“You might be too old,” Charlie said.
“Charlie!” his mother scolded. She shook her head. “I’m not going to be able to let you two hang out together if you’re just going to make trouble for me!”
“A computer was a good idea,” Winnie said.
Charlie was looking down the beach. A cyclist was riding down the beach road. He was bent low over his handlebars and was moving fast. He was sleek and muscular. “I’d rather have a bike,” he said, watching the rider.
The rider stopped right in front of the house next door, the house that was only recently finished except for the interior. He balanced on the bike without putting a foot down; he looked up.
Cooper appeared on the deck next door and waved at the cyclist.
The man dismounted, picked up his bike and jogged up two flights to the deck.
“What the hell?” Winnie said.
“Why didn’t he just lock it to the stair rail or something?” Lin Su said.
“Mom, I think he’s a pro. He’s wearing logos and Nike stuff. That bike probably cost a lot. Bet he sleeps with it.”
“He ran with it,” Winnie said.
“He’s an athlete,” Charlie said.
“And a show-off,” Lin Su said.
The man did leave the bike on the deck, however. He shook hands with Cooper, then they talked. Cooper was pointing, gesturing with his hand, explaining things. Then they went inside together.
“Hmm, interesting,” Winnie said. “New neighbor maybe?”
“That would be cool,” Charlie said. “Let’s look up that bike. I bet it’s worth a billion dollars.”
Seventeen
Ginger talked to Matt at least once every day, despite the tension they’d had while she was in Portland. He was with his father and a couple of brothers and as many cousins as could be rounded up at Sal’s vineyard to deal with harvesting early grapes. He could have ridden with Paco and George but he drove himself so he could spend one night with her before going home. He was so tired, she could hear it in his voice. This was the hardest yet most fulfilling time of year.
She tried to imagine being his wife through weeks like this. Not surprisingly, she could, and she saw it as a very satisfying job. What a monumental achievement it must be to bring in a year’s worth of healthy crops, do it with your own hands, with your family’s support. She not only envied him, she longed to be a part of it. Every night after talking to him she prayed he would resolve his issues soon so they could work together, so they could be together.
And then there was Mick. She called him from Grace’s cell phone—a blocked number. “My mother delivered a message that you need to speak to me.”
“Ginger. I do. Where are you?”
“I’m not in Portland, Mick, and we’re divorced so there’s no need for you to have a phone number or an address. What’s the emergency?”
His voice was kind of weak. It even cracked. “I really have to talk to you face-to-face. I’ll go wherever you are.”
“Mick, just tell me what you need. I probably can’t help you anyway...”
“Ginger, I had the worst news I’ve ever had and you’re the only person who could ever make sense of things for me.”
That certainly wasn’t part of her memory. “Are you sick?”
“Oh, I’m worse than that, I’m not kidding. I’ll fly to Houston if you’ll just talk to me for—”
That’s right, she thought. She’d told him she was in Houston. It had been sarcasm, but of course he wouldn’t have realized that. “Listen, Mick, I can’t be helping my ex-husband. I have someone in my life now, someone I love.”
“Yeah, no surprise. It’s not about romance, Ginger. It’s bigger and more important than that.”
“And you can’t tell me on the phone?” she pushed.
“No. No, I can’t. One time, that’s all. I need your advice. It’s life-or-death.”
She sighed heavily. “How much time is this going to take?”
“I don’t know. An hour or two, give or take,” he said. “I’ll come to you, it’s that important.”
“It must be,” she said. He was coming to her for advice. She suspected a brain tumor or something equally terrifying. Perhaps he wanted her advice about treatment options. “There’s a casino in North Bend. They have a coffee shop inside. I’ll meet you there at three tomorrow afternoon and you can have a half an hour.”
“Jesus, Ginger, what’s happened to you?”
She nearly laughed but stopped herself...in case it was a brain tumor. “You have to ask?” she said. “Three o’clock. That’s the best I can do. I have a job, I have an important man in my life. Take it or leave it.”
She talked it over with Grace and while Grace couldn’t even begin to understand why Ginger would accommodate him at all, she agreed to cover for her.
Mick was already in the coffee shop, staring into a cup of coffee when she arrived. When she got to his table, he stood. He was peaked, his features drawn, and he appeared thinner. She thought, Oh, God, it is cancer! I have to make my peace with him so I’ll have no regrets when he dies!
“Ginger,” he said, reaching toward her.
She withdrew slightly. “Come on, Mick. This isn’t a happy reunion. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“Let’s get you some coffee. Okay?”
“Sure,” she said, sitting down. “Is it your health? What’s this about? If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look so good.”
He lifted a hand to the waitress and when she came, he ordered another coffee. “I don’t feel so good, either. My life is falling apart. I’m at the bottom. This is the end. I’m forty-two. I’m bottomed out.”
“Explain,” she said. Her coffee arrived immediately.
“Remember Buster Kleinman?” he asked.
She frowned. “Why does the name sound familiar?”
“Why? I talked about him all the time! He’s one of the biggest agent/managers in the music business. He’s tight with every recording studio in the country. He’s represented some of the biggest names in the industry.”
“So?” she said. “You already have an agent.”
“Not a big agent. I need some power behind me. Mort’s small-time. But I got an in to see Buster, to take a meeting and play for him. I sent him CDs all the time but finally Rory Denison, six Grammys, number one on the charts, he forwarded one of my CDs to Buster and I got an appointment. We really hit it off, me and Buster. We had some drinks, some dinner, talked for hours and the next day I went to his private studio and played for him.”
“Charlie!” his mother scolded. She shook her head. “I’m not going to be able to let you two hang out together if you’re just going to make trouble for me!”
“A computer was a good idea,” Winnie said.
Charlie was looking down the beach. A cyclist was riding down the beach road. He was bent low over his handlebars and was moving fast. He was sleek and muscular. “I’d rather have a bike,” he said, watching the rider.
The rider stopped right in front of the house next door, the house that was only recently finished except for the interior. He balanced on the bike without putting a foot down; he looked up.
Cooper appeared on the deck next door and waved at the cyclist.
The man dismounted, picked up his bike and jogged up two flights to the deck.
“What the hell?” Winnie said.
“Why didn’t he just lock it to the stair rail or something?” Lin Su said.
“Mom, I think he’s a pro. He’s wearing logos and Nike stuff. That bike probably cost a lot. Bet he sleeps with it.”
“He ran with it,” Winnie said.
“He’s an athlete,” Charlie said.
“And a show-off,” Lin Su said.
The man did leave the bike on the deck, however. He shook hands with Cooper, then they talked. Cooper was pointing, gesturing with his hand, explaining things. Then they went inside together.
“Hmm, interesting,” Winnie said. “New neighbor maybe?”
“That would be cool,” Charlie said. “Let’s look up that bike. I bet it’s worth a billion dollars.”
Seventeen
Ginger talked to Matt at least once every day, despite the tension they’d had while she was in Portland. He was with his father and a couple of brothers and as many cousins as could be rounded up at Sal’s vineyard to deal with harvesting early grapes. He could have ridden with Paco and George but he drove himself so he could spend one night with her before going home. He was so tired, she could hear it in his voice. This was the hardest yet most fulfilling time of year.
She tried to imagine being his wife through weeks like this. Not surprisingly, she could, and she saw it as a very satisfying job. What a monumental achievement it must be to bring in a year’s worth of healthy crops, do it with your own hands, with your family’s support. She not only envied him, she longed to be a part of it. Every night after talking to him she prayed he would resolve his issues soon so they could work together, so they could be together.
And then there was Mick. She called him from Grace’s cell phone—a blocked number. “My mother delivered a message that you need to speak to me.”
“Ginger. I do. Where are you?”
“I’m not in Portland, Mick, and we’re divorced so there’s no need for you to have a phone number or an address. What’s the emergency?”
His voice was kind of weak. It even cracked. “I really have to talk to you face-to-face. I’ll go wherever you are.”
“Mick, just tell me what you need. I probably can’t help you anyway...”
“Ginger, I had the worst news I’ve ever had and you’re the only person who could ever make sense of things for me.”
That certainly wasn’t part of her memory. “Are you sick?”
“Oh, I’m worse than that, I’m not kidding. I’ll fly to Houston if you’ll just talk to me for—”
That’s right, she thought. She’d told him she was in Houston. It had been sarcasm, but of course he wouldn’t have realized that. “Listen, Mick, I can’t be helping my ex-husband. I have someone in my life now, someone I love.”
“Yeah, no surprise. It’s not about romance, Ginger. It’s bigger and more important than that.”
“And you can’t tell me on the phone?” she pushed.
“No. No, I can’t. One time, that’s all. I need your advice. It’s life-or-death.”
She sighed heavily. “How much time is this going to take?”
“I don’t know. An hour or two, give or take,” he said. “I’ll come to you, it’s that important.”
“It must be,” she said. He was coming to her for advice. She suspected a brain tumor or something equally terrifying. Perhaps he wanted her advice about treatment options. “There’s a casino in North Bend. They have a coffee shop inside. I’ll meet you there at three tomorrow afternoon and you can have a half an hour.”
“Jesus, Ginger, what’s happened to you?”
She nearly laughed but stopped herself...in case it was a brain tumor. “You have to ask?” she said. “Three o’clock. That’s the best I can do. I have a job, I have an important man in my life. Take it or leave it.”
She talked it over with Grace and while Grace couldn’t even begin to understand why Ginger would accommodate him at all, she agreed to cover for her.
Mick was already in the coffee shop, staring into a cup of coffee when she arrived. When she got to his table, he stood. He was peaked, his features drawn, and he appeared thinner. She thought, Oh, God, it is cancer! I have to make my peace with him so I’ll have no regrets when he dies!
“Ginger,” he said, reaching toward her.
She withdrew slightly. “Come on, Mick. This isn’t a happy reunion. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“Let’s get you some coffee. Okay?”
“Sure,” she said, sitting down. “Is it your health? What’s this about? If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look so good.”
He lifted a hand to the waitress and when she came, he ordered another coffee. “I don’t feel so good, either. My life is falling apart. I’m at the bottom. This is the end. I’m forty-two. I’m bottomed out.”
“Explain,” she said. Her coffee arrived immediately.
“Remember Buster Kleinman?” he asked.
She frowned. “Why does the name sound familiar?”
“Why? I talked about him all the time! He’s one of the biggest agent/managers in the music business. He’s tight with every recording studio in the country. He’s represented some of the biggest names in the industry.”
“So?” she said. “You already have an agent.”
“Not a big agent. I need some power behind me. Mort’s small-time. But I got an in to see Buster, to take a meeting and play for him. I sent him CDs all the time but finally Rory Denison, six Grammys, number one on the charts, he forwarded one of my CDs to Buster and I got an appointment. We really hit it off, me and Buster. We had some drinks, some dinner, talked for hours and the next day I went to his private studio and played for him.”
