Jerry Jaffe makes an exciting entrance on the literary stage with his intriguing debut novel, One More Time, Jennie Darling, a story that pulls you in and doesn't let go, with a twist that's too good to give away -Stefan Schumacher, author of Death by Strip Mall "In this ingenious take on 'Be careful what you wish for; you may get it' Steve Dennis' big break comes with show biz's heaviest price tag. Shades and shadows lurk throughout Jerry Jaffe's debut novel as he explores the double-edged sword that is fame; in a world where sincerity is elusive, his hapless hero parades through venues of self-destruction, inhaling the most dangerous drug of all: illusion" -Gary McLouth, author of Do No Harm and Natural Causes "Characterization is Jaffe's calling card: he has 'cast' this Hollywood novel with credible, engaging people, from the 'names above the title' to the 'supporting players' His narrative is rife with the plausible surprises that comprise the Holy Grail of fiction. The book is also cleverly and elegantly structured, with several chilling echoes and repetitions-for effect, a few well-timed point-of-view shifts, and an italicized set-piece at the novel's dead center that will take your breath away. This may be the story of a nightmare, but the craft of it, the writing itself? That's the stuff of dreams" -Paul McComas, author of Unforgettable, Planet of the Dates, and Unplugged, from his Foreword
One More Time, Jennie Darling
By Jerry JaffeiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Jerry Jaffe
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4759-2988-1Chapter One
About halfway up the block, Stella waved to him from beside their five-year-old badly rusted Buick. Drifting snow settled about his shoulders as he stepped out from a nearby doorway. Steve got in the passenger's seat, slammed the door and gave a quick backward glance to the brightly lit sign that headlined The Club Chloe:
STEVEN DENNIS MASTER OF SONG
"How was it tonight?" she asked quietly.
He looked at his wife, now sitting beside him, edging her way into the street, studying the traffic pattern. That pert nose would forever remain tilted, he said to himself. As her scarf came down, he could see her usually flowing shoulder- length blonde hair drawn up into a tight bun on top, surrounded by bands of rhinestones. She held her lips tightly together. He smelled the faint odor of an animal and realized it was the collar on her coat, wet from the snow. The advertisement had said the pelt was supposed to be genuine silver fox. He suspected that it was an unfortunate canine that had wandered into the furrier's by mistake.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and repeated her question.
"Well, we had all of fifteen customers. Joe kept counting their heads, probably expecting them to multiply. I stayed at the bar in between sets watching Gus rearrange the glasses." He could visualize the pudgy, bald bartender in front of him, as sad-eyed as the rest of them, his eyebrows going up and down rapidly as he spoke of the club's ultimate closing.
"Janet going to be at the party?" she asked as a matter of fact.
"She's coming with Gus as soon as she finishes singing. The guys in the band are going together in a group." He looked at the few people on the street. Each time they exhaled, clouds of white shot out into the air. "Everyone from the club will be there, except Joe. He'll be too busy going over the receipts, trying to decide how he can make the place go for another few months."
"That isn't what he told me!" She looked at him and turned away to check the traffic.
He could feel a flush come to his face and was glad the inside of the car was dark. Couldn't anyone keep their mouth shut?
They pulled up in front of a white marble condominium where a slender black doorman in a dark brown and gold braided uniform greeted them. They told him they were guests of Jay Taggart. The doorman backed away swiftly to the intercom system and checked it out with Apartment 62A.
Steve turned to her. "If you think I like coming here for Jay's annual Thanksgiving bash, you've got it all wrong. I shouldn't have let you talk me into it." He was angry with Jay for not being the friend he always said he was. For all his big talk, Jay wasn't throwing any opportunities his way.
Stella was looking at him intently, her eyes narrowing. He guessed she was reading his thoughts. "Come on, don't be angry. Jay worked hard for his success. For twenty years he was at the bottom of the totem pole. He deserves everything he's got." She tightened the leather gloves about her hands by forcibly pulling them down.
"So I've got twelve more years to go," he gritted, shuffling about the wet sidewalk, waiting for the doorman to take their car.
She brought her face close to his. "But I don't know if I have." Then she drew herself up stiffly and moved the few wisps of hair that trailed about her face back into the bun.
The doorman handed them a claim ticket. As they walked through the oversized glass doors, their car was driven away.
"Thank God for the post office and the holiday mail rush," she whispered. "It's steady money, at least!"
"Yeah, but I was so goddamn tired from hauling mail sacks around, they practically had to haul me onto the stage. Of course those dozen people in the joint were really an incentive to get up there and perform. They didn't respond to the songs," he wiped an itch away from the bottom of his nose, "so I did some imitations. I ended up with Jennie Darling. That brought what was left of the house down!"
Her voice was determined: "You have no idea how grateful I am that my folks insisted I go to Business College for two years. I found out awfully fast that the stage was not for me. Even with ten years of dancing lessons holding me up. The only good thing that ever happened to me in show business was meeting you—"
"In the chorus of `Two's A Crowd,'" he finished the sentence for her.
She grinned and her eyes brightened. The tightness usually around them disappeared.
The rosewood-paneled elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside. She still carried herself like a tall young girl. As they turned around, the highly polished brass mirrored them. He didn't look so bad. He still had the baby face he had been lugging around ever since he could remember. That had been his nickname once, and he'd licked every son-of-a-bitch in the orphanage who called him that until they stopped. Hell, he would probably die looking like he was twelve years old.
He ran his palm over his head. The shock of light brown hair first resisted his hand, then settled down.
"Is it so hard to tear yourself away from show business?" she asked, looking up at the lights flashing through numbered circles.
"My time has got to finally come up."
"Uh huh! How about the home and the kids we promised ourselves?" She swallowed and shifted her weight, looking at him almost wistfully. "I'm not as willing as I once was to do without. I'm sorry about that. Really, I am."
"Quiet!" He planted a soft kiss on her lips and inhaled what he knew was the last of that expensive perfume he'd bought her on her last birthday. He'd have to buy her a new bottle as soon as he got lucky over a game of spastic dominos during lunch hour.
"I guess I'm upset," she smiled weakly. "Today we got a notice that the rent on our apartment is going up."
"What?" The loudness of his voice startled him. "They should pay us for living there." He laughed because the whole damn thing was so funny. "How can they charge so much for so little?"
"But there's good news for a change," she interrupted his thinking. "Sam Sloan called me this evening. He said he would try to get you a spot on Craig Henderson's show soon."
"Nice," he smirked. "He told me I needed brand new arrangements just a few days ago. While we're at it, do you think we could also find a writer who gives a money-back guarantee on jokes?"
She broke into gentle laughter. The elevator was slowing down, and Floor 62 was coming up. The doors silently opened, and the couple stepped onto the heavy plush rug. Christ, Jay wasn't that much older than he, but had gotten into the business years earlier. Stella took his arm and they walked down the hall to the ten-foot- tall doors that led into apartment A.
The penthouse was already overcrowded at the door. Their host, well over six feet tall and towering over Stella, bent down to kiss her and wish her a happy holiday. Jay grabbed Steve around the shoulders and ushered them to the bar. That new goatee and moustache Jay was sporting didn't make him look any better, Steve thought—only more affected.
"Couldn't you get here earlier?" Jay moaned. "Wow, that com- bo's loud! I've got to get them to cut down the decibels." Then, to the young man tending bar, he said, "Give the good people what they want." The door opened. "Say, someone just came in who I've been trying to see for over a week. I'll be back in a minute. Excuse me." Jay kissed Stella and patted Steve on the shoulder lightly, then made...
