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  RESURGENCE

  THE SECOND CHANCES TRILOGY

  BOOK TWO

  A NOVEL BY

  M. M. MAYLE

  —INDIAN RIVER INK—

  Also by M.M.Mayle

  REVENANT RISING

  RESURGENCE

  Copyright © 2011 by M. M. Mayle.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the written permission of the author.

  Published in the United States of America.

  This book is a work of fiction. The literary insights and perceptions contained herein are based on experience; all names, characters, places, organizations, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  ISBN-13: 978-1463601928

  ISBN: 1463601921

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-61914-394-4

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011910431

  CreateSpace, North Charleston, South Carolina

  Fame and tranquility can never be bedfellows.

  —Michel de Montaigne

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Preface

  One: April 11–12, 1987

  Two: Midmorning, April 12, 1987

  Three: Morning, April 13, 1987

  Four: Midday, April 13, 1987

  Five: Afternoon, April 13, 1987

  Six: Late night, April 13, 1987

  Seven: Early morning, April 14, 1987

  Eight: Morning, April 14, 1987

  Nine: Midday, April 15, 1987

  Ten: Early morning, April 17, 1987

  Eleven: Late afternoon, April 17, 1987

  Twelve: Evening, April 17, 1987

  Thirteen: Morning, April 19, 1987

  Fourteen: Early afternoon, April 26, 1987

  Fifteen: Afternoon, April 30, 1987

  Sixteen: Midday, May 5, 1987

  Seventeen: Afternoon, May 7, 1987

  Eighteen: Afternoon, May 10, 1987

  Nineteen: Late afternoon, May 10, 1987

  Twenty: Morning, May 16, 1987

  Twenty-One: Afternoon, May 16, 1987

  Twenty-Two: Afternoon, May 18, 1987

  Twenty-Three: Late afternoon, May 18, 1987

  Twenty-Four: Early morning, May 20, 1987

  Twenty-Five: Early evening, May 20, 1987

  Twenty-Six: Evening, May 20, 1987

  Twenty-Seven: Early morning, May 21, 1987

  Twenty-Eight: Late morning, May 23, 1987

  Twenty-Nine: Late afternoon, May 23, 1987

  Thirty: Afternoon, May 23, 1987

  Thirty-One: Late afternoon, May 23, 1987

  Thirty-Two: Afternoon, May 27, 1987

  Thirty-Three: Noon, May 27, 1987

  Thirty-Four: Afternoon, May 27, 1987

  Thirty-Five: Very early morning, May 28, 1987

  Thirty-Six: Morning, May 28, 1987

  Thirty-Seven: Late afternoon, May 29, 1987

  Thirty-Eight: Morning, May 31, 1987

  Thirty-Nine: Late morning, June 23, 1987

  Forty: Midday, June 23, 1987

  Forty-One: Evening, June 23, 1987

  Forty-Two: Afternoon, July 12, 1987

  Forty-Three: Evening, August 1, 1987

  Forty-Four: Early morning, August 14, 1987

  Forty-Five: Midmorning, August 14, 1987

  Forty-Six: Late morning, August 14, 1987

  Forty-Seven: Afternoon, August 14, 1987

  PREFACE

  Nate Isaacs and Amanda Hobbs are shown to a window table near the one they occupied the first time they lunched together at Rockefeller Center’s Sea Grill restaurant. On this occasion, the circumstances could not be more different and the setting could not matter less. Today, no one is jockeying for position; today, no one is angling for tradeoffs unless intended for the common good.

  “So, in review,” Nate says after they’ve been given menus, “she’d already called twice before you heard from me at dawn. Is that right? You were still a little dazed—or maybe I was—and I’m not sure I caught everything you said earlier.”

  “Yes, twice. The first time to break the news before I heard it on TV or radio, and the second time . . . I don’t know . . . I’m guessing she needed to repeat herself because she was having trouble believing it. I know it’s gonna take a lot to make me believe it . . . to really believe it.” Amanda’s voice trails off, her eyes glaze over.

  ONE

  April 11–12, 1987

  Two hours after liftoff, the atmosphere of excitement and celebration generated by hers and Colin’s surprise appearance and major announcement has toned down. Now that meal and beverage service has ended, a handful of stalwarts are gathered in the back of the sparsely occupied DC-10, where Rayce Vaughn is holding forth in his usual antic way, but most of the other passengers are settled in with books or headphones for the remainder of the flight.

  Whatever Laurel expected to encounter on a charter carrying musicians, record label executives, and other industry types, this isn’t it. This recalls her first encounter with Rayce, when she felt something akin to disappointment that none of his retinue appeared derelict, much less debauched. And she’s never apt to forget that she was once caught gaping at Colin Elliot—her newly betrothed—for the very same reason.

  She completes another leg-stretching circuit of the cabin and crosses over at the forward galley to return to her seat. Colin is standing in the aisle, several rows ahead, infinitely gapeable and hers to ogle at will, a realization that will take some getting used to.

  After Laurel sits down, the next best reality check short of pinching herself is bringing out the notebook first put into service when she believed notes on the significant details of a rock star’s life wouldn’t fill more than a dozen pages. Now, its few remaining pages are filled with lists and reminders spawned by her decision to kick over the traces and embark on a life of her own.

  She can check off as completed the telephoned directives to the nursing home and to her brothers and sister regarding their father’s ongoing care and management. Although mentioned, no agreement was reached regarding final disposition of the family home. Doesn’t it just figure that all three siblings are dragging their feet about getting rid of a place they don’t visit all that often?

  In the margin she writes a reminder to secure custodial care for the house, adding asterisks and underscoring to make sure the requirement doesn’t escape her attention later on.

  She skips past a question-marked entry for Mrs. Floss to the list of account numbers representing only the tip of the financial iceberg awaiting restructuring. Under normal circumstances she would delegate that task to someone within the law firm—David being the logical choice—but with so much at stake, including her newly vested interest in the firm, a conflict exists. If asking him were an option, Nate Isaacs would be first choice to guide her through these financial shoals. She might, however, discreetly get in touch with Nate to thank him for nudging her in the right direction where Colin is concerned. And while she’s at it, she should write a glowing letter of recommendation on Amanda’s behalf if Amanda’s job offer from Nate hasn’t rendered that unnecessary.

  Laurel interrupts her double-checking to again study the photographs of Anthony and Simon that were tucked into the back of the notebook for safekeeping. She’s poring over them as though for hidden meaning when Colin sinks into the seat beside her.

  “Losing your nerve?” he says.

  “No, not at all. I’m recalling the day you coerced me into reassuring Anthony you weren’t in any danger of going to prison and he tripped me up with my own advice.”

  “You worried he’ll trip you up again?”

  “If he doe
s, I’m prepared to say that I do love him. And mean it. How could I not?” She caresses the boy’s photograph with a fingertip. “And this little guy.” She strokes the picture of Simon. “How could I not love him?”

  “That’s me throughout. Wearin’ out grainy newspaper pictures of you and askin’ myself how could I not love you. And now I can ask myself how I got so lucky. Makes me a bit nervous, it does.” Colin squeezes her hand and looks away for awhile before picking up the thread. “I wouldn’t waste worry on the lad, though. Anthony didn’t raise objection when I rang to tell them you’d be with me. He rather took the news in stride. I think he was expecting it, actually. I know my mum was. Isn’t that consistent with the reactions coming from your family?”

  “Yes, basically the same. No surprise registered and no objections raised. Ben thought it was a cool move, quote-unquote, and Mike expressed hope he’d now have a shot at scoring floor seats for the better rock concerts. And when I gave Emily the news, there was none of her usual squealing and drama. She only wondered what took so long, seeing that you’re such a great kisser. Amanda kind of let me down, too. All she said was ‘I told you so.’”

  “But didn’t you say she repeated it ten or fifteen times?”

  “By conservative estimate, putting her in a category with Bemus, who could only say ‘bout time’ over and over when I called him about picking up the car at the airport.”

  “Leaving David the only one actually gobsmacked when it was realized you weren’t traveling as my official biographer.”

  “Can we please not use that term again?”

  “Fine with me, but that begs the question—are you gonna continue with the book?”

  “Too soon to say.”

  “Let me put it this way, then. If things hadn’t been resolved this morning, were you just gonna abandon the project . . . and me?”

  “No. I didn’t have a plan, though. I only knew I didn’t want to practice law anymore, and that I didn’t want to be anyplace you weren’t.”

  Colin leans over and kisses her with unmistakable intent, then suddenly reconnects with their surroundings. “Sorry,” he says upon pulling away.

  “You certainly don’t have to be sorry for that.”

  “The sorry’s about our not being alone and not likely to be in the foreseeable future. In fact, David’s headed this way right now.”

  “Expecting a raft of apologies and explanations, no doubt.”

  “What’s it gonna hurt if you give in?”

  “Very well, you’re right—nothing can be hurt now.”

  Colin relinquishes his seat on the excuse of having something burning to discuss with Rayce. At her invitation, David accepts Colin’s aisle seat and makes a gracious show of admiring her magnificent, slightly too large engagement ring.

  “Well, well, well . . . as you couldn’t have failed to notice when you and Colin boarded the plane as a couple, I was completely bowled over. I never saw this coming. Your resignation, perhaps. But a complete abdication of duty and responsibility . . . I never would have believed it.”

  “Don’t go there, David. Don’t even try. I’ve discharged all those duties and responsibilities forced upon me, and I’ve fulfilled all the obligations I took on voluntarily. I don’t owe anybody anything anymore. Certainly not you. It’s my turn now.”

  “I won’t deny that you’ve earned a turn, as you put it, and might now wish to inject your life with a little interim excitement, but does it have to be with a rock star—in a foreign country—and at the expense of everything else?”

  “What everything else? Don’t you get it? There is no everything else. And what’s wrong with rock stars all of a sudden? They do afford you a damn good livelihood, after all, and so do the foreign countries you regularly plunder for fresh talent to mine.”

  “Laurel, dear, don’t take this—”

  “Do not call me ‘dear.’ I’m no longer your ward and I’m a very long way from being your lover.”

  “At least lower your voice. You’re attracting attention.”

  “I no doubt am and I’ll no doubt attract more before the transition’s complete.”

  “Valid point. Have you considered what you’re going to do about media attention and the mockery that’ll be made of a ten-day courtship?”

  “Eleven-day courtship it was, and I learned on day one of that courtship that my own truth will always defeat anything the media has to say. And that’ll work on anything more you have to say. I won’t hear you because I’ll be so immersed in the truth of my love for Colin and his for me.”

  “More power to you, my dear, but that won’t keep me from going on record as advising against marrying him. Hardly anyone in his world formalizes relationships these days. And for god’s sake, do not have children. The ones he has will be enough trouble and you won’t want the situation any more complicated than it has to be when the time comes for disentangling yourself.”

  “Thank goodness I couldn’t make out a word you said.” Laurel slams shut her tray table. “You’ll have to excuse me.” She climbs over David to get to the aisle. “I’d like to be with my people now.”

  Rayce sees her coming and steps forward to greet her no less effusively than when he welcomed her aboard the plane with open arms.

  “Ah, here’s our Laurel. Give us a cuddle then, and let us again rejoice that you’ve joined our merry band of sybarites.” He wraps her in a quick hug and a generous whiff of cigarette smoke, plays to his usual claque, which now includes Colin. “You do know, luv, that when things were at their iffiest, some of us were started wonderin’ just how many rock stars it was gonna take to screw in the light bulb and I, for one—”

  He’s drowned out by groans, a few hisses, and her laughter.

  “Did I ever think to tell you,” Laurel says when the uproar dies down, “that you were my late mother’s favorite performer? She had all your records and I now treasure them as relics of bygone days as well as sentimental keepsakes.”

  “Well done!” Colin shouts amidst an outburst of laughter dominated by Rayce’s trademark cackle.

  She could have no better antidote for David’s sour appraisal than this playful give-and-take with her new friend; she could have no better opportunity for retaliation if revealing David’s privately held opinion of rock stars wouldn’t hurt Rayce as much as David. She smiles at Colin, who is coming to claim her, and decides against telling even him because no purpose would be served other than satisfying her need to strike back. David’s not the only prominent attorney who privately disdains clients. Not by a long shot. Unless he willfully misrepresents one of those clients, his negative remarks deserve no power.

  Rayce resumes his parody of partying—swigging from a large bottle of Coke as though it was Tennessee whiskey and sucking on an unfiltered cigarette as though he’d rolled it himself. Those actions don’t deserve any power, either.

  Without asking why, Colin agrees with her request to remain in the back of the plane for the remainder of the flight. He retrieves their hand luggage from up front and they settle into seats far enough removed from the smokers and revelers that they won’t be disturbed if they try to sleep. Sleep is never a real consideration, though, not while they’re both endlessly fascinated with fresh insights into past behaviors.

  “Am I right to think you were saying goodbye to Manhattan the day we took the ride on the tourist boat?” Colin says.

  “Fair to say, but at the time I wouldn’t have admitted it . . . not even to myself.”

  “And what would’ve happened if I’d declared myself the day you came to my hotel suite hell-bent on convincing me to respond to the press?”

  “I’m afraid I would have laughed you off. That would have been my initial reaction—the one I would have felt compelled to give, but it wouldn’t have been my honest reaction.”

  “You’ve never said what you were actually about the night you moved to the hotel and tracked me down at the studio,” he says.

  “I’m still waiting to hea
r if you deliberately set out to entice me with your nonsense verses,” she replies.

  “Tell me you didn’t know you resembled Sargent’s portrait of Madame X in that sensational frock you wore the other night.”

  They continue in this vein for hours, playing what-if and second-guessing questionable actions of the past eleven days until an attendant comes through the cabin raising window shades and announcing breakfast and the estimated time of touchdown.

  “I’m gonna freshen up whilst there’s still time.” Colin retrieves his toiletries kit from the overhead and digs through it for an electric razor and a toothbrush. “I won’t be long.” He drops the kit on the seat beside her, kisses the top of her head and sets off for the multiple lavatories situated midplane.

  Laurel focuses on the unshaded window at her elbow and confronts the first suggestion of dawn, along with the good possibility she’s going to cry of sheer happiness and excitement. She cannot allow that to happen—not with David only a compartment away, and knowing him, watchful for any sign she’s overwrought and therefore unstable. And she must not cry when she meets Anthony and Simon or she’ll risk being misunderstood. She makes promises to her hazy reflection in the thick Plexiglas window before returning to the practical matter of herself freshening up.

  She’s reaching for her carryall when Rayce suddenly appears and snatches Colin’s open toiletries kit from the seat beside her.

  “Can I help you?” she says as Rayce places a finger to his lips and winks.

  “You didn’t see me and I’ll wager you weren’t supposed to see this.” He removes a battered box of Polks Extra Strength Headache Powders and makes off with several envelopes before she can do more than label him incorrigible—and Colin, as well. She tsk-tsks as she tucks the Polks box into her own toiletries kit to dispose of when she goes to freshen up.

  She hurries off to do just that, confident that disposal rights come with promotion from official biographer to official partner.

  The helicopter is a surprise. To Colin too, although he thinks he knows who arranged for it. For Laurel, everything has gone by in a blur since landing at Gatwick, clearing customs and immigration, and transferring to the helipad under the protective guidance of two greeters. Because they were all headed in different directions, goodbyes to Rayce and David were hurried—a distinct blessing in David’s case.