Winds of Heaven (3 page)

“You should get back to your work. I’m afraid I interrupted.” Suzette sighed as she ran her fingernails up and down Casey’s strong back.

“A most wonderful interruption. I needed a break. I couldn’t sit at that piano another minute.” She kissed her shoulder. She let out a deep groan when the phone rang. “Ugh…” Casey growled and did not move.

“Get it. It might be your producer,” Suzette said, gently urging Casey.

“Shit.” Casey rolled over on her back and picked up the phone. “This better be good,” she said into the phone while she stared at the ceiling.

“Casey? Roger. You had better get back to Chicago. I have a registered letter here from an attorney in Albuquerque. Who do you know in New Mexico?”

Casey frowned when she heard her lawyer’s worried tone; she continued to gaze at the log-beamed ceiling. “No one. I don’t think so, anyway.” She laughed and looked down to see Suzette moving between her legs. Casey held her breath as Suzette parted her legs and kissed her inner thigh. She ran her fingers through Suzette’s blond hair.

“R-Roger, I’ll be in t-tomorrow m-morning...” She sighed and dropped the phone.

“Who was on the phone earlier?” Suzette asked sometime later. She snuggled against Casey, who was staring at the fire; she absently stroked Suzette’s shoulder.

“My lawyer, Roger. Someone in…” She stopped and struck a thoughtful pose. “I can’t remember the name of the place. Anyway, he got some letter. He sounded worried.” She stopped and yawned. “But Roger always worries.”

Suzette pouted. “This means we have to leave?”

Casey laughed. “Don’t act like it bothers you. I know how you just love the outdoors.”

Suzette looked up with a lazy smile. “I am a city girl. I love Chicago.”

Playfully bucking Suzette off, Casey grunted and stood. She offered her hand. “You love to spend money.” She hauled Suzette to her feet and pulled her close.
         

“Don’t get all country on me, Ms. Bennett. You love the limelight of the city, as well. You can’t stay out of Chicago for long.” She reached in and cupped Casey’s breast. “I’d like to take credit for that.”’

“As well you should,” Casey whispered, then laughed and pulled away. “I need to get organized. We have to leave in the morning.” She slapped her bottom and padded down the hall to the bedroom.
        

It was a long drive back from Wisconsin. Well, long for Casey. Suzette snored all the way to Chicago. She pulled into the underground garage of Suzette’s apartment building. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

Suzette groaned and stretched. “Are we back already?”

“Yes, darling. Thanks for keeping me company.” Casey slipped her seat belt off. Suzette put her head back and closed her eyes. “C’mon, Suzette, I have an appointment with Roger.” She popped the trunk and took out two pieces of luggage. Shaking her head, she walked them to the elevator. Two pieces of luggage for three days, she thought.

Suzette lazily met Casey at the elevator. “I assume you can handle two suitcases alone,” Casey said as the elevator door opened. She kissed Suzette and patted her cheek. “See you at rehearsal. Study your music. I’d like to hear a little feeling in those chords.”

“Don’t be a dud, Case,” Suzette said as she hauled the luggage with her and pushed the button. “I had a great time. See you later.” She waved and blew a kiss as the door closed.

Casey stood there for a moment looking at the elevator door; she smiled ruefully. “I love you, too.” She shook her head and walked away.

After dropping Suzette off at her elegant high-rise, Casey drove the busy downtown streets of Chicago—something she loathed doing. Ever since she made enough money composing music for the movies and television, she moved out of her high-rise and into a comfortable log home in upper Wisconsin, her beloved adopted state. Situated on a small lake, it was a world apart from her bustling hometown.

Casey smiled as she remembered her childhood in this city. Her mother was always there, encouraging Casey with her love of music and piano. She laughed openly when she remembered the day she told her mother and her grandmother she was gay.

She was nineteen and just entered college on a music scholarship...

Casey sat at the piano in the den. She ran her fingers through her long black hair and cracked her knuckles.

“
Arrrgg
,” her grandmother called out. “Don’t do that. Eleanor, tell her to stop that.”

Casey heard her mother laugh; she did it again. Sometimes she just loved to tease her grandmother. She then opened the sheet music and started playing, feeling alive as her fingers touched the black and white keys. With smiling eyes, she played the music she composed. As she played, she looked up to see her mother smiling though the tears that welled in her green eyes.

 
Her grandmother sniffed loudly and drank her tea. “How in the world are you going to get to Carnegie Hall if you don’t play the classics?” she asked gruffly.

Casey grinned as she played. “Want me to stop?”

“No, you might as well finish,” her grandmother said, then winked at Casey’s mother.

Casey stopped and frowned deeply.

“What’s the matter, Case?” Eleanor walked over to the piano.

“I can’t find an end for it,” Casey said.

Their eyes met; her mother cocked her head and smiled. “It sounds very romantic.”

“I guess so.”

“For anyone in particular?”

Casey shrugged. “Maybe.”

With that, her grandmother quickly walked over. “Who? Don’t tell me. The Gentry boy, what’s his name,” she said eagerly.

Casey’s mother never took her eyes off her. “It’s not him. Is it, sweetie?”

She felt the tears welling in her eyes; they mirrored her mother’s. “No, Mom. It ain’t the Gentry boy.”

“Who then?” her grandmother asked happily. Casey knew she had visions of a grand wedding at St. Patrick’s Cathedral; she will be so disappointed, Casey thought.

“I don’t think you want to know,” Casey said, breaking eye contact with her mother as she looked down at the keys and fondly ran her fingers over them.

Her mother put her hand under Casey’s chin. Casey turned toward her mother’s smiling face, filled with curiosity. “I do.”

“Well, so do I,” her grandmother said, not wanting to be left out.

Casey took a deep breath and glanced at her grandmother’s eager face before saying, “Nancy
Folberg
.”

Her mother blinked and for a moment looked stunned; a curious smile then found its way to her lips. She swallowed and hesitated as if trying to register this information.

Casey waited, her heart beating in her chest. She looked at her grandmother, who was completely confused.

“Nancy?” she asked. “But she’s a woman. I don’t under—”

Casey’s mother held up her hand. “Mother, please.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Suddenly, Casey felt ashamed.

“Well, I should think so—”

“Mother,” Eleanor said in a warning voice. She regarded Casey with such love in her eyes that Casey nearly started crying. “Is this someone special? I’ve met Nancy. She’s a nice girl.”

“Oh, my God,” her grandmother exclaimed and collapsed into the nearest chair. “Eleanor Casey-Bennett, I cannot believe your daughter is telling you this and you…”

Casey and her mother paid no attention. “Yes, she is, Mom,” Casey said. “I—I don’t know why or how, but all I know is she makes me feel the same way you said you felt about Dad.”

Her mother nodded as she grinned. “Then she is special, and I’m happy for you, Case. We’ll talk about this later. You finish that song for her.”

Casey frowned. “I’m not sure it’s for her, but for someone…” Her voice trailed off.

Eleanor walked behind her and gathered her long black hair in her hands and ran her fingers through it. Casey closed her eyes as her mother absently braided her hair. She knew this wasn’t easy for her mother. She didn’t want to hurt her, but she knew the truth had to be told.

“I love you, Case.” She kissed the top of her head. She then walked up to her mother. “We need to talk, Mother.”

The elder woman stood and Casey smiled. “I love you, Gram.”

She narrowed her eyes at Casey. “You’re like your mother with those charming green eyes,” she said, then grudgingly smiled. “I suppose I can see what the ladies are after.” She then stood tall and cleared her throat. “And why not? You have Casey blood flowing in your veins, as well.” She walked up and cupped Casey’s face. “I suppose the wedding at St. Patrick’s is out?”

“Until they change the laws, I’m afraid so,” Casey said. She then held onto her grandmother’s hand. “But if the time comes, a-and I meet someone, you’ll be there, wherever it is?”

Tears sprang into the old woman’s eyes. “I don’t pretend to understand this or agree with it.” She then nodded. “But try keeping me away.”

Casey smiled now and wiped the tear that found its way down her cheek. Her mother was gone, but that day would never fade from her memory. And speaking of memories, Nancy
Folberg
was a distant memory now, though she was Casey’s first encounter. Casey had many loves since, but no one touched her heart enough to finish her song.
 

She concentrated on her music career and now, at forty years old, Casey could choose her own work and only come to Chicago when it was time for the studio work. That usually took a couple of weeks, so she stayed at her Lake Point Tower high-rise then. The rest of the time, she was lost in the woods. She could be making a boatload if she lived in Los Angeles or New York, but she’d rather have peace of mind and a small bank account than the hectic rat race of Hollywood. Her grandmother was pleased with that decision. Since Casey’s mother passed away, her grandmother stepped in and took care of Casey. Not that Casey Bennett needed to be taken care of. Her grandmother, Meredith Casey, was bound and determined to see her only granddaughter healthy and happy. Wealth was secondary. And if being gay made Casey happy, her grandmother grudgingly agreed.

Casey grinned now at the thought of the elder Casey taking an interest in her life. She picked up her cell phone and dialed the familiar number. “Gram? Hey.”

“Who is this?”

Casey laughed. “It’s your favorite granddaughter.”

“Hmm. I only have one, you’re lucky. How are you? You’re still alive, that’s good.”

Casey winced when she heard the scolding voice. “I’m fine.
 
Sorry, Gram. How about dinner?”

“You’re paying?”

“Of course.”

“Then yes, I’d love to have dinner with you. You pick the place, make it expensive.”

Casey laughed. “I will. How about Mickey’s on Halsted?”

She waited patiently for an answer.

“I am not spending an evening in that rat-hole tavern of your ill-spent youth. For the life of me, I will never understand you going to that place and playing that piano for the neighborhood. And not even getting paid for it—”

“I remember you and Grandpa going in there from time to time.”

“Don’t be insolent. And for that, you’ll take me to Charlie Trotter’s—”

Casey groaned. “Oh, Gram. We have to get all dressed up.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to wear a dress every now and then, Casey Bennett. For no other reason than to remind yourself you are a woman.”