He could see how deeply worried Billy was just by looking at the troubled expression in his eyes and on his face. He was glad when Billy closed his eyes. Maybe he can relax a little, Sterling hoped. He’s going to need to be “on” when he meets that guy Chip Holmes.
The train was a local and took forty-five minutes to get to Jamaica, in Queens. From there they took the subway to Fifty-ninth Street in Manhattan.
We’re an hour early, Sterling noted as they climbed the steps to the street. Darkness was just setting in. The traffic was heavy, and there were Christmas decorations in all the windows. I hope Billy kills the time by taking a walk. I haven’t been in this part of Manhattan in forty-six years.
It looks the same and yet different. Bloomingdale’s will never change. But I don’t see Alexander’s. I loved living here, he remembered as he took it all in. There’s no place like it in the world.
He trailed behind Billy to Park Avenue. The trees on the center island were glowing with white lights. The air was cold but clear. Sterling inhaled appreciatively even though it wasn’t necessary for him to breathe. The hint of evergreen in the air made his mind drift back to other Christmases.
They started downtown and passed the building at 475 Park Avenue. My boss used to live there, Sterling recalled. He always invited Annie and me to his New Year’s Day open-house party. Whatever happened to him? I never noticed him in the celestial waiting room and I never saw him whizzing by the celestial window.
Just then, a very old man, cane in hand, hobbled out of the building and spoke to the doorman. “My driver’s late. Get me a cab, sonny.”
Sterling gasped. It’s him, my boss. Josh Gaspero. He must be a hundred years old! I’d love to be able to say hello, but from the looks of things, I suspect I’ll be seeing him soon enough.
Billy was half a block ahead of him, and Sterling hurried to catch up, glancing over his shoulder several times as he watched his boss impatiently tapping his cane on the side-walk. He hasn’t changed, Sterling thought fondly.
The St. Regis was on Fifty-fifth Street, but Billy kept going south on Park Avenue. At Fiftieth Street he turned right and walked a few blocks west to Rockefeller Center.
Here I am again, Sterling thought. It’s such a great place to be at Christmastime. I bet I know just where Billy’s headed. Five minutes later they were in front of the magnificent evergreen with its thousands of colorful lights, looking down at the skating rink.
This is where it all started. Sterling smiled to himself. Started next year. Together they watched the skaters and listened to the music floating up from the rink. I’ll bet Billy has skated here with Marissa. Sterling looked at the expression on Billy’s face. I can tell she’s in his thoughts right now.
Billy turned to leave. Sterling tailed him across Fifth Avenue and up the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He’s stopping to say a prayer, Sterling thought. The moment they walked through the door and experienced the majestic beauty of the cathedral, Sterling felt an intense sense of longing. His mind became filled with the image of the joy and peace he had seen on the faces of the people approaching the open gates of heaven. Head bowed, he knelt beside Billy, who had lit a candle at a side altar.
He’s praying for his future on earth. I’m praying for mine in eternity. To be in heaven even for an hour on Christmas Day… Sterling felt tears in his eyes and whispered, “Please, help me complete my mission on earth so that I may begin to be worthy of You.”
When they left St. Patrick’s a few minutes later, Sterling was filled with both gratitude and regret. He knew that at last he was beginning to truly appreciate the gift of life and the gift of life everlasting.
At the St. Regis Hotel, Billy went into the King Cole bar, sat at a small table, and ordered a Perrier.
Oh, they’ve changed it here, Sterling thought as he looked around. But the Maxfield Parrish mural behind the bar is the same. I always loved it.
It was almost five o’clock. The bar was suddenly filling up. I remember meeting friends here for a glass of wine after work, Sterling mused. Just as people are doing now, getting together with friends, enjoying each other’s company-that at least is timeless.
A couple of young women at a nearby table cast smiling glances at Billy, who was too absorbed in his own concerns to even notice them.
At five-twenty, Sterling could see that Billy was gearing up for the meeting. He straightened his shoulders, began sipping the Perrier, and kept his eye on the door. Ten minutes later, when the recording executive who had been at Nor’s Place appeared with a fast-moving, balding man in tow, Billy was the picture of easy charm.
They moved to a bigger table. But there’s always room for one more, Sterling thought as he took the unoccupied seat and began to sort out his companions. It only took a moment to figure out that Chip Holmes was the top executive of the recording company, while Eli Green headed the New York office.
Holmes was a no-nonsense, say-it-and-be-finished-with-it type. “You’re good, Billy, you’re very good. You’ve got a special quality to your singing that makes me confident you’ll catch on big time.”
That’s what I said, Sterling thought.
“You’ve got good looks, too, which is a rarity among the male performers in this business…”
Sterling silently applauded Billy’s demeanor throughout the half-hour meeting. He looked and sounded confident, and, while appreciative, he did not grovel when Holmes offered a substantial contract and promised that he would have the kind of backup support he needed.
“We’re teaming you with one of our top producers. He wants to get to work with you as soon as possible. By this time next year you could be a star, Billy.”
The meeting ended with handshakes and a fervent expression of gratitude from Billy.
Good move, Sterling thought. During the discussion, you impressed him with your composure, but it was time to let him know how happy you are. I know his type. He loves having the role of kingmaker.
In the lobby, Billy consulted his train schedule and looked at his watch. Looking over his shoulder Sterling could see that he was going to try to make the 6:50 from Jamaica. A little tight, Sterling worried, but it’s an express train, and the next one is a local.
They covered the seven blocks back to Fifty-ninth Street in half the time it had taken them to get to the hotel. Billy must be walking on air, Sterling thought. For the moment, at least. I’m sure that instead of thinking about the Badgetts, he’s reveling in what the recording contract means to his future.
They hurried down the subway steps and onto the crowded platform. Consulting his watch again, Billy made his way to the edge and leaned forward, hoping to see a headlight emerging from the tunnel.
It happened in an instant. Sterling saw a burly man suddenly materialize, and with a slam of his shoulder send Billy teetering over the tracks. Anguished, Sterling tried to grab Billy, knowing that he could not regain his balance on his own, but his arms went right through Billy’s body.
The train was rushing into the station. He’s going to fall, Sterling thought helplessly. A woman screamed as the same burly man suddenly pulled Billy back to safety, then disappeared into the crowd, headed toward the exit.
The doors of the train opened. Numbly, Billy stepped aside as exiting passengers rushed past him.
“Are you all right?” someone asked him anxiously as he boarded the train.
“Yes, I’m all right.” Billy grabbed the center pole near the door and held on tight.
An elderly woman admonished him. “Do you know how lucky you are? You should never stand that close to the edge of the platform.”
“I know. It was stupid,” Billy agreed, then turned away, struggling quietly to normalize his rapid breathing.
Sterling hung onto the center post with Billy as the subway bounced and swayed down the tracks. They arrived in Jamaica just in time to make the 6:50 to Syosset.
