“Dennis, why don’t you take the day off?” Nor suggested. “Pete can handle the bar.”
“And lose all those holiday tips? I don’t think so.” Dennis yawned. “I better start setting up. We’ve got another holiday lunch group, Nor.”
“I haven’t forgotten. But they’ll have to do without me. See you later.”
When the door closed behind Dennis, Billy said, “ Holiday tips? Forget it. He just wants to make sure that he’s around if any trouble starts.”
“I know. Are you going to try to get some sleep, Billy? Don’t forget, we’ve got two more shows tonight.”
“Right now I have to check my messages. I talked to a couple of the guys about getting together for lunch sometime this week.”
Nor slipped her arm into her coat. “Hearing Hans Kramer’s message was the reason we’re in this mess. It would have been one thing if we could have stopped the fire, but now the prospect of being witnesses against those two scares me.”
“Just remember they have no idea we overheard them.” Billy pressed the playback button on the answering machine.
Sterling shook his head as he thought of Charlie Santoli. Maybe he won’t mention that he saw Nor and Billy, he thought hopefully. But given the future events he already knew about, he was sure that wasn’t the way things played out.
“You have two new messages,” the electronic voice began.
The first was from a friend who was organizing a lunch for the next day. “You don’t have to call back unless tomorrow doesn’t work for you.” The second was from the recording company executive who’d offered him the contract last night.
“Billy, this is short notice but Chip Holmes, one of our top guys, is coming into town unexpectedly. He would really like to meet with you today. He’s staying at the St. Regis. Can you join us for a drink around 5:30? Let me know.”
“Why do I think you can make it?” Nor asked when the message clicked off. “Chip Holmes. Billy, that’s great. If Holmes likes you, the sky’s the limit with that company. You won’t just be another singer with potential. He’ll put big money into building you up.”
“Which is exactly what I need,” Billy said, as he did a quick drumroll on the tabletop with his fingers. “I don’t want to be a one-hit wonder. You know better than I do how many guys had a little success early on, and then ended up job hunting when they were thirty-five. Let’s face it. In this business I’m already no kid.”
“I know what you’re talking about, but you’re going to make it,” Nor assured him. “Now I really will get out of here. Break a leg. I’ll see you tonight.”
At the door, she looked over her shoulder. “I always swear I won’t give you advice, but I can’t help myself. You’d better leave plenty of time to get into New York. The holiday traffic is still pretty heavy.”
“I’ll take the train,” Billy said absently, as he picked up his guitar.
“That’s smart.”
When Nor left, Sterling settled back in the club chair, his legs stretched over the hassock. He listened as Billy began plucking at the strings and softly singing words he’d written on a crumpled sheet of paper.
He’s trying out new lyrics, Sterling thought. Upbeat, but with a nice plaintive touch. Billy really is good. I always did have an ear for music, he recalled.
Forty-five minutes later, the phone rang. Billy picked it up, said, “Hello,” listened, then said, nervously, “You’re calling from Badgett Enterprises? What can I do for you?”
Sterling hoisted himself from the chair and in two quick strides was at Billy’s side, his ear to the receiver.
At the other end of the line, Charlie Santoli stood in his office, hating himself more and more with every word he uttered. “I am a representative of the company. The reason I am calling is that, as you may know, the Badgett brothers are philanthropists who have a large scholarship program for children in the local area. They thoroughly enjoyed your performance last night, and they know you have a young daughter.”
Sterling saw Billy’s forehead tighten. “What has my daughter got to do with this?”
“Her future has a great deal to do with it. The Badgetts understand how uncertain your future as a performer may be. They would like to set up a trust fund to ensure that Marissa will be able to go to a fine college in another ten years.”
“Why would they want to do that?” Billy asked, restrained anger in his voice.
“Because sometimes remarks made in jest are overheard and, if repeated, take on a life of their own. The Badgetts would be very upset if that happened.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Of course I am, Charlie thought. It’s my job. He cleared his throat. “What I am offering is to make your daughter one of the selected recipients of a one hundred thousand dollar trust fund. It would please Junior and Eddie Badgett very much if you’d accept. On the other hand, they would find it dismaying if you were to repeat lighthearted remarks that might be misconstrued.”
Billy stood up. The receiver hit Sterling in the jaw, causing him to blink.
“Listen, you representative of Badgett Enterprises, whoever you are, you tell those two that my daughter doesn’t need their trust fund. I’ll take care of her education myself without any help from them… And as for their ‘joking’ or ‘lighthearted’ remarks, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
He slammed down the phone, sank onto the couch, and clenched his hands into fists. “They know we heard them,” he said aloud. “What are we going to do?”
The Heavenly Council was watching the developments on Earth with rapt attention. Charlie Santoli’s phone call to Billy Campbell brought instant response.
“Charlie Santoli had better watch out,” the monk said sternly.
“He’d better not come crying to us when his time is up.” The shepherd’s eyes flashed fire.
“It wasn’t what the sisters taught him at St. Francis Xavier,” the nun said sadly.
The queen’s expression was grave. “He’d better wake up before it’s too late.”
“He wants to be good,” the nurse volunteered.
“Well then, madam, for goodness sake, Charles Santoli must mend his ways and get on with it,” the admiral thundered.
“I think Sterling will be looking to confer with us again,” the Native American saint reflected. “He has great humility. He wants to do his job, and he’s not afraid to ask for help.”
“He was always capable of deep caring and love,” the shepherd observed, his tone now mollified. “I was pleased by the expression in his eyes as he sat watching Marissa when she was sleeping.”
Sterling caught up with Marissa just as she was putting her ice skates in her carrying case and rushing out to the car. When he had realized that Billy was going to catch a few hours’ sleep, he had trotted over to Marissa’s house to see how she was doing.
He arrived in time to join Roy as he drove Marissa to the rink, bringing the munchkins along for the ride. Squashed between the twins, Sterling ducked flailing arms that attacked him from both sides. His jaw was still a little sore from being bopped with the receiver when he’d been listening in on Santoli’s conversation with Billy, and, at one year of age, Roy Junior had a mean right cross.
But they are cute babies, he conceded with only a shade of reluctance. It’s kind of fascinating to see how they’re taking in everything they see. My problem was that I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so anxious to stay away from kids all my life if I’d had some experience with them.
He remembered the time he was godfather at a christening and the baby had drooled all over his pin-striped suit. It was the first time I wore it, too.
In the front seat, Roy was saying to Marissa, “I understand Grandma is going to teach you how to make apple strudel today.”
What a thrill, Sterling thought, and realized Marissa was having exactly the same reaction. However, she said politely, “I know. Grandma’s so nice.”
