THE GUITARIST: Nicholas Arrives in Charleston

         

          We arrived at the downtown studio around eleven o’clock.  Raymond pulled into a load-out space and brought my guitar out of the boot. 

The whitewashed brick building seemed quite aged, but holding up well, no more than two stories high.  We entered through a side door into a somewhat open space.  Most notable was a bar structure  backed by a broken mirror, a fairly large stage, and a creaky wooden floor that had to’ve been a century old and smelled ever-so-slightly of stale beer with an undertone of vomit.  Constructed of unfinished wood along one wall, seemed to be four rooms, each with a door, two of the four with sizeable windows.  A raggedy billiards table was shoved into a corner like a naughty schoolboy.

The sight of Billy Farmer rising to greet us brought a smile to my face.   

“Nicholas!” Billy said.  “I’m so glad you could come.  You’ve no idea how much help you’re going to be.  Come in, come in .” 

He led me to his office.  “Would you like a cuppa?  Or the sweet tea of South Carolina?  It’s awful stuff, but I’m sometimes expected to drink the vile concoction.  Or would you like something else altogether?”

“I wouldn’t mind some water, if you have it.”

“Smart choice.” 

Billy rang a number on his mobile.  “Penn, could you bring me a cuppa tea and Mr. Trent a bottle of water?”

Listening for a moment, he laughed into the phone.  “Yes, he’s here and yes, you’ll meet him if you bring us something to drink.”

I cocked my head with a curious grin.

“Penn,” Billy said.  “He’s one of the young men in the band who needs help.  He’s actually the guitar player who isn’t quite cutting it.  But he’s a good lad and it’s fun having the youngster around.  He helps us out here for studio time when he’s not working his regular job.  I have to thank you again for coming down to give them a hand.  Like I said on the phone, they need some focus.  Dougie and I have tried to get through to them but they’re not getting it.”

“Dougie Chappell?”

“Yeah, you know Dougie?”

“Who could forget him?  He’s a total bounder, but brilliant behind the soundboard.  We’ve done some running in the same circles, let’s say.”

We both laughed.

“Well, these boys,” Billy continued, “they’ve got incredible chemistry together and their vocal harmonies are nothing short of brilliant.  Like I said, Penn—he’s trying, but even he knows he doesn’t have it.  Technically, he’s not doing anything wrong.  He’s using the correct scales in the correct keys, however, they’re not cohesive.  He just doesn’t hear it.  With your guidance, I think he’ll be able to use the knowledge he has, and with your instruction and practice, incorporate more of the advanced skills he needs to have.”

Just then, the door opened following a brief knock.  “Here are your beverages, sir.”

“Penn,” Billy said, “come in.”

The boy handed me the water and nearly shook the teacup off the saucer handing it to Billy.  His face was flush with excitement as he stood next to Billy’s chair, fairly hanging onto the back of it.

“Penn, I’d like you to meet Nicholas Trent, an old friend of mine.  Nicholas, this is Penn Singleton.”

I stood to greet him and extended my hand.  He seemed reluctant to take it, as if it might give him an electrical shock, but once I smiled, he shook it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Penn finally said to me, still hanging on to Billy’s chair as if Billy was his father.  “I just feel so . . . inadequate.”

“Let me tell you summut.  I’ve known some people in my time, who’ve fancied themselves musicians when they should’ve stayed in the audience. What I know is that if Billy Farmer stands behind your talent, you’ve got some talent somewhere.  Stop doubting yourself and practice.  Learn what you can and put it into play.  You’ll get there.  Trust Billy.  Trust Dougie.”

Penn let loose the back of Billy’s chair.  “You know Dougie?”

I laughed.

“Speaking of Dougie,” Billy said, “let’s let him know you’re here.” 

We stood outside one of the makeshift studios until there was a substantial lull in the music when we let ourselves in.

 Dougie saw my reflection in the glass and smiled his roguish smile. “Nicholas Trent,” he said.  “I heard you were here.  Give us a second and we’ll take a break.”

Billy and I stood aside as Dougie finished the part of the song he was mixing.  He pulled the headphones down around his neck and gave me a hug.

“You cut your hair,” he said.

“Yeah, getting too old for all that.”

Billy laughed.  “Better watch what you say, youngster.”

Billy was a full ten years my senior and still wore his hair long and mostly loose.

Lunchtime arrived, and all of us were served a brilliant meal.  We sat at the bar, the broken mirror behind shattered our images like a kaleidoscope.  A stunningly beautiful black woman and a white man, grey/blond of hair and moustache, served the food and beverages, holding court and bantering with the diners.

The way the woman and Raymond made eyes at each other rather gave away that this was Mary, Raymond’s bride.  He introduced her, and also the man, whose name was Bryan.

“Nicholas,” Billy said, “Raymond told me you’re in love.”

I barely managed to keep from spitting sweet iced tea across the table and raised my head to Raymond’s arched eyebrow in my direction.  I managed to swallow the tea without choking and laughed out loud.

 “Yes.  Well, I may be in love, but I’m not so sure about Caitlin.”

“Raymond said she lives here in Charleston.  Are you going to see her while you’re here?”

“I dunno where she lives.”

“You don’t have her address?”

“I don’t.”

“Phone number?”

“Mobile.”

 “Have you Googled her?" Bryan asked.  "What does she do?  Do you know that?”

“That I do know.  She’s a florist in a supermarket.  And I haven’t Googled her because . . .” I shrugged and sighed.  “I just dunno how she feels about me.  I’ve gotten very mixed messages from her.”

“Wait a minute,” Penn said.  “What’s her name?”

“Caitlin Flynn.”

“I know her!” he said.  “She’s the floral director at Peninsula Traders downtown.  I work with her nearly every day.  She’s got skills," he said nodding.

“Really?”  I grinned at the thought of seeing her at work.

“I think I know her too,” Bryan said.  To Penn, he asked, “Doesn’t she do a lot of work in the local catering community?”

“Yeah,” Penn said.  “How did you meet Cait, Mr. Trent?”

"Nicholas, Penn.  Please.  We met in New York.  Stayed in the same hotel.  We saw each other in the hotel restaurant, each of us dining alone.  I’m fairly used to it by now, but I could tell she was miserable just watching her pick a table.”

“So you picked up your meal and joined her,” Bryan said to the laughter of the others.

“That would’ve right surprised her, wouldn’t it?  No, I’m afraid I wasn’t that cheeky.  Besides, she’d ordered a bottle of wine . . .”

“A girl after my own heart,”  Bryan’s remark elicited more laughter.

“I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be joined by someone else, was I?  But no one did.  We rather peeked at each other occasionally . . .” and with that I took a bite of potato.

“So how did you finally meet?” Bryan asked.

“It was Caitlin who approached me.  She’d had half that bottle of wine, you see.”

Everyone laughed again.

“She’d recognised me, told me she was a fan and just wanted me to know how much she enjoyed my music.  She was so concerned with bothering me, I practically had to force an autograph on her.  I asked her to join me and we finished her wine, then went for a walk.”

“Then went to bed,” Bryan said.

I laughed again.  To Bryan, I said, “I can already tell you’re trouble.”

Bryan rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny.

“No.  I know my reputation precedes me and honestly, this may have been the first time I’ve risen above it, but no.  She doesn’t need that kind of pressure just now.   I’m not even sure she’ll let me see her again, let alone get that far.”

THE GUITARIST: Nicholas Gets a Call

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

We were within a day or two of finishing the record and my week-long break needed to be planned.  My plan was no plan.  I would stay here at the hotel, go to the Velvet Room occasionally then meet the lads in London before the tour.

One afternoon, I got a call labelled “Charleston, SC” on the caller ID.  I answered immediately.  It was not Caitlin.

“Nicholas, it’s Billy Farmer.  How are you?”

Billy Farmer was made famous as the singer in the wildly popular hard rock band, 2VS.  Later, on his own, he remained a successful act onstage and also had begun producing new artists at his studio near Charleston where he’d moved after marrying his third wife.  We were colleagues—friends—and it was good to hear from him.

“Billy!  I’m fine, how are you?”

“I’m good, but somewhat in a bind.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I have a group of young musicians in the studio who are very talented.  Extremely talented.  But their music is all over the place.  They need a direction to focus on.  A particular point of view, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.  I think I do.  How can I help?”

“Several of their songs . . .” he paused momentarily.  “Honestly, in my head, I hear your guitar work and it would be brilliant.  It would set them apart from the pack, which they deserve, and of course your name associated with them would lend credibility.”

“Don’t they have their own guitar player?”

“They do, but he doesn’t have the chops—he’s not hearing the possibilities of the music.  And he knows it.  I mentioned your name and his face lit up.  Any chance you could come meet with them?  It would be a tremendous help.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve got some time coming up in a few days.”

“You’re recording with Taylor, right?”

“Yeah, but we’ll be finished in a couple of days.  I could be there by the weekend at the latest.”

“That would be fantastic!  Let me know when to expect you and I’ll send Raymond to pick you up at the airport.”

I grinned into the telephone.  “Raymond,” I said.  How is he?”

Billy laughed.  “You’ll see,” he said.  “He’s in love.”

We made some further arrangements and rang off.

Raymond.  In love.

I was on my way to Charleston.  Hope began to fill me.  I would see Caitlin again.

*          *          *

“Raymond!” I greeted, recognizing the huge African American and former military, former policeman, who worked as driver and security for Billy Farmer.  Besides those duties, he was a talented bass player.  “It’s good to see you!”

We met in the current fashion of half-hug/half-handshake.

“It’s been too long, Nicholas,” he said.

He opened the car door for me and loaded my bag and guitar into the boot while I settled into the backseat.

Raymond was one of those people who, after not having seen them for a long time, was able to pick up the friendship like you’d seen them last week.

Once we were on the road, I couldn’t help but tease him.  “Billy tells me you’re in love.”

“I got married.”

“You got married?  I’m truly shocked.”

“The love of my life, man.  You’ll like her.” 

I could see him grinning.  “Tell me about her.”

“What do you want to know?”

Raymond was also a man of few words.  I knew I’d have to pull the information out of him a bit at a time.

I laughed.  “What’s her name?  How did you meet? How did you know she was the one?”

“Her name is Mary.  We met at the compound.  She works for Billy and Hannah and we started hanging out when we had down time together.  She started flirting with me when we’d see each other on the grounds.  I flirted back.  When the band was on the road, I missed her.  And when we were home, I couldn’t wait to be done with work so I could see her.  After a while . . .”  he glanced back at me “. . . she let me know she was the one I should be with.”

“She did, did she?”

“Yeah.  I already knew it was true.  I just needed to hear it.  We got married at the compound about six months ago.  It’s been great.”

“You look happier than I’ve perhaps ever seen you.”

“You got that right.”

“So tell me about the compound.  I’ve heard quite a lot about the studio there.  Is that where we’re going now?” I asked.

“No.  Studio’s under renovation.  Billy’s turning part of it into a performance hall.”  Raymond grinned back at me through the mirror.  “It’s gonna be spectacular.  We’re headed downtown.  Not too far from your hotel.  He’s rented a space that used to be a bar.  It’s handy for everyone and since he made some improvements, it’s suitable for recording and performing.”

“That sounds great.  I look forward to seeing it.”

We were quiet for a bit, while I contemplated Caitlin.  “I met someone a few weeks ago,” I offered.  “She actually lives in Charleston.  I dunno if I’m in love or not.  Even if I am in love with her, I don’t think she feels the same way.”

“Women can be funky, man.”

“Yeah,” I answered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE GUITARIST: Caitlin leaves New York

CHAPTER THREE

The week went quickly.  I spent my days in recording sessions and Cait’s were spent in legal wrangling.  She’d somehow found time to have her hair and nails done, and she wore a bit of mascara and blush.  She often felt down when we met for dinner—always in the hotel—but since my days were far less grim, I could get her to laugh before the meal was over.  Besides the Empire State Building, I showed her the Statue of Liberty and the World Trade Center Memorial.  I took her to museums and galleries.  She enjoyed the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens and one dry evening, we had daylight enough to see Central Park.  Every evening ended at the Velvet Room.

And then it was time for her to leave.

I exited the lift just as she checked out at the desk.  I crossed the lobby and stood behind her as she finished.

“I hope you’ll come back to stay with us again, Ms. Flynn.  We’ve enjoyed serving you.”

“Thank you,” she said, as she folded the paperwork and put it into her handbag.  “I’ve enjoyed staying here.”

She turned to leave and was startled to find me there. 

“You didn’t think I’d let you go without a proper goodbye, did you?” I took up her suitcase and led her to a quiet side area.

“I didn’t want to get you up so early,” she said.

“Some things are worth an early rise, aren’t they?  I’ve had fun.”

“I’ve had fun, too,” she said.  “Thanks to you.”

I lifted her chin with my fingertips. “I want to kiss you before you go.  Is that all right?” I asked her softly.

I felt her breath catch and she locked her eyes with mine.  “I . . . I guess so.” 

She didn’t sound entirely sure and I gave her a curious look, but she’d be gone in minutes.

Though the kiss was soft and sensuous, I felt her holding back.  I held her hands as I pulled away. 

“In a few weeks we’ll be finished recording.  We’ll have a slight break before we leave for Europe on the first leg of the tour.  I’d like to see you again.”

She took her eyes from mine and pulled away further, though she continued to let me hold her fingertips in my hands.

“I . . . um . . . I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

I hadn’t expected that at all.

Not at all. 

I dropped her hands and took another step back.  “Why?”

“Nicholas, I’m not really your type.”

“What type would that be?”  I wasn’t sure what she meant.

She met my eyes quickly before looking away again.

“I’m not gonna have sex with someone I just met.”  She seemed embarrassed to say the words, but then she rushed into, “I’ve really gotta go.”

“Oh,” I said.  “Oh!”  Understanding flooded me.  I cut off her escape.  “You know, there’s a lot of fiction written about me in that regard.”  She met my eyes again briefly.

“I’ve been a fan for a long time,” she said.  “I’ve kept up with you.  It can’t all be lies.”

I ran my hand through my hair.  “I thought we’d gotten to know each other better than that over the past week.  I’m hurt that you think . . .”  I shook my head as I studied my shoes.  I couldn’t turn it back on her—make it her fault.  Clearly, I’d missed something.  I took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry.  I should let you go.”

She turned away.

“Wait!” I said.  “May I call you, at least?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea either.”

“If I did, though, would you answer?”

She turned to give me a quick glance.  “Maybe,” she said, then she turned and was gone. 

I followed slowly to the sidewalk in time to see Larry help her into a Yellow Cab.  I watched as it pulled away into traffic. 

Turn around.

She didn’t.

“Mr. Trent, you okay?” Larry asked, his brow furrowed.

I took a deep breath and shook my head.  “I really don’t know what just happened.  I think you could say I’m gobsmacked.”

He patted my shoulder.  “Women,” he said and raced to open the door for someone.

I heard a familiar laugh and turned to see my mates Evan and Kippy burst through the door. Taylor and Reuben followed behind them.

“There he is,” Reuben said.  “Nicholas, let’s go get breakfast.”

Evan laughed.  “The most important meal for making music, old man.”

Their youthful exuberance always made me smile and this was no exception, even though I felt empty of Cait.

“Let’s go,” Taylor said, sliding his arm around my shoulder.  “You’ll be all right.  If it hurts, you know it’s love.”

I shook my head and followed my bandmates to breakfast.

*          *          *

My reputation had served me well throughout my career, keeping me out of unwanted complications with women.  I’d not actually considered the possibility of wanting more than sex from a woman.  Since my marriage ended, I’d been very careful not to put myself into that situation again.  It was simply safer.  I certainly didn’t want my heart broken and I didn’t want to hurt anyone else.

I didn’t want to turn into my dad.

*          *          *

I rang her ten days later.  She didn’t answer.  I left a message but she didn’t call back.

Nights, I’d put myself to sleep going over scenarios where I’d see her and she’d be delighted I was there.  Or she wouldn’t, and I’d practice what I’d say to plead my case.  Maybe her marriage had been so perfect she was unwilling to give her heart again.

Of course, I had secrets of my own.  Pieces of my past I didn’t care to tell anyone.  Things I hadn’t spoken of, to anyone, ever.  My miserable childhood in Lancashire.  My miserable parents.  My escape into the guitar.

As far as I was concerned, my escape had been a success beyond any expectation.  Yes, sometimes loneliness overtook me.  Yes, sometimes regrets threatened to drown me.  Most of the time I could recover through music or a nice, long run.  The worst times required a night of hard drinking and sex with a willing stranger.

 

Coming up: Nicholas gets a call

THE GUITARIST: Nicholas and Cait See Some Sights

Previously:  Nicholas and Caitlin meet.  Nicholas asks Cait to join him for a walk and she accepts.

 

“Mr. Trent.  Ma’am,” the doorman said as he opened the door for us.

“Thanks, Larry.”

The sidewalk was busy at this hour.  I stepped into the crowd without realising Caitlin wasn’t with me.  When I looked back, there she stood, feet planted, eyes wide and scanning the scene around her like a lighthouse beacon.  I quickly returned to her.

“Caitlin, are you all right?”

She unfroze and captured my eyes with hers.  “It’s overwhelming.”

“It can be.”  I pulled her back into the hotel doorway, giving a discreet shake of the head to Larry, the doorman, who stayed where he was.  “Let’s stand here for a moment to get our bearings.  We can venture further if you like, or we can go back inside and share another bottle of wine.”

My demeanour must’ve been reassuring.  She regained her breath and laughed, but held firmly to my coat sleeve.  I found I rather liked the contact.  It made me feel protective of her somehow.

I pointed out several landmarks that could be seen from the doorway, and regaled her with stories of my youthful escapades in the city.  After a few minutes, I felt her relax.

“Sorry about that,” she said.  “Sometimes I have a problem in big crowds.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.  It happens, right?  Do you think you’re ready to go a little further?”

With a deep, cleansing breath, she said, “I think so.”

We walked up a few blocks, crossed the street and came back to the lounge across from the hotel.

“How about another glass of wine?”

She nodded. 

We turned and the door to the lounge opened as if automatic.

“Mr. Trent,” the doorman greeted.  “Ma’am,” he said to Caitlin as he touched the brim of his hat.

I nodded.

The lounge was dark with thick carpeting and fabric-covered, padded walls that provided soundproofing for the plush, private seating.  In the audible foreground, soft jazz was accented by a dim, but steady bass thump feeding through from the floor above.

The maitre’d, studied the evening’s reservations as we approached, but smiled when he saw us, and came around from behind his podium.

“Mr. Trent.  So good to see you, sir.”  He bowed slightly to Caitlin.  “Madame.”

I greeted him and said, “We’d like a table down here.”

“Certainly.”  He smiled at Cait.  “Welcome to the Velvet Room.”  To me, he said, “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

“Just drinks this evening.”

“This way, please.”

Cait leaned in close.  “This is beautiful.”

I smiled and placed her hand in the crook of my elbow.  Again, I believe I surprised her with the gesture, but she smiled at me and I knew it was all right.  “It’s one of my favourite places.”

We were seated at a banquette with tall backs making us seem far removed from anyone else though we’d passed several similar booths of people.  Handing us each a beverage menu, he said, “I’ll send your attendant right over.”  He bowed slightly again.  “If I can be of any further assistance, please let me know.”

I ordered a bottle of Washington state merlot and once it was served, I touched my glass to Cait’s.  “To new friends.”

“New friends,” she said and returned the toast.  “I’m grinning like a tourist.”

“You are a tourist.”

“Well . . .” she said.  “Unintentionally so.  It’s just amazing.  We don’t have buildings like this in Charleston.”

“No?”

“Everything’s much lower to the ground.  We don’t have anything like these skyscrapers.  Most of the buildings are very historic.  The modern hospitals and the church steeples are about the tallest structures around.  The old buildings were built or rebuilt after the earthquake in 1886 and they’ve been maintained and restored as times demanded, but nothing like this.”

“Sounds like some of the historic villages and towns in England.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the British Isles.”

“You’d like it there, I think.”

We talked about England as we finished our wine.  She seemed to relax even more.

“Feel a little more confident then?” I asked.  “Maybe tomorrow night we could see the Empire State Building.”

Even in the dim light, I could see her blush.  “Oh, I couldn’t ask you . . . I mean, I couldn’t impose any more.  You’ve already been so nice.”

“It’s not an imposition.  I invited you.”  I laughed.  “Are you having fun tonight?"

“Yes,” she said.  “Very much.”

“I am too.  Won’t you join me tomorrow night?”

She dipped her head before she looked back up.  “I’d like that.”

“All right, then.”  I touched her glass again.

 

 

Nicholas Recalls Meeting Caitlin

CHAPTER TWO

We’d met, Caitlin and I, in New York City.  I’d become accustomed to dining early in the hotel restaurant on non-gig nights.  It was a good chance to wind down, read the newspaper or a book and generally relax with a glass of wine before I retired for the night with my guitar to write music.  New York on my own, no longer held promise of adventure for me. 

It was common to share the dining room with certain types of people at the early hour.  Elderly people—well, more elderly than I, families with tired, cranky children, and always businessmen in suits rudely talking on their mobile phones.

This particular evening, I glanced up from my newspaper and noticed a woman, more or less my age.  Her mousy brown hair was lightly streaked with grey and she wore no makeup.  She gave the impression of someone trying to make the best of a bad, perhaps lonely, situation.  She looked around the room, sighed, and took a table by the window facing me.  My newspaper served as a shield but something about her encouraged me to watch her surreptitiously.

She got settled and waited for her server by checking out the wine list and the few people already seated.  At one point, our eyes met and I saw that flash of instant recognition that becomes second nature to one of certain celebrity.  She quickly returned her eyes to the wine list, but her smile not only lit up her face, it made me grin as well.

Her server arrived and presently brought her an entire bottle of wine which made me think she would indeed, be dining with another person.  She laughed at an exchange with the server.  The sound was bright and clear.  I was curious about her, but waited to see who her companion might be.

A single meal was served.  She was dining alone.  I continued to catch her smile at me throughout the course of the meal.

My meal was finished and I had no reason to stay in the restaurant except for this woman.  I folded my newspaper and tried to decide whether or not to approach her when she appeared at my table.  “Excuse me,” she said softly.  “Aren’t you Nicholas Trent?”

I looked up at her over my spectacles, then grinned.  “Yes.”

“I’m a big fan of yours,” she said.  “I just wanted to tell you that.”

I nodded an acknowledgement.

Nervous, she played with the strap of her handbag.  Her nails were short though not bitten.  Neither were they shaped nor polished.

“I love your music.  It’s very . . . healing.  It’s gotten me through some difficult times.”

Well.  That made my day, didn’t it?

“Thank you.”  I nodded.  “Would you like an autograph?”

“I really—um,” she stammered.  “I really don’t mean to bother you.”

My smile widened.  I wished all my fans were as well-mannered.  I reached for a linen napkin and her eyes widened.  “Management hates when I do this, but I pay them a handsome serviette stipend, so they put up with me.  Would you join me?”

The look on her face was so cute, I laughed.  “No.  Really.  Please.”  I gestured toward the chair opposite mine.

She looked back at her table then turned again to me.  “Will you help me finish that bottle of wine?  It’s way more than I’m used to having.”

“Certainly.”  I stood and signalled the server to bring the wine and her glass, then held the chair for her to be seated.

“Thank you,” she said. 

I was afraid she was a bit star-struck.  I’d seen it before.

“It’s my pleasure.”

The server distributed the wine between the two glasses and left us alone.  I swirled the wine, sniffed and sipped.  “This is very good.  You have excellent taste.”  I lifted my glass in a toast.  “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”  She touched her glass to mine.  “Happy birthday to me.”

“Today’s your birthday?”

“Yeah.”  She cut her eyes up at me demurely.  “This is the best present ever.  You’ve improved the whole day, in fact.”

“Well, happy birthday.  So.  You know my name, but I don’t know yours, and I still haven’t autographed this linen.”  I removed my specs.

“I’m Caitlin Flynn,” she said.  “Cait.”

I pulled a Sharpie out of my pocket and looked at her, about to ask how to spell it, when she beat me to it.  “Everybody asks me that, or they go ahead and spell it wrong.” 

When I’d finished the autograph, I handed it to her and said, “So you’re in Manhattan on your own?  Where are you from?”

“I’m up from South Carolina.  Have you ever been there?”

“Hmm . . . let’s see.”  I studied the wine swirl around the glass.

“I’ll be disappointed to find out you’ve been there and I missed seeing you in concert,” she said.

“I’ve been to Charlotte,” I said.

Cait shook her head.  “Charlotte’s in North Carolina.  We have Charleston.”

“Ah, yes.  Charleston.  No, I don’t believe I’ve ever been there, but I could be wrong.  There are a few decades that remain fairly fuzzy.”

Cait laughed.  “I know what you mean.”

 We sipped our wine knowing we shared a few cultural things in common, at least.

“Do you live in the city?” Cait asked.

“No-o-o.  No,” I said.  “I’m working with Taylor Grande on a new record and we’re playing the odd live gig here and there, testing out the new material on live audiences.  We’ll be based in Manhattan a few weeks longer laying down the tracks.  Are you here for your job?”

Cait’s smile faltered, returned briefly, then she studied her wine.  “No,” she said.  “I’m here trying to settle my late-husband’s estate.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.  How long has it been?  If you don’t mind me asking.”

She swallowed thickly as tears rose to her eyes.  “It’s okay.  It’s been sixteen months.  I . . . I miss him.  My Jesse.”

I reached across the table and laid my hand lightly on hers which caused her to look up quickly in surprise, but she didn’t take it back.  “How long were you together?”

“Just shy of thirty years.”

“It was a good marriage,” I said as I removed my hand from hers.

Cait wiped her eyes and returned the smile, but paused further before answering.

“We had our ups and downs, like any marriage, but it was.  We made each other laugh.  That’s so important.  Are you married?”  She glanced quickly at my left hand.

“Not now.  I was.  Once.  A very long time ago.  We were young, I was a musician on the road.  It didn’t last.”

“Do you have children?”

I thought of Oliver, but answered, “Thankfully no.  How about you?”

“No.  We wanted kids but it just never happened.  We put our energies into rescued dogs instead.  Kids are fun, but it’s good to be able to send them home.”

I joined her in a laugh.

“So, what have you seen of the city while you’ve been here?”

“Not much.  The cab ride to the lawyer’s office and back, and this hotel. I’m not very adventurous on my own, I’m afraid.  I bet you know New York inside-out.”

“I know enough of it to have fun and still stay out of trouble,” I said with a chuckle.  “Look, it’s still early.  Would you like to go out?  To a club or perhaps a museum?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said,  “I really wouldn’t want to impose.”

“How about this,” I offered.  “How about we go out for a walk and just look around?  There’s plenty to see within a few blocks of here.”

“Really?  You wouldn’t mind?”

“Honestly, my plans for this evening were very similar to yours.  Eat dinner and return to my room.  I’ll pick up the guitar for a couple of hours and go to sleep.  My hard-partying days are well behind me.”  I chuckled.  “Well, mostly.”

Cait shrugged one shoulder, her bright smile directed at me.  “Okay.”