CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Sammy sighed, gloomily watching Shanda Leer flounce across the stage. "This is freakin' horrible."

I picked the cocktail stick from my Martini and sucked one of the olives impaled on it. "I didn't talk you into anything. You wanted to see Justin perform, remember?"

"If I'd have known I had to sit through this crock of shit I wouldn't have bothered."

I smothered a grin. Sammy had been blown away by Justin's CD, as I'd known he would be, and had been champing at the bit to see whether the kid's stage presence lived up to his promise. "If we hadn't arrived early we wouldn't have got a table," I replied soothingly. "Relax, it won't be much longer … there's Saperstein now."

I'd been hoping that he was still in Philadelphia, or at least still laid up, but there he was in all his tacky glory. Sammy craned his head to track the short figure making its way towards the bar: Saperstein was walking slowly and gingerly, I was delighted to see, and even from where we were sitting I could see that his face was drawn in pain. I watched as he ordered a cocktail and then turned to survey the room: it didn't take long for his gaze to fall on us and I saw him frown. "Looks like we've been spotted," I said in an aside, smiling back at Saperstein as though I was pleased to see him. "And here he comes. Just follow my lead."

"Brian," Saperstein greeted as he reached our table, his voice welcoming but his eyes wary. "What are you doing here?"

"Just pleasure, I'm happy to say," I replied calmly, shaking his proffered hand. "Gary, this is a friend of mine … Sammy Lowenbraun."

Saperstein gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. "We've met. How's business, Lowenbraun?"

"Good, good," Sammy said easily. "And you?"

Saperstein's smile didn't travel any further than his mouth. "Look around. You tell me."

"If this is your usual attendance, then I'd say you're doing very well."

"Then you'd be right." His gaze flickered suspiciously from one of us to the other. "Do you mind if I join you?"

I couldn't imagine anything I'd mind more, but I couldn't come up with a plausible excuse to refuse his company so I nodded. "Be my guest, Gary." Saperstein set his cocktail glass - complete with miniature blue umbrella - on the table, pulled out one of the chrome-and-leather chairs and lowered himself carefully, wincing as he did so.

"You okay?" I asked with feigned concern. "You don't look so good." He didn't: his complexion, sallow at the best of times, was pasty and there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Saperstein removed the umbrella from his cocktail and took a swig before answering. "Just a stomach bug. It's nothing," he said dismissively.

"You want to be careful with that," Sammy told him seriously. "You look like you should be in bed."

"This place doesn't run itself," Saperstein replied brusquely. "These people would spend all day fucking around if I wasn't here to kick their asses into shape." He scowled over at the bartender as though the man were personally responsible for the staff's shortcomings.

"Don't you have a manager to take care of all the whip-cracking for you?" Sammy asked, surprised.

Saperstein shook his head. "The Starlight is my baby. I take care of everything … I wouldn't trust my business to some other fucker."

"Very commendable," I said dryly. "When it comes down to it, you're the only one you can trust."

He gave me a long, considering look. "You're fucking right there, Brian."

He was suspicious of me, no doubt about it. I remembered uneasily the bruises I'd left on Justin after the last time I'd fucked him, although the lad was quite inventive enough to have come up with an excuse for their presence if the Sap had noticed them. More likely Saperstein was simply mistrustful of Sammy being my guest and of my motives for bringing him to the Starlight, a surmise which seemed correct when he asked altogether too casually, "So how do you two know each other?"

"Sammy's supplied some acts for Vanguard," I replied. "He's never seen Sirius perform, so I thought I'd give him a treat."

"Huh." Saperstein's dark gaze moved to my companion. "Well, don't get any ideas, Lowenbraun. We're not looking for an agent."

Sammy held his hands up placatingly. "Fine by me," he smiled. "I'm not looking to sign you."

Saperstein studied his face for a moment and then some of the tension seemed to ease. "Sorry, I guess I'm a little jumpy," he apologised, running his hand through his stringy hair. "It's this bug, you know? I haven't been getting much sleep." He fished a pill bottle out of his pants pocket, flipped the cap and shook a couple of white oval tablets into his palm. Sammy raised his eyebrows at me as the Sap popped them into his mouth and washed them down with the rest of his cocktail before signalling one of the waitresses over. "Bring me another," he ordered shortly, "and whatever these guys are drinking … Martinis, is it? Yeah, two of those."

Shanda was winding up for her big finale: we watched in silence as she belted out Diamonds Are Forever, applauded politely, and waited as Sirius' little backing band took their places. To my surprise there was no sign of Ethan. "Hey," I asked Saperstein, "what happened to the kid with the violin?"

"Some bust-up between him and Sirius," Saperstein replied off-handedly. "We've had to juggle the material a little, but he's no great loss. He was always watching Sirius like some fucking little puppy with its tongue hanging out, and I guess Sirius finally got sick of it." Of course he couldn't have failed to notice Ethan's little crush, and I was sure he was more than happy to have gotten the violinist out of the way.

Shit, shit. I'd assumed Ethan was still watching Justin's back for me and it came as a nasty shock to realise he wasn't. I guessed that the little princess had taken Ethan's betrayal of confidence even harder than I'd thought, and this was the result of his subsequent hissy-fit. I felt a stab of guilt at my own part in the kid's expulsion from the band, but mostly I was pissed that Ethan hadn't felt the need to keep me up to speed with the situation. I vowed to track him down the first chance I had and find out what the fuck had happened.

My musings were cut short by the lights dimming down, preparatory for Sirius' entrance. I kept my eyes on Sammy's face so that I could judge his initial reaction to the lad's appearance, and judging from the way his eyes widened before narrowing to dark points of concentration he was as impressed as I had been. He followed Sirius' progress through the room with professional interest, raising his eyebrows and nodding to himself with approval at Justin's handling of his signature opening song. My own appraisal was more personal: my gaze flitted from Justin's face to his body, checking for any sign of injury or discomfort in his movements, but to my huge relief he appeared as graceful and self-contained as always and I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Now that I'd satisfied myself that the Sap hadn't inflicted any physical chastisement since his return I could relax and simply bask in the sight and sound of Justin's performance. As The Crying Game ended I caught Sammy's eye, and I didn't need his smile and wink to tell me that the lad was living up to all of his expectations.

The pianist took up the intro to the next song, which I recognised as Send In The Clowns. I'd always enjoyed Sondheim's music and I'd never heard Justin perform that piece, so I listened with interest as he sang the opening lines.

Isn't it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the clowns.

Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can't move.
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.

His gaze swept over the audience, and if his eyes widened a little at the sight of me sitting at the same table as his manager he was too professional to let his surprise mar his performance and continued flawlessly into the middle-eight:

Just when I'd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.

Don't you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don't bother, they're here.

Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Well, maybe next year.

Sammy's applause for the lovely, lyrical song was as generous as the rest of the audience. "He's great!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, turning to Saperstein. "He has an incredible delivery for someone his age. I can see why he pulls in the crowds."

Saperstein looked torn between lapping up the praise for his star and resenting the man who was voicing it. "He's still got a lot to learn," he replied grudgingly. "He thinks he fucking knows it all."

Sammy shrugged. "He's young, what do you expect? Does he write his own stuff?"

Saperstein's eyes slid away towards the slight figure on the stage. "He used to."

Sammy was studying him closely. "Why did he stop? Wasn't he any good?"

"He thought he was. It took me a while to make him realise the crap he called songs were just that … a pile of crap."

"Ah." I watched Sammy admiringly as he appeared to accept Saperstein's judgement. "Well, lots of great singers couldn't write," he went on consolingly. "Elvis, Sinatra, Streisand … it never did them any harm. I could put you in touch with a couple of people who could write some original material for him, if you like."

Saperstein turned to face him and I noticed uneasily that his pupils were a little dilated. "Why the fuck would I want that?"

Sammy shrugged. "Well, surely you don't want him just singing covers, no matter how good they are. Not if you want him taken seriously."

"I don't need your advice about what I want, or what Sirius wants either," Saperstein growled. "I'm his fucking manager, Lowenbraun, not you." He tossed back the rest of his cocktail and signalled for another.

Sammy shot me a look that spoke volumes and subsided, shaking his head despairingly.

Justin was beginning his next number, another I hadn't heard him sing before, and I smiled at the old Everley Brothers classic.

Love hurts, love scars,
Love wounds and mars
Any heart not tough
Nor strong enough
To take a lot of pain,
Take a lot of pain,
Love is like a cloud,
Holds a lot of pain
Love hurts,
Love hurts.

I'm young I know,
But even so
I know a thing or two
I learned from you.
I really learned a lot,
Really learned a lot,
Love is like a stove
Burns you when it's hot.
Love hurts,
Love hurts.

Whether deliberately or not his eyes met mine, and I felt my chest tighten as I realised he was singing the words directly to me. It was only the briefest of glances, but it was all it took to draw a sharp intake of breath from Saperstein, and I felt rather than saw his head swivel in my direction. I resisted the urge to compromise myself further by looking guiltily back.

Some folk rave of happiness, blissfulness, togetherness,
Some folks fool themselves I guess,
But they're not fooling me.
I know it isn't true,
Know it isn't true,
Love is just a lie
Made to make you blue.
Love hurts,
Love hurts.

I couldn't join in the applause: the raw emotion in his voice went through me like a knife and I bowed my head, sick at heart to know that this time the sorrow and bitterness was aimed at me. When I looked back up I met Saperstein's blazing eyes, his face hard and hating: I knew that Justin and I were blown wide open and cursed myself for being stupid enough not to have foreseen that this could happen. But before either of us could say a word there was a hubbub of raised voices from the behind us and a dark figure darted past, heading towards the stage and pursued by a couple of security guards. It only took one glance to recognise Ethan.

"What the fuck?" Saperstein snapped, rising to his feet, his face alarmed now as well as furious. "Stop him!"

I sent my chair flying as I went in pursuit, but Ethan had already reached the stage and was tugging at Justin's sleeve, talking urgently, while the band and the audience gaped at the interruption. The two security guards belatedly grabbed the violinist and tried to wrestle him away but Justin, his face white and shocked, intervened. I heard him saying something about 'sister' and 'hospital', and then I was beside him, looking down into his scared blue eyes.

"Br-Brian," he stammered, "Molly's been rushed into hospital. My mom needs me."

"She called me because she didn't know how else to reach him," Ethan panted, his dark hair dishevelled. He struggled out of the grip of the burly guy holding his arm and glared at Saperstein, who had arrived at Justin's side. "These assholes wouldn't let me in, even though I told them it was an emergency!"

Saperstein's expression was wild. "You can't walk out in the middle of a performance," he protested angrily. "That's not the way it works."

"Watch me!" Justin yelled. "You think I'm going to stand here singing while my sister might be dying? Fuck you, Gary!"

Saperstein tried to grab his arm but I interposed myself between them. "I'll take you to the hospital," I told Justin. "Right now."

The pure relief and gratitude in his face were all the thanks I needed.

"You're not going anywhere with him," Saperstein snarled, and his security thugs took a step closer. "One of the guys can take you."

I leaned down so that I could speak into his ear. "He's coming with me," I said softly. "And if you want to make something of it, you'll need those 'guys' of yours to stop me … do you really want a full-scale fight in your precious club, Gary? Because I guarantee that's what you'll get."

His head whipped round to stare at me, and he must have realised I wasn't joking. His mud-coloured eyes had a touch of fear in them now, as well as fury.

"I'll call you as soon as I know what's going on," Justin said softly, laying his hand on Saperstein's arm and breaking the glare-of-death between us. "And I'll come back, Gary. I give you my word."

Saperstein stared at him, his chest heaving with passion. "You'd better," he replied at length.

TBC