A Different Kind of Forever - By Dee Ernst Page 0,59
Sharon.”
Sharon looked at her closely. “What’s holding you back?”
“Well, for one thing, I just spent a small fortune trying to make myself look ten years younger because of him.”
“No, Diane, you did that because of you. He doesn’t care, remember?”
“I’m suddenly feeling very insecure about things. Does that make any sense?
Sharon raised her eyebrows. “You? Insecure? Jesus, Diane. That’s ridiculous.”
Diane shook her head miserably. “I know. It’s becoming serious and I’m a little freaked.”
“That’s understandable. I can’t imagine what it would be like to fall in love at our age, with all we know and have been through. It’s got to be huge.”
“It is. And I feel I’ve got more at stake than he does, but that’s not very fair, is it?”
“Maybe not fair, but true. You’ve got kids to think about, and he may be a smart guy, but he’s clueless when it comes to all that.”
“Exactly.”
“Still, I think the two of you are great together.”
“I do too. I just wish I were ten years younger.”
“Hey, don’t we all?”
When she got back to Michael’s, David Go was sitting in the kitchen, watching Fred take apart three large, cooked lobsters. David reminded her of a garden gnome, small, bald, and ugly. He was charming and funny, and, according to Michael, very talented.
He grinned up at her. “Hello, love. You and Michael will be feasting tonight. Look at the size of those blighters.”
“Fred, I said I’d cook tonight,” Diane admonished.
Fred shrugged. “You will make him fat. Too much carbohydrate. Too much dessert. You very good cook, I can tell. You treat food with much respect. But he needs protein tonight. He worked all day. Mr. Prescott called four times.”
Diane looked at David. “Oh, no. How bad?”
David shrugged. “Prescott is a fucking maniac. But Michael’s tough. Go on in, we’re done. He’s floating around in there somewhere. I’m off to Manhattan. I’ll be back tomorrow sometime.”
“Have fun. Are you sure I can go back there?” Diane never interrupted Michael when he was working.
“Yes. Have him play for you what we did today. He’s bloody brilliant, our Michael. Really. I’ve been doing this a long time. He’ll win awards, if Prescott doesn’t kill him.”
She walked back towards the studio. Music was playing, a woman’s voice, very sweet and Celtic. She looked into the studio, a long, windowless cave-like space that always intimidated her. It was empty. She took another few steps into his office and looked in.
Michael’s office was covered on two walls with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, crammed with books, papers, his awards, and souvenirs of his travels. There was also a television and stereo equipment on the shelves, a few videos, and CDs. One wall was solid glass, overlooking the front expanse of yard. The last wall was filled with his desk, a long, cluttered work table filled with two computers and various printers, fax machines and a copy machine. There was a battered leather sofa by the window, and a large leather swivel chair in front of the desk
He was there, barefoot, dressed in shorts and a polo shirt, listening very carefully to the music playing. She could see the concentration on his face, the complete stillness of his body. She did not interrupt him, but listened with him as the song ended. He sensed her, turned, and broke into a smile.
“Hi. You’re back.”
She crossed over to him and kissed him lightly. “Yes. David says you’re to play something for me. He says you’re bloody brilliant.”
“Listen to this girl. Prescott wants her for the ballad. What do you think?”
“I like her. She’s got a great quality to her voice.”
Another song started up. “Yes, she does,” Michael said. “She’s well trained. I never had voice lessons. I just open my mouth and hope for the best. But she’s got great control.”
Diane sat down and began to spin around on the swivel chair. Michael reached over to pick up a stack of papers, a fax from Prescott, frowning. He glanced at her.
“I like your toes,” he said, smiling quickly.
“Thanks. They’re supposed to make me look devastatingly sexy.”
He chuckled, still reading. “You’re already sexy,” he murmured, flipping a page.
“As sexy as that blonde the other night?”
He was frowning again. “What blonde?”
Diane stopped spinning and was watching him as he read, eyes moving, looking displeased.
“At the movies.”
He was shaking his head at something, then glanced up at her again. “You mean Janice?”
“Janice? She told you her name?”
Something in her voice made him look back up. “Yes. Her name was Janice.”