Gabriel reacted first by taking Jennifer by the arm and standing her up. She easily shook off Kennedy’s grip and then placed her hands — clad in elbow-length white gloves — on the table.
“November 21st, 1963. Remember that night, Mr. Martin?”
The man’s face drained of color. He looked up at the small woman and a questioning look crossed his acne-pitted face.
“A night long before you were squirted out of your mother. What of it?” he hissed.
Gabriel eased his hand over and stopped Lonetree from slamming the man’s fat jeweled face into the white lined tablecloth. He looked at John and slightly shook his head.
“It was rainy and cold on the lower east side. My apartment at the time had a hot water heating system and three radiators more musical than my piano. They clanked and vibrated and put out very little warmth. They were singing loudly that night in November. Remember, Stephan?”
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, tossing his napkin onto the tabletop.
“Remember the song?”
“All right, I don’t care to listen to this any longer. This woman is obviously mad.”
“That word isn’t exactly descriptive, nor adequate for the way I am, man,” Jenny said, hissing the words. Her voice became deep and man-like. “Maybe if I sing it for you?”
Gabriel tried to stop her, but she turned and made her way to the front of the lounge, bumping into several men and women who were dancing slowly to the non-descript music being played by the house band. She went directly to the stage and hopped up on it, tearing the expensive dress as she did. She wobbled at first, and then straightened as the lead singer of the band steadied her. The music stopped one instrument at a time. She exchanged a few words with the singer and then placed a gloved hand on his chest and pushed him away.
“That’s it. Call security,” Martin said to the bodyguard next to him.
On the stage, a confident and gorgeous Jennifer Tilden adjusted the microphone stand. At the table the four men, Martin included, turned to see what was happening. Two of the three bodyguards walked past the group still at the salon’s door.
The small lights lining the stage went from gold to light green. Jennifer looked up. Her features had become harsher, but at the same time even more feminine. He had the feeling that for the first time since he had known Jenny and her traumatic state, Bobby Lee McKinnon was actually sharing the stage with her. This show belonged to both of them. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, Kennedy smiled.
“I would like to dedicate this song to a long-time producer friend of mine who gave me a start in the business. He’s in the back of the room where he can sit in judgment of people, and make deals behind their backs.” She lowered her gaze. “I co-wrote this with a longtime friend of mine you all know as Sonny Bono and Jack Nietzsche in 1962. I played it for this young man in the audience, and he told me it wasn’t good enough.”
Stephan Martin slowly started to rise but John stepped up and placed a hand on his ample shoulder, making the remaining bodyguard take a step forward.
“Why don’t we hear what the lady has to say?” John said into the ear of the record executive.
Jenny raised her face to the lighting above her. Closing her eyes, she started to sing a song that was immediately recognizable. It was always played as an up tempo song by later groups covering it, but Bobby Lee McKinnon had always meant it to be a slow ballad. It had been recorded first by the Searchers, and covered many times afterward even more famous bands.
“I saw her today, I saw her face, It was the face I loved…and I knew, I had to run away and get down on my knees and prayaaay…That they'd go away…But still they begin…Needles and pins…Because of all my pride…The tears I gotta hide…Hey, I thought I was smart…I wanted her…Didn't think I'd do, but now I see…She's worse to him than me…Let her go ahead, take his love instead…And one day she will see…”
The band caught on and the drums rolled and joined in with the slow way Jenny and Bobby Lee sang the old song, Needles and Pins. The rhythm guitar and bass joined in, and even the displaced lead singer started a slow melodic backup to Jenny.
On the floor in front of the stage, every person watching her on stage was enraptured by the slow way the old ballad was sung. Hands tapped out the slow beat on tables. Several men and women rose to their feet and started clapping, as if this beautiful song were a surprise gift from the management at the Waldorf.
John Lonetree slowly removed his hand from Martin’s shoulder and took and involuntary step toward the stage as Jenny started winding down.
The blood had drain from Stephan Martin’s face. He seemed to shrink in his chair and as the bodyguard reached out he angrily shoved his large hand away.
The song finally came to an end and the audience was silent in rapt fascination. Jennifer had closed her eyes, and as the lights came up and the crowd started applauding and cheering, she slowly looked up. That was when Kennedy knew this wasn’t going to be good.
As the applause finally started to slow and then come to a stop, Jennifer demurely stepped from the stage, this time assisted by the band members. Jennifer ignored the praise from the audience as she easily stepped between tables on her way toward Martin. She stopped just short of the table as every set of eyes in the room watched.
“Are you related to Bobby?” Martin stuttered his question.
“You could say that,” Jennifer said as she pulled out a chair. Lonetree stood like a hulking guardian angel over her shoulder.
“Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but Bobby sold me that song. It was all above board.”
“He was deeply in debt to some unsavory characters in 1963,” Jenny said, staring at Martin. Kennedy slowly waved Leonard and Cordero into the lounge from their position at the door. Jason and Kelly followed, still stunned. “He had a chance at getting out from under that debt by selling a surefire hit to a foreign publisher. But that publisher found that I and my friends had a bit more music smarts than he thought.”
“This is outlandish, and you better chose your next words very, very carefully young lady.” Martin’s greasy forehead had started to break out in a sweat.
“So he sent those unsavory men to my apartment one night, and when I refused to sign, they broke all of my fingers.” Jenny leaned forward as far as the table would allow, making Martin’s company lean backward, away from the woman’s venomous looks.
“This is outrageous!” Martin stood, knocking the table forward and spilling several of the drinks. “She’s talking like she was there!”
“Then I signed the papers, selling my song to Martin, just wanting the pain to stop.” Jenny’s voice lowered as if she were ashamed of caving into to torture. “They took me into my bathroom and then shot me in the head.”
Jenny slowly turned and looked at Gabriel, then turned back and looked at Lonetree. Her eyes were watery and she looked lost.
The people who were closest to the table looked from the small woman to the shocked burly man. He slowly sat down in his seat and couldn’t look at his company. It was if everyone in the room believed what Jenny was saying. Gabriel leaned over and whispered something into Jenny’s ear. She looked at him and shook her head.
“All I ever wanted to do was write music. The money, although necessary, was never important to me. I didn’t deserve what happened.”
With that, Jennifer slowly slumped down in her chair. Gabriel and Lonetree went to her and helped her to her feet. Gabe knew that Bobby Lee had gone. Jennifer had one last thing to say before she let go. The strange thing was, Kennedy suspected that Bobby Lee McKinnon had left Jenny long before the last words were spoken. It was if he trusted Jennifer to say what he was feeling, and left her to say it her own way. They lifted Jenny and started out of the room.