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Authors: Josh Lanyon
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other members. Paulie St. Cyr had gone on to become quite well-known before his early death in 1967. Todd Thomas had given up music for selling ski boats.
He'd apparently retired in the eighties and moved to Canada. His wife kept a family Web site which offered “news” updates and lots of photos of spectacularly plain children. Orrie New Orleans had a long, if unspectacular, career as a backup player. He had passed away last year. I couldn't find any information on Jinx Stevens. The only time her name popped up was in reference to the Moonglows and Kaleidoscope.
She seemed to have vanished as effectively as her brother, though it seemed there was no mystery about it.
But then, there wasn't a lot made of Jay Stevens's disappearance either. Maybe it had only been news in Los Angeles. The Moonglows were strictly famous (and that was relative) for having been Paulie St. Cyr's first band. For that reason, and that reason alone, a copy of Kaleidoscope was worth a small fortune.
I plugged it into my eBay searches. I was curious. Plus, listening to music was on my doctor-approved list of activities.
I spent the next hour scanning through jazz discussion boards and coming up with not so much in the way of information. The next time I surfaced, I realized that it was nearly ten o'clock, and Lauren would be showing up to drag me to cardiac rehab.
I signed out, turned off the laptop, and went upstairs to change into sweats and a T-shirt.
* * * * *
“Depression is perfectly normal after a cardiac event, Adrien.” Dr. Shearing studied me over the top of her spectacles.
Dr. Shearing was my therapist, yet another member of my rehabilitation team, which included my cardiologist, physical therapist, exercise therapist, dietitian, and…shrink. I didn't care for her. I didn't care for any part of cardiac rehab. Not that I didn't know how lucky I was to be in such a program, but I'd never been much for team sports, and that was increasingly what my recovery felt like. All this fucking attention on everything I did. It was close to unbearable.
And most unbearable was Dr. Shearing's poking and probing into my emotional state.
“I'm not depressed.” I gave her a smile perfected through years of dealing with my mother's nosy cronies at interminable high-society shindigs.
Dr. Shearing smiled politely in return. She was, as they say in legend, small but terrible.
Barely five feet tall and built like a pixie. She had one of those pixie haircuts too. The kind of thing that looks best on elderly women or kindergarteners. The walls of her office were plastered in a disturbing mix of angel pictures and diplomas.
“What about stress? Are you using your stress-management techniques when things seem to be getting on top of you?”
“Nothing is getting on top of me.” As I said it, a totally inappropriate picture popped into my mind.
An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide
35
“ What are you feeling ?” Jake's breath warm against my face, my bruised lips tingling from his kisses. “ Tell me what it feels like with me inside you .”
I felt my face warm. I think Dr. Shearing mistook it for guilt. She said rather impatiently,
“You're an intelligent, educated man, Adrien. You must realize we can't treat the heart without treating the entire mind and body. Did you know that depressed cardiac patients have at least twice the risk of repeat events in the two years following their first heart attack?”
“Yep,” I said shortly. “Depressed patients are less likely to take their meds, stick to their diets and exercise regimes, and continue cardiac-rehab sessions. I'm not depressed, and I'm doing everything I'm supposed to do.” Including this waste of time thrice weekly for twelve weeks.
That was how long my rehab was scheduled for. Twelve weeks of closely supervised…everything.
I added, “So can I please go do my workout?”
She shook her head as though she didn't get it—or more likely, that I didn't. “We talked
He'd apparently retired in the eighties and moved to Canada. His wife kept a family Web site which offered “news” updates and lots of photos of spectacularly plain children. Orrie New Orleans had a long, if unspectacular, career as a backup player. He had passed away last year. I couldn't find any information on Jinx Stevens. The only time her name popped up was in reference to the Moonglows and Kaleidoscope.
She seemed to have vanished as effectively as her brother, though it seemed there was no mystery about it.
But then, there wasn't a lot made of Jay Stevens's disappearance either. Maybe it had only been news in Los Angeles. The Moonglows were strictly famous (and that was relative) for having been Paulie St. Cyr's first band. For that reason, and that reason alone, a copy of Kaleidoscope was worth a small fortune.
I plugged it into my eBay searches. I was curious. Plus, listening to music was on my doctor-approved list of activities.
I spent the next hour scanning through jazz discussion boards and coming up with not so much in the way of information. The next time I surfaced, I realized that it was nearly ten o'clock, and Lauren would be showing up to drag me to cardiac rehab.
I signed out, turned off the laptop, and went upstairs to change into sweats and a T-shirt.
* * * * *
“Depression is perfectly normal after a cardiac event, Adrien.” Dr. Shearing studied me over the top of her spectacles.
Dr. Shearing was my therapist, yet another member of my rehabilitation team, which included my cardiologist, physical therapist, exercise therapist, dietitian, and…shrink. I didn't care for her. I didn't care for any part of cardiac rehab. Not that I didn't know how lucky I was to be in such a program, but I'd never been much for team sports, and that was increasingly what my recovery felt like. All this fucking attention on everything I did. It was close to unbearable.
And most unbearable was Dr. Shearing's poking and probing into my emotional state.
“I'm not depressed.” I gave her a smile perfected through years of dealing with my mother's nosy cronies at interminable high-society shindigs.
Dr. Shearing smiled politely in return. She was, as they say in legend, small but terrible.
Barely five feet tall and built like a pixie. She had one of those pixie haircuts too. The kind of thing that looks best on elderly women or kindergarteners. The walls of her office were plastered in a disturbing mix of angel pictures and diplomas.
“What about stress? Are you using your stress-management techniques when things seem to be getting on top of you?”
“Nothing is getting on top of me.” As I said it, a totally inappropriate picture popped into my mind.
An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide
35
“ What are you feeling ?” Jake's breath warm against my face, my bruised lips tingling from his kisses. “ Tell me what it feels like with me inside you .”
I felt my face warm. I think Dr. Shearing mistook it for guilt. She said rather impatiently,
“You're an intelligent, educated man, Adrien. You must realize we can't treat the heart without treating the entire mind and body. Did you know that depressed cardiac patients have at least twice the risk of repeat events in the two years following their first heart attack?”
“Yep,” I said shortly. “Depressed patients are less likely to take their meds, stick to their diets and exercise regimes, and continue cardiac-rehab sessions. I'm not depressed, and I'm doing everything I'm supposed to do.” Including this waste of time thrice weekly for twelve weeks.
That was how long my rehab was scheduled for. Twelve weeks of closely supervised…everything.
I added, “So can I please go do my workout?”
She shook her head as though she didn't get it—or more likely, that I didn't. “We talked
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