SailtotheMoon (5 page)

He looked up from his pad, his fingers tightening over the
pencil. “She cried?”

“Oh yeah. I gave her a drink before I got a car to take her
home. It wasn’t the sex that made her cry, was it?”

He shrugged. “You know me. Casanova, that’s my middle name.”

“No it’s not. It’s Matthew.”

Few people knew his real name, and all of them—except
two—were in this hotel tonight. Chick had recognized the name, forcing Zazz to
reluctantly tell him the truth, but Chick had helped him a huge amount,
concealing his identity and confusing the increasingly insistent media. Because
the other reason, the one Zazz never let himself believe—the kind of media
attention the band was getting right now was brutal. Too much for his father to
put up with. And if they found out he was the son of the legendary Jimmy
A—despite what Laura had said, a lot of people remembered him—they’d swarm.

Chick spoke in a slow, quiet voice, the opposite of the
tones he used in public, usually strident, often louder than anyone else. But
Chick had many facets to his personality and nobody knew all of them. “When I
saw you together, I was going to ask you if you wanted to talk to her, and then
you hit on her. I thought fine, you could sort it out for yourselves. But you
didn’t, did you?”

“There was another Laura there tonight. You told me a Laura
was looking for me, and I thought I’d just dodged her.”

“And you didn’t ask for last names.” Chick laughed. “Just as
well you didn’t talk to the other Laura. She’s a vicious bitch. Writes for one
of the tabloids.”

“Redtops,” he corrected automatically. “We call them redtops
over here.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Chick waved aside his correction as the
distraction Zazz had intended it to be. His and Donovan’s English-isms kept
Chick in stitches, when he was in the mood. He wasn’t in the mood now. “You
said no. I thought you might, but you said more than that, didn’t you? And you
fucked her.”

He couldn’t prevent the reminiscent smile curling his lips.
“She fucked me. In more ways than one.” He lost the smile. “She knew who I was,
and she helped herself before she hit on me to see my father.”

Chick raised a brow. “Bit hard on her, surely? She’s a real
fan of the band.”

“Not good for the public image to throw women out of your
hotel room? Good luck with fixing that.” He turned his attention back to his
pad. He was nearly done with this lyric. He’d written two songs tonight, and he
thought they might be bloody good. At least some good had come of his encounter
and the reminder of his past. Not that either tune would work as his “In My
Life”. Nothing did. He idolized that song. The first few notes drifted through
his mind, and for fuck’s sake, he nearly welled up at the remembrance of the
beginning lines.

He had nobody, nothing, and he was better off that way.

“Go see your father, Zazz.”

Unlike most managers, Chick was definitely not hands-off
where his clients’ private lives were concerned. “Fuck off, Chick.” Knowing
Chick wouldn’t stop until he had finished what he had to say, Zazz put down the
pad and lifted the coffee mug to his lips.

“Get it over with.”

“And find him in another pool of vomit or worse?” Zazz hit
on the thing to get Chick to leave him alone. “How did finding Matt and Jace
near death affect you?”

Nobody else in the band, not even Matt and Jace, knew that
Chick had found them and got the emergency services to them in time. In the
course of one drunken, maudlin night, he’d spilled it to Zazz, then forced him
to swear not to tell anyone else. The experience had shaken Chick, made him
more determined to ensure nobody died on his watch. That included interference
in the band’s private life, if he deemed it necessary. Zazz realized it must be
his turn.

“You know how. Not good. All that beauty and youth
destroyed. They weren’t joining the twenty-seven club if I could help it. Your
father survived.”

“Better if he hadn’t.” Zazz had thought that over plenty of
times. “He lost his talent, lost his fame, his way of earning a living. Came
here, everybody forgot him. That didn’t matter to him. He kept trying, but he
always said he was better when he was high.”

Chick’s voice took on a dreamy tone. “He was one of the best
horn players I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Zazz frowned. “How old are you exactly?”

Chick gave a laugh. “Not that old, but I have all his
recordings. There aren’t many. A few live Birdland sessions, some backing
sessions and the two solo albums. Nobody forgot him, Zazz, not the true
believers.”

“He’s fucking awful these days. At least he was when I
left.” Zazz shuddered, remembering drunken noodlings and broken scales.

Chick finished his coffee and got to his feet, heading to
the machine instead of the door. He hadn’t finished yet. “I’d still like the
chance to tell him what pleasure he’s given me over the years.”

“Why should he care? He worked for the shit he pumped into
his arm. There’s an old Frank Sinatra movie—”

“
The Man With The Golden Arm
,” Chick said reverently.
“Good movie. Yeah, he could have lived better. But he never abandoned you.”

Appeals to Zazz’s better nature wouldn’t work. “Sure he did.
He didn’t remember that I was still with him, sometimes. I’m an American
according to my birth certificate, but with a British father. She put his name
down and he said it was more trouble to get his name removed than he could
spare. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a Londoner who made it big in the US first.
You are what you make yourself.”

“Are you sure he’s not your father?” Chick asked.

For answer, Zazz shrugged. “If he wasn’t, some other lowlife
was. My ma was a streetwalker. Sold her pussy, mouth and arsehole for the drugs
she needed. She died just after I was born. I was born addicted and he took me
to the hospital, got me put in an incubator. I might have died.” He paused. “It
might have been better if I had.”

Chick returned to his chair with a brimming mug of black
coffee. Zazz grimaced. He couldn’t take it black, even first thing. “V was born
addicted too. She never knew her parents, but she says that the Hamids are all
the parents she ever wanted. You have one better than her. You have a father,
biological or not.”

Zazz hurled his pencil to the floor, then the mug followed.
It shattered, the remnants rolling across the floor before coming to a gradual
stop. “Fuck, what kind of father do you think a kid deserves? Not Jimmy Asaro,
that’s for sure.”

“But he kept you, he never abandoned you.”

Why did Chick keep harping on about that? Didn’t he get it?
Indolence rather than fondness kept Jimmy from dumping Zazz at the nearest
children’s home. The times that Jimmy had come through for him had been few and
far between, the scales heavily in favor of the times he’d let him down.

“Okay,” said Chick. “Do it for her.”

“What?” He turned a stunned expression on to his manager.
“Who?” He wanted Chick to say it.

He waited until Chick took a deep draught of his coffee.
“Laura. It means a lot to her. She doesn’t want any magic reconciliation, she
wants you to visit him is all. The old man wants to see you. It’ll hurt him if
you come to his hometown and you avoid him. But it’ll hurt her too.”

“Did she tell you all that?” A thought crossed his mind.
“Did you fucking set me up?”

Chick shook his head. “You can add paranoia to your list of
personality disorders. Laura cares about the people she works for.” He frowned.
“She takes her job seriously, and she wants to talk to you about his care. She
told you she wants him to go into a home?”

That sounded too much like the person from the emails. Zazz
shifted uncomfortably. “Best place for him.” He wouldn’t let the old man drag
him back into his milieu. Too much heartbreak, too much disaster and despair.
If he could get Jimmy in a home, all he’d have to do was pay the bills. With
other people looking after him, he might finally get shut of the old man.
Ignoring the twist of emotion that thought gave his insides, Zazz decided that
was what he wanted. “She can decide the place without my involvement. I’ll foot
the bill.” He stared at Chick, opening his eyes a little wider, fully aware of
the effect the bright-blue stare had on people. On most people. “Just how much
of a heart-to-heart did you have with her before the car arrived?”

Chick shrugged. “Long enough for her to get a grip and walk
out with her head up. You treated her badly, Zazz.” Zazz shrugged. “Oh don’t
give me the bad-boy rock star shit. You got scared, kid.”

“Kid?” Chick might be six or seven years older than Zazz,
but that didn’t give him the right to call him kid, especially in that tone of
voice. “Fuck off, Chick.”

“I don’t fuck off that easy. You hurt her. You don’t usually
treat your women like that. Sort your shit out, you fucker. Go see your father,
apologize to Laura and sort it out. This chip on your shoulder’s turning into a
fucking forest.”

Bastard. “I don’t like being used. She knew who I was. She
targeted me.”

“She didn’t. You know she didn’t. You reacted to her
stronger than I’ve ever seen you with anyone. You brought her back here. You
usually fuck them in your dressing room, unless you want a marathon session.”

“How do you know I didn’t want that?”

Chick laughed. “You pick the experienced ones for that, the
ones who understand the score. She didn’t. That was obvious to anyone. You
walked out of the room talking to her, smiling. Holding her hand, for fuck’s
sake. Don’t leave it like you have between you. You’re not like that, Zazz. Go
and make up with her. Make her feel better. Make yourself feel better.”

“You bastard.” Finally, Chick had stuck his needle where it
hurt and hit the truth. He was right. Zazz was being a prick. “Okay. Get me the
address. Now fuck off so I can throw up in peace.”

He wasn’t joking. He vomited before he cleaned up and put
the coffeepot on again. But he’d do it, finally say goodbye to his past. And
apologize to Laura. Chick was right. She didn’t deserve what he’d done to her
and he needed to tell her.

Time to man up.

“Is that you, girl?”

Laura had her own key to the flat, so Jimmy didn’t have to
get up to answer the door. He was shaky on his legs these days and couldn’t
walk far without help, but he refused to have anything more than a cane to help
him. “No power scooter for this dude,” he’d told her, and she had to accept it.
He didn’t go out much anyway. Thanks to his son, he had enough money to order
food by phone or online, and to have an assistant a few times a week, as well
as a nurse to help him with more intimate matters. And Laura came courtesy of
the local council. So his call could be to one of several people.

“It’s me.” She walked through to the small living room to
find Jimmy sitting in his well-worn recliner by the fire, which wasn’t on and
the room was as cold as outside. It had been raining all morning, in tune with
her mood, though she doubted Zazz would use a cliché like that in his work.

Better not to go there. Except she had bad news for Jimmy.
Zazz was a selfish jerk whom she shouldn’t give time to anymore.

Jimmy’s broad smile was his trademark, as much as the
trumpet sitting by the side of his chair. Except that mouth was twisted, the
lips scarred. After one syringe full of junk too many, one bet too many, Jimmy
had finally found his comeuppance in San Francisco. The guys he owed money to
took his best asset. Not his horn, but his mouth. They’d smashed it beyond
repair.

But he still had his smile.

“Hey, have you eaten?” Aware of the answer already, she went
through to the kitchen and put her bag on the stool in front of the counter
that separated the kitchen area from the lounge. Zazz’s money had made this
place more comfortable than it used to be and better suited to a semi-invalid.

He peered at her, his rheumy eyes intent. “So, did you go?”

She knew this moment was coming. “I’ll make you a sandwich.
Ham and pickle okay?”

“Sure.”

She loved Jimmy’s accent, a hybrid of all kinds, a mix of
English, deep Southern and other elements she couldn’t identify. “The band was
amazing, you’d be proud, Jimmy. You should have taken that extra ticket instead
of letting me give it to Kelsie.” She paused. What could she say? The truth.
This man deserved the truth. “James Asaro is the lead singer for Murder City
Ravens. Zazz.”

“Yeah. I kind of guessed.” Jimmy shrugged. “But I wasn’t
sure. I’ve heard the album, and I thought, yes, my son could do that. But he
never contacted me after he left, so I couldn’t be sure. I guess I thought I’d
find out for sure after you met him.” He glanced around. “Plus, he’s sent more
money recently.
Nightstar
did real well.”

Earlier today, she’d sent a couple of emails to the address
she’d been corresponding with, requesting him to visit. No reply, but she
didn’t expect one. It would show her bosses that she’d done her best. How “best”
she’d try to ensure they never found out.

While she busied herself making the sandwich, the doorbell
rang, but Jimmy stopped her going. “You carry on that good work, kid, and put
the kettle on. I could use the exercise.”

Probably the nurse. She came several times a week, checked
his basic health and gave him his methadone injection, although Jimmy was quite
capable of doing it himself, as he often told her.

Laura called out, “Hi, Jane, I’ll make some tea.” She found
the ham in the refrigerator and some lettuce that would give the sandwich a bit
of crunch. “Want a ham butty?”

“No,” Zazz replied from behind her.

She dropped the butter knife. It fell with a clatter onto
the tiled floor. Turning around, she opened the refrigerator door to put the
ham back and locate the jar of sweet pickle Jimmy was fond of. She kept her
voice quiet, and as steady as she could when she said, “Okay.” She could keep
her head down while she finished, get over her shock at hearing his voice here,
instead of the nurse’s.

The kettle boiled and turned itself off with a sharp
click
.

“I’m sorry.”

The words dropped into the silence. She wasn’t sure who Zazz
was apologizing to, but she didn’t care. That was what she said anyway. “Tea?”

“I’ll have some tea,” he said as she poured the boiling
water into the pot. “Thanks.”

“Son.” Jimmy sounded far too quiet, the lisp caused by his
injury more pronounced. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do. So many things. First, that I haven’t visited you
earlier. I should have come. You’re my father.”

Jimmy shrugged. “You made sure I was okay. That’s enough.”

“No it’s not. But I owe Laura an apology too. I wasn’t kind
to her last night, and she didn’t deserve it. Laura…?”

At his gentle words, she lifted her head, after blinking her
tears away. She didn’t want to show any weakness. An apology was fine, but he’d
hurt her so deeply it would take her awhile to recover. She couldn’t show him
that, she owed it to herself to keep what pride she had left. She steeled
herself for eye contact.

When she met his clear, blue gaze she nearly welled up, an
involuntary gush of emotion nearly overwhelming her resolve. She recalled the
last time she’d seen his eyes, hard, icy even, throwing her out of his hotel
room as if she didn’t matter. Now they were gentle, with a pang of sorrow. A
pang she felt clear to her heart, like a physical pain. “Laura, I was scared
and I was wrong. I’m sorry. Will you let me make it up to you?”

So simple, so heartfelt, she could do nothing but accept it.
Didn’t mean she’d let him know how much he’d hurt her. “Of course I forgive
you,” she said, as if he were apologizing for something light and
inconsequential. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I do. I didn’t want to come here, and I drove you away
rather than face it. I’m sure you didn’t know who I was. That was an excuse to
get you out of my room.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.” About to say that wasn’t the
worst rejection she’d ever had, the words died on her lips, because it was. It
had torn her apart, and she’d cried for an hour when she got home, before
pulling on her big-girl knickers and getting on with life. After all, she’d
fucked a rock star, right?

No, she hadn’t. She’d connected with a man she found more
vital and more on her wavelength than anyone else she’d ever met.

Zazz’s lip twitched, a small sign she’d learned last night
meant he was suppressing a smile. He smiled a whole lot more than she’d
imagined. He watched her set a table at the side of his father’s chair and set
a plate on it, together with a mug of tea. She’d meant to return to collect the
other two mugs, but he got there before her. He put them down on the low coffee
table between the chair and the sofa, instead of handing hers to her directly
and initiating skin contact. She couldn’t bear that right now. They had to
share the small sofa, but Laura kept to her corner.

“So how have you been, son?” Jimmy was in a jovial mood
today. It wasn’t always this way.

“Busy,” Zazz said laconically. “But not too busy to come to
see you or get in touch.” He leaned back, crossing one leg over his knee and
leaning his arm over the back. Expanding, filling all the available space.
Typical man. “That was cowardice.”

Jimmy nodded. “It happens to us all. The first time I saw
Bird, I thought my life would come to an end. But it pushed me to work harder
and eventually I found my own place. You’ve found yours.”

“You knew it was me?”

“I guessed. I heard the albums. You left at sixteen, but
already you had something good going for you. The first two don’t have your
input. You added spiky and difficult and turned Murder City Ravens into
something different and special.”

Just like that, Jimmy put his finger on what made Murder
City Ravens so different, such a special band. Before, it was a great rock
band. After, it had depth and far more meaning. Tension invaded the band’s
music, and that push-pull created incredible moments. Laura hadn’t realized
that before.

She needn’t have bothered worrying about her presence here,
because Zazz and Jimmy were soon deep in discussions of music. As if Zazz had
returned after a few hours away, instead of years. His father offered him easy
acceptance, and Zazz took it. Both had sinned, Jimmy in his neglect when his
son was growing up, Zazz by not getting in touch. Maybe they scored it even.

Despite her discomfort in Zazz’s presence Laura loved
listening in. Two of the greatest music figures of their respective eras
chatting about what they did and how they did it. They must have done this
before, but now Zazz was a name too. She wondered if Jimmy had offered him the
same kind of professional respect before. Yes, he probably had. Jimmy talked to
anyone about music, his passion and his life.

The doorbell rang again. Thank God she had an excuse to get
off the sofa. The men hardly noticed as she escaped to the door, but on looking
through the peephole, she saw it wasn’t the nurse.

She opened the door. “Kelsie, what are you doing—” She broke
off as she spied the figure behind Kelsie, the one she hadn’t seen. Riku
Shiraishi. Self-consciousness swept over her, as it hadn’t before. She put her
hand to her badly tied ponytail, tweaking it back into place, aware as she
hadn’t been with Zazz of her unmade-up face and her dowdy work clothes. Kelsie
wore the outfit she’d had on the night before. Riku’s red and gold striped hair,
his coat and boots gave him the look of a pirate. But since he wore a pair of
ordinary jeans and a T-shirt with a dragon emblazoned on it, Laura presumed
that this, for Riku, was dressing casual.

“Am I in the way?” He tilted his head to one side, slid a
pair of shades out of his pocket and put them on. The action distanced him.

“N-no. How did you find out—” She glared at Kelsie. “You
told him.”

Kelsie gave her a helpless shrug. In Laura’s experience,
Kelsie was far from helpless. “Jimmy Asano is one of his idols, he tells me.”

Riku glanced around. Jimmy lived in the ex-council flat that
he’d rented for most of his life in Manchester. Zazz had bought it for him and
had it decorated more comfortably, but Jimmy refused to move out to somewhere
better. While the area had gentrified somewhat in recent years, it still held
danger for an old man living alone. What Riku was seeing wouldn’t imbue him
with confidence. Laura knew that Riku came from a wealthy Japanese-American
family. Although he’d spent some years learning his trade in London, this
wouldn’t be the kind of family home he was used to.

“How did you get out of the hotel?” she asked, wildly
searching for time. She would have left Zazz and his father to talk in a little
while, slipped away when the nurse arrived. Now that had gone to cock. She
couldn’t leave Jimmy with a houseful of guests. He tired easily, and she had to
make sure they left him in peace soon.

Riku shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Taxi,
then we walked.” He lifted the sunglasses and met her anxious gaze. “Nobody
followed us.”

“I asked him to make sure of it,” Kelsie said. Had she spent
the night with Riku? So intent on Zazz, Laura hadn’t noticed.

Thankful for small mercies, Laura let them in because
someone would recognize Riku soon if she didn’t. Zazz’s navy-blue hair was
nothing compared to Riku’s flamboyant locks, and since he had the same style at
the concert the night before, he wouldn’t go unnoticed. As if in answer to her
question, Riku pulled a black knitted cap from his pocket and flourished it.
“Trick of the trade,” he told her with a devilish grin.

With the sunglasses and the hat, he could almost pass for
normal. Except for the attraction that poured off him, the air of confidence
and fuck-you that emanated from every member of the band.

She led the way to the small living room. Zazz sat with his
back to the door, but at their entrance, he looked around. “Oh fuck, man.”

“Nice welcome,” said Riku, although he didn’t seem the least
put out. “You beat me to it. This because your girlfriend is his social
worker?”

In the pregnant silence, Jimmy glanced from Laura to Zazz
and back, his silvery brow raised.

“It’s because he’s my father.”

This surprised Riku into a long, awed, “Fuuuuuck.” He
cleared his throat. “Fucking sweet. How come you never told me? You know I love
Jimmy A’s recordings. When Kelsie told me he lived here, in Manchester, I
thought I’d heard everything. Seems the big reveal had yet to come.” He walked
forward, hand outstretched. “Jesus, I can’t tell you how great it is to finally
meet you. Jimmy A in person. I thought you were—”

“Dead.” Jimmy cackled. “Not quite yet. And you’re Riku?”

“Sure. I’m tickled, that’s it.” Without hesitation, Riku
sank down to sit cross-legged on the carpet. At the feet of the master.

There’d be no stopping Jimmy after this. With his small
congregation assembled, he started to preach. He gave his anecdotes, ones that
Laura had heard before, over and over, and yet these men listened, Riku
enthralled, Zazz with wry amusement quirking his mouth. She’d bet he’d heard
them before too.

Jimmy abruptly stopped mid-flow and tilted his head,
studying his son with renewed interest. “So is Laura your girlfriend?” Then he
carried on as if he’d said nothing. Sharper than he seemed. It made Zazz wonder
how frail he was too. The old man had always been a wily one. He knew how to
work the system of wherever he happened to be and if appearing extra frail got
him more perks, then he’d do it.

Good luck to him. Jimmy’s working the system had gained Zazz
a father instead of a soulless children’s home. Or worse. Jimmy had told the
hospital that somebody cared about him, and that might have meant the
difference between life and death. Made baby Zazz’s existence meaningful to
someone, meant they’d try that little bit harder.

Zazz’s gaze met Laura’s, locked and held, the moment as
intimate as anything they’d done the night before. Interrupting one of Jimmy’s
stories about John Coltrane, taking exactly the right moment in a pause between
reminiscences in timing as perfect as the performance the night before, he
said, “Yes, I suppose you could call her my girlfriend.” He held out his hand
to her. “If she wants it. I was a bastard to her last night, and she might not
want me. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t.”