“Nick.” She said it quietly, with the plea just a whisper in the word.
He’d scared her, he thought, berating himself, and lifted his hands, palms out. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you like that.” More comfortable with distance, he backed up until he could reach the mug he’d set on the table.
“It’s all right.” She managed a smile as the warmth that had shuddered into her system drained out again. “I’m used to it. But I still want you to pick up that mess.”
His lips curved in response. It was going to be all right after all. “My place, my mess, my piano. You’ll have to get used to it.”
She debated a moment, then nodded. “Fine. And when I get my place, and my piano, we’ll work there.”
“Maybe.” He got a fork and began to eat potato salad out of the carton. “Why don’t you get some coffee, and we’ll talk about what I’m after with the score?”
“What we’re after,” she corrected. She plucked a mug out of the drain. “Partner.”
They sat in the kitchen for an hour, discussing, dissecting and debating the theme and heart of the score for First, Last and Always. The musical was to span ten years, taking the leads from a youthful infatuation into a hasty marriage and hastier divorce and ultimately to a mature, fulfilled relationship.
Happy ever after, Freddie called it.
The perpetual rocky road, was Nick’s opinion.
They both agreed that the two viewpoints would add zest to the work, and punch to the music.
“She loves him,” Freddie said as they settled at the piano. “The first time she sees him.”
“She’s in love with love.” Nick set up the tape recorder. “They both are. They’re young and stupid. That’s one of the things that makes the characters appealing, funny and real.”
“Hmmm.”
“Listen.” He took his place on the piano bench beside her, hip to hip with her. “It opens with the crowd scene. Lots of movement, lights, speed. Everybody’s in a hurry.”
He flipped through his staff sheets and, with what Freddie decided was some sort of inner radar, unerringly chose the one he wanted.
“So I want to hit the audience with the confusion and rush.” He adjusted the synthesizer keyboard on the stand beside him. “And that energy of youth in the opening number.”
“When they run into each other, literally.”
“Right. Here.”
He started to play, a jarring opening note that would wake the senses. Freddie closed her eyes and let the music flood over her.
Quick, full, sometimes clashing notes. Oh, yes, she could see what he wanted. Impatience. Self-absorption. Hurry up, get out of my way. In part of her mind, she could see the stage, packed with dancers, convoluted choreography, the noise from traffic. Horns blaring.
“Needs more brass here,” Nick muttered. He’d all but forgotten Freddie’s presence as he stopped to make notes and fiddle with the synthesizer.
“‘Don’t Stop Now.’”
“I just want to punch up the brass.”
She only shook her head at him and placed her own hands on the piano keys. With her eyes narrowed on the notes he’d scribbled on the staff paper, she began, voice melding with music.
“‘Don’t stop now. I’ve got places to go, people to see. Don’t know how I’m supposed to put up with anybody but me.’”
Her voice was pure. Funny, he’d almost forgotten that. Low, smooth, easily confident. Surprisingly sexy.
“You’re quick,” he murmured.
“I’m good.” She continued to play while words and movement ran through her head. “It should be a chorus number, lots of voices, point and counterpoint, with an overlying duet between the principals. He’s going one way, she the other. The words should overlap and blend, overlap and blend.”
“Yeah.” He picked up the fill on the synthesizer, playing with her. “That’s the idea.”
She slanted him a look, a smug smile. “I know.”
It took them more than three hours and two pots of coffee to hammer out the basics of the opening. Not wanting to jar her system with any more of the caffeine Nick seemed to thrive on, Freddie insisted he go down to the bar and find her some club soda. Alone, she made a few minute changes to both words and music on the staff sheet. Even as she began to try them out, the phone interrupted her.
Humming the emerging song in her head, she rose to answer.
“Hello?”
“Why, hi. Is Nick around?”
The slow, sultry, southern female voice had Freddie lifting a brow. “He’ll be back in just a second. He had to run down to the bar.”
“Oh, well, I’ll just hang on then, if it’s all right with you. I’m Lorelie.”
I bet you are, Freddie thought grimly. “Hello, Lorelie, I’m Fred.”
“Not Nick’s little cousin Fred?”
“That’s me,” she said between her teeth. “Little cousin Fred.”
“Well, I’m just thrilled to talk to you, honey.” Warmed, honeyed molasses all but seeped through the phone line. “Nick told me he was visiting with you last night. I didn’t mind postponing our date, seeing as it was family.”
Damn it, she’d known it was a woman. “That’s very understanding of you, Lorelie.”
“Oh, now, a young girl like you, alone in New York, needs the men in her family to look out for her. I’ve been here myself five years, and I’m still not used to all the people. And everybody just moves so fast.”
“Some aren’t as fast as others,” Freddie muttered. “Where are you from, Lorelie?” she asked, politely, she hoped.
“Atlanta, honey. Born and bred. But up here with these Yankees is where the modeling and television work is.”
“You’re a model?” Didn’t it just figure?
“That’s right, but I’ve been doing a lot more television commercials these days. It just wipes you out, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“That’s how I met Nick. I just dropped into the bar one afternoon, after the longest shoot. I asked him to fix me a long cool something. And he said I looked like a long cool something to him.” Lorelie’s laugh was a silver tinkle that set Freddie’s teeth on edge. “Isn’t Nick the sweetest thing?”
Freddie glanced up as the sweetest thing came back in with an armload of soda bottles. “Oh, he certainly is. We’re always saying that about him.”
