Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
ESTELLE
Then
That holiday season was the most fun Estelle had had in longer than she could remember.
It was hard work—she played several nights a week in different venues in and around Memphis and waited tables at a café during the day—but without having to worry about where to go and who to butter up for a gig, her mind blossomed with words and music.
On Christmas Eve, Ray’s stately Greek Revival-style home was decked in red, green, and gold from top to bottom, with garlands weaving around the banisters, a ten-foot tree in the foyer, and a smaller one in the sprawling living room.
The only thing missing from the idyllic Christmas card was a snow-covered lawn beyond the row of windows facing a deck strung with lights.
Guests were milling everywhere, with the large punch bowl being the most popular spot to congregate.
“Homemade sangria,” Estelle heard someone say as she passed it. She’d have to try a glass of that later, but first she wanted to find Ray to show him the dress she’d bought for the occasion.
Darla had been right; shopping was a thrill when you didn’t have to worry about the price tag.
The lace-trimmed blouses and fringy dresses weren’t necessarily her style, but with a little willpower, she could convince herself otherwise.
Whoever she needed to be, she’d be, if that’s what it took.
She deserved more than what life had given her so far, and it was finally within reach.
She’d saved this calf-length, wine-red wrap dress with flattering draping over the hips for tonight, and since Ray had shown approval for her stage selections, she couldn’t wait to see his reaction to this.
She found him in the kitchen preoccupied with his pager, which must have gone off again.
She couldn’t imagine ever being tethered to a device like that where people could demand her attention all day long.
She cleared her throat as she approached, and to his credit, he put the contraption away and turned.
“Wow.” He touched a finger to his lips and nodded, eyes roaming over her. Then he held out a hand to her, which she took, and guided her in a slow twirl. “Gorgeous,” was his verdict.
“Thank you.” She held his gaze and forced her chin high.
She’d been staying with him for a month now, but so far, he’d made no move.
Sure, they’d flirted some, and he was attentive as ever to her needs as a house guest, but he was a hard man to read.
There were times when she caught him looking her way with a glint in his eye that spoke of something more carnal than how they were with each other outwardly, but other times he circled around Darla like she was the hub that anchored his existence.
Estelle simply couldn’t tell, but she hoped that might change tonight.
If he had more to offer, she would willingly accept.
She was a woman of flesh and blood after all.
“Are you having fun?” he asked.
“The most fun.”
“Good.” He picked up a glass of wine from the counter. “Talk to people. Make new friends. Tonight we party, but tomorrow we’re going to talk business. I think there’s still a lot we can do together.”
An electric thrill zapped up her spine. “Sounds good to me.”
“Off to mingle.” He backed away, raising the glass, and then he was gone.
The timing was right for them too, Estelle thought.
After the new year, she’d finally be free of Greg.
She’d filed the divorce petition a few weeks back, listing Ray’s number as a way to reach her.
He’d been more than willing to help when Estelle had described the situation she’d escaped, and they were expecting confirmation any day now from the attorney Ray had found her that Greg had been served.
She had no reason to think the court wouldn’t grant the divorce.
Everyone and their mother back home knew of his habitual drunkenness.
Unless he’d cleaned up with her gone of course. Out of necessity.
An unfamiliar pang struck her between the ribs at the thought of the place she’d once called home, followed by a tightness of the throat, but she reached for the open wine bottle on the island and had a gulp from it and then another, the bold warmth of the alcohol blurring the memories.
Yes, she’d made some hard decisions down in Mississippi, but success didn’t come without sacrifice. This wasn’t the time for regrets.
She adjusted the belt on her dress and set her sights on the sangria.
Estelle woke with a start to unfiltered sunlight assaulting her retinas.
She was still wearing her Christmas dress, and one shoe clung to the toes of the foot that was hanging off her bed.
She covered her eyes with one arm and huffed out a breath that smelled so vile she would have dodged it had her head been bolted on right.
As it was, she no longer had a head. A heavy anvil had replaced it, and several sledgehammers were currently attempting to beat it to a pulp.
“I’m never having sangria again,” she mumbled to herself.
“It’s the fruit,” a voice said somewhere in the room.
Estelle jerked upright with a yelp but lay back down just as quickly when the room spun and, with it, Darla, who was seated in a chair by the window.
“You scared me,” Estelle said. “What are you doing here?”
Darla got up and approached with a bottle of water in her hand. “Making sure you’re alive and inviting you to brunch. You were impressively out of it when we brought you up here last night. Someone should have warned you not to eat the fruit in the punch. It hoards the alcohol.”
Oh no. Had she made a fool of herself in front of all those people? She wasn’t sure if she wanted an answer to that question or not. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Eleven thirty. Christmas Day.”
Estelle made a second slower attempt at sitting up, this time managing so long as she supported her forehead. “And you’re still here?”
“I stay over sometimes,” Darla said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “And we’re meeting Ray’s parents at my parents’ house later.”
Estelle wanted to ask if she’d slept in the guest room, but it was too soon into wakefulness to calibrate her question to the right level of indifference. Instead, she asked for ibuprofen and for Darla to open the window to let in some cool air.
“You’ll feel better once you get some food in your stomach,” Darla said. “The casserole will be ready in thirty, so you have time for a shower.”
She made to leave, but Estelle stopped her. “Did I… Who helped me up here?”
“Don’t worry. You were fine, and I enlisted two of Ray’s friends’ wives when I noticed. Us girls have got to look out for each other, right? See you in a bit.”
Estelle watched her leave. “See ya,” she said, closing her eyes as a wave of affection for the other woman swept over her. Everything was fine. Too much to drink, that was all. She wouldn’t do that again.
After cleaning herself up and changing, she joined Darla and Ray in the breakfast nook by the bay window facing the backyard. Jolly tinsel had been hung to frame the windows, and the room smelled of fir tree and bacon.
“There she is,” Ray said, sitting down at the table with a loaded plate. “You disappeared last night. I was looking for you when the dancing started.”
Estelle glanced at Darla, whose face remained neutral. “I was tired and, um… thought it best to protect my voice. It was a fantastic party though. Thanks for having me.”
“Of course.”
“For you.” Darla set a mug of coffee and a plate in front of Estelle too.
Her stomach roiled once, but then settled, and after a few bites of a delicious egg casserole, she started to feel steadier.
“Speaking of your voice,” Ray said after a while, producing an envelope from somewhere nearby like a magician. “This is for you. A proposal that I hope doubles as a gift. Merry Christmas.”
Estelle took it. “For me?”
Ray exchanged a knowing look with Darla, who nodded encouragement his way. “I have some funds that I’d like to invest in your career going forward, if that’s something you’d be interested in.”
Estelle looked between them. “Funds?”
“Essentially, we’d keep doing what we’ve been doing but scaling up.”
“Scaling up?”
“Oh, hon, just open it.” Darla gestured to the envelope.
Estelle did, pulling out a ticket and a contract.
“What he means is, he’d be managing your career,” Darla explained. “He can provide training, book you studio time and venues, and get your name out there to make sure the right people pay attention. You wouldn’t just be playing around here; you can go further—even to Nashville if you’re lucky.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Ray added. “It’s all talent, and you’ve got it in spades.”
“What’s this?” Estelle held up the ticket.
“It’s for a cruise, but the ticket is mostly for show.
If we’re going to do this, you need a different kind of stamina and focus than you’ve been used to, so I talked to a buddy of mine about getting you a gig for a month or two onboard his ship.
Daily shows, lots of time to write. Covers will only get you so far.
You’ll need a full set of your own material for what I have in mind. ”
“You want me to go on a ship for two months?” To leave Memphis. Leave him and Darla to their own devices. She knew the offer was sound. She wanted what he was describing. But also…
Ray tipped his head to Estelle. “What do you say? Are you interested?”
No, her head was still foggy. She shouldn’t be hesitating.
Whatever it took—that was the deal. Whatever he asked of her in the name of her career, no venue too small or odd or far away, no hours too long.
This meant no more sleeping in the car. No more waitressing.
She’d be a real artist. A name. Someone people admired.
With a whoosh of energy, all hesitation left her. “You know I am,” she said, knowing she’d let nothing and no one come between her and this dream he’d just presented her.
“Fantastic.” The phone rang just as Ray reached for a beignet from a plate Darla had put out. “Give me a minute. It might be the office.”
“On Christmas?” Darla asked, but Ray had already disappeared into the kitchen.
“No rest for the wicked,” Estelle said, sipping her coffee without tasting it in her current elated state of mind.
Before Darla could respond, however, Ray reappeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “It’s for you,” he told Estelle. “Mr. Stringer.”
Estelle frowned. That was the attorney. But surely he hadn’t served Greg on Christmas Day.
“Okay,” she said, joining him.
“You can take it there.” Ray gestured to a wall-mounted phone by the fridge. “Want me to stay?”
She nodded before picking up the receiver. “Hello, this is Mrs. Milne.” The formality tasted oddly on her tongue, but perhaps that was the hangover.
“Thank goodness,” the attorney said. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but I must have had the number jotted down wrong.”
“Why? What’s going on. Is there a problem with the papers?” Estelle turned where she stood, the spiral cord tangling around her.
“Well, sort of,” the attorney said. “And I do realize it’s Christmas and everything, but this couldn’t wait.”
“Okay…” Estelle frowned. “So are the papers served or not?”
“No.” The man sniffled. “I would have called sooner, but as I said…”
“You had the wrong number,” Estelle filled in. “I understand.”
Ray tapped the counter to get her attention and mimed a question about what was going on.
Estelle covered the receiver with one hand. “Not sure.”
He took a step closer. “Want me to talk to him?”
Estelle shook her head. “Mr. Stringer?”
“Yes.” The word was followed by a sigh.
She rolled her eyes, inviting Ray to share her frustration. “I’d like to get back to my holiday lunch here, so how can I help you?”
“Well, ma’am.” He huffed again. “I did try to serve Mr. Milne the papers this past week, but I couldn’t find him.”
“The address is on the documents.”
“Yes, that’s not it.” Another pause.
Raymond gestured for Estelle to give him the phone, and this time, she did.
“Stringer,” he said. “Ray here. What’s going on? We’re in the middle of—” He fell silent, the other man clearly having found his voice again. “Uh-huh,” Ray said. “When? Mm-hmm. I understand.”
“What?” Estelle asked, but Ray held up a finger to make her wait.
“Yes. Yes. Yeah, I’ll let her know. Okay. I’ll talk to you soon.”
They hung up.
“What?” Estelle demanded. “What’s going on?”
Ray tipped his head back briefly, then leveled his gaze on her. “He found out a few days ago,” he said. “Apparently, Greg is dead. I’m so sorry.”
Estelle staggered back a step. “What?”
“Stringer’s going to find out more details and get back to me.”
“Dead?” All the heat drained out of her arms, pooling like a liquid weight on the floor around her and threatening to pull her down. “No, that can’t be. He’s supposed to…”
Ray pulled her into his arms, pressing her close to his chest.
“What’s going on?” Darla asked from the doorway.
Somewhere above Estelle’s head, Ray answered her, explaining what had happened.
Two seconds later, another set of arms crushed Estelle from behind. “Oh, hon.”
They led her back to the table, probably expecting tears, but Estelle’s eyes stayed dry and unseeing.
She’d mourned the man Greg had once been for a long time, and she’d already left him in the past, so while part of her wanted to keep protesting, to tell them they’d got it wrong, deep in her heart, she knew that wasn’t the case.
This was exactly the sort of inconvenience Greg had laid at her feet untold times before.
And all Estelle could think was that she wouldn’t let this change a thing. No matter what.