Once she was certain that Lucien was sleeping soundly and as comfortable as he could be under the circumstances, Jean went home to spend some time with Amelia. She knew the little one must be confused about what was happening.
Mattie met her at the door. "How is he?" she asked anxiously.
"He should be fine." Jean explained what the doctor had said. "He's due to be released tomorrow, unless something unexpected pops up. Now, how has Amelia been? She didn't give you too much trouble?"
"No trouble whatsoever, except to poor Scout maybe."
"Such a sweet creature, that Scout," said Jean. "Mattie, thank you so much for everything."
"I'm glad I was here to help, and spending time with that little treasure is never anything but a pleasure. She's down in the music room with Ned, playing the piano."
"I'll send Ned back up, so you two can get on with your day," said Jean.
"Just so you know, I'm free all day, so if you want to go back to visit Lucien later, I'm available to stay with Amelia."
Jean hugged the younger woman. "You're a good friend, Mattie O'Brien. I don't know what Lucien and I would do without you."
"You're very welcome," said Mattie, beaming. "But I do have a bone to pick with you, Mrs. Beazley. Since you and Lucien are getting married, that means I have to find another tenant. I'll never find another one like you. And I never would have found you if not for Lucien."
Jean thought for a minute. "You know, I might know someone who'd be interested, unless you prefer only female tenants."
"Not necessarily. Just someone who's responsible and dependable. Is it anyone I might know?"
"Maybe," said Jean. "I should speak with him first, see if it's doable before I get your hopes up."
"If you can find me another reliable tenant, then it more than cancels out anything I may have done for you," Mattie insisted.
"Well, then, let's hope it works out," said Jean. "Now I'd better go rescue Ned before Amelia starts to get cranky."
She went down the stairs and could hear the two of them from the stairwell.
"That's right, that one," Ned was saying.
A single note sounded five times, very quickly, causing Jean to smile as she walked into the music room. "Lovely," she said.
At once Amelia slid off Ned's lap and hurried over for Jean to pick her up and give her a hug.
"Thank you, Ned," she said, "for keeping her entertained."
"It was my pleasure, Mrs. B," he said in his quiet manner. "I have a niece just about the same age, but she lives in Connecticut so I don't see her very often. Amelia makes me miss her even more."
"Well, then, you should go see her when you can. Family is important."
"Yes, I know," said Ned. He paused to reach into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out Lucien's smashed phone. "I picked this up from the scene. I'm not sure whether it can be repaired, but I didn't think it was a good idea to leave it where the police, or anyone else, could get hold of it."
"That was very wise of you, thank you," said Jean. "I'll see if it's worth repairing. Which reminds me, he has a spare one that I should probably take to him."
"I was going to stop by the hospital on the way to the club. I can take it to him if you want."
"That would be very helpful. I'm sure he'll miss it when he wakes up. I'll just charge it for him and bring it over to you."
"I'll see you later then," said Ned. "Enjoy your time with Amelia."
The little girl insisted on kissing his cheek before he left.
She put Amelia down for her nap, hoping it might be a long one since she hadn't had much sleep the night before. While she was upstairs she pulled out Lucien's spare phone to charge it. Then she called Patrick Tyneman.
"Lucien should be fine, thanks to you and Mattie O'Brien," she told him. "A night in the hospital for observation due to a concussion, and there's some concern about one of his eyes, but it could have been so much worse."
"Thank you for letting me know, Jean. I'll stop by to see him a little later."
"Patrick, while I have you can I ask you something?"
"Lucien told me to give you full access to all his finances. How much do you need?"
Jean was indignant about the implication. "I don't want his money, just some information. I thought the sheriff's deputies were after Lucien because he challenged them on their treatment of Ned Simmons, but Mattie mentioned that the police resent him due to a fund that he established."
"I think it's a fair bit of both," Patrick told her.
"And are there other things he supports that I should know about, that might be reasons for concern down the road?" She knew there wouldn't be anything illegal, but knowing Lucien there might well be causes that were highly controversial.
After a long pause, Patrick said, "I maintain a file of all his political and social endeavors. We go over it twice a year so he can make any changes he might want. Let me clear it with Lucien when I see him, just to be sure, and I'll forward it to you."
"How many entries are in this file?" Jean wondered.
"I believe the current number is two hundred twenty-seven."
The number was staggering to Jean, but not entirely surprising. Over the years she had often thought that if she ever established a successful singing career, one of the best things about having the financial freedom that came with it would be having the means to support the causes she believed in. She looked forward to seeing if any of the ones in Patrick's file were among those.
"Thank you, Patrick, I'd appreciate if you would do that."
"You're welcome. Now, as it turns out, I'm off to a meeting with your son and his partner. They've reached the stage in their business where they need to start planning a marketing campaign. I have very high hopes for this enterprise of theirs."
Jean ended the call with a smile on her face. It seemed her rebellious Jack was finally maturing and settling down. She couldn't be happier about that.
She took advantage of the time Amelia was sleeping to have a leisurely lunch and catch up on her own financial matters. She put the television on to see the news while she dealt with her bills.
As she made one of the remaining payments for the loan on her old clunker of a car, she wondered if it was even worth keeping now. Lucien's two vehicles were much more reliable. He'd commented more than once that he worried about it breaking down late at night in an unsafe area, leaving her stranded. She could certainly afford payments on something newer, safer and more fuel efficient. She decided she would discuss it with him once he was home.
She finished up and was about to turn off the television when the 'Breaking News' banner flashed across the screen and a photo of Lucien's face appeared. Her heart sank as she realized the media had again picked up on the story. She supposed it was inevitable, once the video had been posted on YouTube. Still, she knew that meant reporters were certain to be camping outside soon, looking for a statement. And Lucien wasn't there to handle them with his customary ease.
She was glad she didn't have to leave for work, but she did want to visit the hospital again later. Wondering how long the reporters could possibly stay out there, she decided she would call Lucien for advice when she was sure Ned had given him the phone.
As it turned out, he called her first.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"A bit better, but the headache is still here. Will I see you later? Can you find someone to stay with Amelia?"
"Mattie already offered, but there's another problem."
"What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.
After so many years of struggling on her own with any difficulties that arose, the idea that she now had someone to share them with still made her appreciate him even more than she already did.
"I'm afraid the media has found out about what happened," she told him.
"Are there reporters outside?"
She walked to the side of the house facing the road to look out. Her heart sank at the sight of several news vans and a battery of cameras already set up. "Yes, there's a handful of them, with more arriving.
"I'm so sorry, Jean. You shouldn't have to deal with that."
"You needn't apologize. It's not as though you went looking for a fight. But I could use your advice on how to deal with them."
He thought for a moment. "As I see it, you have a few choices. You can just stay in the house until I get there tomorrow. If they call or come to the door, don't answer."
"Let them make me a prisoner in my own home?" Jean's tone clearly told him what she thought of that option.
"You could ignore them. Act as though they aren't there. Walk or drive right past them if they try to ask questions."
"Won't that come off as rude?" she asked. "I'm not exactly Greta Garbo, and we really don't want the press as our enemies once we launch our act."
"Ah, that brings me to the third choice: talk to them. Jean, if we need to promote our act or any music we might record, you'll have to be able to speak with the press, yourself. Why not begin now?"
In the back of her mind, she knew this would come, but she wasn't sure she was ready for it. Not without Lucien at her side.
He must have recognized her silence as apprehension. "You can do this, I know you can. If you like, you can write down what you want to say and read it as a statement. Then, depending on how that goes, you can decide if you want to take further questions. Think of the reporters as just another audience. You're brilliant at handling an audience."
She thought about what he'd said. In a way, they were like an audience. Granted, they had the power to influence a lot of opinions, but so did any patron of the club, who could tell twenty or more acquaintances how good (or bad) they thought her show was.
"Jean?" Lucien prompted, waiting for her response.
"All right, I think I'll do what you suggested. Prepare a statement to read, then decide if I want to take any questions."
"Bravo," he said. "I know you can do this."
Jean wished she was as certain about it as Lucien was.
She sat down with her ancient laptop and began to write down her thoughts. First she made a list of the points she wanted to cover, then she arranged them in the order she would present them.
She didn't want to read the statement word for word, but she thought she'd better write it out that way first, to provide herself a crutch in case she totally froze. She would put the essential words of each paragraph in boldface type so she could pick them out at a glance as she spoke.
She wondered if she should ask Lucien if there was anything he wanted her to include, but then decided against that. He had put his trust in her to do this by herself, and she wanted to show him that his trust had not been misplaced.
When she was satisfied with what she had, she changed into a form-fitting skirt and a favorite silk blouse that her fiancé had given her, fixed her hair and makeup, then checked that Amelia was still sound asleep. She opened the app that connected to the baby monitor and slipped the phone into her pocket, just in case Amelia woke while she was outside.
Finally, feeling as ready as she could ever hope to be, she opened the front door and walked toward the press gaggle. Immediately they swarmed toward her.
"Good afternoon," she began as the click of camera shutters nearly drowned out her words. She raised her voice. "My name is Jean Beazley. I'm Lucien Blake's fiancée. He asked that I address you on his behalf."
"The singer, Jean Beazley, is that right?" shouted one reporter.
Jean was tempted to ignore him, not wanting to encourage others to yell out while she was trying to speak, but she knew she should have clarified who she was a bit more anyway.
"Yes, I'm the singer who works with Mister Blake. Now, let me tell you what happened this morning. Lucien was on his way to a haircut appointment when his car was pulled over by officers of the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department. I'm sure you've seen the video of what happened when he was stopped.
"What you didn't see, after his phone was smashed to stop the recording, was the two deputies beating him aggressively. Two witnesses, including his attorney, can testify to the physical abuse. They stopped only when they were ordered to by someone at dispatch."
"We saw the video from Mister Simmons, too," one of the reporters told her.
"Did you? I haven't seen it myself," said Jean.
A female reporter told her, "You may want to skip it. Pretty graphic. It's difficult to watch."
"Thank you for telling me," said Jean. "Anyway, Lucien is currently in the hospital, where he'll remain at least overnight."
"Can you tell us anything about his injuries?"
"Well, the most concerning is a concussion. I spoke with him a short time ago. He's awake and alert, but suffering from headaches. He's also awaiting a consultant to see if there's damage to one of his eyes. Other than that, mostly heavy bruising over much of his body."
"Does he plan to take legal action against the county or the Sheriff's Department?"
Jean hesitated, since they hadn't got around to discussing that. "He's still considering his legal options," she responded.
"Do you believe the motive for the beating was retaliation for Lucien stepping in when they were harassing Ned Simmons?"
"I think you should probably ask them why they did it, but I would guess that was a factor, yes," Jean said.
"When's the wedding?" one of them called out.
Jean laughed at that. "I'm afraid we haven't decided yet. We have only been engaged for few days." She heard the faint sound of Amelia beginning to stir over her phone.
"Congratulations," said one reporter, and it was echoed by many of the others.
"Thank you, and now if you'll excuse me. Good day."
She wanted to run back inside and finally exhale, but she forced herself to walk briskly instead. As she closed the door behind her she leaned back against it in relief. That hadn't gone too badly, she decided. Maybe she could handle the press after all.
She went to see to Amelia.