He Sees You When You're Sleeping

“Of course I have to know about it. Billy, somehow those people found out that we were in that outer office. Maybe they have hidden cameras.”

“Maybe. Or maybe someone spotted us coming out of there.”

Nor realized she was trembling. “Do you know who it was on the phone?”

“He didn’t give his name, but I think it might have been that guy who told us what to sing when we got there yesterday.”

“I remember him. Kind of nervous and weasely-looking.”

“That’s the one. Look, I’d better get moving. I’m taking the three o’clock train into Manhattan.”

“Billy, be careful.”

“You’re supposed to say, ‘Break a leg.’ ”

“I already did.”

“That’s right, you did. See you later, Mom.”

Mechanically, Nor replaced the receiver on the cradle. Break a leg. She had worked in a nightclub where the owner was behind in his payments to someone like the Badgetts. A broken leg had been his first warning to pay up.

And what didn’t seem to have occurred to Billy yet was that the caller had talked about Marissa. Will the Badgetts try to get to Billy and me through Marissa? Nor agonized.

She dialed Sean O’Brien’s number, hoping against hope that she’d reach him. He knew a lot about the Badgetts. Maybe he could tell her what they were likely to do next. We’ve already given statements, she thought. Even if we wanted to, how could we possibly take them back?

She knew the answer. It wasn’t that they couldn’t take them back. It was that they wouldn’t.

I always used to dress in a suit when I had a business meeting, Sterling thought as he followed Billy onto the three o’clock train to Manhattan.

For his appointment with the recording company executives, Billy had chosen vintage jeans, a loose-fitting dark blue shirt, boots, and a leather jacket.

I’ll never get used to these new styles. But then again, in the 1880s, when Mother was a young woman, she wore laced corsets, high-button shoes, bo

He took the aisle seat next to Billy, who had found a vacant window seat. I always wanted the window seat too when I traveled by train, Sterling remembered. When A

He could see how deeply worried Billy was just by looking at the troubled expression in his eyes and on his face. He was glad when Billy closed his eyes. Maybe he can relax a little, Sterling hoped. He’s going to need to be “on” when he meets that guy Chip Holmes.

The train was a local and took forty-five minutes to get to Jamaica, in Queens. From there they took the subway to Fifty-ninth Street in Manhattan.

We’re an hour early, Sterling noted as they climbed the steps to the street. Darkness was just setting in. The traffic was heavy, and there were Christmas decorations in all the windows. I hope Billy kills the time by taking a walk. I haven’t been in this part of Manhattan in forty-six years.

It looks the same and yet different. Bloomingdale’s will never change. But I don’t see Alexander’s. I loved living here, he remembered as he took it all in. There’s no place like it in the world.

He trailed behind Billy to Park Avenue. The trees on the center island were glowing with white lights. The air was cold but clear. Sterling inhaled appreciatively even though it wasn’t necessary for him to breathe. The hint of evergreen in the air made his mind drift back to other Christmases.

They started downtown and passed the building at 475 Park Avenue. My boss used to live there, Sterling recalled. He always invited A

Just then, a very old man, cane in hand, hobbled out of the building and spoke to the doorman. “My driver’s late. Get me a cab, so

Sterling gasped. It’s him, my boss. Josh Gaspero. He must be a hundred years old! I’d love to be able to say hello, but from the looks of things, I suspect I’ll be seeing him soon enough.

Billy was half a block ahead of him, and Sterling hurried to catch up, glancing over his shoulder several times as he watched his boss impatiently tapping his cane on the side-walk. He hasn’t changed, Sterling thought fondly.

The St. Regis was on Fifty-fifth Street, but Billy kept going south on Park Avenue. At Fiftieth Street he turned right and walked a few blocks west to Rockefeller Center.

Here I am again, Sterling thought. It’s such a great place to be at Christmastime. I bet I know just where Billy’s headed. Five minutes later they were in front of the magnificent evergreen with its thousands of colorful lights, looking down at the skating rink.

This is where it all started. Sterling smiled to himself. Started next year. Together they watched the skaters and listened to the music floating up from the rink. I’ll bet Billy has skated here with Marissa. Sterling looked at the expression on Billy’s face. I can tell she’s in his thoughts right now.

Billy turned to leave. Sterling tailed him across Fifth Avenue and up the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He’s stopping to say a prayer, Sterling thought. The moment they walked through the door and experienced the majestic beauty of the cathedral, Sterling felt an intense sense of longing. His mind became filled with the image of the joy and peace he had seen on the faces of the people approaching the open gates of heaven. Head bowed, he knelt beside Billy, who had lit a candle at a side altar.

He’s praying for his future on earth. I’m praying for mine in eternity. To be in heaven even for an hour on Christmas Day… Sterling felt tears in his eyes and whispered, “Please, help me complete my mission on earth so that I may begin to be worthy of You.”

When they left St. Patrick’s a few minutes later, Sterling was filled with both gratitude and regret. He knew that at last he was begi

At the St. Regis Hotel, Billy went into the King Cole bar, sat at a small table, and ordered a Perrier.

Oh, they’ve changed it here, Sterling thought as he looked around. But the Maxfield Parrish mural behind the bar is the same. I always loved it.

It was almost five o’clock. The bar was suddenly filling up. I remember meeting friends here for a glass of wine after work, Sterling mused. Just as people are doing now, getting together with friends, enjoying each other’s company-that at least is timeless.

A couple of young women at a nearby table cast smiling glances at Billy, who was too absorbed in his own concerns to even notice them.

At five-twenty, Sterling could see that Billy was gearing up for the meeting. He straightened his shoulders, began sipping the Perrier, and kept his eye on the door. Ten minutes later, when the recording executive who had been at Nor’s Place appeared with a fast-moving, balding man in tow, Billy was the picture of easy charm.

They moved to a bigger table. But there’s always room for one more, Sterling thought as he took the unoccupied seat and began to sort out his companions. It only took a moment to figure out that Chip Holmes was the top executive of the recording company, while Eli Green headed the New York office.

Holmes was a no-nonsense, say-it-and-be-finished-with-it type. “You’re good, Billy, you’re very good. You’ve got a special quality to your singing that makes me confident you’ll catch on big time.”

That’s what I said, Sterling thought.

“You’ve got good looks, too, which is a rarity among the male performers in this business…”