CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 32
They landed in Miami as evening’s final glow painted the tropical sky. Kari followed Ian down the tunnel and into the airport proper, marveling at her state. She had expected to be approaching a total meltdown. Seeing herself enter a big city’s airport terminal, surrounded by the crowds and lights and cold indifference of people too busy to care about others. Inserting herself back into the world she had struggled and yearned to leave behind. For good and forever.
Instead, all she felt was calm. She did not like the place. She did not like the crowds. But neither the clamor nor the throngs nor the alienness seemed able to touch her. She glanced down at the hand holding hers and wondered if this was what it meant to be in love.
When they passed the terminal shops and approached baggage claim, Ian drew her over to a side window. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Ian.”
“Would it be okay if I took the lead out there? I know what to expect, is all.”
She resisted the urge to kiss him. Silly. Stupid, in fact. But still. “Of course.”
“Can I have your luggage tickets?”
She handed him the kitten’s carryall and rummaged through her purse. When she looked up again, she caught Ian staring out the side window, his expression somber. Grave. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He did his best to smile. “An unwelcome memory, is all.”
“Ian, tell me.”
He pointed at the gathering night. “When I arrived in California, I stood in a place just like this. My world had basically collapsed. I was the headliner for every bad-news entertainment blog. I thought my life was over. I was too crushed to feel it totally. I know that sounds crazy. But I was basically numb. And now . . .”
“And now it’s all so close,” she said.
“Yes.” He stroked the kitten through the soft mesh. “Right here. With me. Again.”
Kari breathed around the enormity of what she was thinking. “I spent the flight from Dallas reflecting on what isn’t happening. I mean, happening to me. Since you and Graham and Rafi took my side over this itinerary. It’s not that I’ve stopped being afraid. I am. And in a way, I regret taking this on. And I don’t like being here. Just the same, though, I’m increasingly certain this is the right thing to do.”
Ian continued nudging the little head with one finger, stroking Sienna through the soft screen. “That’s how I feel. Exactly.”
She loved finding the strength to be open about all her desolate secrets. With him. In this alien place. Being able to say, “It’s like Indrid said. Moving forward one step at a time.”
* * *
The Miami airport was old and in desperate need of renovation. But the general air of tired seediness was brightened considerably by the fragrances emanating from the Cuban restaurants lining the terminal corridor. Not to mention the salsa playing over a café’s intercom. Ian walked through the concourse with Sienna’s carryall slung from one shoulder, one hand holding Kari’s hand, the other gripping the one guitar case he had carried on board. Like he belonged. Like he had earned the right to feel this good.
He approached the uniformed lady driver with his name on the electronic board. Ian did his best to ignore the multiple stares pointed his way. If Kari even noticed the looks, she gave no sign. Ian shook the driver’s hand, passed over the luggage tickets, said, “I need to get my companion settled in the limo. Where are you parked?”
She handed Ian the keys. “Straight out the exit, sir. Cadillac Escalade with the hotel insignia on the door.”
They left the terminal, walking beneath a Miami Music Festival banner bearing his name and photograph. He could almost feel the city’s tension and energy trying to drive a wedge between them. Because he needed her. It brought an intense flood of pleasure, admitting this to himself. Once they were settled in the limo’s rear seat, he started in. “I need your advice, and I need to lay it out while we’re alone. You can’t ever say anything important in front of a driver—”
“I know all that,” she said. “My family. Remember?”
“Right. Of course. Sorry. It’s Connor. I am really, really worried—” He stopped because she began rummaging through her purse. “What is it?”
“I want Graham to hear. He’s the best I know at handling situations like this.” She pulled out her phone, dialed, said, “Let Sienna out of her case.”
He unzipped the flap and lifted the kitten onto the console between them. Sienna instantly padded over and settled into Kari’s lap. She placed the phone on the center console and pressed the speaker button. When Graham answered, they heard a sibilant rush so loud it almost drowned out him saying, “Just a minute!” Gradually, the noise diminished, to where they could hear him clearly. “Can this wait?”
“Not for an instant,” Kari replied. “What’s that noise?”
“They insisted on starting the engines while the crew was still loading your paintings. Something about losing their position for takeoff.” A door thumped shut, and the jet went quiet. “All right, dear. What is it?”
“Ian has something you need to hear.” Kari said to Ian, “Tell him.”
“Connor hasn’t recovered like I’ve hoped.” Ian swiftly recounted how the post-concert session had gone down. Connor’s utter lack of connection. The mechanical way he had responded, almost by rote. Ian finished by saying, “I tried to talk with Arthur about it—”
Graham broke in. “I’m sorry. Who is Arthur?”
“Film editor,” Kari said. “Not important.”
“Well, it is, but . . .” Ian actually smiled at how Kari rolled her finger. Get on with it. “I thought I needed help in handling the situation. Arthur obviously thought differently.”
Rafi asked, “This Arthur, he’s the older gentleman who handled the recording?”
“Right. Arthur Rowe. Two Oscars. He’s also editing Danny’s film.” Ian started to add Arthur’s news about the next gig, then decided that needed to wait. “Arthur keeps telling me I shouldn’t concern myself, that Connor’s a pro and he’ll come around. But landing here, it hit me all over again. I’m worried, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Arthur’s right,” Rafi declared.
“For once, I agree with my friend,” Graham said.
“Well, I never,” Rafi responded.
“Don’t get used to it,” Graham said.
Kari was almost cross. “Guys. Let’s focus here.”
Then Ian spotted the lady with their luggage. “We’re in a limo, and our driver is on approach. We can keep talking, but it needs to be circumspect.”
“My middle name,” Rafi said.
Graham said, “We’re taxiing for takeoff. Let me discuss the situation with Mr. Circumspecter here. We’ll call you back.”
Ian cut the connection, said to Kari, “You were right to call.”
She watched the driver settle behind the wheel. “You should talk with Indrid.”
“I don’t want to disturb her.”
“You heard what she said. She would be honored to talk.” Kari flicked through speed dial. “There it is. Indrid.”
“Will you ask?”
Kari nodded.
Ian held her gaze as she greeted the good doctor, said Ian needed to speak with her, set up an appointment for them to chat in a couple of hours.
Kari cut the connection and said, “See how easy that was?”
“Thank you.” He pointed to the phone. “For both of these connections. I owe you.”
She actually smiled. “That’s a new one. For me, anyway.”
“It’s true.”
When her only response was to reach across the kitten and take his hand, Ian leaned forward and asked the driver, “What are your instructions about our arrival?”
“Let the front desk know when we’re on approach, sir. That’s pretty much it.”
“Call them back. Ask the manager or their representative to meet us out front. We want to go straight to Ms. Langham’s suite. No stopping for registration. No slowing down for an elevator or any other reason. No photographs.” Ian settled back. “If you face any issue, pass me the phone.”
Kari studied him. “So that’s how it’s done.”
* * *
Graham phoned back while Kari and Ian were trapped in slow-moving bridge traffic. When Kari answered and put them on speaker, Graham announced, “Rafi agrees with me. You’re worrying about issues that need to wait.”
There were worse places to get stuck, Ian decided, than in the back of a limo on the way to Miami Beach. Even Sienna seemed interested in the vista of sunset waters and, up ahead, an island filled with high-rises that glistened in the golden dusk. “What if the issue we’re discussing impacts our concert?”
“It won’t.” Rafi assured him. “It can’t. You won’t let it.”
“You’re sure about that, are you?”
“You handled it at the restaurant,” Rafi reminded him. “You’ll handle it again now.”
Graham said, “Connor is one of the team. You bring the others along. He will follow.”
“He needs to wake up, is all,” Rafi said.
Graham said, “Connor’s played with this group for years. Isn’t that what you said? He trusts them. He likes them. If Connor sees the others responding to you in a happy and positive manner, he will want to follow their lead. And yours.”
“Let’s not forget, he is also a highly successful actor,” Rafi added. “Hard as it may be for him to accept, he is being given his role. By you.”
“Mark my words,” Graham said. “He is a trained professional. He’ll come around.”
“Kicking and screaming, most likely,” Rafi said.
“Tantrums are part of working with artists,” Graham added. “It’s in all our contracts.”
* * *
The Ritz Carlton was a bastion of South Beach. The high-rise towered like a gleaming marble pinnacle above its older, more tawdry neighbors. As Ian had requested, an assistant manager was there to greet them and personally open Kari’s limo door. They were ushered straight through a lobby filled with families and the clamor of half a dozen languages. A smiling bellhop held the elevator door open for them, pressed the top button with a gloved finger, and waved other guests to a different lift.
When it was just the three of them, the hotel director ventured, “Was your manager correct when he said Mr. Hart intends to take the Royal Suite’s second bedroom?”
“Yes,” Kari replied. “He does. Absolutely.”
“I must tell you, that comes as a great relief. Ms. Kerkorian was adamant that we also find space for Connor Larkin and a Mr. Daniel Byrd.”
“Good for Kiki,” Ian said.
“Yes. Well. Ms. Kerkorian actually insisted that we take in your entire group. Including the film crew. Eleven rooms in total.” The manager sniffed. “I had such a difficult time trying to explain that we have been booked solid for months. But you know Ms. Kerkorian.”
“So Connor and Danny have arrived?” Ian asked.
“Seventh floor. The family we were forced to relocate is now, thankfully, in the suite originally reserved for you, Mr. Hart. If you had insisted on taking that, as well, I don’t know what we would have done.” He smiled nervously at Kari. “The call from your manager, Ms. Langham, truly made my day.”
The suite was, in a word, stunning. High ceilinged and flowing in lyrical majesty, one grand chamber after another, out to where the trio of balconies overlooked the Atlantic. Parlor large enough to contain a grand piano resting under one of four chandeliers. Full kitchen. Dining room.
The master bedroom was only slightly smaller than the downstairs lobby.
Kari took one look and told Ian, “You can definitely sleep in here.”
“Not on your life.”
“Ian, I can’t . . .” She stopped because he had already turned away and was headed for the double doors on the parlor’s opposite side. “Please.”
“Sorry. Not happening.” He slid back the doors and discovered a Canali suit bag on the bed. “What’s this?”
“Compliments of Ms. Kerkorian,” the hotel director informed him. “I believe there’s a note.”
Ian opened the envelope and read.
For my newly favorite bad boy. In case my attorneys still have your clothes under lock and key. Consider this a bribe to have you continue this spate of good behavior. Please. For all our sakes.
Once the bellhop had deposited his cases in his bedroom, Ian called Arthur. “I forgot to ask about our dress for the concert.”
“Then it’s a good thing you have me and Danny to watch your back.”
Ian stared down at Kiki’s clothes, now spread over one of the room’s two double beds. The Canali tux came with two identical pairs of pants. And three formal shirts. Ian had tried on the jacket. It fit perfectly. “And?”
“Danny wants to go formal. He thinks it will contrast well with the restaurant’s casual air when we cut and paste for the documentary.”
“Connor agrees?”
A pause. Then, “Lad, you’ve got to stop worrying so over Connor.”
“Arthur . . .”
“I know, I know. He’s the bandleader. He’s the lead vocals, yada yada. You’re sounding like a broken record.”
“That’s no answer.”
“It’s all the answer you’re going to get. Now, be a good lad and go do whatever it is stars do in Miami.”
“Pace the floor,” Ian replied. “Worry about not getting answers to questions that really matter.”
“I’m hanging up now,” Arthur said. And he did.