The Dollhouse(87)

“You can stay here, if you like, until you figure things out.”

“It’s nice of you to offer, but I can’t; we barely know each other.”

“We know each other better than you think. For example, I know what the spot on your lower back, right where your spine curves, tastes like.”

She shivered. “And what does that taste like, exactly?”

“Sweet, like honey.”

“However tempting your offer, I have to take some time and think things through.”

“You’re not thinking about going back to the Ken doll, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Good. So let’s go out and hear some music tonight, all right? It’s a great venue, musicians who’ve been around the block and will blow our socks off. Your dad would want you to try to enjoy life, right?”

The last thing he’d want was her lying around on the couch like a mopey teenager.

That much was true.




“I wonder how long it’s been since Malcolm performed.” Rose turned to Jason as the musicians walked onto the stage to the sounds of whistles and clapping.

“That’s a good question. You can ask him afterward.”

The quintet was a little creaky in the joints, from the look of it, and for a moment Rose worried that Malcolm wouldn’t be able to get himself behind the drum set without tripping. Once they were all safely in place, the trumpet player counted off and they launched into “52nd Street Theme.”

She was glad she’d come. Instead of the typical dark jazz club, Dizzy’s was located on the fifth floor of a massive skyscraper overlooking Central Park. The room was all strange angles and curves, with huge windows that soared behind the musicians. The dusky sky acted as the backdrop, changing slowly throughout the set from azure to navy. And the crowd was an eclectic bunch, ranging from large tables of Asian tourists to serious jazz aficionados who punctuated the solos with determined approval.

The musicians played off each other, laughing out loud at times. The sax player riffed on a theme that the pianist then took up, and Malcolm all the while kept up a fast beat, the bass drum underlining each turn of phrase. Malcolm’s face was ecstatic with joy, and Rose’s eyes filled just watching him.

As the musicians took their bows, she reached out and touched Jason’s arm. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“I am, too.” She wiped away her tears. “Sorry I’m so emotional.”

“Please, you don’t have to be sorry about anything.”

The crowd began to filter out, but Rose and Jason ordered another round. They waited until the musicians reappeared, mingling with those who’d stayed. The stragglers all knew one another, and there was much handshaking and backslapping.

“There’s Malcolm.” He was walking toward an older man seated at a table in the back corner.

Jason and Rose weaved their way over. Jason spoke first. “I hate to interrupt, Mr. Buckley, but we wanted to say hello.”

Malcolm’s eyes registered confusion.

“We spoke at your apartment a couple of weeks ago, about the story for WordMerge,” offered Rose.

Malcolm nodded but didn’t say anything.

She continued on. “Anyway, the story’s been killed, unfortunately, but we wanted to thank you for your time. We heard you were performing and had to come. You were terrific.”

“Well, I appreciate that.”

The other man slammed his hand down on the table and they all jumped. “What story? You need all the publicity you can get, old man.”

Rose explained. “It wasn’t about music, really, more about something that happened back in 1952 at the Barbizon Hotel for Women.”

The other man stared at her with cloudy eyes. “The Barbizon?”

Malcolm touched his arm. “Now, don’t get all excited.” He turned to Jason and Rose. “I’d like you to meet my brother, Sam Buckley.”

Rose stared, trying to match the man’s lined face and thinning gray hair with the image she had in her head of Sam as a young man. He was thinner than his brother, as if he’d been ever so slightly deflated. The purple dress shirt he wore was crisp and pressed but one size too large. His strong features hadn’t been softened by age, his chin charmingly dimpled.

“You’re Sam. And you’re in town,” Rose managed to stammer out.

“I am indeed, on both counts.”

“We’ve been looking for you,” said Jason. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“We thought you were unreachable,” added Rose, looking over at Malcolm.

“Now, who told you that?”

Malcolm crossed his arms. “His stepdaughter, Jessica, had been taking care of him out in San Francisco, and last year she got transferred to New York and brought him along. My brother’s been through a lot, and I didn’t think he’d be interested in your questions.”

“What questions? For God’s sake, I can still hear what you say, little brother. I’ve got glaucoma. I’m not deaf.” Sam picked up the cane resting against his chair and banged it on the floor a couple of times. “My sight’s not what it used to be, but I can smack you with this cane easy. I’m going back to California if you think I’m such a fragile flower.”