He’s trying out new lyrics, Sterling thought. Upbeat, but with a nice plaintive touch. Billy really is good. I always did have an ear for music, he recalled.
Forty-five minutes later, the phone rang. Billy picked it up, said, “Hello,” listened, then said, nervously, “You’re calling from Badgett Enterprises? What can I do for you?”
Sterling hoisted himself from the chair and in two quick strides was at Billy’s side, his ear to the receiver.
At the other end of the line, Charlie Santoli stood in his office, hating himself more and more with every word he uttered. “I am a representative of the company. The reason I am calling is that, as you may know, the Badgett brothers are philanthropists who have a large scholarship program for children in the local area. They thoroughly enjoyed your performance last night, and they know you have a young daughter.”
Sterling saw Billy’s forehead tighten. “What has my daughter got to do with this?”
“Her future has a great deal to do with it. The Badgetts understand how uncertain your future as a performer may be. They would like to set up a trust fund to ensure that Marissa will be able to go to a fine college in another ten years.”
“Why would they want to do that?” Billy asked, restrained anger in his voice.
“Because sometimes remarks made in jest are overheard and, if repeated, take on a life of their own. The Badgetts would be very upset if that happened.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Of course I am, Charlie thought. It’s my job. He cleared his throat. “What I am offering is to make your daughter one of the selected recipients of a one hundred thousand dollar trust fund. It would please Junior and Eddie Badgett very much if you’d accept. On the other hand, they would find it dismaying if you were to repeat lighthearted remarks that might be misconstrued.”
Billy stood up. The receiver hit Sterling in the jaw, causing him to blink.
“Listen, you representative of Badgett Enterprises, whoever you are, you tell those two that my daughter doesn’t need their trust fund. I’ll take care of her education myself without any help from them… And as for their ‘joking’ or ‘lighthearted’ remarks, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
He slammed down the phone, sank onto the couch, and clenched his hands into fists. “They know we heard them,” he said aloud. “What are we going to do?”
The Heavenly Council was watching the developments on Earth with rapt attention. Charlie Santoli’s phone call to Billy Campbell brought instant response.
“Charlie Santoli had better watch out,” the monk said sternly.
“He’d better not come crying to us when his time is up.” The shepherd’s eyes flashed fire.
“It wasn’t what the sisters taught him at St. Francis Xavier,” the nun said sadly.
The queen’s expression was grave. “He’d better wake up before it’s too late.”
“He wants to be good,” the nurse volunteered.
“Well then, madam, for goodness sake, Charles Santoli must mend his ways and get on with it,” the admiral thundered.
“I think Sterling will be looking to confer with us again,” the Native American saint reflected. “He has great humility. He wants to do his job, and he’s not afraid to ask for help.”
“He was always capable of deep caring and love,” the shepherd observed, his tone now mollified. “I was pleased by the expression in his eyes as he sat watching Marissa when she was sleeping.”
Sterling caught up with Marissa just as she was putting her ice skates in her carrying case and rushing out to the car. When he had realized that Billy was going to catch a few hours’ sleep, he had trotted over to Marissa’s house to see how she was doing.
He arrived in time to join Roy as he drove Marissa to the rink, bringing the munchkins along for the ride. Squashed between the twins, Sterling ducked flailing arms that attacked him from both sides. His jaw was still a little sore from being bopped with the receiver when he’d been listening in on Santoli’s conversation with Billy, and, at one year of age, Roy Junior had a mean right cross.
But they are cute babies, he conceded with only a shade of reluctance. It’s kind of fascinating to see how they’re taking in everything they see. My problem was that I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so anxious to stay away from kids all my life if I’d had some experience with them.
He remembered the time he was godfather at a christening and the baby had drooled all over his pin-striped suit. It was the first time I wore it, too.
In the front seat, Roy was saying to Marissa, “I understand Grandma is going to teach you how to make apple strudel today.”
What a thrill, Sterling thought, and realized Marissa was having exactly the same reaction. However, she said politely, “I know. Grandma’s so nice.”
Roy smiled benignly. “I want to have at least two pieces.”
“Okay, but don’t forget I have to save a piece for Daddy and one for NorNor.”
It’s not easy to be a stepparent, Sterling thought sympathetically. Marissa always keeps him at arm’s length. If I’d known Roy better before I met him next year, I wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss him as a bore.
But he does drive like a snail with a bad back. Sterling concurred totally with Marissa’s impatient thought, “Step on it. Practice will be over before I get there.”
She’s Nor to a tee, Sterling decided.
When they arrived at the rink, Marissa thanked Roy for driving her, kissed him on the cheek, and waved to the twins before rushing out of the car.
Sterling climbed over Roy Junior’s car seat and saw the surprised expression on the baby’s face. He senses me, he thought. They both are beginning to sense me. Babies have so much awareness of the metaphysical. Too bad it gets lost along the way.
He caught up with Marissa and listened as she chatted animatedly with her friends at the side of the rink.
Miss Carr was the teacher he would see next year at the skating rink in Rockefeller Center. She blew a whistle and ten children, all the others a couple of years older than Marissa, skated onto the ice.
Some of the children were very good, but Marissa was simply outstanding. What a little trouper, Sterling thought as he watched her take a couple of hard spills. She just gets up, shakes herself off, and tries the spin or jump again.
Later, when the children had changed back into their shoes or boots, one of the girls came over to Marissa. “My sister got your dad’s single for Christmas. She wondered if he would mind signing it for her.”
Marissa’s beaming with pride, Sterling thought as he watched and noted with amusement that she tried to sound oh-so-casual when she said, “Oh, sure. My dad likes to sign autographs for my friends.”
“Is he writing a new song now?” the girl asked.