Chapter 20
Remy, Skye, and Archibald slipped into the Sunset Café through the rear stage door and located the dressing room reserved for Skye’s use. She was prepared to go on stage, so there was nothing left to do but wait for her cue.
“I’m going out front,” Archibald said. “I’m too nervous to sit still.”
“Doan get lost,” Remy said, stretching out on the settee, watching Skye fluff her hair. “Are you okay?”
“A little nervous. I’m not used to singing with someone else without several rehearsals.”
“You sound great together. Relax.” Remy patted the cushion. “Come sit with me.”
She ran her hands down the sides of her form-fitting mermaid dress, accentuating her small waist. “That’s not a good idea. You’ll mess up my lipstick.”
The dressing room door exploded inward, wood splintering violently as three men stormed the small space.
Skye shrieked. Chaos erupted.
Two assailants immediately seized Remy, slamming him against the wall and pinning him helpless. Simultaneously, the third brute circled an arm around Skye’s neck. She fought desperately to wrench herself free, but her struggles were futile. The attacker’s grip only tightened into a chokehold.
“You hurt her—you’re a dead man,” Remy snarled, but didn’t resist. His entire focus was on protecting the woman he loved.
He loved her fiercely and would stop at nothing to ensure her safety.
While he was confident that he could handle all three assholes, he wouldn’t risk escalating the situation and potentially getting her hurt.
Capone burst into the crowded dressing room and leveled a menacing glare at everyone present. “Where’s the trumpet player?”
He stood close enough that Remy could smell garlic and cigar smoke on his breath. “She’s not here, and if you hurt Skye, she woan be able to sing, and you woan have a show. That’d be a shame, since she’s planning a special song for you.”
Capone growled. “I paid for the trumpet player and expected her to be here.”
“She told you she couldn’t play more than two nights in a row. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Remy caught Capone’s signal but didn’t resist when one man extended Remy’s arm, held it in a vice grip, and flashed a knife.
Okay, that got his attention.
Capone blew smoke in Remy’s face. “I’ve never seen a one-handed drummer.”
Remy gritted his teeth to keep from smarting off.
Capone’s short exhale distinctly telegraphed his displeasure… his dark brows arching high toward his severely recessed hairline. “Some of the recording business’s most important men are coming tonight to hear the trumpet player. What exactly am I supposed to tell them?”
The vice grip tightened, almost cutting off the blood flow to Remy’s fingers. “They’ll hear amazing duets that’ll have the audience on their feet clapping through a dozen encores and the recording executives waving contracts. The show woan disappoint you or them.”
Capone snapped his fingers, and the goon nicked Remy’s finger with the knife. “Fuck!” Remy cursed, caught completely off guard.
“I’ll sever that finger tomorrow if she’s not here. Understood?”
Skye’s emotions were overwhelming her. He attempted to convey with his eyes that he was unharmed, but she was too distraught to notice his subtle reassurance.
“Marcelle will be here, ready to play.” Remy stared down the assailant without a flicker of fear.
The Army, McBain, and Trainer Ted had conditioned him for this moment, teaching him to remain resolute even in the face of insurmountable odds.
This situation was not. The knife the man brandished might have seemed formidable to most, but to Remy, it paled when compared to his, both in size and psychological impact.
Capone nodded at his men, and they released Remy with a shove against the wall.
“Thumb or forefinger? You decide which one if this happens again. I spread the word around the South Side about a one-of-a-kind trumpet player, and I got nothing tonight.” He moved toward the door.
“I’d have both thumbs cut off if I didn’t need your fancy drumming to pull her show out of the trash heap. ”
Remy stood straight, several inches above the others, hands at his side, blood dripping on the hardwood floor. He aimed to make them think he was an easy mark. He didn’t look like one, but if they were stupid enough to try him, Capone and his men would end up in the hospital.
Capone rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “We’re done here.”
As soon as Capone and his men left, Archibald hurried in. “Capone’s men wouldn’t let me come in. Are ye hurt?” He stared at Remy’s hand. “Ye’re cut.” He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Remy’s hand.
“It’s just a slight cut on my finger.”
Skye slammed the door, but the men had shattered its frame and ripped the panel off the hinges, so it just flapped back and forth like a broken wing. Her arms tightened fiercely around Remy’s neck, and she crushed her lips against his. “I was so afraid they’d hurt your hand. Let me look at it.”
He smoothed her hair behind her ear. “Their bark was worse than their bite. And you were so brave.”
“Brave? No, I wasn’t. It scared me to death, but you were fearless.” She unwrapped the towel and wiped the blood off.
“Where were you?” Remy asked Archibald, wondering if he knew Capone’s men had planned an attack and conveniently gotten out of the way.
“I was directing the stagehands on where to place the piano, and I told the lighting guy I wanted the spotlight on Skye. Her dress, along with the dangling earrings, will sparkle. Then I tried to come in here, but Capone had four men guarding his rear. I knew ye could take down Capone and his men.”
“Why do you say that?” Skye asked sharply. “They almost cut off Remy’s hand.”
“Remy wouldn’t have let that happen. Elliott Fraser’s men can handle any situation,” Archibald said.
“Well, that’s one situation I don’t want repeated,” Skye said.
“Then we’ll have to get Marcelle and Clay back before showtime tomorrow,” Archibald said.
“How? The train from Chicago to New York takes almost twenty-four hours. They aren’t even there yet. There’s no way they could get here in time for the show.”
“We’ll figure that out later,” Remy said.
The stage manager came in and tried to prop the door open. “Five minutes.”
“Thanks, we’ll be there.” Remy dug into his pocket and pulled out a small medical emergency kit.
“What’s that?” Skye asked.
“An emergency kit. I need to treat my finger. I’m sure that knife had more germs than a public toilet.”
“Does it need stitches?” Archibald asked.
“I’ve got Avitene strips to stop the bleeding.”
“Here, let me do it.” Archibald unwrapped an antiseptic square, cleaned the wound, and applied an Avitene strip. “Can ye play drums with this cut?”
“Sure. It’s nothing.”
“Oh, right. Ye’re a boxer. Cuts are nothing to ye.”
“You’re a boxer? Have you boxed in Chicago?” Skye asked.
“It’s been a while.”
When his finger stopped bleeding, Archibald put on a bandage and handed Remy his drumstick. “Try yer sticks. Let’s make sure the bandage will hold.”
Remy twirled them and drummed on the dressing table. “It’s fine. I might need to change it later, but it’ll work for now. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Skye reapplied her lipstick and picked up her songbook. “Let’s make Capone regret his atrocious behavior.”
“That’s my girl.” Remy delivered a chaste, careful kiss to her cheek to preserve her flawless lipstick before gallantly escorting her from the room.
The stage lights were down when they walked out. Remy couldn’t see the audience, but the clatter told him the dining room was full.
Skye placed the songbook on the music shelf. “Is that a good angle for you?”
Archibald adjusted it slightly. “That’s good. Now, where are ye going to stand?”
Remy stepped backstage, returned with a stool, and placed it on the side of the piano where he could see her. “This is for when you’re ready to sit. Do you want to try it?”
“Sure.” She sat on the tall stool and crossed her legs. “How’s this?”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll leave the stage and return when the lights come up. Then let’s do ‘All Alone,’ ‘Always,’ and ‘April Showers’ before I sit down.” She went backstage while Remy made the final adjustments to his drums.
The audience was buzzing, sensing that the show was about to start. But nothing could have prepared those in the crowd for what was coming next. Skye strutted onto the stage as the lights came up, eyes blazing with confidence, and the entire theater applauded.
Remy took a deep breath. You can do this, Skye.
The first mellow notes from Archibald’s piano introduced “All Alone,” and then Skye set the stage on fire.
“All alone / I’m so all alone / There is no one else but you…”
Her powerhouse vocals dripped with danger and seduction, commanding every inch of the spotlight. The audience froze in awe.
“All alone / By the telephone / Waiting for a ring-a-ting-a-ling.”
Her sultry voice was electrifying, and Remy’s brushes provided a softer, more subtle swishing sound. Skye’s no-holds-barred smile, undeniably sexy, slid up her face.
“I’m all alone / Every evening / all alone, feeling blue / Wondering where you are / And how you are / And if you are all alone too.”
When Skye ended the song, there was a hush in the room, and Remy had a feeling he couldn’t quite articulate, a rush of nerves, a sensation not unlike fear.
He’d be heartbroken if the audience didn’t love Skye’s performance.
After a moment, the crowd erupted in thunderous applause and shouts of bravo. A shudder of relief went through Remy.
Skye sang two more songs while sitting on the stool and then signaled to Archibald that she was ready to hop off. He escorted her to the piano bench, where she sang “Stardust” with him.
“And now the purple dusk of twilight time / Steals across the meadows of my heart / High up in the sky the little stars climb / Always reminding me that we’re apart…”