Chapter 29 #2
Oh. Right. Frankie told her about the night when she’d discovered the piano after Estelle’s show, and how she’d looked out across the room from the stage, seeing for the first time what her mom saw every time she performed.
“I recognized the magic in it that evening,” she said.
“And after that, it was like my eyes had opened to how people would circle around her, would come to see her. I don’t know that I would have known to call it fame at the time, but it definitely made her stand out. ”
“That she did, and I’m sure her loss must be a hardship both for you and for Aspen Creek.
Can you share a bit about your life here, and perhaps a few sentiments from the community that you’ve heard since her passing?
What has it been like to share your grief with others who didn’t know her as well as you did? ”
If only she knew, Frankie thought, not loving the direction the questions were taking.
She talked for a while about their years in Aspen Creek, the way the community had taken them both under their wings, the boards Estelle had been on, her championing of the arts.
“Everyone has been so supportive and encouraging,” Frankie said, choosing a few select condolences to include in the interview.
“Estelle meant a lot to so many people, and all I can do is try to fill the space she left behind the best I can, which is why I’m doing this auction—”
Orla interrupted before Frankie could move them down a safer path. “Yes, I talked to a few citizens earlier today and the word legend was mentioned. Do you feel that word described her well?”
“No,” Frankie said before she could stop herself.
“Oh?” Orla leaned forward. “How so?”
Frankie’s gaze flicked to Mrs. Nolan, who’d taken a seat on the other side of the piano.
She was on her phone but no doubt listening, and Frankie could be sure the other moms would hear all about this before the day was over.
“Legends aren’t real,” Frankie said. “They’re blown-up stories designed to make the subject look bigger, braver, better…
” Her voice trailed off. The Legend of Estelle Lavigne had quite a ring to it.
Might a story like that not include fame, a perfect mother, a town matron, everybody’s friend?
“Frankie?”
Frankie blinked away the wisps of fog that blended reality with fiction. “What I mean is—Estelle was a real person to me. And let’s face it, no one thinks of their parents as legendary.” She tried for a smile and forced it to reach her eyes.
It worked. Orla let out a pealing laugh before sitting back again. “Speaking of your father,” she said, making Frankie prepare for the next obstacle course. “You never knew him, is that correct?”
“Right.”
“His accident was a topic Estelle didn’t want to cover during our interview. She said it was still too raw for her. Knowing she never remarried, is it safe to say she never got over him?”
Was that how she’d described things back then? Frankie held back a scoff. No word about him drinking himself to death then. What a minefield the past had turned into. She had to find a way to steer this interview to the auction instead.
“She didn’t have time for romance,” Frankie said.
“Starview was her partner, and she put every ounce of herself into that place to make it the school it is today. The upcoming auction is in many ways a love letter to her from everyone whose lives have been touched by her music—whether on stage or off.”
“But there was one man who played a big role in her success, correct? In fact, some would say she, um… followed him here?” She checked her notes in a weak imitation of someone who couldn’t recall. “Raymond Clark.”
“Uncle Ray?” Frankie’s chin drew back. “Sure, they were friends and worked together.”
“But there was nothing to the rumors?”
Frankie blinked at her. “What rumors?”
“Oh dear, how awkward,” Orla tittered. “I’m sure it was wild speculation, but in some circles, there was talk of the two of them being more than that. An affair.”
A disbelieving laugh bubbled out of Frankie. “Estelle and Ray? Hardly.” Orla needed to check her sources.
But the reporter persisted. “He was always nearby—that’s all I’m saying. And for a man with a young family back home…”
Frankie’s hackles rose at the insinuation. “This sounds an awful lot like you were part of those speculating circles.”
Orla shrugged. “She was a beautiful woman. He was an attractive man. And… she didn’t care much for me asking questions about him.”
Frankie’s objection stuck in her throat. Was that the real reason why the second interview had been cut short? But surely that couldn’t mean…
“You were young at the time,” Orla continued. “If they kept it a secret, you might not have known.”
Great. More secrets…
Frankie shook her head, willing logic back in.
Not once had she seen anything remotely inappropriate between Mom and Uncle Ray.
Orla was bluffing. This was a red herring designed to knock her off-kilter.
“No. Absolutely not,” she said, finding her voice again.
“He was her manager, so of course they had to spend time with each other. End of story.” There was no way.
“His wife did leave him,” Orla pointed out.
“Years later. Besides, Estelle and Aunt Darla were good friends too. But I thought we were here to talk about Starview, not Uncle Ray.”
It was sweltering in the room now. Frankie wished she could open a window but didn’t dare move for fear of being analyzed.
Orla paused, scooted back in her seat, and rested her notepad in her lap. “How was their relationship as of late?”
Frankie’s head dipped toward her chest, and she rubbed one hand across her forehead in defeat. “It was good. He travels a lot, so we don’t see him as much anymore.”
“But he was in town when she passed.”
Frankie cocked her head to the side as the realization set in. “You’re still suspicious of her death.”
“Just doing my due—”
“Diligence,” Frankie filled in. “Yes, you said.”
“Old manager, potential lover… Could be disagreements over money or royalties.”
Frankie stared at her a long time. Mom’s death had been natural.
Talking to Matt and Kayla, hearing Charlie describe finding her, and reading over the coroner’s report again had struck out any notion that it wasn’t.
Undetected coronary artery disease had caused a clot.
It could have happened anywhere at any time.
But she’d never considered Uncle Ray being somehow connected to Starview’s financial situation. She didn’t think it likely, but perhaps it warranted a look.
“Their relationship was always amicable,” Frankie said, putting as much pathos into her voice as she could.
“And I’m going to draw the line here. We can talk about Estelle, me, and Starview, but not about people who aren’t present and can’t defend themselves, or this interview is over.
Surely there’s some journalistic integrity to that effect that you have to follow. ”
Orla pressed her lips together, but then her features smoothed again. “You remind me a lot of her,” she said finally. “It’s good to know her memory lives on.”
It was a weak olive branch, but Frankie had to take it.
“Okay,” Orla said, wrenching back control of the interview before Frankie could catch her breath. “So no relationships, only work. Did she not get lonely?”
“Lonely?” Frankie’s eyes flew to the quiet spines lining the bookcases. The stairs leading up to empty rooms. Then she spotted her tiny house through the window. “No, I’d like to think she was satisfied with how her life turned out. She had a whole town behind her. She had me.”
“Yes, I understand you were very close,” Orla said, sympathy coating her words as if their spat from a minute ago had never happened. “I would have thought it hard to grow up in the shadow of someone so adored by the public, but you stayed.” She paused, watching Frankie with her head tilted.
“Um… was there a question in there?”
Orla laughed. “I suppose I wonder why. I’ve done my homework, and from what I’ve heard, you were quite the piano prodigy once upon a time. So why not take center stage yourself? Did you worry your talent wouldn’t live up to her legacy?”
Frankie sputtered out a protest. “No. That’s not what it was like at all.”
“No?”
“No,” she said again. “I stayed because I wanted to—because we had an opportunity to build something lasting.” She could hear the cadence of Estelle’s voice as she spoke the words, but she persisted anyway.
“I was never as comfortable in the spotlight as her, so staying here was the right thing to do.” Not that she’d been uncomfortable on stage.
And she’d liked the applause. But that was neither here nor there.
She couldn’t play right now anyway, and the way her emotions simmered mercurially inside her showed it.
She was a shaken soda bottle of trapped feelings with the cap still on.
The pressure had nowhere to go without her normal outlet.
“Okay.” Orla’s voice was placating, a small smile tugging at her lips as if she’d asked for a treat and Frankie had delivered.
“It’s obviously known to all that ‘My Only Child’ was directly inspired by you, but do you think being a mother influenced Estelle’s music in other ways and also her decision to retire from performing relatively soon after that big hit? ”
Frankie wanted to go to sleep. Just curl up in a ball right there, pull the blanket over herself and drift off. Every single question had pitfalls that required her to either do verbal gymnastics or flat out lie, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on.
She wished Owen was here. He would lean against the doorjamb to the kitchen, rolling his eyes or doing some other grimace to distract her. How would he have answered the question?
“I think every aspect of an artist’s life is fodder for inspiration,” Frankie said finally.
“Good experiences, distressing ones, and everything in between. Being a mother was obviously a big part of Estelle’s life, so I have to assume her songs might have been different if she’d not had me.
” Us, the voice inside her whispered. Two daughters.
She cleared her throat and continued, the second part of the question easier.
“And yes, her choice to move here and stop recording did have a lot to do with me. I was getting older and needed better schooling than she could provide on the road. She wanted stability for me. And herself too I assume.”
Orla brushed something invisible off her sleeve and said as if in passing, “I notice you call her Estelle.”
Frankie’s heart constricted in her chest. Did she know about Stella-Jane?
“Did she prefer that over Mom?” Orla continued.
Oh. Frankie reached for her water glass to hide the breath of relief rushing out of her. “I called her both,” she said. “Sometimes it was easier to use her name since so many people knew her in a professional capacity.”
“Got it,” Orla said. “Okay, so let’s talk future plans for the school. This auction—what do you hope it will achieve?”
Finally. Frankie set her water glass down and squared her shoulders. “Well, Orla, it’s expensive to run a school, and my hope is to continue my mother’s legacy of offering first-class, music-centered education to the children of Mecklenburg and Iredell Counties and beyond for years to come.”
For the next half hour, Frankie listed sponsors, auction prizes, and activities that would draw attendees to the auction.
She gushed about the Starview staff and the engaged parents (giving a special shout-out to Mrs. Nolan), teased performances, and thanked a long line of people for making it happen.
“You should come,” she told Orla. “See what Estelle created.” No matter how complicated Frankie’s feelings about her mom were, she couldn’t deny that the school, at least, was something to be proud of.
“Maybe I will,” Orla said. “Will you put your own stamp on Starview now that it’s yours, do you think, or will it remain Estelle’s?”
“I’m not sure there’s a difference, and why mess with perfection?” Frankie said with a smile. She’d made it through the interview in one piece. Now she could only hope Orla wrote it up in a favorable light.
“Huh.” Orla squinted at her. “Interesting.”
Frankie should have let it go, but something about the other woman’s tone got to her. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing.” Orla’s voice was breezy. “Something she told me back then that I haven’t thought about in years. What was it again? ‘An artist’s relevance is determined by her most persistent fan.’”
“And?” Frankie prodded.
“Who needs fans with such a loyal daughter?” Orla reached for her recorder and turned it off. “You could teach mine a thing or two. God forbid I even had an opinion on the food my grandson ate when he was little.”
“Yeah, well, Estelle didn’t have grandchildren,” Frankie said, even though part of her knew that wasn’t the point Orla had been making.
“How about some photos?” Orla asked, waving the grandson in question to her. “Do you have a preference for inside or outside?”
And like that, the interview was over.
Frankie got in her car a little later feeling as if she’d stumbled out of the washer after a particularly intense spin cycle. She had only a vague recollection of the photo shoot—of angling her head this way and that, smiling when asked, looking “like a leader.” Whatever a leader looked like.
Orla had thought of Estelle as one, that much was clear.
She’d even suggested Frankie imitate one of Estelle’s poses from the original interview.
Frankie had complied, even though on some deep level, the comparisons and accompanying expectations were morphing from complimentary to oppressive.
Not that long ago, Frankie had been proud of the closeness she and Estelle had shared, but with Orla’s insinuation fresh in her mind and Estelle’s dishonesty ruling Frankie’s every waking thought, that bond was beginning to seem more like blurred boundaries.
The problem was that she had no idea how to redefine them because where did Estelle end and Frankie begin?