The Song in My Heart (29 page)

Robin began gently pressing her on whether love had anything to do with her new attitude. “Oh, gosh,” Dess answered, warmth crawling up her face. “What happens on the road stays on the road, doesn’t it?”

Robin winked. “I think that’s Vegas.”

As diplomatically as she could, Dess explained that since any loving relationship involved two people, it wasn’t up to her alone to talk about it publicly. But she did find someone very special last summer, she conceded. And yes, “that person made me want to be myself again, made me begin to really question how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. And my sister kicked my butt too. They were both right. It was time to stop hiding, to stop moping and feeling sorry for myself. It’s time to do something with my life again.”

“What will that be? Any ideas?”

“It will have to involve music,” Dess replied. “Because that’s such a big part of who I am. But it won’t be in the capacity people knew me in before. That life is over. So no, I’m not sure yet. But I think I’m actually ready to embrace something new and challenging.” She looked at the camera and took a deep breath. “I’ll be slow and sure about it, but I’m ready to take it one step at a time.”

Emotion thickened her voice, and Dess was eternally grateful when Robin changed the subject to something else. Carol had been right. Doing a television interview was cleansing, emancipating, and it was the first step to changing her life. Laying bare her thoughts, her emotions, opening up her very life, had been her greatest fear. But failing to wrestle that fear down would forever paralyze her into a life only half lived. Now she was on record saying her life was going to be different, leaving her little choice but to follow through.

Dess held little back. She talked about her terrifying battle with cancer, how losing her voice was devastating at first, then became the least of her worries when her very survival was at stake. She talked about how music—playing it, writing it—had saved her life as she recovered from the cancer. And how more recently, music had once again pulled her out of the muck and mire of her life. She admitted she feared her fans and others would forever see her now only as someone who had had cancer, that it would always be an asterisk beside her name. It was a risk she was prepared to take, however. Finally, she asked for forgiveness from her fans for letting her fears get the best of her. She had abandoned people—her fans, other cancer survivors. She’d even abandoned herself, she admitted, as tears trickled down her face.

There really was only one person whose forgiveness she needed, Dess knew, because that was the gaping wound that cut the deepest right now. The truth was that she’d sent Erika away because she didn’t love herself enough. And because she didn’t think she deserved anyone else’s love. It was simple psychology, the most basic, really. She couldn’t love anyone else—and couldn’t accept anyone else’s love—until she loved and accepted herself. Until now, that terrain had been too rough to traverse.

It might be too late to love Erika, but it wasn’t too late to start loving herself.

* * *

Erika settled into the soft leather seat of the private jet that was on loan from a record company trying to woo her. Her head pounded mercilessly. After dumping Bethany’s sorry ass, she’d gone back to her room and downed a pint of Jack. But not because she was hurt by the breakup. Bethany was a publicity stunt that had gone too far, and any pain from losing her was merely a payback for having taken Dayna’s advice to heart.

No. What really hurt, day after day, hour after hour, was the loss of Dess. How was she supposed to get over her first and only meaningful love? How was she supposed to do any of this alone? And how was any of this shit supposed to mean a single thing when there wasn’t anyone to share it with? The stage was fun—fulfilling, rewarding, energizing, a real hard-on. But the rest of it?
The rest of it’s bullshit
.

Erika flipped on the small television in front of her, needing a distraction from her pounding head and her bleak thoughts. Surround Sound negated the need for headphones, but she kept the volume low, not wanting to attract the attention of Dayna, who sat at a table at the back of the plane with her nose in her laptop.

Dayna had turned out to be exactly as Erika had expected—a first-class bitch. But that was the driving force that seemed to be getting Erika places. By unspoken agreement, the two women never talked about Dess, because it was the one subject each seemed to recognize would instantly set a match to their business arrangement.

Dess. Why does every thought, every subject, always circle back to Dess
?

Erika clicked through the channels until she settled on
Good Morning America
.
Good morning hangover was more like it,
she thought. The weather guy was showing off his colorful digital maps, and then Robin Roberts was on the screen. Erika could barely hear her, but for some reason, Robin was talking over photos of Dess on stage. There was one of her on a Broadway stage, another of her singing at Yankee Stadium, one of her shaking hands with the queen of England. A close-up of her singing showed the ropey muscles in her neck engaged in pushing out the sweet notes Erika had first heard back when she was in high school and had really begun appreciating great voices, great songs, and had begun casting about for singers she could look up to.

Jesus Christ
, she thought with a sudden panic that drove a stake through her hangover, instantly sobering her.
They only do this shit when people die!
Fumbling, she cranked up the volume in time for Robin to introduce Dess as her guest this morning.
Oh, thank fucking God
!

She watched Dess, adorable in her nervousness, and knew instantly she still loved this woman as much as ever. Hearing her voice, being able to look into her eyes—even if it was just a two-dimensional version of her—was like a warm hug that Erika felt all the way to her toes. She longed to be able to reach through the small screen and touch Dess, to hold her again in her arms, to spoil her with kisses and caresses, to make love to her all night long. She longed for the whispered conversations that came at the end of their lovemaking, their newspaper reading over morning coffee, their idle chitchat, their heartfelt conversations. She wondered if Dess missed any of it too.

With effort, she pulled her attention back to the interview. Dess was warm, engaging, funny, relaxed and surprisingly open. She didn’t look anything like the woman who had shunned everything related to journalists and the glare of public attention. Dess looked entirely as though this interview was her own idea, and the realization came as a shock to Erika. What had happened? What was she
doing
exactly? And why?

Robin was trying to coax her to talk about her love life, and Erika was on the edge of her seat. A dreamy look came over Dess’s face. Her eyes were gone, lost, and Erika hoped it was because of memories of
her
. And then Dess was shaking her head, smiling, saying it wasn’t up to her to discuss something that belonged to two people. But “this person” Dess was saying—and Erika knew she was talking about her—had helped inspire her to be herself again, to want to live again. It was a triumphant moment for Erika, as close as Dess was likely ever going to come to admitting she loved her. But Dess’s words, her tone, seemed to imply that she had gotten everything she needed from their relationship—the will to live again and the desire to move on. The relationship had served a purpose for Dess, like the bridge in a song that was meant to transition back to the verse and chorus. Back to the beginning. The bridge was important in any song, but it was short and served a fleeting purpose.
That’s me
, Erika thought with a new level of disappointment.
I’m a fucking bridge in her life
.
Not a verse, and certainly not a repeating chorus
.

“I’m not surprised she wants back in the limelight now,” Dayna said in a tone that matched the perpetual scowl on her face. Erika hadn’t heard her sneak up behind her. “I suppose her money’s running out, although God knows, she had more than enough to ever spend in her lifetime.”

Erika bit the inside of her cheek to keep from telling Dayna to go fuck herself. “I don’t want to talk about Dess.”

“Well, I’m afraid we need to.” Dayna reached over Erika for the remote and clicked off the TV. “Because Dess holds the other half of the key to that song you sang last night.”

“Yes. ‘The Song in My Heart.’” Erika closed her eyes, remembering when they’d written the words, the music, and how her heart had swelled with love for Dess then. So much that it was going to burst if she didn’t scratch out some lyrics and sing it from the top of her lungs. She couldn’t contain her love for Dess, and the song, the song Dayna wanted her to record now, was proof of that. What hurt, for her at least, was that absolutely nothing about her love for Dess had changed or diminished.

“She needs to sign off on it,” Dayna snapped. “Fifty-fifty. She should go for that.”

Erika wavered. “I don’t know.”

Dayna sat down beside Erika. Her eyes were uncompromising. “I don’t care about whatever lovers’ spat you two had. That song is a gold mine. You need to fix it with her so that she’ll sign off on it.”

Everything was a business proposition to Dayna. It set Erika’s blood boiling. “I’m not going to force her or beg her to do anything. I agree it’s a great song, and I agree it could be a hit. But it’s up to Dess to give her permission. Or not.”

“Oh, that song is more than a hit. That song is your ticket to everything you want.”

No, it’s not
, Erika thought.
Because it won’t give me back Dess
.

Dayna harrumphed. “Anyway, she certainly won’t want to talk to me about it. I’ll set things up for you to meet with her lawyer in Chicago. Who also happens to be
your
lawyer, as I recall. That might work in our favor.”

Distilling her relationship with Dess down to a mere business arrangement sliced a new gash into Erika’s heart. It was all they had left to show for their love. A song. A souvenir. But it was something, at least. And just maybe, she thought with the first ray of hope she’d felt in a long time, if Dess loved her, she’d let her record that song. If Dess loved her—had ever loved her—she too would want to share something of their love with the world.
Wouldn’t she
?

It was only a moment before Erika relented. “All right. Set up the meeting and I’ll be there.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dess had tried to avoid making the trip to Jennifer Parker’s office, employing her usual suggestion that anything needing a signature could be done via courier. But when Jennifer insisted, Dess found herself giving in. She needed to make changes in her life. She had told the world that she was going to make changes.
She
needed to change. And that meant getting out of the house, seeing people, keeping her mind and body active, rejoining life. She’d even begun to mentally entertain some of the many offers Jennifer had received lately on her behalf. There were requests for more talk show appearances, newspaper and magazine interviews, a health-product company looking for her endorsement.

The most intriguing had been an offer from a top book publisher to write her memoirs. “But I don’t want to talk seriously to them until after Christmas,” she’d told Jennifer over the phone. She wanted to go slow, make sure she was committed to the idea. Mostly, she needed to feel confident that anyone out there wanted to read an entire book about her.

“We’ll talk a bit more about the book,” Jennifer had promised over the phone. And then she dropped the bomb on her. Told her that Erika and Dayna wanted the rights to record the ballad she and Erika had written together.

A flat refusal had been Dess’s first impulse. She laid out all the reasons why she shouldn’t sign off on the song, but Jennifer picked them apart like a trial lawyer pouncing on the testimony of a weak witness. When it came down to it, Dess had no good reasons to refuse the song, other than it was a way to stick it to Dayna, Jennifer said. But sticking it to Dayna would only hurt Erika, and Dess didn’t want that. She didn’t want to feel used either.

Now, as she sat in Jennifer’s office, the contract in front of her, Dess stalled.

Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “Still having second thoughts?”

“This whole process just feels so…cold. And that song. It’s…it’s…”

“Anything but cold.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps,” Jennifer said, tapping a pencil on her desk, “there’s someone who can help you through this…
process
…a little more productively than me.”

She rose and strode to the door, turning back to Dess with a wink. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes.”

“What? Jennifer, what are you—”

But Jennifer was gone, the door closed firmly behind her.
Great
, Dess thought.
I’m supposed to sit here and cool my heels for thirty minutes? How is that supposed to help me make a decision
?

The door clicked open. Dess turned in her seat, then nearly fell out of it. Erika stood frozen in place, a mild look of shock on her face.

Dess could barely push the words from her mouth, which was suddenly full of cotton. “Erika. What are you doing here?”

“Wh—what are
you
doing here, Dess?”

“I…” Oh hell, what did it matter now? They’d been set up, and Erika was here. Alone. In the flesh. Right in front of her. And looking ridiculously gorgeous in a tan-colored linen suit and burgundy blouse. Her hair, still so dark and luscious, was a bit longer, and it suited her. Confidence was growing in those brown-black eyes that were so emotive. Dess had dived headlong into those mesmerizing orbs each and every time they had landed on her, and she did so again now, losing herself to the point where she barely comprehended if she were standing or sitting.

“Dess.” The easy way Erika said her name, the sure way she walked toward her, melted Dess’s insides. “God, I’ve missed you.”