Love Lyrics Read online

  Ashley’s eyes moved from one face to the other as the two men stood poised like fencers parrying for a thrust. The tightening of Zachary’s jaw brought back memories far different from the scene on the sailboat. She hastily interrupted. “Uh . . . will you sit down and have a drink? I’m sure the waiter would bring over an extra chair.”

  “Actually, I’m with my client, Mr. Sanders.”

  Matt whistled softly. “He’s the one with the bulging pockets and the angel wings. Tell him the show’ll be a smash.”

  “I was hoping you’d tell him yourself. He’d like you to join us for dinner.”

  Ashley’s heart leaped up and lodged in the base of her throat. “I, uh, we . . .”

  Matt shot her a warning look. “Sure. We’d be delighted.”

  “Good. I’ll have the waiter bring your drinks over and put two more settings on the table. Give me just a couple of minutes, okay?”

  “Sure — dandy.”

  The moment Zachary left and Matt sat down, Ashley leaned forward, her eyes narrowed, her tone threatening. “You nerd! What was all that advice you were giving me? ‘Don’t see him, Ashley; let the producer take care of it, Ashley; avoid him like the plague, Ashley; just write happy lyrics, Ashley.’”

  Matt tugged at his collar. “Yeah, but this is practically a command performance. I mean, this man is Mr. Goldfinger-and-Toes. He’s the kind of angel every show needs. We’re all in this together, Ash. If the money doesn’t roll in, the rock doesn’t roll onstage.”

  “Clever. Very damned clever. Why don’t you just write your own clever lyrics for your clever music, since you’re so clever?”

  “Now don’t be a sorehead. What was I supposed to do, spit in his eye?”

  “That’s what you looked like you were about to do until he mentioned the golden name.”

  “Listen, babe, money talks. In fact it sings . . . a very sweet tune.”

  “You are so unbelievably mercenary!”

  “I have two ex-wives. Do you know what two ex-wives cost?”

  “Why don’t you try staying married? It would be cheaper.”

  “Ashley, we must cut short this erudite discourse. Mr. Jordan awaits. Not to mention Mr. Big Bucks.”

  “You’d best try,” she muttered, as she got up, “to recall that his name is Sanders.”

  As they approached the table, both men stood to greet them, but Ashley’s focus homed in on just one. Zachary’s six-foot-three-inch frame dominated the corner in which he stood. He wore an elegant gray suit, which must have been hand-tailored to fit the broad shoulders and muscular chest developed from years of competitive swimming throughout his school days. She had kidded him about his conservative clothes, but in truth, she liked the way he dressed. Zachary exuded class. As Matt had once put it: old money and old family tree, complete with wooden attitudes about a woman’s role.

  “Ashley Grainger, Matt Robbins, meet Joe Sanders.”

  “Well now, this is a real treat!” Joe Sanders looked to be about sixty, with neatly trimmed gray hair and blue eyes that snapped from face to face, as though on command. Ashley got the instant impression that he was no dummy, and throwing around stars’ names was not going to impress him.

  “How do you do, Mr. Sanders.” She put out her hand and smiled, catching the glance of approval from Matt. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I hope you’ll be pleased with our show.”

  “I hope so, too, Miss Grainger, and so does my banker.” His gaze whipped to Matt. “I like your music, young man. You have a real talent. And you were smart enough to hook up with the perfect lyricist.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sanders. And I agree.” Matt grinned. “About both my music and my lyricist.”

  “Sit down, sit down.”

  Zachary held the chair for Ashley, the one right next to him. As she slid into the seat her arm grazed his, and the momentary contact was like an electric shock. Not fair, she mentally railed, not fair! After all these years! Her mind was in turmoil, churning up emotions all too reminiscent of those that had dominated her when they were together. When they were together. When God was in his heaven, and they were there, too.

  “. . . and I agreed. Right, Zachary?”

  Zachary started, and Ashley could see that he had no more idea what Joe had just said than she did. He looked flustered as he replied, “I’m sorry, I missed the question.”

  Joe laughed. “If you’d quit ogling the beautiful woman next to you, you’d be more aware of what’s being said. But you’d also be a damned fool, and I wouldn’t want you for my lawyer. I said that Jerry Jerome considers it money in the bank to have the Grainger and Robbins names on a musical.”

  “His very words.” Zachary nodded. “Of course Jerry is the producer and therefore less than objective.”

  Ashley sat a bit straighter. “Are you saying you disagree?”

  “I’m saying that, as a legal and investment consultant, the money is in the bank when the money is in the bank.”

  Matt raised his glass. “Hey, Ash . . . write that down. Sounds like it would make a great song!”

  The glare of Zachary’s dark eyes brought an unwelcome memory to Ashley. That awful night in her apartment with these two men, nose to nose, fists clenched. She could still hear Zachary’s shouted words. “If there’s nothing personal between you, as you claim, then why do you act like a jealous husband?”

  And Matt’s angry answer. “Who the hell would be this upset over a wife? Ashley is the other half of my livelihood. You’re trying to steal away the best lyricist in the business! Your problem, Jordan, is that you’re such a bullheaded, old-fashioned stuffed shirt you can’t believe a man and a woman can be just friends, and you sure as hell can’t envision adjusting your male ego to a wife whose career is at least as important as yours!”

  And that, Ashley thought, was about as succinct a summary of their problem as could have been made.

  “These old-family lawyers,” Joe Sanders tilted his head toward Zachary, “are so damned conservative. I inherited enough money to take care of me, my wife, my children and any progeny of theirs . . . with plenty of leeway for a few risks. Show business fascinates me; and after all, what’s the use of being rich if it isn’t any fun?”

  “What indeed?” Matt had obviously taken an instant liking to the man. He took a deep swallow of his martini and sighed with pleasure. “Ah . . . here’s to the dry martini. May it never be submerged in the new wave of fainthearted drinking!” He leaned forward, his twinkling gray eyes centered on the man with the bulging pockets. “This is going to be a good show, I guarantee it.”

  “Can you guarantee a profit?”

  Matt laughed. “In a word . . . no.”

  Joe obviously liked his candor. “So what happens if I don’t invest? Does the show still go on?”

  “Most definitely. Jerry has a lot of backing already. He’ll get the rest. In fact he’s so sure of it that the schedule is all set for Boston.” His eyebrows went up as a new idea struck him. “Listen, Mr. Sanders . . .”

  “Please . . . Joe.”

  “Joe . . . we’re about to go into rehearsal. In fact, we start the day after the backers’ audition. You should come down and watch. The first few days resemble battle drills, but I bet you’d get a kick out of it. Gives you a chance to see the show biz crazies at their wackiest.”

  Ashley blanched. “Matt, isn’t an investor supposed to be shown a more positive view of a show? If Mr. Sanders . . .”

  “Joe.”

  “If Joe sits through the mayhem on Thursday, he’ll pack his bag and flee!”

  Joe laughed. “Don’t underestimate my tolerance for madness. I live in such an orderly environment that I have a perverse craving for it. What do you think, Zach? Can you stay over for a few days?”

  Ashley could feel the heat of Zachary’s eyes on her cheek and commanded her own
eyes to stay focused on Joe Sanders.

  “Zach?”

  “Oh, sorry, I was trying to picture what was on my calendar. I’ll have to call my secretary to find out. But even if I have to return, you could stay. Just don’t sign any checks without me beside you!” His smile looked strained.

  Matt, who had clearly noted the building tension across the table, signaled the waiter for another martini. “See there, Ash? Like I told you this morning, you’ve got to finish those lyrics. It will be a decided detriment to rehearsals if the songs have to be sung with la-la-las.”

  Joe turned his attention to Ashley. “What? You mean you’re behind on the lyrics? Jerry told me it was usually the other way around, with you pushing Matt to catch up with you!”

  She gave a helpless shrug. “Well, all of us bog down occasionally. No cause for alarm, I’ll get them done.”

  Matt’s voice cut through, lacking its usual lilt of humor. “Actually, she’s down to the last three songs, but they’re all upbeat, and Ashley is stuck on sad ballads. I haven’t seen this happen to her in, oh . . . three years or so. Everything’s been great, Ash. You must be coughing up some bad memories or something.” He nodded his thanks at the waiter as he placed the second drink before him.

  Joe Sanders looked puzzled by Matt’s comment, but Zachary’s expression was evidence that the message had hit its target.

  Zachary turned to Ashley, pinning her with his incredible eyes, so dark they looked black until there was enough light to reveal their unusual shade of navy blue. “I was surprised to hear you were working on a rock musical, Ashley. It doesn’t seem your forte.”

  She fought to hold her gaze steady, a visual lie of calm. “It isn’t actually a rock musical, even though it is about a rock star. We’re using a libretto and songs that are reminiscent of musicals of the forties and fifties in most of the show, the part that tells the story; the actual rock just comes in twice, when the star is shown in performances. Sort of a mixing of musical metaphors.” She was experiencing an unnerving déjà vu. She and Zach had once talked about everything, consumed with the joy of sharing ideas and challenges, successes and disappointments. They’d discussed her story lines, her lyrics, her love of the theater; his legal cases, his expanding base of investment clients, his fascination with problem solving. So much they’d shared. Too much they couldn’t.

  “Do you think it will be accepted by a big enough audience?”

  Matt’s voice, edgy with annoyance, gave the answer. “If we didn’t, we wouldn’t write it that way.”

  Ashley sighed. Obviously, Zachary Jordan brought on not only her unusual cases of writer’s block but an equally rare show of bad temper in Matthew. She aimed a smile at Joe. “You know, they have a fascinating wine cellar here. If you’d like, I’m sure we could go down for a tour.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve seen it. I’m interested in this discussion. Is that why Jerry feels this show is going to set some new trends on Broadway?”

  Ashley could imagine their ebullient producer, his hands waving about, creating images of giant pies in the sky. “Jerry is extraordinarily successful at mounting hit shows because he has a knack for spotting elements none of the rest of us see — ” She took a deep breath, wondering if her words sounded as contrived to them as they did to her. Spurred by a need to fill the silence with sound, she plunged on “ — or inventing them, as the need arises. We’re mixing styles in a way that hasn’t been tried, both musically and through contrasting production techniques. You know . . . full-stage choruses under pink gels, followed by a punk rocker with green hair under a stark white spot. If it works, and we think it will, I suppose it might be called a trendsetter.” She shrugged. “But Matt and I just write them, then chew our fingernails while the producer and director and choreographer turn them into something at least slightly different from what we had envisioned.”

  Joe looked fascinated. “Doesn’t that tick you off?”

  She shook her head. “No. That, as they say in the trade, is show biz, and the sum is better than the parts.”

  Zachary’s voice was low. “Two hits in five years. How can you fight the numbers?”

  She raised her eyes to his. “It would be greedy, wouldn’t it, when all your dreams have come true, to want even more?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to recall them; they seemed to verbally lay out her scarred heart for his inspection, as though she were wailing, “Look at what you did, aren’t you ashamed?” But the expression in his eyes made her wonder if he still bore scars, too.

  Joe tilted his head inquiringly. “Two hits?”

  Ashley smiled. “You’re probably only familiar with the last one. Our first was a small, low-budget, off-off-Broadway musical, but it was a hit, and it opened a lot of doors to us — like catching the interest of investors like you.”

  “Same old story, huh? Need success to draw the money and need the money to make the success.”

  “You’ve got it.” Matt nodded.

  Zachary, whose proximity was already causing her acute anxiety, leaned closer. “You look wonderful, Ashley; the years have done you service.”

  Joe remarked, “That’s right, you and Ashley are old friends, aren’t you?” He smiled at her. “Zachary is one of those lucky people who can claim to have known you when you were still struggling.”

  Matt opened his mouth — caught Ashley’s glare — and closed it again.

  The waiter, who had been inconspicuously hovering in the background waiting for the right moment to approach, came to the table. “Would anyone like another drink, or may I take your order?”

  Joe nodded. “I know what I want, but I don’t think these two have had a chance to look at the menu.”

  Ashley, relieved by the interruption, hastened to say, “Why don’t you and Zachary order, while Matt and I take a quick peek?”

  The ordering was taken care of with speedy dispatch, but the serving, eating and conversing ritual seemed, to Ashley, to drag by at a turtle’s pace. She listened halfheartedly to Matt’s voice, as he recounted to Joe how their collaboration had started.

  “So I was sitting at the piano, and this was a big party, lots of noise and . . . well, we’d all had a few. Then someone challenged me to make up some songs on the spot. They’d ask for a jump tune or a ballad, and I’d whip one out. I was still a young punk, trying to get from off-off Broadway to off-Broadway, and I loved strutting my stuff. Then this gorgeous girl — ” he tilted his head toward Ashley “ — sits down beside me and starts fitting lyrics to the tunes. Now I want to tell you, even half in the bag I knew clever improvising when I heard it. So I got her name and number and called her the next day. The guy I was working with at the time wasn’t cutting it. Well, the rest is history.”

  Joe’s face was alight with interest. “How long ago was that?”

  “Let’s see. A little over eight years.”

  “You both must have been pretty young.”

  “Yep. I was twenty-nine and Ashley was a kid of twenty-four.”

  “Young genius. That’s very exciting.”

  Matt was in his glory, responding to questions about himself. Ashley was totally drained. When the second cup of coffee was finally consumed, and it was late enough to excuse herself without seeming rude, she said, “I’d better say good-night and get home. As Matt pointed out, I’ve still got work to do and little time left to do it. I need my sleep.”

  Matt started to stand, but Zachary held up his hand to stop him. “Matthew, why don’t you stay and finish telling Joe about your musical background? I can see Ashley home.”

  Ashley knocked a spoon off her plate onto the floor. A waiter stepped in to retrieve it, and she gave him a shaky smile, clasping her hands in her lap so they wouldn’t further betray her turmoil. How could she go with Zachary? She couldn’t picture being alone in a dark cab with him, attempting to make polite, “remember when” conv
ersation, while fighting the onslaught of memories, the trembling of long-dormant emotions. If she combined the hundreds of love lyrics she had written, they wouldn’t begin to express the magnitude of what she had felt for this man. And all of her “woeful ballads” put together could never chronicle the agonizing hurt she’d suffered when she lost him.

  “I wouldn’t want to take you out of your way, Zachary. Besides, Matt should turn in, too. He still has a bad habit of staying up too late.”

  “Have a heart!” Joe’s face beamed at her, pleasant and friendly. “I’m fascinated with Matt’s stories, and if I can’t keep both of you, at least indulge me a little and let me persuade Matt to stay. You don’t know what a kick it is for a staid old businessman like me to be sitting in the 21 Club gossiping about show business! And don’t worry about Zach, he can go out of his way. After all, his meter is running on my account, so he can just add it to the bill. Besides, I doubt it’s any sacrifice for him.”

  Ashley’s mouth was dry. She wanted a drink of water but was afraid that if she reached for it, she’d knock that over, too. “You could all stay. I can get a cab. After all, I’m accustomed to operating on my own; I don’t really need to be escorted.”

  “Nonsense, my pleasure.”

  Zachary stood, his hand on the back of Ashley’s chair. It wasn’t touching her, but she could feel the penetration of its warmth. She had a sensation of a trap snapping closed around her, offering no chance at escape. She rose on trembling legs, praying they’d hold her. “Well, all right, then I’ll say good-night. Don’t stay up too late, Matt. We have a conference with the musical director tomorrow at ten.”

  “I’ll be there.” Matt’s face was an open statement of his dismay at seeing her about to leave with Zachary, mixed with his reluctance to leave the gold-laying goose before the egg was safely delivered.

  Ashley led the way out of the restaurant. The other tables, the customers and the waiters seemed eclipsed by a foggy haze, while all her awareness tuned to the unseen man behind her. She knew there were eyes following them, there always had been. Zachary drew as many admiring glances from women as she did from men. It had been remarked, so many times, that they were a stunning couple. It had also been remarked that their love shone about them like a spotlight. Damn. She couldn’t stand this. It hurt too much.