SUMMARY: Samantha Mann left home as a teenager and never looked back. Now, a famous pianist and singer out of London with a ten-year-old daughter, all she wants is to be home with her brothers and father for the first time in eighteen years.
Homecoming
Prologue:
"Dear Donnie,
"Every year I write to you on this day – Thanksgiving. Every year I tell myself, 'this will be the year I send the letter.' Every year I make some excuse as not to. Not this year.
"You must hate me for never coming home, never returning your calls all those years ago, and nothing I can say will change that, but I hope one day I can make it up to you.
"I think of you constantly, you and Daddy and little Charlie, though I suppose he isn't too little any more. I miss you all so much – especially you.
"I love you forever,
"Sammie."
-
"We are here today with Ms. Samantha Mann, the stunning American musician whose haunting, melancholy voice and beautiful smile has captured the hearts of millions across Europe." The British talk show host turned to Sam. "Samantha, welcome."
"Thank you, Caroline," Sam blushed slightly at the woman's introduction and smiled brilliantly to her and the audience. She would never get used to the limelight.
"Despite your ten years as a recording artist, this is your first television interview, right?" Sam nodded. "Are you nervous?"
"Oh, I trust you."
"Good," she said with a little chuckle, "Let's just jump right in, shall we?"
"Sounds perfect."
"Your music is absolutely brilliant."
"Thank you."
"You began singing at a pub in London?"
"Yes, I did. I working as a waitress there, and my best friend who was also working there basically shoved me onto this little stage that had a piano in the corner and ordered me to play for the customers there. Two years later other pubs and lounges were hiring me to play and sing until I finally secured a small record deal in '97."
"You blend classical melodies with very emotional lyric and manage to form an ethereal sound with little other instrumental accompaniment. Why did you chose to follow what was and still is a less popular style?"
"My mother taught me how to play classical piano at a young age. It was the only thing we had in common – our love for music. So that's just what comes out, classical music, and of course, my lyrics just come from the heart."
"You write mainly about your family, your brothers in particular, and life in Los Angeles, California. Can you tell me about that?"
"Um, there's not much to say. I left home the night of my high school graduation, and I haven't been back since. I actually have not spoken with either of my brothers in quite a long time."
"But you still write about them?"
"We were very close, and I regret never contacting them. Now, I think it's probably too late to do so."
"We all know about your topping the charts in England for the past seven years and recent jump in popularity in France after coming out with your all French album two years ago while living there for several years, but how's your popularity in America?"
"Actually, it's very ironic. I have a small cult following there, but no where near the popularity as here and in other places in Europe."
"Even though most of your songs are about growing up there?"
"Even though most of my songs are about growing up there," she confirmed.
-
"Megan, Megan," Don touched the woman's shoulder. She snapped over to look at him. Grinning sheepishly, she took the headphones from her ears.
"Sorry. Amita lent me this CD the other day – I've been obsessed ever since."
"What CD?"
"This singer from London – Samantha Mann."
"Samantha Mann?" he repeated slowly. She hadn't mentioned that in the letter he'd received several days before.
"Heard of her? She's actually from around here."
"So are a lot of people. Have you gotten any farther of tracking down that gun?" he changed the subject to the case, trying hard not to think of Sam.
Megan, probably sensing something was up, nodded slowly and turned to her computer to show him what she'd found.
-
"Samantha Mann," she could hear the announcement from inside the limousine. Camera flashes were already going off, though she had yet to even open the door. Her chauffer opened it for her, and one perfectly toned leg at a time, she stepped onto the red carpet that led up to the entrance of the royal ball. The bodice of her red gown was all but painted on and the skirt of it dripped from her hips. The long slit up the side tantalized the men in the crowd, and her rubies and diamonds could make any woman swoon with envy. Several brunette curls were strategically placed around her face, shadowing her eyes and adding to the mystery she kept around herself.
She slowly made her way down the fan-lined path without an escort as she did at every party.
The ball was the same as all the others. Rather than feeling like Alice in Wonderland, everything fantastic and new, as she had in the beginning, Sam felt more like Eliza Doolittle, surrounded by royalty and nobility and the generally rich who she could emulate for the night with her natural poise and grace but never actually fit in with. She was just an American-Jewish girl from LA that they were all curious about – watching her as if she was an attraction at the zoo.
She avoided the younger men at the party, even hid herself among the inane gossipers so she would not have to dance with them, as declining an offer for a dance would have been the greatest social faux pas of the year. She danced with a few of the old men who were only happy to dance with a beauty like her and thought their innocuous conversations actually held her interest.
She finally arrived at her flat at around one in the morning. She opened the door slowly as if afraid of the reception she may receive. Of course, she was afraid of the reception she would receive. Empty silence.
She quickly stripped out of the gown and let her mane of curls fall from the diamond studded clips and pins that had held it through the night and dressed in an old tank top and sweats.
Afterwards, she went back into the living room and sat at the grand piano with her spiral notebook turned to a fresh page. She began to play, intermittently scribbling down her thoughts in lyric form and different cords she liked on the notebook paper. She lost track of time as she fell into her "music trance," finally coming out of it towards dawn. Carefully, she daubed the tears from her cheeks and the fallen drops that landed on her notes, trying not to blur the scrawling all over the once clean page.
"It's Been Awhile," she crammed in at the top of the page and underlined it, indicating that the line was to be the title of what could be her next hit.
She sighed and leaned back. Glancing at her calendar, she could see the huge red circle around the box of December 16th. God, she wanted to be in LA. She got up and stumbled into her bedroom, finally going to sleep as the sun peaked over the horizon.