SailtotheMoon Read online

  Chick spoke in a slow, quiet voice, the opposite of the tones he used in public, usually strident, often louder than anyone else. But Chick had many facets to his personality and nobody knew all of them. “When I saw you together, I was going to ask you if you wanted to talk to her, and then you hit on her. I thought fine, you could sort it out for yourselves. But you didn’t, did you?”

  “There was another Laura there tonight. You told me a Laura was looking for me, and I thought I’d just dodged her.”

  “And you didn’t ask for last names.” Chick laughed. “Just as well you didn’t talk to the other Laura. She’s a vicious bitch. Writes for one of the tabloids.”

  “Redtops,” he corrected automatically. “We call them redtops over here.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Chick waved aside his correction as the distraction Zazz had intended it to be. His and Donovan’s English-isms kept Chick in stitches, when he was in the mood. He wasn’t in the mood now. “You said no. I thought you might, but you said more than that, didn’t you? And you fucked her.”

  He couldn’t prevent the reminiscent smile curling his lips. “She fucked me. In more ways than one.” He lost the smile. “She knew who I was, and she helped herself before she hit on me to see my father.”

  Chick raised a brow. “Bit hard on her, surely? She’s a real fan of the band.”

  “Not good for the public image to throw women out of your hotel room? Good luck with fixing that.” He turned his attention back to his pad. He was nearly done with this lyric. He’d written two songs tonight, and he thought they might be bloody good. At least some good had come of his encounter and the reminder of his past. Not that either tune would work as his “In My Life”. Nothing did. He idolized that song. The first few notes drifted through his mind, and for fuck’s sake, he nearly welled up at the remembrance of the beginning lines.

  He had nobody, nothing, and he was better off that way.

  “Go see your father, Zazz.”

  Unlike most managers, Chick was definitely not hands-off where his clients’ private lives were concerned. “Fuck off, Chick.” Knowing Chick wouldn’t stop until he had finished what he had to say, Zazz put down the pad and lifted the coffee mug to his lips.

  “Get it over with.”

  “And find him in another pool of vomit or worse?” Zazz hit on the thing to get Chick to leave him alone. “How did finding Matt and Jace near death affect you?”

  Nobody else in the band, not even Matt and Jace, knew that Chick had found them and got the emergency services to them in time. In the course of one drunken, maudlin night, he’d spilled it to Zazz, then forced him to swear not to tell anyone else. The experience had shaken Chick, made him more determined to ensure nobody died on his watch. That included interference in the band’s private life, if he deemed it necessary. Zazz realized it must be his turn.

  “You know how. Not good. All that beauty and youth destroyed. They weren’t joining the twenty-seven club if I could help it. Your father survived.”

  “Better if he hadn’t.” Zazz had thought that over plenty of times. “He lost his talent, lost his fame, his way of earning a living. Came here, everybody forgot him. That didn’t matter to him. He kept trying, but he always said he was better when he was high.”

  Chick’s voice took on a dreamy tone. “He was one of the best horn players I’ve ever heard in my life.”

  Zazz frowned. “How old are you exactly?”

  Chick gave a laugh. “Not that old, but I have all his recordings. There aren’t many. A few live Birdland sessions, some backing sessions and the two solo albums. Nobody forgot him, Zazz, not the true believers.”

  “He’s fucking awful these days. At least he was when I left.” Zazz shuddered, remembering drunken noodlings and broken scales.

  Chick finished his coffee and got to his feet, heading to the machine instead of the door. He hadn’t finished yet. “I’d still like the chance to tell him what pleasure he’s given me over the years.”

  “Why should he care? He worked for the shit he pumped into his arm. There’s an old Frank Sinatra movie—”

  “The Man With The Golden Arm,” Chick said reverently. “Good movie. Yeah, he could have lived better. But he never abandoned you.”

  Appeals to Zazz’s better nature wouldn’t work. “Sure he did. He didn’t remember that I was still with him, sometimes. I’m an American according to my birth certificate, but with a British father. She put his name down and he said it was more trouble to get his name removed than he could spare. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a Londoner who made it big in the US first. You are what you make yourself.”

  “Are you sure he’s not your father?” Chick asked.

  For answer, Zazz shrugged. “If he wasn’t, some other lowlife was. My ma was a streetwalker. Sold her pussy, mouth and arsehole for the drugs she needed. She died just after I was born. I was born addicted and he took me to the hospital, got me put in an incubator. I might have died.” He paused. “It might have been better if I had.”

  Chick returned to his chair with a brimming mug of black coffee. Zazz grimaced. He couldn’t take it black, even first thing. “V was born addicted too. She never knew her parents, but she says that the Hamids are all the parents she ever wanted. You have one better than her. You have a father, biological or not.”

  Zazz hurled his pencil to the floor, then the mug followed. It shattered, the remnants rolling across the floor before coming to a gradual stop. “Fuck, what kind of father do you think a kid deserves? Not Jimmy Asaro, that’s for sure.”

  “But he kept you, he never abandoned you.”

  Why did Chick keep harping on about that? Didn’t he get it? Indolence rather than fondness kept Jimmy from dumping Zazz at the nearest children’s home. The times that Jimmy had come through for him had been few and far between, the scales heavily in favor of the times he’d let him down.

  “Okay,” said Chick. “Do it for her.”

  “What?” He turned a stunned expression on to his manager. “Who?” He wanted Chick to say it.

  He waited until Chick took a deep draught of his coffee. “Laura. It means a lot to her. She doesn’t want any magic reconciliation, she wants you to visit him is all. The old man wants to see you. It’ll hurt him if you come to his hometown and you avoid him. But it’ll hurt her too.”

  “Did she tell you all that?” A thought crossed his mind. “Did you fucking set me up?”

  Chick shook his head. “You can add paranoia to your list of personality disorders. Laura cares about the people she works for.” He frowned. “She takes her job seriously, and she wants to talk to you about his care. She told you she wants him to go into a home?”

  That sounded too much like the person from the emails. Zazz shifted uncomfortably. “Best place for him.” He wouldn’t let the old man drag him back into his milieu. Too much heartbreak, too much disaster and despair. If he could get Jimmy in a home, all he’d have to do was pay the bills. With other people looking after him, he might finally get shut of the old man. Ignoring the twist of emotion that thought gave his insides, Zazz decided that was what he wanted. “She can decide the place without my involvement. I’ll foot the bill.” He stared at Chick, opening his eyes a little wider, fully aware of the effect the bright-blue stare had on people. On most people. “Just how much of a heart-to-heart did you have with her before the car arrived?”

  Chick shrugged. “Long enough for her to get a grip and walk out with her head up. You treated her badly, Zazz.” Zazz shrugged. “Oh don’t give me the bad-boy rock star shit. You got scared, kid.”

  “Kid?” Chick might be six or seven years older than Zazz, but that didn’t give him the right to call him kid, especially in that tone of voice. “Fuck off, Chick.”

  “I don’t fuck off that easy. You hurt her. You don’t usually treat your women like that. Sort your shit out, you fucker. Go see your father, apologize to Laura and sort it out. This chip on your shoulder’s turning into a fucking forest.”
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  Bastard. “I don’t like being used. She knew who I was. She targeted me.”

  “She didn’t. You know she didn’t. You reacted to her stronger than I’ve ever seen you with anyone. You brought her back here. You usually fuck them in your dressing room, unless you want a marathon session.”

  “How do you know I didn’t want that?”

  Chick laughed. “You pick the experienced ones for that, the ones who understand the score. She didn’t. That was obvious to anyone. You walked out of the room talking to her, smiling. Holding her hand, for fuck’s sake. Don’t leave it like you have between you. You’re not like that, Zazz. Go and make up with her. Make her feel better. Make yourself feel better.”

  “You bastard.” Finally, Chick had stuck his needle where it hurt and hit the truth. He was right. Zazz was being a prick. “Okay. Get me the address. Now fuck off so I can throw up in peace.”

  He wasn’t joking. He vomited before he cleaned up and put the coffeepot on again. But he’d do it, finally say goodbye to his past. And apologize to Laura. Chick was right. She didn’t deserve what he’d done to her and he needed to tell her.

  Time to man up.

  Chapter Four

  “Is that you, girl?”

  Laura had her own key to the flat, so Jimmy didn’t have to get up to answer the door. He was shaky on his legs these days and couldn’t walk far without help, but he refused to have anything more than a cane to help him. “No power scooter for this dude,” he’d told her, and she had to accept it. He didn’t go out much anyway. Thanks to his son, he had enough money to order food by phone or online, and to have an assistant a few times a week, as well as a nurse to help him with more intimate matters. And Laura came courtesy of the local council. So his call could be to one of several people.

  “It’s me.” She walked through to the small living room to find Jimmy sitting in his well-worn recliner by the fire, which wasn’t on and the room was as cold as outside. It had been raining all morning, in tune with her mood, though she doubted Zazz would use a cliché like that in his work.

  Better not to go there. Except she had bad news for Jimmy. Zazz was a selfish jerk whom she shouldn’t give time to anymore.

  Jimmy’s broad smile was his trademark, as much as the trumpet sitting by the side of his chair. Except that mouth was twisted, the lips scarred. After one syringe full of junk too many, one bet too many, Jimmy had finally found his comeuppance in San Francisco. The guys he owed money to took his best asset. Not his horn, but his mouth. They’d smashed it beyond repair.

  But he still had his smile.

  “Hey, have you eaten?” Aware of the answer already, she went through to the kitchen and put her bag on the stool in front of the counter that separated the kitchen area from the lounge. Zazz’s money had made this place more comfortable than it used to be and better suited to a semi-invalid.

  He peered at her, his rheumy eyes intent. “So, did you go?”

  She knew this moment was coming. “I’ll make you a sandwich. Ham and pickle okay?”

  “Sure.”

  She loved Jimmy’s accent, a hybrid of all kinds, a mix of English, deep Southern and other elements she couldn’t identify. “The band was amazing, you’d be proud, Jimmy. You should have taken that extra ticket instead of letting me give it to Kelsie.” She paused. What could she say? The truth. This man deserved the truth. “James Asaro is the lead singer for Murder City Ravens. Zazz.”

  “Yeah. I kind of guessed.” Jimmy shrugged. “But I wasn’t sure. I’ve heard the album, and I thought, yes, my son could do that. But he never contacted me after he left, so I couldn’t be sure. I guess I thought I’d find out for sure after you met him.” He glanced around. “Plus, he’s sent more money recently. Nightstar did real well.”

  Earlier today, she’d sent a couple of emails to the address she’d been corresponding with, requesting him to visit. No reply, but she didn’t expect one. It would show her bosses that she’d done her best. How “best” she’d try to ensure they never found out.

  While she busied herself making the sandwich, the doorbell rang, but Jimmy stopped her going. “You carry on that good work, kid, and put the kettle on. I could use the exercise.”

  Probably the nurse. She came several times a week, checked his basic health and gave him his methadone injection, although Jimmy was quite capable of doing it himself, as he often told her.

  Laura called out, “Hi, Jane, I’ll make some tea.” She found the ham in the refrigerator and some lettuce that would give the sandwich a bit of crunch. “Want a ham butty?”

  “No,” Zazz replied from behind her.

  She dropped the butter knife. It fell with a clatter onto the tiled floor. Turning around, she opened the refrigerator door to put the ham back and locate the jar of sweet pickle Jimmy was fond of. She kept her voice quiet, and as steady as she could when she said, “Okay.” She could keep her head down while she finished, get over her shock at hearing his voice here, instead of the nurse’s.

  The kettle boiled and turned itself off with a sharp click.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The words dropped into the silence. She wasn’t sure who Zazz was apologizing to, but she didn’t care. That was what she said anyway. “Tea?”

  “I’ll have some tea,” he said as she poured the boiling water into the pot. “Thanks.”

  “Son.” Jimmy sounded far too quiet, the lisp caused by his injury more pronounced. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Yes I do. So many things. First, that I haven’t visited you earlier. I should have come. You’re my father.”

  Jimmy shrugged. “You made sure I was okay. That’s enough.”

  “No it’s not. But I owe Laura an apology too. I wasn’t kind to her last night, and she didn’t deserve it. Laura…?”

  At his gentle words, she lifted her head, after blinking her tears away. She didn’t want to show any weakness. An apology was fine, but he’d hurt her so deeply it would take her awhile to recover. She couldn’t show him that, she owed it to herself to keep what pride she had left. She steeled herself for eye contact.

  When she met his clear, blue gaze she nearly welled up, an involuntary gush of emotion nearly overwhelming her resolve. She recalled the last time she’d seen his eyes, hard, icy even, throwing her out of his hotel room as if she didn’t matter. Now they were gentle, with a pang of sorrow. A pang she felt clear to her heart, like a physical pain. “Laura, I was scared and I was wrong. I’m sorry. Will you let me make it up to you?”

  So simple, so heartfelt, she could do nothing but accept it. Didn’t mean she’d let him know how much he’d hurt her. “Of course I forgive you,” she said, as if he were apologizing for something light and inconsequential. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I do. I didn’t want to come here, and I drove you away rather than face it. I’m sure you didn’t know who I was. That was an excuse to get you out of my room.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.” About to say that wasn’t the worst rejection she’d ever had, the words died on her lips, because it was. It had torn her apart, and she’d cried for an hour when she got home, before pulling on her big-girl knickers and getting on with life. After all, she’d fucked a rock star, right?

  No, she hadn’t. She’d connected with a man she found more vital and more on her wavelength than anyone else she’d ever met.

  Zazz’s lip twitched, a small sign she’d learned last night meant he was suppressing a smile. He smiled a whole lot more than she’d imagined. He watched her set a table at the side of his father’s chair and set a plate on it, together with a mug of tea. She’d meant to return to collect the other two mugs, but he got there before her. He put them down on the low coffee table between the chair and the sofa, instead of handing hers to her directly and initiating skin contact. She couldn’t bear that right now. They had to share the small sofa, but Laura kept to her corner.

  “So how have you been, son?” Jimmy was in a jovial mood today
. It wasn’t always this way.

  “Busy,” Zazz said laconically. “But not too busy to come to see you or get in touch.” He leaned back, crossing one leg over his knee and leaning his arm over the back. Expanding, filling all the available space. Typical man. “That was cowardice.”

  Jimmy nodded. “It happens to us all. The first time I saw Bird, I thought my life would come to an end. But it pushed me to work harder and eventually I found my own place. You’ve found yours.”

  “You knew it was me?”

  “I guessed. I heard the albums. You left at sixteen, but already you had something good going for you. The first two don’t have your input. You added spiky and difficult and turned Murder City Ravens into something different and special.”

  Just like that, Jimmy put his finger on what made Murder City Ravens so different, such a special band. Before, it was a great rock band. After, it had depth and far more meaning. Tension invaded the band’s music, and that push-pull created incredible moments. Laura hadn’t realized that before.

  She needn’t have bothered worrying about her presence here, because Zazz and Jimmy were soon deep in discussions of music. As if Zazz had returned after a few hours away, instead of years. His father offered him easy acceptance, and Zazz took it. Both had sinned, Jimmy in his neglect when his son was growing up, Zazz by not getting in touch. Maybe they scored it even.

  Despite her discomfort in Zazz’s presence Laura loved listening in. Two of the greatest music figures of their respective eras chatting about what they did and how they did it. They must have done this before, but now Zazz was a name too. She wondered if Jimmy had offered him the same kind of professional respect before. Yes, he probably had. Jimmy talked to anyone about music, his passion and his life.