The Way You Make Me Feel (19 page)

Mick nodded. “It's just that I don't feel I do rhythm and blues as well as rap and country. Stevie's R&Bs are softer, sweeter, and, of course, her country music is the best.”

“Thank you,” Stevie said.

Mick gave Stevie and Damien a little while longer to relax. Stevie resented the fact that Honi and Whip were with them. Several times she saw Honi's eyes go to Damien's. He seemed to look away, but did he?

Mick cleared his throat. “I'm sorry,” he said, “but I can only let the two who're recording in the studio and Honi and Whip can watch. I find anybody not thoroughly connected with the recording distracting. I hope you understand.”

Jake looked at Mick long and hard. “Not a problem, man. I understand. We'll be here, waiting.”

“And I'll entertain you,” Sileia told him.

Mick's studio was very high-ceilinged and entirely battery-powered, which meant it was set to pick up every nuance of voice and instrument. He had owned a studio in Maryland, but Damien had begged him to move to Nashville and he'd never looked back. Superstars wanted him and came to him to record them, but he accepted few. And Stevie Simms was one of his favorites.

Everything was set up and Stevie ran through scales and the first verse of the song. Mick had always admired the depth and the four-octave range of her voice, but today there was already a different nuance. She was happy, no doubt about it and he was happy for her.

Then with her pearl-front Zemaitis guitar and a heart expanded all the way, Stevie sat on a tall stool and began to sing. Both Mick and Damien thrilled to her music and Mick was awestruck by the splendiferous sounds of the British guitar. The instrument was one with her voice and it was a one-in-a-million experience.

“Midnight could never hide it,” Stevie began and the song she had written for Damien unfolded in velvety lush sounds from the love that lay in her heart for this man.

Honi leaned back. She hated liking Stevie's voice so much, but she did. And Whip was enthralled. He was on his way and Miss Stevie Simms was one of his guiding stars.

As Stevie's voice swept over him, Mick knew this was a love song for the ages. It would be very big, he predicted and Stevie would go straight to the top when she was ready. He had worked with singers all his adult life, and she was one of the best. He was determined that this song go one better than many he had done. He loved the lyrics; they could be his and Sileia's theme song.

Stevie recorded the song three times alone, and each time both Damien and Mick briefly closed their eyes and felt the thrill of recognition. Then, when Mick thought that was as good as he could make it, Stevie and Damien, with twin pearl-front Zemaitis guitars, recorded together. Mick's face was wreathed in smiles from the first take. Love took over here and the two of them were one. It was like making love. Superb. One of a kind.

And both Stevie and Damien felt they'd never done it better. Blended voices filled the air and it was electrifying. Whip frowned and a surge of envy swept through him. He wanted to be as good as Stevie Simms. He would be even better, he promised himself. Honi reached over and took his hand, clasped it. She remembered Damien's voice when he used to sing to her, and her heart filled with regret.

As they sang, Stevie thought about the upcoming Atlanta gig. Advance sales were through the roof. Six more weeks. And she felt ready to engage in the love affair between her fans and herself. Now she and Damien were together in intimate musical embrace, almost as close as that they shared when they made love. And Honi be damned. She was going to have to lay down the law about Honi, but he had a pat excuse. Honi was Whip's record producer and Whip was going to be his newest star. They needed to bird-dog her for Whip's success. How could she argue with that?

Atlanta

“A
nd now, the incomparable Queen of Passion, Stevie Simms!”

The roar of the crowd was deafening in the huge arena. Fans were on their feet, clapping with their hands over their heads and stamping their feet. Their country idol was back after a long hiatus and they welcomed her with a hunger about to be satisfied.

Tears filled Stevie's eyes as she stepped up to the mike. The master of ceremonies handed her a tissue and she lightly dabbed them. Her smile was beatific and her throat was so full she couldn't speak at first. Then she found her voice.

“I've been away too long,” she told them.

Cries of “Yeah. You've been away too long,” carried to her.

“But things have been happening since I've been gone.”

“Tell us about it!”

Stevie laughed then. “I got married to the incomparable king of passion, Mr. Damien Steele. You're all familiar with the Nubian Gold label and their recordings of your favorite church music and soft rhythm and blues.”

The audience responded with another surge of approbation. “Way to go!”

“I may not be back too long this time because we want the fruits of our love—children—and we're starting. So I may be away from you again for a little while, but I'll be recording and I'll give concerts like this one, maybe with my papoose strapped on my back.”

There was a ripple of laughter and more cheers. Stevie wriggled her shoulders. She had three costume changes slated for tonight and the gown she wore now was magnificent. A creation from Roland, D.C.'s favorite formal-wear designer, it was ivory silk jersey, low-cut, draped in intricate folds and molded to Stevie's lush body. It was a timeless gown and she wore it proudly.

“Damien and I have written a song, ‘The Way You Make Me Feel,' that we're going to introduce to you tonight. So I won't show off my new husband right now. I'll save him for just a bit later and we're going to sing this song together.”

An older woman on the front seat stood up and, cupping her hands to her mouth, called out, “Are you happy, Stevie baby?”

And Stevie answered immediately. “I'm happy and in love, maybe for the first time since my childhood. God has been good to me and I am grateful, serving Him through my songs and my love for His world.”

The woman sat down and Stevie stood beaming as she asked them, “What would you like to hear first?”

Another roar and “I Don't Need You Anymore” was the overwhelming choice. Her backup singers were already swaying, dancing. Stevie picked up her pearl-front Zemaitis guitar and the group behind her readied guitars, a bass fiddle, piano and accordion. For a few minutes a lump came into her throat. Bretta had been her lead singer from the beginning and she had waited until now to mention this. Now she did and ended, “This whole program is for the late Bretta Evans!”

They remembered Bretta and paid homage to her with heartfelt applause.

“One minute please of silence in memory of Bretta who was truly incomparable.”

She got that minute and more of absolute silence and her heart filled. She missed Ron, too, and wondered what would become of him. But tonight she had come home again to a wild welcome, bringing her warrior king with her.

Stevie's voice had never sounded better. The richness of her mezzo-soprano was on the night air like a blessing, and she radiated passion. She was a tiger putting a no-longer-wanted mate to rout.

It was a signature song that had liberated millions and was a favorite with men as well as women.

She asked the audience to sing it with her and they did, loudly and effusively. She sang three country ballads then, one religious, and the mood of the audience grew mellow. She had wanted to move about among her fans, singing directly to them and it was something she had always done in the past. Now, in spite of four bodyguards, it was considered too dangerous.

Lester, her chief bodyguard, stood in the wings, with hawk eyes that had covered her from her first concert. She told the audience why she wouldn't be so close and said, “So the world has gotten to be a more dangerous place. But it is still a world of love, love and more love. We will go through this danger and we will be safe in our love.”

They cheered her lustily again as she sat on the edge of the stage with its mechanical device that moved her from side to side to the delight of the audience. At least they had this closer tie with her.

She bantered with the fans, took questions, and then it was time to go backstage and change to another costume and introduce her newest song with Damien. As she retreated, the crowd called, “Hurry back, baby.”

On the way down the hall, Lester grabbed her in a bear hug. “Been with you a long time, sugar. You ain't never sung like you singing tonight.”

Lost in Lester's long arms, half dwarfed by his six-foot, seven-inches, she couldn't stop smiling and asked impishly. “You think they liked me?”

“Do a cat like cream?” he bellowed with laughter. “Looks like we're in business again. Maybe you won't get big with a little one until later. It happens that way sometime.”

His words made Stevie feel somber. She wanted it to happen that way now.

Jake, Honi, Whip and Jake's bodyguard were down the hall a little outside her door and she frowned when she saw them.

Honi stuck out a perfectly manicured hand with long, lacquered nails. “You did it again,” she said. “And thank you so much for letting us tag along. It'll be helpful to Whip.”

“Yeah,” Whip said, “I really thank you. I'm hoping some of your jazz will rub off on me. Give me a little time and I'm gonna be up where you are.”

Stevie smiled. “It may take a little longer, Whip. I didn't get here overnight.”

Whip closed his eyes. “I go off on that applause. Man, when I get it, I'm gonna play it for all it's worth.”

Jake looked at his bodyguard, then at Lester and he grunted. “Yeah, you were fabulous, as usual. I got a few words to say to you, Stevie. Think he could step a bit away?” He nodded at Lester.

Stevie shook her head. “He stays. Anything you've got to say, he can hear.”

Jake shrugged. “Okay, if you want it that way.”

Jake's entourage walked a little apart and Jake began with Lester listening intently.

“I understand you've got most of your memory back.”

Stevie's glance was cold. “How would you know that—if I've got most of my memory back?”

“Hell, Stevie, I've got world-class lawyers and I pay them to keep their ear to the ground. Now lawyers are a gossipy bunch and word gets around. My guys pick up on everything and I'm told you will be going on the prosecutor's show in October. I'm asking you one last time, Stevie, be good to me. Remember the great times we had together before it turned sour. I trust you, so I'll give you the million in advance. I promise Steele won't mind. He can use that million. You'll be doing him a big favor. Besides, my doctor tells me I'm a sick man.”

Stevie looked at him long and hard and pursed her lips, thinking if she had stayed with him she'd have become a very sick woman. “Get this, Jake, and get it for good. I'll be taking an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I'm going to be true to that oath.”

Jake's face was like a thundercloud. He had made himself hope that she'd come through for him in the end. Stevie'd always been a sucker for a sad song. He knew damned well, he thought, that he'd never turn down money like that and he couldn't see anybody else turning it down. It was slowly sinking in to him that Stevie would feed him to the wolves. Well, Bretta was dead. Accidents could happen to anybody.

“Don't say I didn't warn you,” he rasped.

“Yes, you've warned me again and again, with notes and faxes and telephone calls. And you can knock it off. We can't help being frightened, but we can act in spite of that fear. I thought you knew me better than that.”

She turned and, with Lester, walked the short distance to her dressing room as Damien walked out grinning. He hugged her tightly. “I was wondering what took you so long. I came out and listened a while and watched on TV monitors. Baby, you were beyond fabulous.”

She nipped his ear. “They're waiting for our song. Let's give it to them right.”

Damien was already dressed in a black sequin suit, black silk bowtie and immaculate white linen shirt. He wore gold nugget cuff links she'd given him.

“You look like a man I'd like to take home with me,” she teased him.

He threw back his head, laughing. “Now don't make me take you in your dressing room, lock the door, strip the gorgeous gown off your back and let nature take its course. You are one winner of a woman.”

“And you'll never lose in my book. Lover, let's get it on.”

She took a quick shower and he blotted her dry, then the wardrobe woman helped her into her satin undergarments and the black sequin gown that was so tightly fitted she couldn't sit down. It was off the shoulder and the sequins played against her silken skin.

The wardrobe woman leaned back and surveyed her charge. “You two are something else again,” she told them. “My eyes are going to be glued to that monitor while I'm preparing for your last costume change. A whole lotta people out there would kill to be as close to you as I am now.”

Stevie told Damien what Jake had said to her and he frowned. “Jake never could understand the word
no
. He'll be trying to get Whip into his outfit until the end. That's why we've got to cooperate with Whip.”

With a trace of bitterness, Stevie thought about the fact that it was to Damien that Honi had turned. She hadn't said a word to her. Well, they were here and she had to make the best of it. So far, they hadn't dimmed her thunder.

Again, deafening applause met their ears as Damien and Stevie walked onstage. The emcee clapped lustily as he introduced them. “The Queen of Passion's got herself a king. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Damien Steele! Stevie and Damien. The last word in romance singing ‘The Way You Make Me Feel.'” He drew out each word of the title.

The band and the backup singers were inspired this night no less than Stevie and Damien. Damien had a very good voice and the light danced off their pearl-front Zemaitis guitars as they slipped into the song.

They paused, then segued into the final verse, looking deep into each other's eyes.

There was electricity in the air when they finished and silence before the crowd was on its feet again, swaying with the continued rhythm of the song.

Once the crowd sat down, they sang it again, then a chorus and there were still cries of “More!”

Stevie laughed delightedly as she and Damien kissed. “I take it you like our song,” she teased them.

“Yeah! Yeah!”

And a small group to the side chortled loudly, “We love this song.”

Stevie couldn't remember a time when she'd been so moved. They surely hadn't forgotten her at all. She had been right. The heartfelt words of that song fed into the aching beauty of the music and it formed a whole that satisfied to the core. It was music at its best. Love. Romance. Glory.