Sorry this took me a bit...I'm trying to crank out some updates this week. :-)
Chapter 3
Thirteen months.
No whisper of his name. No return engagement. No contact. Nothing.
He ceased to exist in Maggie's life, and she felt successfully indifferent about it. He was a mistake. It was all a mistake.
I don't need him. He doesn't matter. I do not care.
Still, there were those that didn't want to let her forget.
Knowing something of hers and Tommy's history, Holly leaned over one late December afternoon while they were preparing for the dinner rush, and stated, "He's in town, you know. For good, this time."
Maggie turned slowly and raised an eyebrow.
Smirking, Holly said, "Tommy. He's left the group. Word is he's been 'persuaded' to make his home here."
Maggie shook her head, "You spend too much time reading those gossip rags."
"It's not gossip if it's true," Holly tossed out.
"Even if that's true, what is that supposed to mean to me?" Maggie asked flatly.
Holly shrugged, "I don't know. Just thought you might have yourself a permanent money-making opportunity, if you know what I mean."
Maggie looked into Holly's eyes, and she knew the little blonde was hoping there was more to it. Holly wanted a story. She was perceptive and nosy, a bad combination, but she had a tendency to get things right. If she could translate that into something other than spreading gossip, it might be a useful trait.
Tossing her hair, Maggie said, "I've got plenty of other opportunities."
And she walked away, leaving Holly to wonder.
Not even a week later, however, Holly's gossip proved to be annoyingly accurate.
Word spread through the casino that Tommy's group had bought him out, or he had walked away. It didn't seem to matter what exactly had transpired. The fact that one of hottest groups of the decade seemed to be breaking up was the real story. Now, Tommy was apparently working his way through the clubs and casinos, looking for work as a single act. Even Maggie knew most of the star power from his group had come from Frankie, and that the writing talent lay with Bob. Tommy wasn't much more on his own than an average lounge singer. Still, he attracted a certain crowd just for the novelty of who he was.
So she wasn't surprised when, that Tuesday night, the house band called Tommy up on stage after they'd played a set or two. The crowd was light, and it had been an easy night so far. In fact, Maggie had been hoping to get a number or two in later on if the atmosphere allowed. Now, as was his way, Tommy was taking from her.
I don't need him. He doesn't matter. I do not care.
She repeated it again, reminding herself.
Maggie focused on the tables, on the customers, as he began to sing. He did a couple of early hits from his repertoire, before Frankie had taken the lead, and Maggie had to admit that he had a good voice. It was a strong, clear baritone that had a certain richness that was compelling. He wasn't a four-octave tenor, like Frankie, but he was good. She would give him that much. He was good at his craft.
When he started the third number, however, something in the song choice made Maggie stop. She set her tray of empty glasses on the bar and turned toward the stage for the first time. She rolled the lyrics over in her mind, watching him.
Every day as I grow older
The nights are getting colder
Some day the sun will shine on me
Money, I don't have any
I'm down to my last penny
But, darling, don't cry over me…
It was the group's song, she knew. Tommy didn't write music. The world knew that. It was a pop song, meant to sound catchy and attract young girls. Still, the band had slowed the tempo some, and the words sounded more haunted in Tommy's deeper range.
Maggie wasn't sure how long she'd been staring, but it was just long enough. He finally met her eyes from the stage and held her gaze. He kept singing, kept performing, but suddenly she knew he was singing to her. Disgusted, Maggie turned on her heel and left the room.
The following Sunday evening was no different. The crowd was a little thicker, as some had heard that a former member of the Four Seasons would be doing a solo set, but it was still a relaxed evening. Tommy took the stage after the dinner hour and did a few covers of some well-known ballads. Then, in what seemed to be a gesture to please the fans, he did his rendition of another Four Seasons hit. And just like the time before, as soon as Maggie met his eyes, he refused to look away.
I used to love to make you cry
It made me feel like a man inside
But if I'd been a man in reality
You'd still be here, babe, lovin' me
It was as song everyone knew well. It was played across the airwaves on stations all over the country. It was rather upbeat, and most listeners probably never paid much attention to the specifics of the words. But Maggie did.
Now the nights are long and lonely
And I'm not too strong babe, I just miss you so
And you're too proud, won't give in
But when I think about all I could win
I've been working my way back to you babe…
Maggie gave him a long, hard look, and then went back to work. Just as she turned around to get a clean cloth, she ran straight into Holly.
Holly, who had been standing behind her the whole time, stated, "I think he's singing to you, Mag."
"No," Maggie stated defiantly, "he is not."
With that, she went back to work.
This went on for about three weeks, much to Maggie's dismay. She had no idea what kind of game he was playing, but Tommy was playing with her. She thought maybe he'd lost some of his appeal with the women, having been somewhat disenfranchised. She wondered if perhaps he thought he could get things back the way they were, to having her at his whim, no strings attached. She wondered how desperate he must be, to think she would be interested. There was no amount of money that would make her give in to him this time, though. His success or failure was not her problem.
On the next Thursday night, just after the Christmas holidays, Maggie had arranged to take the night off. She had worked a slow day shift filled with senior citizens who were kind of enough, but generally tipped poorly. She was tired, and was looking forward to a long bath and freshly washed hair. As she expected, Tommy was back for the dinner crowd, making her even gladder to have chosen this night to be off.
Maggie had shed her apron, retrieved her bag from the dressing room, and was on her way out the door when she realized she'd left her tips in her apron. Cursing herself for being so careless, she made her way back through the theater to the waitress station between the theater and the casino floor. She was pocketing her money, relieved, when she realized a few of the other girls were staring at her.
Looking Maria in the eye, she asked, "What?"
Of course, Holly spoke up instead, "We're just wondering what song he's going to sing for you tonight."
Maggie's expression darkened and she spat, "They all sing love songs, Holly. Everyone. All the time. It has nothing to do with me. Maybe he's singing to Maria."
"I wish he was still singing to me," Maria chuckled, and her implication was not lost on the others.
Maggie gave her a withering look.
When Tommy started to sing, Holly, Maria and Barbara paused for a moment, standing just in front of the bar in full view of the stage. Maggie started to go, but a sort of sick curiosity stopped her. Against her better judgement, she stepped up next to her coworkers. She offset herself by a few feet, not exactly sure what she was hoping to accomplish, but feeling she needed an answer to a question she was refusing to ask.
Tommy's first song that night was not an original to him or his former group. He was covering a Temptations hit called Earth Angel, and Maggie had to admit that it suited his voice wonderfully. It was just in his range, and he sounded like a lead, for a moment. Maggie listened, and watched him scan the crowd. And inevitably, his eyes found her. He picked her out of the line of attractive waitresses and held her gaze, singing:
Oh earth, earth angel, earth angel
Please be mine
My darling dear, love you all the time
I'm just a fool, fool, a fool in love with you
After a few stanzas, she heard the other girls giggling. She knew what they were saying, and Maggie was suddenly, violently angry. Hitching her bag up on her shoulder, she started out of the theater again. She wanted to be far away, to be enjoying her bath and not having her feelings toyed with in front of her colleagues.
He has no right to manipulate you. He's selfish and obnoxious and just trying to get attention. Let someone else give it to him.
Maggie fumed all the way to the front door and then stopped. Suddenly and somewhat unexpectedly, she had a revelation. She could run, but Tommy probably just enjoyed the chase. The cat-and-mouse nature of this game probably gave him a cheap thrill, and she did not want to continue to be the mouse. She wanted him to very clearly understand where she stood, and an idea formed.
Turning slowly around, Maggie made her way to the theater. Setting her bag down behind the counter, she weaved her way through the tables to the stage. Tommy was just finishing his number, and he couldn't help but see her as she motioned toward the keyboardist. Manny was also in charge of the house band, and he knew what she wanted. Maggie wanted to sing.
When Tommy's number was over, the crowd applauded and Manny stepped away from the keyboard for a moment. Taking the microphone, he stated, "And now, let's break things up a little with something from one of our own…Maggie DeGrasso."
Maggie smiled a sultry smile and took just a moment to whisper to Manny what she wanted to sing. He gave her a look of surprise, but then nodded his consent. Taking the microphone, Maggie watched Tommy out of the corner of her eye. He took seat in the front row of tables and studied his hands, as though he sensed something important was coming. Watching him, Maggie suddenly felt a rush of power. The tables were so wonderfully turned and it was her chance to hurt him, or at least wound his pride. She was entirely convinced that Tommy DeVito was calloused beyond the point of any real hurt. Still, she could slam the door in his face, metaphorically at least.
As the band began to play, Maggie gave her best, most seductive pout. Then, she sang.
I cried for you
Now cry for me
No, no, I don't love you anymore
Cry for me
Maggie was wholly proud of her song choice. She knew a lot of the Season's hits, and she found a very dark thrill in chastising Tommy with one of his own songs. So she continued.
Well, you had your fun
With someone knew
Now you want me to take you back
We're all through
Cuz now I'm leaving
No, no make believin'
You made a fool of me
So now I'm leaving you
Maggie could still see Tommy to her right. She wouldn't look right at him, but she could see his reaction. He kept his head down, still studying his hands. Finally, he looked up and met her eyes. Raising her chin confidently, Maggie held his gaze and sang:
Well you,
Knew it from the start
Someday you'd break my heart
Now we're all through
So cry
Cry for me
Just the way I cried for you
Just the way I cried for you
So go on and cry, cry for me
When Maggie finished, the crowd gave her a very satisfying applause. Manny winked at her, and she took a moment to kiss him on the cheek before leaving the stage. Then, she intentionally exited stage right. Crossing directly in front of Tommy's table, she breezed by him without so much as a glance.
Continuing back through the theater, Maggie wound her way through the tables, accepting the occasional compliment. Back at the counter, she retrieved her bag and started to leave once again. As she walked away, Holly stopped her.
With a glisten in her eyes, Holly stated, "That was harsh."
Maggie shrugged, "I made my point. I'm not playing games. Now, I have to go home and wash my hair."
Leaving Holly to wonder and, most certainly, to gossip, Maggie breezed from the theater feeling quite satisfied.
Word of what Maggie had done eventually found its way back to Rosalie. The next afternoon, at the start of Maggie's shift, Rosalie met her in the still-dark theater. Cocking her head and studying Maggie, she said, "So, you made your point last night?"
Maggie sighed, "Rosalie, I hope so. And I would very much like to let it go and move on."
Rosalie became more serious, "All right. I just wanted to make sure you did it for you, and not for him. You don't owe him a performance, or anything. Don't play the game."
Maggie smiled a little, "I'm not. That was me turning over my hand, winning, and walking away."
Rosalie chuckled.
"Also," Maggie added, "I'm not working the theater floor if he's here. I'll take the casino."
Rosalie, who understood, did not argue.
And Maggie was true to her word. For the next two weeks, she promptly left the room if Tommy showed up to sing. She tended to the casino patrons, enjoying their banter and the generous tips. She felt more at ease than she had since Christmas, and Maggie was proud of herself.
Then, one Monday in early January, it snowed. The white powder barely accumulated on the warm ground, but it was captivating nonetheless. It was such an extremely rare occurrence that the hotel patrons were too fascinated by the white dusting outside to spend their time indoors. Therefore, the casino was quiet and very few people made their way into the theater that night. The band decided the wrap up early after playing several slow, easy sets. Maggie helped clean up the barely-used tables and then went to look for tips in the casino. Rosalie, however, seeing the abundance of help and the lack of customers, told her to go home.
"You've worked hard this week. I can use this night to train a couple of the new girls. Get some rest," Rosalie ordered lightly.
Maggie gave her an appreciative smile and didn't argue. She made her way through the back hallways to get her bags from where she kept them in the dressing room. Then, to keep from going back out the dark rear exit of the theater, she wound back through the hallways to the stage. As she got closer, she remembered that the house would be dark and started to reconsider her route. She didn't relish the idea of stumbling over tables and chairs in the dark. As she got closer to the stage, however, she saw a faint beam of light.
The ghostlight, she thought to herself.
It was an old theater tradition, to keep one light burning to ward off ghosts. As she crossed between the heavy curtains at the side of the stage, Maggie also realized she was not alone. In the dim light, she could make out a figure sitting on the piano bench. It took her a moment to realize it was him.
Tommy was bent over his guitar, with his back to her. His hair was a little more disheveled than usual, and he had stripped down to just a sleeveless white t-shirt, his well-pressed pants, and shiny shoes. He looked half wealthy traveler, half disheveled vagabond. There was an untouched cigar smoldering in an ashtray on the piano, and an equally untouched drink making rings on the shiny surface. Maggie told herself to go, wanting to turn around quietly before he heard her, but his voice stopped her.
Tommy was strumming the guitar and singing softly to himself. Without the help of a band, he sounded hollow and lonely. Maggie listened in spite of herself as he sang what was usually a pop song in a slow, lilting tempo.
I need you to understand
That I tried so hard to be a man
The kind of man you'd want in the end
Only then can I begin to live again
Maggie gripped her bag tight, finding herself falling back on the words she hadn't needed in some time:
I don't need him. He doesn't matter. I do not care.
Lost in himself, Tommy kept on:
An empty shell, of used to be
Shadow of my life is hangin' over me
Broken man, that I don't know
Don't even stand a devil's chance to win my soul
Maggie felt something hitch within her then. She tried to walk away, but very slowly found herself moving towards him. There was something in that last stanza that was so hopeless, it hurt.
Tommy didn't hear her, as he kept wordlessly strumming the guitar.
Maggie kept walking until she was close enough to touch him.
The moment felt frozen, as though they were suspended in glass. The air was heavy and thick with so many things, and part of Maggie wanted to run before he could realize she'd seen him. She was too close, though. She couldn't turn away without him hearing her now.
Maggie drew close enough that she could smell him. His scent was the same, a mix of wildness and polished class. She could smell the cigar smoke and the liquor. She could see the strength in his broad shoulders and well-shaped arms. She studied his dark hair, how it curled a little just at his neck. She noted how his skin was weathered and slightly bronzed, like a true Italian. On his right shoulder was a tattoo Maggie had never paid much attention to before. He was a man in every way. He was rugged and strong and uncivilized. He was silk ties, crisp shirts, and easy swagger. He was distant, detached, and selfish. He was larger than life, and he was human. And he was a musician, using his guitar to say things Maggie realized he couldn't voice.
Just then, Tommy stopped playing for a moment. Pulling out a handkerchief, he rubbed his eyes, and then his face. To anyone else, it would have appeared that he was just wiping away the sweat from performance. But there were no bright lights to make that necessary here. Rocked to her core, Maggie realized what he was doing. He was crying. Too proud to let the tears really fall, he was crying in his own way. Just as she'd demanded in her song, he was crying for her.
Before she completely registered what she was doing, she reached out and placed one hand on his bare arm. Warmth flooded her hand, and Maggie was shocked at the strength of her reaction. Both her heart and mind were in utter turmoil, and she was afraid to move. Tommy stopped strumming the guitar. After a long moment, he turned his head just enough to meet her eyes.
Damn those eyes.
Maggie felt all of her anger and resolve crumbling. She held his gaze for a long time, with no idea what to say. Eventually, Tommy tore his eyes away from her and slowly went back to strumming the guitar. Maggie stood there, listening, captivated, and then slowly found herself sitting down next to him. She wound her arm around his waist and just listened for a few minutes as Tommy expertly fingered the guitar. He was good. He was damn good. This was his talent, yet it was usually lost in the blend of his fantastically talented group.
After another minute or two, Maggie reached over and pulled the guitar from his hands. She stood and laid it on top of the piano, and he looked up at her. Then, moving on carnal instinct alone, she straddled his lap. When he met her eyes again, she kissed him. And for a moment, there was nothing else.
His arms held her, surrounding her in strength and warmth. His body was warm and her fingers found his hair. His lips were hungry and skilled. Maggie felt herself losing control and, suddenly, an ice-cold shot of reality streaked through her. She pulled back, angry with herself. Jumping backwards to her feet, she saw the confusion in his eyes. Maggie simply shook her head.
Then, afraid of what she might do or say, and feeling herself start to panic, she turned and ran.