Читать книгу When We Were Sisters - Emilie Richards - Страница 14

7

Cecilia

I have four homes. That’s excessive, I know, but I figure I’m making up for all the ones I never had growing up. Real estate and art are the only investments that make sense to me, and I love to watch run-down properties come back to life under my loving care, along with the talent of architects and designers. But I never give any design professional carte blanche. These are homes, and I want them to reflect my taste. I don’t care how much time or money that takes.

My home in Manhattan is a neo-Georgian brownstone, and my condo in Nashville is at the top of a high-rise with a sweeping view of the city. I probably spend most of my time in the ecofriendly contemporary I designed and built in Pacific Palisades because I conduct more business in Southern California than anywhere else, not to mention that looking over that stretch of coastline—fondly known as the Queen’s Necklace—is a great way to rev my creative juices.

Each house is completely different, and I love them all. But my favorite sits directly on the Gulf of Mexico, on Sanibel Island in Southwest Florida. If I could only have one place to call my own, I would be happy forever at Casa del Corazón.

I’ve been in Sanibel a week, but I never tire of waking here. If I’m up early enough I can look left to watch the sun rise down the beach, and if I’m home early enough I can turn right and watch the sun set. When I bought this slice of paradise I knew I wouldn’t have to choose between them.

Donny flew in yesterday evening, and a few minutes ago he joined me on the screened porch off my great room to watch the show begin. I was surprised at his interest, since I never think of him as a morning person. But despite years of working closely together there are probably many things we don’t know about each other.

One thing I do know? We’ve kept it that way on purpose. Neither of us wants to ruin a great working relationship with a lousy personal one.

I do have a talent for lousy personal relationships. Married once and quickly divorced from a country singer—which is how I picked up the condo in Nashville—I’ve known a lot of men and slept with a few of them. The better I know them the less I like them. There’s a lesson there.

When the sun proved it could be counted on, I put my arms over my head and stretched. “Sometimes I go down to the beach and walk toward the sunrise and pick up shells along the way. No matter what time of year it is, there are always at least a few other people doing the same thing, and when the sun peeks over the horizon, they almost always applaud. It’s like a prayer.”

Donny was standing silently at the railing looking out over the water, a cup of cooling coffee in his hands. “My kind of prayer. Heartfelt and doctrine-lite.”

“Not a churchgoer?”

“No more than you.”

“I sneak in and out when I have the chance and sit in the back. I figure it can’t hurt and might help.”

“You’re nothing if not flexible.”

I laughed because that’s absolutely true. You can’t be rigid in the music business, not if you expect to get anywhere.

He stopped ogling the horizon and turned to me. “I’m heading for New York about noon. Can we carve out some time to talk now? We have a lot to go over.”

“Ginny cut up fruit and warmed muffins a while ago. Everything’s ready in the kitchen, and if you eat up here with me, that will save her from having to take a plate to the guesthouse.” Ginny is a local woman in her fifties, tanned and wiry, who takes perfect care of the house and cooks whenever I’m in residence.

“You ate already?”

I shook my head. “I’ll eat with you. We can talk over breakfast.”

In the kitchen I poured myself a cup of green tea and grabbed a muffin. Ginny’s struggling to become a vegan cook, which isn’t easy on an island where two small supermarkets stock limited options. Nevertheless she has learned to make delicious muffins because she knows how much I love them. The muffin today is pumpkin apple spice.

Donny poured a new cup of coffee from the pot Ginny had brewed just for him—I don’t drink the stuff. We filled bowls with cut fruit and berries, and took breakfast outside to the table on the porch where we had greeted the sun.

My house, gated and private, is flanked by porches overlooking the beach, and a stone and tile courtyard in the front. The guesthouse, where Donny stayed last night, is on the beach side, with its own shady patio off the pool and a well-stocked kitchen tucked on one end. Choosing a place to eat at Casa del Corazón is a joy.

We settled in and chatted about his plans for the rest of the week, and then about negotiations he was conducting with Cyclonic Entertainment for my next album. I love the music of Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith, and I want to do my own adaptations of songs like “See See Rider,” and “Down Hearted Blues.” Lately I’ve been branching out from my standard sound, characterized by more than one reviewer as gospel rock. I’m carving personal niches in bluegrass and jazz, but the blues of the 1930s fit perfectly with the songs that made me famous, songs about strong women who don’t take shit from anybody and don’t need a man to be happy. If the right man arrives? Just something to think about.

Donny cradled a coffee mug in both hands against his chest, as if he needed protection. “If Cyclonic agrees to let you do a blues album, they’re talking about another tour to promote it.”

Donny and I work on the fly, so we find moments to confer whenever and wherever we can. But this quiet time with only waves and seagulls as accompaniment put a fresh spin on the conversation. I wasn’t in the mood to make lists or demands.

“I don’t need another tour. I need more of this.” I waved my hand in the direction of the gulf to make my point. “More sun and sand. More breathing.”

“Then you’ll need to think about what you can offer as a compromise. Limited cities. Smaller venues if that feels more comfortable.”

“How does limited and smaller equate with what I just said? I’ll repeat. I don’t need another tour.”

“Any tour at all? Or just the exhausting variety, like the last one?”

“Right now I need to get through the next few months. This documentary’s not going to be a piece of cake. I don’t know how I’ll feel when it’s over. I might need a straitjacket by the time I’ve spilled my guts and revisited all my nightmares.”

“You can pull back.” He reached over and rested his hand on mine, an unusual gesture from a guy who’s 90 percent business. “Mick told you that. He’s not expecting you to reveal anything you don’t want to. The minute things start to get tough you can stop. Mick can turn a conversation about your favorite shampoo into a masterpiece.”

I decided to keep things light. “Shampoo? Perfect, because I’m still a foster kid at heart. Most of the time I use whatever’s on sale or dip into my storehouse of hotel amenities. Try Rose 31, courtesy of the Fairmont. I think there’s some in the guesthouse.”

He lifted his hand to grip his mug again. “That’s the kind of thing Mick will relish. I guess I’m just saying that if you don’t want to reveal the worst moments, you don’t have to.”

“And to think you got your start as a promoter.”

“I’ll tell Cyclonic the tour is off the table for now, and we’ll see what they come back with.”

“I wonder if I’ll know when to stop touring or recording or even singing in the shower. Don’t you wonder if you’ll know when to let go for good?”

“Sometimes.” He sounded like he was trying to be agreeable.

“I’m serious, Donny. When will you have another chance to watch the sun rise with a cup of coffee in your hands and nowhere you have to be right away?”

“Could you be happy without performing? Because it jacks you up. Every time. You fly high for hours afterward.”

“But I don’t want this to become an addiction, you know? I already have a recurring nightmare. I’m in the audience at a stadium in some city or another, and I’m sitting in a wheelchair down at the front because I’m so old I’ve forgotten how to walk. But that doesn’t seem to matter because I’m still trying to find a way to get up on the stage and perform.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I wish.” I smiled a little. “Well, okay, maybe. But the scenario’s in my thoughts a lot. I’m forty-two, on my way to a facelift, and sure, lots of people older than me continue to do extravagant world tours. The Stones and the Beach Boys are going to die onstage, and maybe Cher. But I paid close attention last time, when we set out on that tour from hell. It took at least two days to set up for each concert. We had four container trucks loaded to the ceiling, six buses and seventy-two staff, if you include my cook and Andy. Remember Andy? The personal trainer who quit halfway through because the schedule was too grueling? And let’s not forget the musicians, dancers, backup singers, the stagehands and construction engineers.”

“So? You gave a lot of people jobs and made a lot of fans deliriously happy.”

“I made myself sick. I made myself crazy. And I can’t know for sure that if I don’t stop pushing so hard it won’t happen again. I’ve been warned.”

“I think about a different life, too. It’s almost impossible to imagine one when every second isn’t a competition or a negotiation or a pep talk.”

“I’ve had my share of your pep talks.”

“Here’s another in that long line. You already know the documentary can both help or hurt your career. You’ll seem more human—that’s the good part. On the other hand, you’ll seem more human and—”

“That’s also the bad part,” I finished for him.

“I know this is incredibly personal for you, that you want to share the realities of foster care with the world. That you want to change lives...”

I nodded, waiting, because I heard a “but” coming.

He hesitated, then he smiled. Donny doesn’t smile a lot, but the room warms when he does. This one was gentle, the way one good friend smiles at another when bad news is on the way.

“Whose life do you want to change, Cecilia?”

“Mine, of course, and the people who watch the film.”

“How about Robin’s?”

I pondered that. “Everything we do changes us, doesn’t it?” I asked at last.

“Nice save. So let me rephrase. Have you invited her to be part of this for herself or for you.”

“Are you questioning Robin’s credentials?”

“I could. She’s a talented photographer, but she’s never done anything quite like this.”

“Max Filstein says she can do anything she wants. She’s that good. I asked him specifically if she could handle this project, and he said of course.”

“Don’t forget I was at the party where you and Max had that conversation. What he said was that she would be perfect for the project if she can achieve the distance she needs.”

“Robin knows me better than anyone. She took off the rose-colored glasses a long time ago.”

“Last week I sensed tension between her and Kristoff.”

“I like the way you use his full name. So old-world.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

Changing the subject is something I’m particularly good at. This, too, I attribute to foster care. Deflecting unpleasant realities is a foster child specialty.

“There is tension,” I said. “She’s starting to realize what a shabby deal she’s getting. He earns the money. She does everything else. She can’t count on Kristoff for help or even for making good on his promises. He was supposed to come home the night of the accident and take care of their kids. He didn’t. He was supposed to go to the neighbor’s funeral to represent their family. He didn’t get there in time. When I first met her, all those years ago, Robin was so traumatized she couldn’t speak. These days she just has trouble speaking up.”

“Are you trying to pave the path to divorce?”

Apparently Donny had given up on the soft approach. “You’ve really picked up big-time on this little drama, haven’t you?”

“You and I have worked together for five years. I know what makes you tick. And I hear ticking.”

“If you really knew what made me tick you would have said goodbye a long time ago.”

“I may not know every detail, but I do know you. Nobody’s as hard on you as you are on yourself.”

I finished the last of my muffin. I wanted another, but they’re vegan, not low cal, so I sadly dusted my hands over the plate. “I don’t like Kris all that well. He sucks the joy out of every room. But I don’t want Robin to be unhappy, either. I just want her to have the time to figure out her life. And I want her to remember she’s more than a wife and mother.”

“You’ve decided that’s not enough? Because those are fighting words for a lot of women.”

“No! I’m a big fan of mothers, never having had one who did anything more domestic than open a vial of crack. Robin’s done the domestic thing and loved it. I don’t begrudge her that. But she’s also immensely talented, and she deserves more from life than to continue being Kris’s house elf.”

“For what it’s worth I don’t think Kris sucks the joy out of a room, and I don’t think he sees her that way. He’s not one of those guys who launches himself into every conversation or regales everyone with stories about how important he is. He’s thoughtful and serious, but I think he was shaken by the accident. He couldn’t take his eyes off Robin at the table the other night. And I think he’s the kind of guy who closes in on himself when he’s in turmoil. For that matter, she does the same thing.”

“When did you become a psychologist?”

“When I came on board as your manager.” He winked. “It’s a job requirement. A necessity for survival.”

Unwillingly I smiled. “What else do we need to talk about?”

“I’ve got a list, but let’s take a walk on the beach first. You game?”

I tried to remember if Donny and I had ever taken a walk together just for fun. Fun was intriguing and a good delaying tactic. “I have sand pails for shells if you find anything to collect. This is the best shelling beach in North America.”

“I might. I have a niece who loves pretty shells.”

“You have a niece?” I wondered why he had never mentioned her before.

“I’ll tell you all about Jenny, unless you think it will destroy my mystique.”

I got to my feet. “You have no mystique, and it’s a deal. Besides if we take a walk, I can have another muffin.”

“Let’s walk far enough for two.”

That was almost too much pleasure to imagine. “You’ve got a deal.”