And “Baby Jones.” The two gits hadn’t realized she’d written that song herself. It had caught on too fast to keep other street groups from stealing it, but it was hers. She’d registered that and the “Lah Tee Dah” song, and over twenty others she’d written, with the copyright office, the real one in Washington DC at the Library of Congress. She’d gotten a guy over at a Staples store to help her find and then fill out the papers. It had taken a few flattering lies, a few evenings of flirtation, but no sex, to get it done. Lian had no intention of sleeping her way to anywhere.
Her grandmother had taught her, promise anything, but give them nothing. Lian, a very young Hermione Listenberger at that time, had taken this advice to heart. Her bubbe was smart. She’d survived exceedingly well in a male-dominated world, with much worse circumstances to deal with back then, Lian knew. Bless you, thank you, Lian sent her gratitude floating through the air to her bubbe. Bubbe was her “luck.” Her bubbe’s was the voice she’d listened to all her life, her mother having proven to be of no help in any way-well, except to show the stupidity of trying to use sex to get ahead. Although Lian supposed that knowledge was useful, too.
All afternoon Lian sang only her own songs, no Abba, no Dylan, no anybody else but herself. And the crowds paused, entranced, and left dollar bills in their wake. After every song, Lian nodded her gratitude at her “luck,” her beloved ‘bubbe’ watching over her from farther down the empty track. Then she went home.
The next day, she didn’t show up at the Grand Central entrance doors. Like lost sheep, the two men split up to look for her, figuring she must be in trouble. She’d never missed a day, and certainly wouldn’t miss today, their last rehearsal together to hone them for the afternoon meeting with the recording executive. They split up. Joe, by choice, set off to cruise the streets around Grand Central and Sody took the tunnels.
About an hour later, Joe reluctantly descended into the tunnels himself. They’d all three almost exclusively ridden the 9 train, so he anticipated finding both Sody and Lian with little trouble. At the 59th Street station, he heard an unusual commotion. Not that the tunnels weren’t always echoing one racket or another, but this was different. These sounds were of terror, like animals trapped in a burning pen. As he threaded his way to the front of the crowd, Joe glimpsed a body being strapped onto a gurney in preparation to be lifted up the steep stairs to street level.
“What happened?” he asked a plump fiftyish Hispanic woman near him whose frozen expression reflected his own.
“He fell,” she whispered, fear stark in her creamy brown eyes.
Just before the medic pulled the covering over the body’s face, Joe recognized the corpse. He stifled a sharp cry and stumbled backward to nearly fall over the Hispanic woman, who hadn’t moved.
“He-Madre de Dios, he fell!” she whispered again to herself. She shuddered, then suddenly retreated to huddle against the gate, far from the edge of the track platform and began mouthing words only she could hear.
Prayers, Joe guessed, and from a youthful habit, himself shakily began, “Holy Mary, Mother of God…”
Then Joe’s mouth couldn’t quite close and he suddenly felt claustrophobic in the tunnel. Grimy oil-slick stairs going down to lower, filthier tunnels, and more stairs to other dark exits and entrances taunted and closed in on him like living threats. He hoisted his keyboard in his arms like a long heavy baby and darted for the stairs to the street.
When he emerged, he raised his face to the sun and breathed until he could calm himself. A small hand touched his elbow, and he jumped, choking back a fearful cry. When his vision cleared he discovered Lian gazing at him in astonishment. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Sody!” Joe’s voice cracked. He coughed, then tried again. “It’s Sody, lass. He’s gone.”
“Gone? What?” Lian suddenly huddled against his hard-muscled arm as if frightened. “You mean he’s dead, don’t you! How?” she demanded, but her voice was soft, trembling. “He was awfully tense about the audition. Did he…?
Joe’s testosterone kicked in and he straightened his shoulders. “Nay, lass,” he began, “He had no reason to-the crowds… he fell. It was an accident.” He shook his head. “He was looking for you. We both were. Where’ve ye been?”
Lian looked at him strangely. “Resting. For our audition today. Weren’t you?”
“Nah. We came to play as always. Like a rehearsal. If ye wanted to rest today, why didn’t ye say so yesterday? We worried! If we hadn’t, then maybe Sody might still be… might not’ve…”
Lian shuddered. “You mean it’s my fault, then? I’m sorr-“
“Nah. Didn’t mean that. Forgive me. No fault to yersel’. He slipped, is all. It’s so dark down there, and crowded, the floors coated with grease from the trains. I hate the tunnels, truth be known.”
He put one arm around her and she leaned against him and they stood entwined in silence. “I’m scared, Joe,” Lian finally said, her voice small. Joe’s arm tightened around her and he let his keyboard slide to the sidewalk.
He kissed the top of her head and swallowed hard. “Lian, my angel, no reason to fear wi’ me around. Ye must know how I’ve felt about ye since the first day… doesn’t seem right to say so now with Sody gone… but…” He shook his head. “I’m here for ye, Lian. Always. I think ye know that, don’t ye.”
Lian lifted her head at that and sang softly to him, “Always, and forever, in darkness of night, in darkness of daytime, in darkness of sight…”
Joe’s eyebrows lifted and he gazed tenderly at her soft mouth as it moved, digging words out of her brain, making a new song.
“Yer lovely, my Lian. A nightingale.”
She backed away. “Joe, we have to go back down there right now.”
“What! To the tunnels? Why?”
“It’s my place. My luck. I must go! I can’t let Sody’s ghost keep me away. Joe, take me. Be with me. I need this, or I can’t succeed at the audition! But I can’t go down there alone!”
At the balky look on Joe’s face, she said softly, “We’ll pick a different station. A lighter one, cleaner. Where isn’t important. It’s that-I can’t sing without my luck. And my luck lives in the tunnels. We have only an hour before our appointment with fame. Fame we deserve!”
Joe stared at her, then at his feet, then away. “Yer daft, lass. No good going down there again. Make your luck come up to you!”
She jerked herself away from him. “Forget it, then. No appointment.”
Joe exhaled sharply as if she’d punched him in the stomach. “Audition alone? Me? I’m a keyboarder who can sing some, but not like you! Ye’d ruin me chances by leaving!”
“I have no choice. I can’t go without my luck! And it’s down there!”
Joe breathed heavily, lips pale.
Lian said, “Are you afraid of Sody’s ghost? He loved us! He wouldn’t hurt anybody, let alone you. I’m not afraid.”
“Okay, okay!” Joe turned, then stopped. “Not here, for God’s sake.”
“I said so, didn’t I? Our old place. 50th Street. Let’s go there. And we’ll walk, not take a train. Can you carry the keyboard that far?”
Joe nodded wordlessly and they walked side by side, Joe unhappy but unable to stop his Lian. “My Lian,” he murmured to himself, as if comforting himself that she was “his” and so worth facing the tunnels. Worth facing the fright the tunnels had always held for him, but he’d kept concealed. As he walked on, gradually he relaxed and eased nearly all the way back into his normal cocky self.