Goodbye Without Leaving Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Okay, tell Ma I’m wallowing in sin.”
    â€œShe’ll be thrilled to hear it,” said my father bitterly.
    It was true my friends were forging ahead in life: getting married, having babies, being promoted, becoming White House Fellows or junior partners in their law firms. Even Mary Abbott had gotten a fellowship at Columbia, and on one of my two-week breaks I flew to New York and moved my things into a tiny room in her new apartment.
    My actual home was our giant tour bus. I got into it in order to go somewhere in order to get out and into a motel room where I would put on a dress the size of a corset and get up on a stage to back up Ruby, and then, after losing four pounds in sweat, I would get back into the bus and go somewhere else.
    After the Boston show I started noticing a person who sat in the second row wearing a tie and jacket—most uncool. He turned up in Providence, New London, Hartford, then Waterbury. It was hard to tell how old he was. He also had short hair.
    He appeared at both the Apollo and Filmore shows, and it occurred to me that he might be some sex nut fixated on Ruby, who was one of the hotter acts around I was glad my parents would never come to see me perform and therefore spare themselves the sight of Ruby wrapping herself around the microphone in numbers such as “Love Me All Night Long.” She liked to break into a throaty monologue that began, “Darling, why don’t you slide your big, strong arms around every part of me?” Naturally, creeps were inspired by this sort of thing and sent her dirty letters in care of Crackerjack Records.
    It was after the Filmore show that the person with the jacket and tie came backstage. He caught me off guard. I was alone. There was a big party for Ruby uptown, but if I had gone I would have been the only white person there. Instead I sat in my damp dance dress, taking off my false eyelashes. When I looked up, there he was. It occurred to me that he might be dangerous.
    â€œWhat are you?” I said into the mirror. “Some kind of Boy Scout from Mars?”
    â€œI’m a journalist.”
    â€œOh, yeah? Are you the guy from Bop Magazine?”
    â€œWell, not exactly,” he said. “I’m very interested in you as the white Shakette, and also interested in the Shakelys. I’ve been following them for years. Would you like to go out?”
    â€œAre you kidding?” I said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, out where?” I said.
    â€œWell, how about out to dinner?”
    Up close this person seemed sort of cute, about my age or maybe older. He had blue eyes and curly brown hair, and nice white teeth. I hadn’t been out with anyone for longer than I could remember.
    â€œI guess I ought to change my clothes,” I said. “What’s your name, anyway?”
    â€œJohnny Miller,” he said. “I’m a lawyer.”
    â€œNo kidding!” I said, trying to keep all this straight. “But I thought you said you were from Bop Magazine.”
    â€œNo, you said you thought I was from Bop Magazine. I’m not a journalist. I lied to get backstage. I just wanted to meet you.”
    â€œOkay,” I said. “I’m Geraldine Coleshares.”
    â€œI’m well aware,” said Johnny Miller. “I know lots about you. I especially dig it when Ruby lets you have a little solo. You have a wonderful voice.”
    â€œListen,” I said. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. I just did a show. What’s your story, anyway?”
    â€œI love rock and roll with all my heart,” he said solemnly. “I have every single record Ruby ever made, including the original pressings of ‘Sugar Doll Man’ and ‘Boy Oh Bad’ from when she was Ruby Martin and the Vonelles.”
    I took this in. Only a hard-core fan would know about Ruby Martin and the Vonelles, whose two records never went anywhere in particular. Then an idea struck