Kelly said, "I'm sorry about Papa John."
"We all are. Do you have details about the memorial service?"
"Tomorrow morning, eleven a.m. at the Ryman, singers gathering one hour beforehand for a brief rehearsal."
"Good. What else?"
"I've sent flowers in your name, as well as some from Wintergreen Enterprises, but you'll want to sign the sympathy card on your desk. Burt Sheer called three times since lunch and Jack wants you to call him the minute you get in. He's got studio time scheduled for Wednesday and wants to talk to you about who you want for backup singers. Peter Steinberg got a call from Disney World asking if you'd be interested in them doing a Tess McPhail Day sometime next year—short performance, be in the parade on Main Street U.S.A.. do an autographing—that sort of thing. He wants you to call him. Cathy Mack has five dress designs she wants you to look at and Ralph wants to start concert rehearsals as soon as you feel like your head is above water."
Kelly went with Tess into her office, indicating the stacks of correspondence on the console beside her desk. "There are notes on everything I've told you. This stack needs immediate attention, this stack could wait a couple of days, and this one I've already seen to. Oh, one other thingand this one isn't good—Carla's got an appointment with a throat specialist. That problem with her voice is still hanging on."
Concern crimped Tess's brow. Carla not only sang backup on some of her recordings, she was also supposed to go on this tour.
"•Still?"
Kelly nodded solemnly.
"Is it worse?"
"Not worse, just the same. But she's worried, I can tell."
"No wonder. It's been bothering her for at least six months."
"Closer to a year, she said."
The phone chirped softly, and Kelly picked it up at Tess's desk.
"It's Burt." Kelly handed the receiver to Tess and returned to her own office, giving Tess privacy.
"Hi, Burt," Tess said, dropping into her familiar leather chair.
"You're back. Figured you would be when I heard about Papa John. Hey, I'm really sorry, Tess."
They talked for a while, then Burt said, "I really missed you. babe."
His voice raised within her none of the longing that it had when he'd called her in Wintergreen, before she'd kissed the man across the alley. Though they were supposed to have a date that week, she canceled it, using her sadness over Papa John as an excuse. Whatever feelings she'd had for Burt Sheer had been dulled by the memories she now carried of Kenny Kronek.
But it became clear to Tess within an hour of her return that she was right about Kenny's place in her life. There was none. Though at times over the past four weeks she'd questioned where she belonged, she had merely to face catching up with business to understand that her place here was fixed. She belonged here in Nashville—absolutelywhere her career continued to click along even during her absence, where her staff knew her needs even before she could voice them, and where her future was already mapped out.
The latest
Gavin Report
sat on her desk, faceup, and beneath it
Billboard
, and
Radio & Record
. Her next single would be released in mid-June and another one in August (hopefully the one she and Casey hadn't even recorded yet!) before the September release of the new CD. It was expected to go platinum, maybe double platinum—four million fans waiting to buy her songs. The producer of the Super Bowl halftime show wanted to know if she'd headline a year and a half from now. Her major sponsor, Wrangler, called to set up a photo session in some place called the San Bias Islands, where they proposed to photograph her in a pair of their jeans in the surf. They wanted the ad campaign to hit the newsstands at the same time her new CD hit the stores. And Nissan had somehow found out she owned one of their products and wanted to discuss the possibility of a contract for television commercials.
There was no place in her life for a man.
Nevertheless, if one in particular phoned, she didn't want to miss his call.
"Kelly?"
"Yes?" Kelly appeared in the open doorway.
"Phone calls from either Casey Kronek or Kenny Kronek are to be put through to me immediately, no matter what's going on, and if I'm not here, make sure I get the message as soon as possible, okay?"
"Will do."
"Casey is a graduating senior from my hometown who'll be staying with me for a while in June. She's going to do the harmonies on one of my songs."
"Lucky girl," Kelly remarked.
"Talented girl," Tess replied. "She helped me write it."
"Wow." Quiet surprise lit Kelly's face a id made it even more attractive. Without asking questions, she returned to her desk and made a note of the names, amazing Tess again not only with her proficiency, but with her ability to keep her nose out of Tess's personal business. In Tess's line of work, this kind of tactfulness was invaluable.
Tess worked till eight o'clock, discovering, to her surprise, that after a month at her mother's, her body clock demanded supper at six. She ignored the hunger pangs until she could no more, and by the time she was heading home her stomach ached. But she bypassed fast food in favor of familiar surroundings and pointed the car southwest.
She lived in the city of Brentwood, in a subdivision called Woodway. It was announced by a lavish brick entrance surrounded by sculptured shrubbery and flowers of red, white and blue on either side of the gilded sign.
As Tess neared home she lowered the windows on the Z and breathed in the warm, humid southern air, something she would not have thought of doing a month ago when she drove out of here. A month ago she would have sped up the road with her tinted windows up and noticed little of her surroundings.
Tonight she noticed… and appreciated.
It was one of those evenings when twilight refuses to hurry, and as her car climbed up Heathrow Boulevard, the oaks and elms spread like black chapel veils against a butter-yellow sky that thickened to peach at the tree-caps. In front of the house two doors from hers, Mr. Ruddy had just finished waxing his classic '68 Corvette. He waved as she passed, but she encountered him so seldom that she didn't even know his first name. She thought he worked at NationsBank but wasn't sure. Two boys came coasting down the hill on bicycles, and she waited for them to pass her driveway before pulling in. It struck her that she knew neither of the boys; knew, in fact, no children in the neighborhood, or any of the homeowners.
She couldn't help recalling Mrs. Perry reminiscing at the wedding reception about how Tess, as a little girl, had come to her door asking for English toffee. She thought of the view out her mother's kitchen window and how she herself had watched the comings and goings at the house across the alley.
So different here. So isolated by success.
Her towering living room windows faced the street, and through them Tess saw that Maria had left a lamp on. The garage door rolled up at the touch of a button, and Tess noted, to her surprise, that Maria's little blue station wagon was still inside. She hauled her duffel bag and a green suitcase through the back entry, calling, "'Maria, are you still here?"
"Miss Mac, welcome home!" Maria was in the kitchen, topping off the water in a bouquet of red zinnias that sat in the middle of the the table.
Tess dropped her gear. "Lord o' mercy, what are you still doing here?"
"Waiting for you. Nobody likes to come home to an empty house."
"But I always come home to an empty house."
"Not after you've been gone this long. I'll take your bags upstairs, Miss Mac."
"Thanks, Maria, but I can do it myself."
"Nonsense. Give me that."
Maria was Mexican, in her fifties, spindle-legged and bantam-sized. Her hair was streaky gray and held back in an unceremonious French roll. Though she looked about as strong as a ten-year-old boy, she had no trouble wresting the suitcase out of Tess's hand.
"All right, then, we'll each take one," Tess conceded, hauling the duffel bag herself. "But your family will be expecting you."
"I told them I might be late. I didn't know what time you'd get in. How is your momma?"
"She's doing very well, walking with a cane, getting happy on wine at weddings."
"And your sisters?"
"They're fine. I saw them a lot while I was gone. Maria, thank you for staying."
Maria flapped a hand as if no thanks were needed, and the pair climbed an open, flying stairway that curved up to the second story, where a C-shaped landing overlooked the living room. The guest suites lay straight ahead and to the right. Tess turned left through double doors into her own bedroom suite. Unlike at Mary's, everything here was new, bright, coordinated, all the decorating done in neutrals with only touches of pastel color here and there.
Maria had made sure lamps were lit everywhere, and
Tess paused to let her eyes wander over the black metal crown bed with its canopy frame looped with yards of white gauze that trailed on the floor at the four corners. Other than that gauze and some throw pillows on the bed, the decorating was spare, the windows were naked, the walls ivory, the carpet and sofa white. Double doorsclosed tonight—led to a balcony overlooking the pool.
Tess dropped her bag onto an upholstered bench at the foot of the bed, and there beside it stood her brand new M. L. Leddy boots. They were made of green ostrich skin and brought a smile—everything perfect here, so different than at Mary's. Everything seen to for her.
She sat on the bench to try on the boots.
Maria said, "I saved the box in case they have to be sent back." She went around the room lowering white pleated shades.
"Thanks, Maria."
"You want me to help you unpack?"
"No thanks, tomorrow will be time enough. You can go home now."
"I'll go home when I think I should," the woman said with her back turned as she headed downstairs again. Tess smiled and took a walk across her bedroom to the white marble bath/dressing room, sampling the fit of the new boots, smiling at the bud vase with a single peach-colored rose that Maria had put on the vanity, the fresh salmon-colored towels on the racks, her favorite robe lying on a bench in the corner. Though she was used to living alone, she was remarkably happy to have the garrulous housekeeper here tonight to make some noise around the place and create a welcome. She went back through her bedroom to the central balcony and stood looking down into the living room. It had sixteen-foot ceilings and was decorated in tones of white ranging from snow to oyster with only a touch of peach in the furniture. A cream-colored grand piano—one of two in the house—stood at the foot of the immense front windows. A white-brick fireplace on the left was flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A giant slab of glass resting on two short white plaster columns created the coffee table between two sofas that faced each other at a right angle to the fireplace.
It was as different from the houses in Wintergreen as Picasso is from Renoir. The contrast struck her fully, and for only a second, left a faint emptiness.
Leaning over the railing, she called, "Hey, Maria, anybody call?"
"No," Maria shouted back from the depths of the kitchen, "just Miss Kelly this afternoon to let me know you got in."
"Nobody named Casey?"
"No."
"Casey Kronek?"
"No."
"Anyone named Kenny?"
"No."
"Oh," Tess said softly to herself, disappointed. She raised her voice and bent over the rail again, "if either one of them calls—whenever—you're to put them through to me immediately. Casey or Kenny Kronek—got that?"
"Got that, Miss Mac."
Like Kelly, Maria knew how to keep Tess's personal life personal. She did her job, refrained from gossip and didn't ask what was none of her business. If she garnered inside information during the general day-to-day activities around the house she treated it all as confidential. At Christmastime she got a bonus that many executives would envy.
Upstairs, Tess washed her face, stripped off her jeans and put on a one-piece cotton lounger, then returned to the kitchen, a tile-floored room with copper pans hanging over an island stove, and French doors set into a bay that jutted into a screened porch. Without a word of instruction, Maria had set out a Caesar salad topped with grilled Cajun chicken, a cobalt-blue goblet of water, a smaller goblet of skim milk and an inviting plate of fresh fruit. It waited on a blue placemat on the distressed pine table where Tess ate her informal meals. In the center of the table was the pitcher full of zinnias, more than likely picked from Maria's own garden.
"Maria, bless your soul," Tess said, sitting down immediately and stabbing a forkful of crisp romaine.
"Looks like you put on a couple extra pounds," the housekeeper noted. "I'll get you back in shape in no time. I pressed your midnight blue suit for the memorial service tomorrow. Too bad about Papa John."
"Thank you, Maria. Now will you please go home?"
"Yes, Miss Mac, I believe I will. You can put your dirty dishes in the dishwasher when you finish."
"I'll be sure to do that."
Maria found her sweater and purse. "Well, good night, then. It's nice to have you back. There's fresh-squeezed orange juice in the fridge and bagels in the drawer for morning."
"Thanks again, Maria."
When the back door closed and the garage door quit rumbling, Tess was left in silence. She stopped chewing and listened to the hum of the refrigerator. She glanced at the copper pans above the stove, at the uncluttered cabinet tops—perfect order everywhere—and sat motionless in her chair, experiencing nine-thirty on a weeknight in a 1.4-million-dollar house big enough for eight but built for only one. She had resisted building it. but her accountant had advised her she needed to diversify her investments, and since real estate would appreciate, why not have the comforts of a nice house at the same time that her money was growing? She had bought the first jet by then so she could be home more nights, even during concert season, and she'd thought, why not?
But as she rinsed her plate and put it in the dishwasher she wished for her small apartment up on Belmont Boulevard where she could hear the owners' television through the floor and the occasional sound of voices drifting up from an open window.