The Pretty Lady and the Cowboy (Songs from the Heart)

by Lee, Dana

  Jess looked me up and down and didn’t even bother making a sarcastic comment about my “concert attire.” She headed straight for my closet, rooted around for a while, and finally pulled out the low-cut, skinny jeans I had bought on a whim last year. Bending over in them revealed more of my backside than I wanted, and I had hidden them behind my winter clothes.

  “Jess, no!” The last time I’d actually been able to get them on my body, I had just finished training for a marathon and was a good ten pounds lighter. I had no intention of wearing those.

  She ignored me and continued searching for something for me to wear on top. She didn’t have a lot of choices. About half of my tee-shirts are given to me by my running shoe vendors; the other half come from the various fun runs and races I enter.

  “Kit, don’t you have anything without a running shoe logo on it?” she asked. She continued rooting through my stuff. I was a little embarrassed, but hey, I’m a running store owner, not the proprietor of some ritzy-schnitzy boutique. Finally, she pulled out a white shirt—clean, pressed, and still in the dry cleaner’s plastic. She eyed it critically.

  “This might do,” she said. She ignored my protests that the shirt had been my father’s and was sure to swim on me, directing me to get my buns into the jeans and to hurry up about it. She wanted to be in plenty of time for the opening act.

  I shimmied out of the dress and started to tug on the jeans. Uh-oh. I wasn’t going to get these zipped.

  “Jess, really, this just isn’t going to happen,” I said. But she pointed to the bed and I knew what she wanted me to do. I lay on my back, sucked in my breath, and slowly managed to inch the zipper up. “Seriously, I can hardly breathe,” I said.

  “Not important just now,” she said. “Think of the bigger picture.”

  “Right. A picture that doesn’t include inhaling and exhaling? And that would be what exactly?”

  “How you look, of course,” Jess said.

  I avoided the mirror as she handed me the shirt. “I guess you know what you’re doing,” I said as I buttoned it up over the white lace cami I had grabbed from a drawer.

  “Of course I do,” she said, proceeding to undo the top three and then the bottom two buttons. She tied the bottom front tails in a double knot so that the shirt barely came to my navel. I was still avoiding the rear view.

  Jess stepped back and gave me an appraising look. “Okay, a little less Alice in Wonderland would be good. Get rid of the ribbon, put on some mascara and some lip gloss, and I’ll pronounce you good to go.”

  I did as I was told, and as my loosened hair fell around my shoulders, I finally did risk a look in the mirror.

  “Jess,” I said, turning my head over one shoulder to get the view from behind, “these jeans are too tight!”

  “They sure are, honey! They’re way too tight in all the right places,” she said, looking pretty pleased with her handiwork. “You’ve got a slender, curvy figure to die for, and with those big blue eyes of yours and that soft, blonde hair, you could be gorgeous 24/7.” She gave me an evil grin. “On the other hand, if you just keep burying your boobs under those baggy tee-shirts the way you do, I’ll stand a better chance of scoring when the handsome guys come into the store.”

  I looked one more time at the girl in the mirror, hardly recognizing the shapely, sexy image that I saw.

  Chapter 3

  The stage set took up the entire front of the casino’s concert venue, floor to ceiling. It was like nothing I had ever seen.

  At the Wynton Marsalis concert, the only things on the stage were chairs and music stands. Add the musicians and, hey presto, the scene was complete and the concert was ready to begin.

  Now I was looking at a main stage that had been decorated like a carnival midway with the silhouettes of a Ferris wheel, a merry-go-round, games, and even a small roller coaster. Brightly colored lights flashed everywhere. Just walking in made you feel cheery. To complete the carnival mood, vendors selling hot dogs and cotton candy roamed the aisles. I inhaled the cotton candy scent and instantly felt like a happy teen out for a fun time.

  The crowd was mostly female, though I could see that many of the women had brought boyfriends along. I was secretly grateful that Jess had insisted I change clothes because the dress code here seemed to call for “sexy casual” with a heavy emphasis on the “sexy.” I saw tattoos in places that I wouldn’t be caught dead revealing: butterflies at the base of the spine, “Levi” in a heart placed low on a breast. This didn’t look like home, mother, and apple pie to me!

  The usher gave us programs and led us down to our seats. What would these tickets have cost if we’d been lucky enough to buy them before they sold out? I tried to shout the question in Jess’s ear, but the crowd was so loud she couldn’t hear me.

  We were barely seated when the opening act, a small band called Mississippi, ran onstage. I was in a state of complete sensory overload just people-watching. Almost everyone was standing up, many people waved tiny flashlights or cell phones in the air, and some couples were dancing in the aisles. Jess was singing along, as were many in the crowd, so clearly this was a band that people knew. Well, most of the people, anyway—everything was new to me.

  The music Mississippi played was a surprise. I had always thought that country music consisted of cliché emotions and simplistic melodies. Maybe Jess was right about me being a music snob. But as I listened, I heard contemporary lyrics set to tunes that were fresh and young and frankly sexy.

  When the band played its last number, I could feel the excitement building in the crowd. I was almost holding my breath. Despite myself, I couldn’t wait to see how Levi would make his entrance, what he would be wearing, how he would look. Gazing around at the gorgeous girls who were here, I wondered again what had prompted him to send me tickets for tonight’s performance. Maybe after all it was a publicity stunt. Maybe being nice to locals would get him some good press. Not that he seemed to need it.

  I wondered if he’d see me in the audience. I wondered if he wanted to see me. I wondered if he even remembered sending me tickets, or if he had a personal assistant who took care of all that sort of thing.

  As the crowd applauded, Mississippi left the stage and the lights dimmed briefly. Then there was an explosion of light and color and sound and I saw a roller coaster car appear to careen down a steep track, then glide to a stop in the center of the stage.

  The crowd went wild as Levi McCrory stepped out and waved. A scantily clad female of Dolly Parton proportions appeared and handed him his guitar. She took the large trademark hat he handed her, then put the hat on her own head and sashayed back behind the curtain. A drummer, a bass player, and a banjo player rose up in the center of the stage as if from nowhere.

  And then Levi was singing about driving down life’s highway with the love of his life, and it was rousing and loud and just plain fun. Clearly it was a crowd favorite. The audience was honking pretend horns, couples were turning pretend steering wheels together, and nearly everyone was singing along or at least mouthing the words. Wherever life’s road led this imaginary couple, it would be perfect, as long as “we keep drivin’, you and me, together.”

  Amazingly, I didn’t mentally correct it to “you and I” driving together. The English major in me was in a trance. I was swept away by the song, the emotion of the crowd, and, I had to admit it, the sight of Levi.

  He didn’t look much different from the way he had appeared in my store. I had expected… what? Some glittery, unreal, stage persona? Someone who looked like a country western version of Elvis, all sequins and sparkles? But he looked completely at ease and casual in a black tee-shirt, jeans, and black boots. He looked like… hmmm… like the guy next door come to call on his sweetheart and play a few songs for her on his guitar while they sat on her front porch. And the crazy carnival lights and sights behind him were part of the down-home, small-town fun.

  Some performers look pretty much the same no matter what lyrics they’re singing, but Levi’s fa
ce reflected the emotion of each line. He didn’t give you some mechanical rendition of a song. He lived each lyric and then offered it to the audience as a kind of gift so that they could live it, too.

  One of his first act numbers was about all the things Levi would do with “a girl like you.” While the banjo in the background riffed the opening bars, Levi asked for volunteers to join him for his next number. Ushers chose four girls from the general areas where he pointed. Squeals went up as they were led onstage. I say “girls” because clearly he made them all feel like young girls, even though one was probably old enough to be his mother.

  They giggled and looked adoringly at Levi. He turned his full charm on them. As he sang, he pulled each one in turn close to him so that she could sing with him into the mike, cheek to cheek. They were in heaven, smiling, dreamy-eyed. One had tears of joy rolling down her cheeks.

  I wondered what it would be like to be up there. I felt the way I had in gym class when I was hoping not to be the last kid picked for dodge ball. I was jealous. I wanted to be part of the in-crowd. I wanted to know all the words to the song, too. My imagination ran wild as he sang about the loving he would give “to a girl like you.” He seemed to be looking right at me as he sang and I found myself in a crazy, contradictory emotional state, wanting to be one of the chosen, yet, at the same time, embarrassed and wanting to hide.

  Honestly, though, could he even see past the footlights? Still, I wasn’t taking any chances. I slid down as far as I could in my seat. But much as I wanted to hide, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I remembered his scent, the softness of his touch, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Was it just being part of this adoring crowd that was making me fall under the Levi McCrory spell?

  In one of the last numbers, Levi climbed inside a huge, clear, plastic ball while the banjo, then guitar, then drums took turns doing solos. The audience held their hands high, and Levi walked and rolled along in the ball, trusting those loving hands to keep him aloft. It was the perfect union of audience and performer. When he was directly over Jess and me, with the ball balanced on our hands and those of the audience members around us, he looked down at us like a kid having fun at a summer carnival, excited, smiling, happy. Had he seen me?

  Levi’s final song was all about hopes for the future. He and his girl would someday have all their dreams come true. He dropped down on one knee while he was singing and I found myself looking deep into those blue eyes, getting sucked into the fantasy. And when I glanced at Jess, I saw that she was living the same dream. Every girl, woman, mom, daughter, or girlfriend in the audience appeared to be lost in her own world. Each of us was the only girl in the world. With our lover by our side there was nothing that could stop us, no problem too big for us to solve. That was Levi’s magic.

  Levi’s songs told me everything I wanted to believe about love. But even as delicious fantasies filled my head, I told myself to snap out of it. I was a grown-up for goodness sake, and in my experience the realities of love were very different.

  The crowd left the theater in a kind of glow. Couples walked arm-in-arm, the girls resting their heads on their boyfriends’ shoulders; single girls looked starry-eyed, held fast in the Levi trance.

  “So, are you a convert?” Jess asked with a grin. I could tell she was still under the spell of Levi’s music. Or of Levi himself.

  “I had a great time,” I told her, but that was all I said. There was no way in the world I was going to confess that I had been having delicious, crazy, romantic fantasies before the house lights came up. “Thanks for making me come.”

  “Hey, what are friends for?” she asked.

  As I came down from the high of the concert, I was feeling more tired by the second. I needed to call it a night and head home to get at least a few hours’ sleep so I could be sharp for the Saturday rush at the store.

  “How about if we leave now? The store is usually mobbed on Saturdays. We’ll need our beauty sleep.” We’d come in Jess’s car, so I was depending on her for a ride home.

  But she was having none of it. “And gyp me out of the reception? That party happens to be my reward for dragging your sorry behind to this concert in the first place!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me down the corridor toward the reception hall.

  As we showed our invitations and entered the hall, a waiter approached with a tray of champagne glasses. Despite the look Jess gave me, I asked for water, my usual drink of choice at parties. I find alcohol leaves me dehydrated and wrecks my run the next day. The waiter hurried off and came back in a flash with water in a champagne glass, so at least I could look like everyone else.

  I saw cameras flashing, saw people aiming their iPhones and iPads around the crowd, probably sending digital images of the party to their own Facebook pages or Twitter accounts or to Levi’s website. Somehow many of the women in the crowd had found a place to change from their jeans and cut-offs into sparkling evening dresses. I looked down at my father’s old shirt, which was now looking like just what it was: someone else’s old clothing. I sure was feeling cool.

  “I really want to try to get Levi’s autograph,” Jess yelled into my ear. She took me by the arm and pointed me in his direction.

  I let her lead me across the room, trying my best to be a good sport. Jess deserved this evening of fun for the hard work and long hours she put in at the store. And I could duck out of sight at the last second while she got the autograph she wanted from Levi.

  Jess kept us moving forward, doing a sort of country line dance in her boots as she went. “Seriously, Kitty, your education is woefully incomplete if you can’t even do the Electric Slide!” she said.

  I tried to match her steps as best I could and finally felt like I was getting the hang of it as I saw Levi not ten feet in front of me. A waiter was on his right, offering champagne flutes to him and the admirers who surrounded him. As he reached for a glass, he caught my eye and smiled. Did he recognize me? Did I want him to recognize me? Thinking back on that morning, I answered the question with an emphatic “No!”

  I looked down at my feet, pretending to be invisible, still trying to match Jess’s easy steps. Big mistake. You know how it is when you can do something perfectly until you start thinking about it? Well, the instant I began to focus on what my feet should be doing, I tripped and pitched forward. My champagne glass flew up in the air and I grabbed at whatever was near in a vain attempt to stay upright.

  And of course, since the fates had apparently decreed that today was National Mortify Katharine Addison Day, what I grabbed was the back of Levi’s shirt. But gravity was stronger than my grip, and I ended up practically flat on my face on the floor.

  That would have been plenty embarrassing enough, but as I fell, I felt my too-tight-in-all-the-right-places jeans split right up the back seam. Even with the wind knocked out of me, my first thought was that my underwear was probably in full view. At least five young cowboys—waiters, I guessed, or maybe a security team, all dressed in the same jeans and red western shirts—came to my rescue and helped me to my feet.

  As I struggled to stand, I saw Levi give me a curious look. Perfect. He must have thought I was throwing myself at him. I had to say something to redeem myself.

  I tried to say, “Excuse me!” Yes, here I was, ready with yet another one of my excellent impromptu lines. But the wind had been knocked out of me and the best I could manage was something that sounded like, “Skooseeee.”

  And then suddenly a woman with long platinum blonde hair appeared and possessively slipped her hand through the crook of Levi’s arm. She was wearing a dress covered in bugle beads that sparkled even in the low lights of the reception hall. From the waist down, the dress was alternating red and white stripes; silver stars on a blue background covered the bodice. I guessed it was a sort of USA flag motif. A deep V-neck plunged nearly to her navel.

  “Honey, we have to get you away from these drunks,” I heard her say to Levi. She took his champagne flute and put it back on the tray. Then she s
miled up at him and hugged his arm to the V in her dress as she turned him abruptly away from us and led him toward a curtain at the far end of the room. He looked back at me and shrugged helplessly.

  Who was she? What was her connection to Levi? Was she his sister, mother, niece? His girlfriend, tired of seeing him flirt with fans? And what went on behind the curtain? The smile and the look Levi had flashed at me made me think he recognized me. But I knew he probably was a master of the art smiling that very same smile to fans, reporters, even random women walking down the street.

  I felt completely mortified.

  As I regained my breath and a slight bit of composure, I grew outraged at the injustice of that woman’s remarks. Me, a drunk—when I was probably the only one in the room sipping water from my champagne glass? How dare she!

  And following quickly on that thought was what in the world Levi would think of me now. He must have been glad the star-spangled, sexy woman had rescued him from the crazy groupie.

  I tried to push thoughts of Levi out of my mind. My most immediate worry was what to do about the split in the rear of my jeans. I put my hand back there to assess the tear and discovered that it ran from waistband to crotch.

  Jess bent down to help me dust off the knees of my jeans, which were covered with the glittery confetti that was all over the floor. She couldn’t stop laughing. “Klutz!” she said. I turned around so she could see the rear view of my jeans, and she laughed even harder. But she quickly untied the front of my shirt so that the shirttail covered the split.

  Then I saw someone waving at me across the room: Sara, the manager of a jewelry store a few doors down from The Finish Line. So I was right. Levi and his staff had papered the town with concert tickets. I gave a half-hearted wave back at Sara.