for both of you, you’ll see.’

  Lauren’s and Shane’s eyes met in one last moment of shared pain and sorrow. Van still did not understand. No one understood what Shane was going through but Lauren ... Oh God, she thought desperately, how could she get him to listen to her, to accept the fact that she loved him and no problem was insurmountable? How could she make him understand? Don’t leave me, don’t leave me ... it ran over and over in her head like a liturgy. Please don’t let him leave, don’t leave ...

  Van, sensing the silent interchange, went back to the car, and they were left alone under the bare black branches of a dormant oak. Shane’s eyes shifted from her. In a moment he said very quietly, ‘I’m sorry, Lauren. I know you don’t deserve this. I’m—just sorry. For both of us.’

  His voice almost broke at the last, and it gave her hope. She lifted eyes to him that were wide and pleading, and she whispered, ‘Don’t go.’

  He looked at her for a long moment, and the torture she saw on his face almost crippled her. Then he turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Spring had come to New York City, but no sign of it was visible through Lauren’s dusty apartment window as she switched on a lamp against encroaching twilight. She kicked off her shoes and was just thinking of the luxury of a hot bath to soothe aching muscles when the phone rang.

  It was Van, as regular as ever with his weekly phone calls. She smiled as she greeted him and sank into a chair, curling her weary legs beneath her. It was always nice to hear from Van.

  ‘Hard day at work?’ he asked.

  ‘The usual.’ She had been teaching at a nearby dance studio since her return to New York four months ago, and it was satisfying and enjoyable work. It always surprised her when she thought of how she would have hated such work a year ago, and how she had grown in such a short time in Van’s house. Helping her students achieve was a vicarious success for her, she was a part of the life she loved again though in a different way, and she knew she had found a place she belonged.

  She enquired about how things were going with Van, but only half heard his reply. It. was always that way when she talked to Van. Her chest would tighten with anticipation and she would fight to keep from asking for a word of Shane, desperately hoping he would bring up the subject himself. He never did, at least not directly. Often they talked of Jimmy Wild, for he still corresponded regularly with both of them, and through him Lauren was able to assume that at least in a business sense things were going well for Shane. She was slowly beginning to resign herself to the fact that Shane really wanted to sever all contact between them, and he had instructed Van to that effect. She would not go against his wishes by asking Van about him. Shane had done so much for her, he had changed her life simply by touching it, and she would not repay him by pursuing him when he wanted only to be left alone. Somehow she would find a way to live with the emptiness only he could fill, for she was growing stronger every day.

  ‘—So that’s what I really called you about,’ Van was saying, and she had to drag herself back to attention. ‘How would you like a beautiful all-expenses-paid trip to Los Angeles for the hottest pop concert of the decade?’

  Lauren smiled a little, grateful for the offer but already making excuses. Jimmy’s last two letters had dealt with nothing else but the spring concert, which would be his first major performance. She had wished him luck and sent her apologies that she could not attend, but he remained adamant. It wouldn’t be the same, he insisted, if she were not there to witness his debut. Apparently he had now also enlisted Van’s aid. ‘Oh, Van, thanks, but you know I can’t—’

  ‘No, I won’t hear it. If you don’t deserve a vacation who does?’

  ‘I’ve only been working four months!’ she laughed.

  ‘That’s long enough. You really don’t mean to tell me you couldn’t wrangle a week off. Because if those people don’t appreciate you any more than that—’

  ‘No, it’s not that—’

  ‘It really means a lot to Jimmy,’ he insisted seriously. ‘After all, if it weren’t for you he wouldn’t be there at all and I’ll tell you the truth, honey, at this stage of a musician’s career he can use all the support he can get. Besides, Marie has been fretting to see you again, and with the way you’ve been working it may be our last chance for a while.’

  ‘Oh, Van, I don’t know—’

  ‘Will you at least think about it?’

  ‘All right,’ she sighed. ‘I’ll think about it ...’

  Three weeks later she was standing in the wings of the especially constructed stage in Dodger Stadium behind a capacity crowd of over fifty thousand, joining in the roar of thunderous applause that accompanied the end of Jimmy Wild’s first performance. ‘He was terrific!’ she shouted to Van, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. There was a swell of both pride and pathos, for she had been right—seeing him today had been like watching an updated version of Shane Holt in many ways. He did not yet have Shane’s style or confidence, and his was only a reflection of the spell in which Shane Holt could hold an audience, but Shane’s influence was definitely noticeable in his work. He had followed acts which had been at the top of the charts for years, but his was, to Lauren’s prejudiced ears, the best performance of the day.

  She laughed out loud as Jimmy leapt across the tangle of cables and equipment to swing her off her feet, crying, ‘I knew you’d come! What did you think?’

  He was sweaty and flushed and still charged with the adrenalin of the performance, and Lauren hugged him hard. ‘You were great! Just like I knew you’d be! I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’

  ‘Have you met my wife?’ he demanded excitedly. ‘How long have you been there? Did you really like it? Do you think they liked it?’

  Again she laughed, squeezing his hands. His excitement was contagious, and it sparked in her eyes. ‘Of course they liked it, you dummy!’ She still had to shout over the continuing roar of applause. ‘What do you think they’re doing out there, calling for your execution? Yes, I met your wife and she’s lovely—she’s right over there.’ Jimmy turned towards a pretty blonde woman who was waving happily at him from the other side of the stage, but before she let him go, Lauren had to insist, ‘Jimmy, your material was fantastic! Did you write it? Where did you—’

  There was puzzlement in his eyes as he looked over her head to Marie, and then it changed to happy anticipation. ‘She doesn’t know!’ he exclaimed, and Lauren was confused to see the same sparkle of secret excitement in Marie’s eyes. She thought she understood, though, when Marie turned away for just a moment, then pressed a brand new record album into her hands.

  ‘Your album!’ Lauren gasped, avidly scanning it. ‘I didn’t know it was out yet! It looks terrific!’

  ‘Hot off the presses,’ replied Jimmy with a grin. ‘Remind me to autograph it for you.’ Then, glancing quickly across the stage again, he added, ‘Look, I’ve got to go—thanks for coming! And,’ he called over his shoulder with an electric look of high excitement which once again puzzled Lauren, ‘look at the credits!’

  But Lauren was enthralled by the cover, and she hardly heard Jimmy’s parting words. The title was Captured Dreams, and the front cover was a photography of exceptional quality. T
he picture was of a foggy hillside beneath a heavy forest of trees, and the morning light was captured in golden shafts which broke through the foliage at sparkling angles. It was so familiar to her, it was so much like the hillside upon which Shane had first kissed her that her chest tightened and a flood of memories blurred her eyes. Then Marie gently and deliberately turned the album over in her hands.

  The first thing she looked for was the photo credit. ‘Cover design by Shane Holt.’ Her heart began to race and pound in her ears. Could it mean ...? No, surely it meant nothing, it was just another pretty scene to him, it did not necessarily mean anything to him. Just because he got the design credit it did not necessarily mean it was even his idea, producers were always taking credit for miscellaneous aspects of an album ... it could have been the photographer’s idea, or even Jimmy’s ...

  Her eyes scanned downward, anticipation tightening in her stomach and her heart pounding so hard that it actually hurt. Produced by ... recorded at ... back-up vocals by ... composed by ... ‘All songs composed by Shane Holt.’