For a change, Jean fixed herself an actual breakfast instead of grabbing a cup of coffee on her way out the door. With no commitments until the 11:00 rehearsal at the club, she had most of the morning to herself. And after her years of working as a hotel housekeeper, she still got up early every day, even with the hangover she was currently nursing. Of course, the habit of rising at the crack of dawn might have to change, now that she would be working until the early hours of the morning several times a week.
She could hardly believe it still, but looking at the sizable check for the prior evening's work she thought that maybe she'd begun a new chapter in her life. The first chapter had been growing up on the farm near Fresno, the second was her time as a wife widowed young and raising her boys alone, and now this. It might just be that one of her childhood dreams was going to come true, although she doubted it would lead to traveling the world and seeing exotic places. But for now, knowing she was a professional singer was enough.
The timing of it all could scarcely have been better, too. For the first time in many years she could buy real Christmas gifts for her family. She knew they appreciated the effort she put into making their gifts other years, but in Southern California how many hand-knitted scarves and hats could one person use?
Thoughts of Christmas reminded her that she should ask about performing a Christmas-themed show for next week. The club would be closed for Christmas Eve and Day, but surely they should give a nod to the holidays. She'd ask at rehearsal later. At least she wouldn't have to deal with the undependable (and frankly unpleasant) Billy Munro any more, since the club had a band of its own. It was a relief not to have to worry about lining up an accompanist, but she wondered if that meant no longer having Lucien with her on stage. Surely the band had its own pianist and didn't depend on one of the club's owners. She seemed to be seeing Lucien in a whole different light now that she knew he was an owner.
She lingered over her second cup of coffee. It was then that she realized she would have to arrange a ride to work, since her car was still at the club. Christopher had insisted on driving her home after she had had too much to drink. There was no subway line near enough, and if she went by bus it would require three changes. She was just considering Uber when her phone sounded. Caller ID showed it was the club. Was there a change to the rehearsal time, she wondered.
The caller was Matthew. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"
"Not too bad," she assured him, "but it's been a while since I had so much to drink."
"Then it's a good thing your son was there to drive you home."
"Yes, but I was just trying to figure out the best way to get to rehearsal without my car."
"And that's why I'm calling," said Matthew. "We were just talking about last night, and when Alice mentioned your car was still here and how would you get in, Lucien offered to pick you up."
"That's very kind of him," said Jean.
"It is," Matthew agreed. "But neither he nor I felt comfortable with him having your home address without your permission."
"Oh," said Jean. Was there any reason for him not to know it? She instinctively trusted him, and the fact that they were asking her permission was reassuring. "Yes, of course he can have it. I would appreciate a ride."
She could hear the two men talking before Matthew came back on the line. "He said he can be there in an hour, if that works for you."
"That's perfect. Please tell him I appreciate his thoughtfulness."
"I will," said Matthew, "but next time I'll just let you two talk directly instead of playing the go-between."
She laughed. She had learned last night that beneath Matthew's sometimes grumpy exterior was a caring and considerate gentleman. "Thank you, Matthew," she said. "I'll see you later."
She washed up the breakfast dishes and tidied up her tiny apartment before getting ready for rehearsal. In case they agreed with her suggestion for a Christmas-themed set, she pulled all of her holiday records and CDs off the bookshelf, stacking them on the table. With no performance for her that night, she could spend the evening going through them to choose the songs she might want to include.
She had just finished fixing her hair when the door buzzer indicated Lucien had arrived downstairs. She opened the intercom to tell him she was on her way down, then picked up her purse and her trusty messenger bag and headed out.
He stood on the doorstep, wearing jeans and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his hair slightly tousled. Jean couldn't ignore that he was a very good-looking man.
"Good morning," he greeted her.
"Yes, it is," she said. "The weather is just perfect."
"I hope you don't mind, but I've put the top down," he said, waving his hand toward a bright blue, vintage Mustang convertible.
She smiled. "I don't mind at all. What a lovely car."
"Thank you. I bought it new with the proceeds from my first job many, many years ago," he said, as he opened the door for her.
"It must have been a good job," Jean noted. "What did you do?"
After a brief pause he said, "I worked for my father, which accounts for the healthy paychecks."
When he had gotten into the car, Jean asked, "Are you a native Angeleno?"
"I grew up here, but I was actually born in Australia, a country town by the name of Ballarat. We moved here to Los Angeles when I was small." He pulled into the flow of traffic.
"Oh, so that's why no trace of an accent," said Jean.
"Not usually, no," said Lucien. "I have been known to curse in Australian, though." He took his eyes off the road briefly and grinned at her. "'Bloody hell' is the phrase I prefer."
"I see," said Jean, with a mock frown. "And since most people here wouldn't even recognize that as a curse, you can get away with it."
"That's right. And what about you? A native?"
"Of California, yes, but I grew up in the Central Valley, on a farm near Fresno."
"And what brought you south, aside from the glorious weather?"
"Stars in my eyes, of course. I always wanted to be a singer. When I met my Christopher, though, I was sidetracked for a while, being a wife and mother. Not that I regret it for a moment."
"Your son Christopher seems like a fine young man," Lucien told her.
"Yes, he is. And what about you? Why did the family leave Australia?"
"The same reason as you, show biz. My father is a producer. When he outgrew Ballarat, he needed bigger worlds to conquer."
"That must have been difficult on your mother."
"She was a painter at the time, so she could work pretty much anywhere."
"You say she was a painter at the time. She doesn't paint now?"
He shook his head and flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. "Arthritis. Too painful for her to hold a brush."
"I'm sorry," said Jean. "That must be very difficult for her. Do you see them often, your parents?"
She saw him grimace, and he paused before he said, "No, not very often. My father and I have our differences."
"That's too bad. You can't just see your mother?"
"I don't want her caught in the middle. He thinks she's being disloyal if she sees me without him."
"But you're her son!" Jean protested, before realizing it wasn't her business to get involved in his family problems. "I'm sorry, it's not my place."
"Quite all right," he assured her, and he seemed to mean it. She decided he must be resigned to the situation, but she couldn't imagine a mother not wanting to see her son. The fact that her own son Jack visited so infrequently was a continuing source of heartache for Jean.
Thankfully they pulled up to the front of the club shortly thereafter. He let her out at the door before pulling the car around to the parking area in the rear. The club door was opened for her by the young man she'd seen up front the night before. He was good-looking with his wavy dark hair and winning smile.
"Charlie Davis," he said by way of introduction. "I heard you last night, Mrs. Beazley. You're very good."
"Thank you, Charlie. A pleasure to meet you."
"Go on in, ma'am," he told her. "Most of the band is here already."
With a nod by way of thanks, she strode into the main room. She could see a drummer, a bass player, a guitarist, a keyboard player, and some horns. Enough to provide a nice, rich sound, she thought.
She walked up to them somewhat hesitantly, not sure whom she should be speaking with until Lucien appeared and clapped his hands together. "Shall we?" he asked. He directed Jean to the microphone so she and the band could get the same sound they would get in a performance, then he started describing what he wanted from each musician, always looking for ways to highlight Jean's vocals. He continually sought her input so that she never felt left out of the decisions.
Jean was even more impressed with his skills. She had never really had anyone work out custom arrangements for her. The few times she had sung in front of an actual band rather than just an accompanist, she was expected to adapt her interpretation to the way they played a song. This, on the other hand, was like working with a producer.
A producer. She remembered what he'd said about his father being a producer, but she'd assumed he meant a film producer. Maybe the elder Blake was a record producer instead, and Lucien had learned the skills when working for him. She decided to Google it when she had an opportunity.
They finished by working on two different songs she would be able to use for an encore, her choice. By the time they wrapped up she could hardly wait to perform for an audience, she felt so good about what they'd put together. And she knew who was principally responsible.
As everyone was packing up to go, she sought out Lucien. "Thank you, for the ride here and for all of this." She waved a hand toward the band members who were heading toward the door. "I've never had this kind of backing."
"My pleasure," he said. "Your voice deserves this kind of support."
She smiled broadly at that. "Anyway, I'd like to show my appreciation. Maybe you'd let me treat you to a coffee and a bite to eat?"
"I'd like that very much," Lucien began, "but I have a set tonight."
"And I'm working tomorrow night," she said, feeling disappointed. She wanted to know him better.
"How about after tomorrow's show then?" he suggested, looking hopeful.
"That will work for me," she said.
"Then it's a date," he confirmed.
"It is. One more thing - I was wondering if I ought to prepare a set with holiday songs for next week's shows."
"Would you like to?" he asked. "I'm not sure we can get arrangements prepared for the band, but I can accompany you if you want to do it."
"That sounds perfect," she told him. "I'll work on a list of songs for it tonight, and let you know tomorrow. Thank you again, and I'll leave you to get ready for your set. Have a good show."
She wore a big smile as she walked out.