“Fremont Residence.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith. It’s Abby…Abigail. Is my mother available?”
“She’s having a bit of a lie-down,” said Mrs. Smith. “I’ll see if she’s awake.”
Aw, nuts, thought Abby. A bit of a lie-down. That was Sharon Fremont’s code for, “I’m in a pissy mood and someone’s going to pay for it.” It meant that she was feeling put upon, hard done by, unappreciated. She would develop a ‘migraine’. Abby had seen people who truly did suffer from migraines and she knew that her mother wouldn’t have been able to stand that pain for a minute without screaming for drugs. All her mother ever needed was a bit of a lie-down and a bucket of apologies.
“Hello.” Her mother’s voice was weak-sounding.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Abigail, is that you?”
“Yes, Mother, it is. Surely you haven’t forgotten the sound of my voice?” Abby wasn’t in the mood to play her mother’s game.
“Well, that’s hard to say, Dear, I haven’t heard it in quite awhile. And I believe the last time I heard it, it was shrieking.”
Abby slumped down onto the bed. “We are not discussing it, Mother. Ever!”
“But your behavior was…appalling.”
My behavior, thought Abby. MY BEHAVIOR? MY FUCKING BEHAVIOR??!! What about selling your daughter? What about that? Abby took a deep breath and reined in her emotions. “I said that we are not discussing it, Mother,” she said coldly.
Something in Abby’s tone got through to her mother. Sharon decided to back down…for the moment. She’d get her point across when she had Abby face-to-face. Then they would discuss the fact that Abigail had disappeared after leaving a note on the dining room table telling them that she was going to Brookhaven and they should leave her alone. And the fact that she had refused to return the messages of her distraught and worried mother. And the fact that the dining room had been left in such a mess, and that Sharon had had to explain it to the housekeeper. Yes, they would indeed have some discussion.
“When are you coming home, Dear?” Sharon adopted a more conciliatory tone.
“I’ll be home by dinner tomorrow,” said Abby and she could feel the knot forming at the base of her neck.
“I’ll have Mrs. Smith cook something special for you…your favorite tuna casserole, perhaps.”
“Perhaps not,” said Abby. Was her mother the meanest woman on the planet or just the dumbest?
“Ah, yes,” said her mother, reliving the scene of the tuna casserole flying across the table into Philip’s face. “Perhaps not.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Nick walked back to Rose Cottage. He picked through his dirty clothes. He already had a packed suitcase sitting at home in L.A. ready for the trip to Atlanta, so he didn’t have to worry about laundry. And there wasn’t anything here that he was desperate to take with him. He had lots of clothes. Nothing like the others, of course. Man, they had tons of clothes. Nick liked to wear the same things over and over. He would get a favorite pair of jeans and he’d live in them until they wore out. Then he’d move on to something else.
He set out the clothes for the next day and dumped everything else into the suitcase, clean along with dirty. The housekeeper could just wash everything. He packed his music notes carefully into his guitar case. He had some done some good work here, he thought. He had worked out a lot of emotion just by writing the Pain Song, and he thought he had a winner in Ribbons of Light. He’d find out next week when he played it for the guys.
Next week in Atlanta.
Getting together with the guys to make some music.
It was time. They had all done their solo thing and they were ready to come together again. All the differences and hard feelings had been taken care of…smoothed over by time and distance. They had needed both, but now they were ready to record together again.
Nick picked up his cell phone and wandered into the living room. He had left the phone off for the week, hadn’t even bothered to check messages after he got the one from Mary. He didn’t know if it was because he was afraid that Ronni would call or because he was afraid that she wouldn’t.
He punched in the codes to retrieve messages. Maybe there had been a change of plans for next week. He hoped not. There were two new messages, the metallic voice informed him. The first one was from Mary, bringing him up to date on a few items and then dropping the bombshell. His mother had come by the house while Ronni was retrieving the last of her things and they had had words. Expect a call. Mary had refused to tell her Nick’s whereabouts, only that he was on vacation for a week.
Nick sighed. He didn’t know if he had the strength for his mother just yet. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. He counted to ten…slowly. Okay, suck it up and get it over with. He pressed the button to retrieve the second message.
He stood looking out the window and shook his head as he listened. First the harangue about going off without telling her…like he really had anything to do with her any more, what’s the matter, Mom, afraid you’ll run across a reporter and you won’t have the latest news at your fingertips?
Next came the condolence. One line. Sorry to hear that Ronni left you. Thanks, Mom. Your phrasing is always delicate. Be sure to assume that I’m the loser. Of course, that whole ‘marrying another guy’ thing does tend to make me look that way.
Then the diatribe about Ronni. How she’d never liked her anyway…with several examples…how Nick was better off without her…now he could concentrate on finding a real person…get serious about his life.
A real person? What the fuck did she think Ronni was? She was real enough. She was flesh and blood. She was beauty and humor and grace. Nick knew what his mother meant. A real person was a person not in show business. What did that make him, he wondered. He was in show business. And where was he supposed to meet this person? He never met anyone who wasn’t an adoring fan or in the business. A brief image of Abby floated through his mind.
His mother went back to telling him what a loser he was…how she knew he wasn’t good at meeting new people, but he should just make the effort…because it was time to settle down…find a good woman and settle down.
I had one, thought Nick. I had a good woman and I was ready to settle down. She left me, do you remember that, Mom? Nick didn’t know how this had suddenly become his wrongdoing, but, of course, it had. That was how his mother worked. I’m sorry you got dumped, Son. What did you do to cause that?
Then she struck the final low blow, saying that she hoped he wouldn’t turn to food for comfort and get even fatter. Even fatter. Thanks, Mom.
Nick disconnected and dropped the cell phone on the table. What a bitch! He went over to the little fridge and pulled out one of the remaining bottles of beer. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Why did his life have to be so fucked up? And what was he going to tell the guys? He didn’t want the week to start off with a sympathy parade. He rolled his eyes and tipped up the bottle. He had planned on it being a celebration. Good news to put everyone in a good frame of mind immediately. Congratulations, Nick, we’re so happy for you. Let’s make some music!
And now it would be…what? Gee, sorry that you’re such a loser, Nicky. Of course, they didn’t know that he’d planned on asking her to marry him. He could just say that they split up, make it sound mutual or something. Howie was the only one who had met her. Yeah, he wouldn’t even bring it up unless they did. He’d have to brush past it quickly because he wasn’t good at lying and they’d catch on immediately. Shit!
He opened another beer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Nick waved Abby over to the breakfast table.
“Good morning,” she said, “Are you all packed and ready to go?”
“Yep,” he replied. “I’ve checked out and my bags are at the concierge’s desk. I’ve seen the last of Rose Cottage.”
“It might haunt your nightmares for awhile,” mused Abby and then realized that had been somewhat tactless. Charles glided over with orange juice and a pot of tea for her. When he was done and they had ordered, Nick moved on to another topic.
“I didn’t see you last night. I came up to get some dinner.” Actually, he had come up for another couple of beers in the bar after the supply in the fridge ran out, but the room had been taken over by the raucous salesmen, so he had retreated to the dining room. He was glad that he had eaten something or he might have had a hangover this morning.
“I ate in my room,” said Abby. “I wasn’t in a good mood and I didn’t feel like braving the Techtronics crowd.”
Nick nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. They were really getting into it…like guys that hadn’t partied in a long time and they were making up for it.”
“There’ll be a few sore heads this morning,” said Abby.
“Oh yeah,” said Nick, nodding over to a table that had four very hung-over-looking men. “Why weren’t you in a good mood?” asked Nick, hoping it didn’t have anything to do with him.
“Phone conversation with my mother,” said Abby.
Nick grimaced. “Me too. Mine was just a message but it still managed to push all my buttons.”
“They certainly have a knack for that, don’t they?” said Abby.
“Oh, yeah,” replied Nick. “She hit them all.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Loser in love, not reliable, I don’t treat her well, fat…all in a few short sentences.”
“Mine had the martyr complex revved up,” said Abby. “How poorly she had been treated by the ungrateful daughter whose behavior had resulted in the desecration of the dining room drapes.”
Nick blinked and raised his eyebrows in question.
Abby blushed. “I threw a bit of a tantrum that involved a plate of tuna casserole.”
Nick burst out laughing. “You threw food at the window?”
“No, I threw it at Philip. Some bounced off him onto the drapes…and it made a real mess of the carpet.” Abby grinned at the memory.
Nick laughed even harder. “Good for you!” he said. “The bastard! What did he do then?”
“Oh, he said we were all pathetic and there was no amount of money that would make him want to be part of the family. Then he stormed out.”
“Covered in tuna casserole?” Tears were running down Nick’s face. The hung-over men looked across and wondered what was so funny.
“He wiped most of it off with his table napkin while he was delivering his diatribe.” Abby paused and reflected. “You know, he wasn’t very careful. Stuff was flying everywhere, little bits of macaroni and celery. I think he was the one responsible for the drapes…certainly the carpet. I think I’ll suggest to my mother that she send the cleaning bills to him.” She grinned.
“Really?” said Nick, dabbing at his eyes with his own napkin.
“No,” said Abby, “because I’ve already told her that we are never discussing it again.”
“Will that work?” asked Nick, “Refusing to discuss it…will she go along with that?” He couldn’t picture his own mother giving in.
“Oh, hell no,” said Abby with a laugh. “She’ll bring it up a thousand times. But I am just going to walk away and refuse to talk about it. Thank you, Charles.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Fremont…Mr. Carter. Enjoy your breakfast.”
“We’re leaving today,” said Nick, slipping a large bill into Charles’ hand. “Thanks for everything, man.”
“Thank you, Sir. It’s been a pleasure,” said Charles. “I hope we’ll see you again sometime.”
Nick and Abby looked at each other across the table and smiled. No way in hell, thought Abby. Not a fucking chance, thought Nick. Neither of them would ever come back to Brookhaven Lodge and Conference Centre.
