BEGUINE

CHAPTER EIGHT

December, 2007

Next day, Karen tried to settle in her study to read the case file that would come before her the following week. Normally she would have been glad to see to see a civil trial on the docket for a change. The presiding judge kept sending her a steady diet of gruesome murder cases. But now the very thought of sitting on that bench every day for the coming week depressed her, no matter what she had to listen to. Seeing Stan had turned her world upside down again. She realized she was living a lie. But that was dangerous knowledge. At least living a lie as Karen Morgan wasn’t as painful as being Carrie Moon and loving Stan Benedict.

Around two o’clock that afternoon, Karen could not read another word. She put down the meaningless trial brief she had been staring at for a half hour and went into the den. The house was as quiet as death. And as empty. It was nearly Christmas, and she hadn’t bothered with a tree or decorations. Howard cared nothing for them unless they were giving holiday parties. But this year he had been too busy with the trial in Philadelphia to demand she play hostess.

She stood by the french doors and stared at her expensively landscaped backyard pool, shimmering in the December sunshine. All she could think about was Stan on stage last night. And the way he had put his arms around the singers and leaned down to joke with them. Which one was he sleeping with? But then, knowing Stan, he might not be sleeping with either of them. That was part of the hell of caring for him; he couldn’t be predicted.

* * *

October, 1994
After the Saturday night she stayed over at Stan’s, she had thought he would call. He had taken her home and work phone numbers Sunday morning just before he walked her to her car in the parking lot at Jazz By the Bay. She had hoped he would ask her to breakfast, but he had seemed very distant except for taking her number.

“I’ll call to make sure you get home all right.” He opened the driver’s door that she had just unlocked, and gave her his impish grin.

“Ok.” And she smiled. But the silent phone drove her slowly crazy all afternoon.

On Monday, she ploughed through the Burnett stock offering. She struggled to think about anything except Stan and how badly she had wanted him to make love to her on Saturday night. And she dreaded the moment when Alan would drop by to demand her final word on Jazz By the Bay. But fortunately he had been called out of town and would not be back until the next day.

That night, around eight, she struggled with her desire to go down to the club, just to hear him play. But she managed, instead, to get herself into her car and home, where she lay awake most of the night.

On Tuesday she jumped every time her secretary forwarded a call. But they were all from the Burnett accounting department. She worked at keeping the irritation out of her voice at each successive disappointment.

That afternoon, Alan turned up in her office.

“So, can we tell Harry Rich he’s in breach of his lease?”

Karen worked hard to keep Alan from seeing her rising panic. She couldn’t just hand Harry and the club over like trophies to be hung on Waterfront Development’s mantel. Truth was the best answer. “I honestly can’t tell what’s up with him. Some nights it’s standing room only. Others, no one is there.”

Alan shrugged. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got him.”

“I think you should ask to see his books before you make any assumptions.” As Karen spoke, she prayed his books would save Jazz By the Bay.

“Waterfront is getting impatient,” he objected.

“Probably, but they won’t be happy if we don’t do our homework. Write him and ask to see his books. It’s a term of the lease. I checked.”

“Ok, I’ll have my secretary get a letter out today.”

That night, she wanted to run to the club and warn Harry. But she couldn’t. She worked for the firm that represented Waterfront. She would break every ethical rule if she told him what was coming. She made herself go home to her empty condo and cried when she saw there was no call from Stan on her machine.

By Friday, she was worn out with waiting for the call that had never come and with overseeing the details of the Burnett deal. And her fantasies of making love to Stan would not go away, despite her best efforts to think about other things.

At eight o’clock, she handed off the documents to the overnight secretarial pool and decided to go to the club. Her hands actually shook as she locked her car and headed for the entrance.

Stan was on stage when she arrived, but instead of his usual friendly gaze he immediately averted his eyes to what was the Table of Five that night. Karen felt the knot in her stomach tighten. Even though he hadn’t called, she had thought he would show he was glad to see her.

As she made her way to her usual table, she noticed the club was only about a third full. Harry came over to take her order instead of the waitress.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, smiling. “Haven’t seen you in almost a week. Didn’t you like your steak last time?”

“No, it was great.” How did she tell him Stan was supposed to call and never did?

“Well, I’m glad you’re back. Your usual?”

“Red zin.”

“You got it.”

She sipped the wine slowly because she knew she had to go back to work in two hours to proof the Burnett documents. But she wanted to gulp it down to deaden the pain in her soul. Stan had meant it when he said he wouldn’t get involved with her. That’s what the silent phone had told her for the last week.

She lost herself in his music, crying inside and wondering what had changed since she’d driven out of the parking lot on Sunday. During the entire set she hoped for “I Can’t Get Started” but he didn’t play it; and she knew it was his way of letting her know she shouldn’t have come back.

During his break, an hour later, Stan took his scotch pointedly to the Table of Five, just giving her a friendly off-hand nod as he passed. He sat with his back to her, joking and laughing with the women as if she weren’t there.
Karen stared at her empty wine glass, knowing she should leave, but too upset to do anything except sit where she was and try to hold back the tears. Suddenly a full glass appeared beside her empty one, and Harry sat down.

“You need a refill.”

She smiled up at him, knowing her eyes had betrayed her. “I can’t, Harry. But thanks. I have to leave. I have to go back to work.”

“At eleven o’clock at night?” he stared at her. “Girl, what do you do for a living? You can’t be a hooker dressed like that!” He gestured toward her simple black suit.

She laughed in spite of herself. “I’m the next best thing: a lawyer.”

“Well aren’t the courts closed this time of night?”

“I’m not that kind of lawyer. Corporate law. Deals. That stuff.”

Harry shook his head. “And all this time I thought musicians and doctors were the only ones who had to work all night.”

Karen laughed again, but her eyes darted toward Stan and the Table of Five despite her efforts not to look that way.

Harry leaned closer and put his hand over hers. “If you want to tell me what happened between you two, I’d be glad to listen.”

“Last Saturday night, after you gave us dinner, I wound up sleeping over at Stan’s. I’d had too much to drink and not enough food that day. Nothing happened. I slept in his bed; he slept on the couch. But he said he’d call me during the week.”

“And he never did.”

She nodded. “That very first night when we walked by the bay after the show, he told me not to get involved with him because I’d only get hurt. I think he meant it.” Her eyes were fixed on Stan’s back at the Table of Five, now in an uproar over one of his jokes.

But Harry shook his head. “He’s just trying to scare you off. Don’t let him, honey. He doesn’t care a thing about those women. That’s why he’s sitting over there. Because he’s scared to death of what he feels for you.”

Karen stared at Harry, wanting to believe him but not sure if she should.
He patted her hand softly. “He’s terrified of being hurt again. But I know he’s been looking for you. I’ve seen his eyes every night when he comes on stage and you aren’t here.”

“But isn’t he sleeping with them?” she nodded toward the other women.
Harry let out a soft chuckle. “Sweetheart, do you think they’d be sitting together night after night if he was?”

Karen laughed. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

“Stan’s a world class flirt, that’s all. And he wants to see if he can drive you away.”

“But why?”

“Because everyone he loves deserts him, one way or the other; and he thinks you will, too. So if he drives you away now, he won’t get hurt later on.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve known Stan for seventeen years. Since he was eighteen, a skinny kid, blowing everyone in town away with his high notes. Cocky as hell about his music. But never sure anyone loved him or would stay with him until Deanna. But, then she died, and he changed. Not so sure about himself as a musician anymore and deathly afraid to get involved with anyone.”

“He really loved her,” Karen said.

“It was something to see them together. She was Stan’s world. Made up for the family he never had as a kid.”

“She was the only person who loved him and didn’t leave him.” She felt that familiar twinge of jealousy.

“But she did leave him,” Harry contradicted. “She died. And that just convinced Stan that for him loving anyone only ends in heartbreak.”

Karen looked over at Stan’s back, as he resolutely blocked her out of his world. “So what should I do?”

“Stay around. Show him he can’t drive you away.”

Karen smiled wistfully. “I wonder if I’m capable. Rejection hurts.”

“Oh, you’re capable, all right,” Harry said as he stood up. Stan was heading to the stage, throwing back the rest of his scotch as he passed her table, so he didn’t have to make eye contact with her.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because unlike those women over there, you really care about him. You’re the one who’ll always be there for him when things get rough.”

Instinctively Karen knew he was right. But she put on her lawyer-skeptic tone. “How do you know so much about me?”

“I watch you when you come in. I see the way you look at him when he plays. You know his secret.”

“And that is?”

“He gives away his soul with every performance. He wants the audience to love the music as much as he does.”

“And they do,” Karen added softly.

“The music, yes,” Harry agreed. “But they don’t love Stan. And that’s his dilemma. No matter how afraid he is of love, he wants to be loved. And you understand that, Carrie Moon.”

“Who told you who I used to be?”

“He did. I told you he misses you. He talks about you.” Harry studied her face as he stood by the table. Behind him, she could see Stan on stage setting up for the next set. “You and Stan have a lot in common besides music.”

“He told you about that, too?”

“Uh, huh. Why don’t you bring your instrument in one night. Play a little.”

“I couldn’t. It’s been too many years.”

“Hogwash! Bring it in. You need something in your life besides those suits and those documents. And you’re a long way from home.”

“How do you know?”

“Accent. I’m from Atlanta,” Harry said.

“Asheville, North Carolina.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

“None.”

“See your parents often?”

“No. They passed away when I was in college.”

“Then that’s another reason the two of you need each other. You both need a family. ” At that moment, Stan began to play “Somewhere Beyond the Sea.”

“Are you going to stay?” Harry asked.

Karen nodded. “Yeah. But bring me some coffee, if you don’t mind. I really do have to go back to the office and read those documents.”

However, Harry came back with more than coffee. He held out Alan’s letter in all its twenty-pound, engraved letterhead glory.

“I got this in the mail yesterday, and I don’t really understand it. Since you are a lawyer, would you mind explaining it to me?”

Karen reached for the letter, gingerly, as if handling a snake. Tell him, a voice in her head insisted. Tell him right now you can’t advise him. You represent his enemy. You are the enemy. “Oh, God, please no,” she thought. “Please, no.”

She stared down at the page, the words a blur. She didn’t need to read it; she knew what it said. “You have a new landlord, Waterfront Development. They want to see your books to see if you are in compliance with your lease.”

Harry’s face fell. “The six out of twelve months thing. I don’t think we’re ok on that one.”

“Are you sure?” Karen tried to keep the urgency out of her voice.

“Not completely. Hey, how come the old landlord didn’t bug us about that part of the lease?”

“They could ignore the condition if they wanted to. But I would guess Waterfront has plans for the property, and you’re in its way.” God forgive me for acting as if I don’t know the truth.

“They want to kick us out.”

“I would say yes, based on the tone of this letter.”

Harry looked away toward the bay, his face a mask of anxiety and anguish. “I can’t lose the club. It’s all Kristin and I have. We’ve put everything into it for the past ten years.”

And it’s all Stan has, too, Karen thought, but didn’t say it.

Harry’s face brightened. “Hey, maybe you’re the answer to a prayer. You do this suff for a living, right?”

“I do.” Tell him you can’t help him, she thought. Tell him now before you get in too deep. But then he’d know you were the spy, and there’d be no chance with Stan. Ever.

“Think you could come down early tomorrow night? Go over the books for me? Tell me what you think. Come around six thirty? I’ll make sure you get a free dinner.”

“It’s a deal. Now I better get out of here. I have documents waiting for me in my office.”

“At midnight on Friday night?”

“At midnight on Friday night. See you tomorrow.”

Karen got up and headed for the door without looking back.