Part 1.2 – Too Jazzy
The apartment had a relaxed, secure atmosphere, lit only by candles and the glowing flames emanating from the fireplace. The mantle clock read seven-thirty and already Della was asleep. She had picked at her dinner fitfully and not finished one small glass of wine so Perry had banished her to the couch while he cleaned he kitchen. When he joined her in the living room, she was fighting sleep, curled beneath the beige throw her aunt had knitted for her.
Perry looked down at the beautiful woman's head of tumbled chestnut curls pillowed in his lap and with one hand began to very lightly stroke those curls, caressing her face. His other hand held hers, small and lovely, strong and capable. Hands that could type with blinding speed, take endless dictation, and effortlessly perform a million other tasks with astounding efficiency. Hands that also touched him with feather-like tenderness and miraculous love that humbled him and confirmed her love for him. With a soft smile and an even softer look in his eyes he watched her sleep, thinking about how much he loved her and how she completed his life.
Every time he looked at her it was like seeing her for the first time. Her animated face, the expressive eyes, forever changing, but remaining the same, grew lovelier with each passing day. Every morning he was struck that his memory of her wasn't quite right. He felt emotions well up, threatening to burst forth like an open dam as she shifted in her sleep and a tiny smile traveled across her lips His purpose in life was to protect her, to nurture her and spoil her, to give her everything she needed. No, that wasn't quite right. He was meant to love her first, then all those other things…and more.
Mere minutes after meeting her, he had known he would never be the same, and when he thought her lost to him was beside himself with regret. Then the phenomenal stroke of fate that brought them together again had righted his world and as their relationship grew and intensified and finally come to fruition, Perry gave something to Della he had never given to any other woman. He gave himself.
Perry closed his eyes momentarily and thought about the day he had met this extraordinary woman, the day he suspected he had fallen in love with her, the day he realized what he had in his life wasn't what he wanted. She had turned his perspective upside down that very first meeting; her eyes, her smile, that throaty laugh, haunted him whether awake or asleep. But he had no idea who it was that haunted him so relentlessly, who he thought of so longingly.
He didn't notice there was someone else on the terrace until it was too late to back out and excuse himself, and instead squinted into the darkness at the shadowy figure leaning over the railing. A woman with short dark hair.
"It's all right," came her voice, smooth and low. "I'm harmless."
"I didn't know anyone was out here." He chuckled. "You may be harmless, but what if I'm not?"
She took a few steps toward him, emerging from the shadows into the dim yellow light thrown by a single bulb hanging above the back door of the club. Her attractive voice did nothing to prepare him for the woman herself. A bit tall, slender but womanly, with wide sparkling eyes beneath perfectly arched brows and a smile that grabbed him by his heart. He sucked in his breath involuntarily, his lungs nearly paralyzed. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and it wasn't poor lighting or a large quantity of alcohol that presented her as such. His heart fluttered and his stomach tightened as she took two more steps toward him.
She held a cigarette up, wedged between slender fingers with short but perfectly manicured nails painted a soft coral. "Would you happen to have a light? I was so anxious to get out of there I forgot matches."
He reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter and hoped his hand wasn't shaking as he flicked the lighter to life. She leaned toward him to touch the cigarette to the flame, and he was enveloped by her light and slightly spicy perfume. The fluttering in his chest increased tenfold.
She stepped back and exhaled gratefully while he lit his cigarette and snapped the cover back on the lighter. "Why were you so anxious to get out of there?" He thought his voice sounded normal, hoped it held none of the flutter resident in his chest.
She leaned her hip against the railing and held the cigarette aloft, smoke from the tip curling around her head as she regarded him with a bit of amusement. "For the same reason you are most likely out here. I generally like jazz, but that stuff they're playing in there is just… too jazzy."
He grinned broadly. "That describes it perfectly. Music shouldn't hurt your ears."
She laughed, low and heartily. "Exactly! Only it was so bad my teeth began to hurt as well. I don't think any of the musicians were playing in the same key, let alone the same song."
He grinned at her. "They call it 'free form' jazz, which relies on improvisation and deconstruction of established musical patterns that some musicians regard as restrictive. Free form is a way to tap into their inner creativity."
She grimaced. "Well, it taps directly into my inner annoyance. What happened to good old big band?"
"Oh come now, you're much too young to bemoan the demise of big band."
"Good music is good music no matter the era. 'Moonlight Serenade' never made anyone's teeth hurt." She inhaled daintily on her cigarette. "And your flattery did not go unnoticed."
He laughed again. What a delightful girl. "That happens to be one of my favorite songs."
She lifted her wide eyes to him. In the dim light he couldn't tell their color, but knew they were dark. Green, maybe? "It happens to be my number one favorite song. You seem knowledgeable about music. Are you a musician?"
"No, my profession is much less revered than musician. I'm an attorney."
"Then how do you know so much about jazz, if I may be so inquisitive?"
He suddenly became uncomfortable, not wanting to answer how he knew about free form jazz, not wanting her to know about Laura and her musical tastes, and especially not about his relationship with Laura. "A…friend…is a fan."
She nodded her head of dark curls. "The woman with the platinum mink stole and pixie haircut."
He frowned with consternation. She had obviously noticed him in the club, and knew who he was with. Had she seen Laura kiss him as they were seating themselves, how she had clung to him with a proprietary smugness, how she had turned stiff and stony when he'd excused himself to come out here? No, she wouldn't have seen that because she was already out here on the terrace.
"That's right."
She inhaled one more time on the cigarette and stubbed it out on the metal railing of the terrace. Then she did something that surprised him. She drew back her hand and threw the butt as far as she could, her movements sure and athletic. "Did it land across the street?"
He peered into the darkness with admiration. "I would say with that wind-up and delivery it landed outside the city limits."
She treated him to that heart-tugging smile. "I had brothers," she said by way of beginning an explanation. "When we were teenagers we used to have contests to see who could toss their cigarettes the furthest. The trick is to get as little arc as possible in the toss."
He stubbed out his cigarette and repeated her motions, and his toss had only a bit of an arc to it. She applauded. "I think you tossed it much further than I did," he observed with a congratulatory tone.
"You are very gallant in defeat."
"Tell me, do you skip stones?"
She laughed. "As a matter of fact, we lived on a small lake, a pond really, so I'm an expert stone skipper. How about you?"
"Champion of the world," he declared.
"Too bad there isn't a lake around here so we could prove or disprove that very bold contention."
"All I would need is a large mud puddle," he told her with lofty confidence.
She laughed again. "I don't think we'll find one of those either. It will forever remain a mystery whether or not you tell the truth."
He reached into his breast pocket and removed the cigarette pack, offering it to her. She shook her head. He lit a second cigarette and leaned his elbows on the railing. She adopted the same stance and they remained silent for several comfortable minutes staring across the street at a vacant lot between two old Spanish style buildings.
Their somewhat inane but enjoyable conversation, combined with her low, soothing voice had calmed the fluttering of his heart and loosened the tightness in his stomach. He had been immediately and strongly drawn to this woman as he'd never been drawn before. He stole several sidelong glances at her perfect profile and actually blushed in embarrassment when she turned suddenly and caught one of those glances. Her eyes danced and he could see her struggling not to laugh. He decided to be honest with her.
"Please don't take this in any other way than it's intended, but I think you are quite beautiful."
She turned to face him and raised one eyebrow. He had never seen anyone do that before. His enchantment was complete. "How was it intended?"
He wanted to touch her, to simply take her hand and assure her he wasn't a common masher, but feared that if he took her hand, he would not be able to keep himself from pulling her close, and then he really would be just a common masher. "In the most respectful and sincere manner possible."
She turned away from him, put her hands on the metal railing and leaned back, elbows locked. She tossed her head of curls in the warm evening air, releasing that intoxicating perfume to titillate his sense of smell. "Even though you may or may not be an inveterate liar, I shall accept it in the manner in which you claim it was intended because despite your occupation, you look honest enough."
He threw back his head and laughed. "I don't think I've ever received such a backhanded thank you before, if that's what that actually was."
"A girl can't be too careful these days accepting compliments," she told him with eyes a-sparkle. "Especially if she wants to be recognized for her skills and accomplishments and not just for her looks."
"I have the distinct impression your skills and accomplishments are on a par with your looks." He could listen to her talk forever, could parry and spar with her quick wit endlessly, could look at her until there were no more tomorrows.
"You are in a welcome minority," she said very quietly, then jerked her head around to face him. "I'm sorry. I've been out here much too long and I should really get back to my…friend."
He nodded. "As should I. It has been a pleasure sharing the terrace with a fellow free form skeptic."
She dazzled him with one more smile. "I've graduated from skepticism to outright dislike. My…friend… will pay for this dearly."
"As will mine," he promised, making a pact of revenge with her.
She thrust out her hand. "Good luck surviving the rest of the show. I've heard rumors that the last song is twenty-five minutes long."
He tentatively took her hand, her small, warm, soft hand. "There must be an intermission coming up in the performance. Maybe I'll see you out here again?"
She snickered. "Don't tempt me. I'm afraid I'll have to remain seated for the rest of the set. This is my second trip out here." She bobbed her head in good-bye and moved gracefully on narrow high heels to the door of the club. She paused with her hand on the metal handle. "Good night." She pushed down on the handle and pulled the door open.
"Good night."
He watched her disappear into the smoky club and felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. After counting to ten, he re-entered the building and made his way to the table where he had left Laura, his eyes shifting furtively around the half-lit room for his recently departed terrace companion, finally spotting her and a handsome blonde man at a table pushed up against the back wall. She lifted her cocktail glass in a silent toast, raised her eyebrows and crossed her eyes. He couldn't stifle his laugh and Laura looked up at him, quizzically perturbed. He wouldn't hear the end of this transgression from her, but it had been worth it for the few moments of utter pleasure talking with the beautiful woman who didn't look at him like he was from another planet because the music was too jazzy. He settled himself in the uncomfortable wooden chair and winced at the ear-splitting screech of a note the trumpet player achieved. Laura looked at him with a combination of disgust and relief, leaning toward him in a silent command. He dutifully kissed her, too quickly for her, but not quickly enough for him.
His eyes wandered to the back of the club several times during the remainder of the performance set, whenever the improvisation became just too much for him to bear and he felt compelled to share his thoughts with a kindred spirit. She would raise those perfect eyebrows or waggle her fingers in agreement. He tried not to notice that the handsome blonde man usually had his arm draped around her shoulders or his face nuzzled against her neck because it strangely bothered him.
A song had gone on for what seemed like forever without a discernible break, so he figured it must be the final piece she had mentioned, and he chanced another look toward the back of the room.
The table was empty. She was gone. The torturous song, and he used that word loosely to describe what he was hearing, went on interminably with no one to share his discomfort with.
He'd taken Laura home and begged off spending the night with excuses about a headache and an early meeting with a new ADA to plead an assault case. She had been angry and suspicious of his faltering excuses, slamming the door in his face after telling him not to bother calling her until he could be more attentive to her needs.
Driving home he'd thought of nothing but the woman on the terrace, kicking himself that he hadn't gotten her name or given her his card. He would likely never see her again and it made him monumentally sad. And although he knew it was useless, he began looking for her everywhere, even suggesting to Laura that they go back to the jazz club several times, his obsession with the woman usurping sensibility until he realized it was bordering on unhealthy. There was Laura to consider; their bruised relationship, shared history and tattered affection deserved his attention. So he had put the woman with the sparkling eyes out of his mind and concentrated on Laura for almost a year – at which time she announced her intention to move to Denver and his secretary announced she was getting married.
Perry gazed down at Della flushed in deep sleep, her chest rising and falling in a comfortingly familiar rhythm. His love for her was so deep, so encompassing, that sometimes the mere thought of her would paralyze his lungs the exact same way as the first time he'd laid eyes on her under that dirty, dim bulb on the terrace of that dingy jazz club. He sometimes felt actual pain when thinking about Della, but it was the most excruciatingly wonderful pain he'd ever experienced, so he thought about her almost constantly.
Della shivered and he tucked the soft beige throw around her more snugly. He hoped she wasn't having a bad dream. Sometimes her dreams made her shiver or cry out and no matter how lovingly he held her and soothed her, she couldn't tell him what exactly the dreams were about. He sensed she remembered, that the dreams had a recurring theme, but she stubbornly refused to admit it. She shivered again, a bit more violently, and her eyes flew open.
"Well, hi there sleepy girl," he said gently, rubbing her hands with his. "Did you have one of those dreams?"
Della looked vaguely bewildered for a moment, and then shook her head. "No. I'm cold."
He moved one hand up her arm, rubbing it just vigorously enough to generate a bit of warming friction. "I'll put another log on the fire."
She cleared her throat. "Actually, I'd rather take a bath. I'm shivering from the inside out."
He smiled at that description despite a prick of worry. "Do you feel okay, darling?"
"I'm just tired, Perry. My joints are stiff and I'm so cold. A bath will take care of everything."
Perry helped her to a sitting position and curled his arms around her. She snuggled her head against his chest, pulled the throw about her shoulders, and sighed. "I don't like to see you like this, Della. It's okay for me to take chances on cases and stay up for days at a time, but you shouldn't –"
"Perry, don't even suggest that I stay behind at the office, or heaven forbid my apartment, while you have all the fun," she interrupted and cleared her throat again. "There's nothing wrong with me that a bath and a good night's sleep curled up next to you won't cure."
He grinned with boyish pleasure. "Then I'm staying?"
She tilted her head up to look at him. "Of course you are." She kissed his jaw and pushed herself into a sitting position again. "I thought you had a plan for the weekend. You looked like you were deep in thought when I woke up."
He rubbed her back through the soft yarn of the throw. "I do. I was. As a matter of fact, I need to make a couple of phone calls to finalize everything. I'll do that while you take a bath. Then I'll warm up the bed for you and we'll get a well-deserved full night of sleep."
"Sounds wonderful." She yawned. "What were you thinking about so deeply?"
"Oh, I was remembering a certain night when the most beautiful woman I had ever seen described free form jazz as too jazzy and tossed a cigarette butt into the next county."
Although she was almost beyond tired, Della managed the same spectacular smile that had grabbed his heart that night. "I remember that night too, Perry. I didn't know it at the time but that night changed my whole life."
Perry nestled her chin in his hand gently. His voice was soft. "It changed mine too, baby, only it took a whole year before you came back into my life."
Her hand circled his wrist and she locked eyes with him. "If I had known how wonderful everything was going to turn out, Mr. Mason, I would have done something to make the time between our two meetings much, much shorter."
"Everything has indeed turned out perfectly, no matter the length of time. Come on, let's get you into the tub. Then I'll make a couple of calls and maybe I'll even bring you a cup of that raspberry tea you like so much".
"Mmmmm…sounds wonderful. You do take such good care of me, Perry. You're my hero."
"And you, darling, are my cold, sleepy girl." Perry stood, pulling Della to her feet gently. She swayed slightly against him and he wrapped his arms around her securely as they made their way slowly to the small but adequate bathroom she had decorated in shades of green and cream. He helped her undress, wrapped her in a large fluffy towel, and sat her down on the edge of the tub as he ran the water and added her favorite bath salts. Then he removed the towel, swung her legs into the steaming water and held her steady as she lowered herself into the tub. Kissing her on the forehead, he smiled and turned to leave when he felt a slight tug on his arm. He turned and looked down at Della.
"What it is, baby?"
"May I make one request about the weekend, Perry?"
"Of course, sweetheart, you can ask for anything, you know that"
"Can…can it just be us? You know, someplace where we really can be alone….away from everything and everyone?" She yawned.
The lawyer brushed the back of his hand against Della's cheek tenderly. For a moment, he paused, wondering if the warmth of her cheek was from just having woken up combined with the steam rising from the bath water or if he should be worried. Then she smiled at him and he put the nagging thought out of his mind, replacing it with another. 'She'll be fine as soon as I get her away. The further we get from Los Angeles tomorrow the perkier she'll get.'
"You know Miss Street, great minds think alike. I had that very same thought. Take your bath like a good girl and I'll be back in a few minutes with your tea." She yawned again and shivered slightly as she sank gratefully into the fragrant water. 'Maybe I'll call Gertie and Paul and let them know we'll be out of town until the end of the week,' he mused. 'This Pierce case seems to have made her more tired than usual.'
Della let out a sigh of contentment and leaned back against the towel Perry had rolled up to support her neck. Closing her eyes, she smiled to herself at the thought of the cup of tea he was making her, about the just-concluded case, about sleeping cuddled next to him in her comfy bed, and mostly about being alone with her handsome attorney away from the pressures of Los Angeles...and about when her life had truly begun.