by CL Rowell
Donning matching white robes the hotel thoughtfully provided in the rooms, we opened the door. It was Julie…and Phillip. I did a quick visual check to make sure I was decent.
“Nope.” Leo opened the door wide, showing them the mussed bed, “He’s probably still with Callie in his room.”
“I’ll call and check.” I tapped Callie’s number. It rang and rang and went to voicemail. “That’s weird. No answer.”
“We’re on our way to grab a bite to eat, and figured we’d see if y’all wanted to come. You want to invite them, too, and meet us there?”
“Food sounds good.” Leo perked up, rubbing his belly, “Give us a minute to throw on some clothes—“
“And we’ll detour by Jessie’s room, and meet y’all down there.” I punched Leo’s arm. “Right, Leo?”
He nodded, a hangdog expression on his face. “What she said.”
A quarter hour later we were knocking on Jessie’s door. When there was no response, Leo flagged down a housekeeper and charmed her into opening the door, and I nearly died of embarrassment when we peeked inside.
“Ahem.” Leo knocked loudly, a huge grin splitting his face nearly in half. “We knocked earlier, but no one answered, so we were worried you killed each other. Are we interrupting?”
“If you were, I’m pretty sure there would be no doubts in either of your minds, so I’m gonna venture a guess and say no.”
“Ew, somebody didn’t get laid last night.” Leo teased.
“Bite me, Leo. It isn’t always about sex.” Jessie flipped him off.
“More’s the pity. We just stopped by to see what the two of you had planned for the day—see if you were hungry.”
“I’m guessing that was her idea?”
“You know it.” He grinned. I rolled my eyes at them, fighting the urge to laugh. “I was headed to the buffet for a big breakfast and she was all like, maybe we should check in on Callie and Jessie—Callie isn’t answering her phone.” He mock-glowered at my friend, “Thanks, Callie. Now I’m starving.”
“Actually, food sounds pretty good.” Jessie checked with Callie, “Do we have time for breakfast before we go?”
“There’s always time for breakfast.” Struggling to sit up, she winced and waved her phone at me. “Sorry for worrying you, Lucy. It was an accident.”
Leo and I spoke at the same time.
Me, “It’s fine.”
Leo, “Go where?”
“To meet James,” Jessie crowed, beaming proudly.
Leo’s eyes grew huge and he pouted. “Without me?”
Hugging him close, I soothed him, “Aww, is Uncle Leo worried about being left out of the first meet and greet?”
“Hell yeah, I am,” he agreed, “This is my first, and maybe only, nephew. I’ve been waiting since New Year’s for this day…was starting to think I was gonna have to put the cart before the horse and meet the kid before Jessie did.”
Jessie gasped, “Bite your tongue!”
“Then get ready, let’s grub and go!”
Julie and Phillip were just finishing up when we arrived. We filled them in on our plans, and Julie offered to drive the bus to the next tour stop to avoid the hassle of parking in Robeline. I suspected she also wanted more alone time with her honey, and she got it. Jessie rented a car for him and Callie, and it was decided that we’d follow them.
I received a text as they were pulling away and, thinking it was Callie, I checked it. It wasn’t. It was my cousin, crying about how my ex had left her for her best friend and the wedding was cancelled. I stole a glance at Leo. He was already looking at me. Busted—I felt my cheeks warm.
“What? Is it important?”
I looked at the darkening screen. “This? No, not really. It’s just my cousin, crying. Her fiancé ran off and the wedding has been cancelled. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she dodged a bullet. He’s not a nice guy.”
He cupped my cheek. “I’ll never give you reason to cry,” he promised.
“I know. I’ll never hurt you either.” Leaning closer, I brushed his lips with mine.
He grinned and shook his head. “If anyone had told me I’d be here, with you, and happy about it, even a year ago, I’d have laughed in their faces. I wasn’t looking for love.”
“Me either.” I kissed his hand, “But it’s when you aren’t looking and least expect it that you find that special person you’re fated to love.”
“Fated…” His face thoughtful, he nodded, “That’s what it feels like—like the fates sent you to me…my fated love.”
Facing forward, my heart full, I shifted into drive, and raced to catch up with our friends.
CHAPTER THREE
Rainbow Dreams
1
*
“Damn it, that’s not fair!?”
“What?” Reggie, my twin, younger by a whole hour, asked, side-eyeing me like I’d lost my mind.
“I want to go to this concert, but Ticket X-Change says it’s sold out.”
“Who’s playing?” He leaned over my shoulder.
“Jessie Robertson.”
“Never heard of him. What’s he play?”
“Pop, rock, mostly love songs. His latest single, Cajun Angel, is all over the radio. ”
“Eww!”
“What would you know?” I stuck out my tongue, blowing him a juicy raspberry. “All you listen to is screamo, punk and metal.”
“Yeah. Real music.” He grinned.
“Uh huh, whatever.” I propped my legs up on the file cabinet by my desk, crossed my arms, and pouted. “You wouldn’t understand. I’m sure tickets are always available for your shows.”
“I sense a veiled slight there somewhere,” he mused, shaking long purple bangs out of his eyes with a practiced toss of his head. “But, that’s true for pretty much any band, so I’ll let it slide. With the damn scalpers buying up tickets, there’s always a few to be had—for the right price.”
“The right price?” I sat up, nearly clipping his chin with the top of my head. “What’s the right price?”
He shrugged, backing up to stand against the wall; getting out of my zone of chaos for his own safety. “Depends on the starting price…you can pretty much double or triple the retail price, though.”
“That’s highway robbery!”
“Well, yeah.” He laughed at me. “The whole reason they do it is to make money. Duh!”
I had a thought, and bounced in my chair. “So, wait—you’re saying these scalpers can be found at any concert?”
“Yup.”
“What do they look like?”
“I don’t know.” He rolled his eyes. “They’re usually holding tickets, or a sign, or doing something to let people know they have tickets to sell. When George and I went to Dallas to see The Used, we bought two outrageously priced nosebleed section seats from a cute blond chick in some seriously high heels and a skirt so short you could almost see heaven—but when I stumbled across Hawthorne Heights, visiting Aunt Roxy in Atlanta, a couple summers back, I thought dude was trying to sell me drugs, at first. You gotta use your eyes. Sheesh, sis, we’re the same age, but you wouldn’t know it, listening to this conversation. Innocent ass.”
“Talk about kettle and pot, little bro.”
“Huh?” He scratched his head. “You lost me.”
“You calling me innocent…”
“What?” He shrugged. “You are.”
“Yeah? Not as innocent as you. Lexi told me about the incident at the pep rally.” He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, his brow furrowed, so I added, “She touched your thigh and you jizzed in your jeans? Forgot already?”
“That fucking bitch! She said she wouldn’t tell anyone. Shoulda known I couldn’t trust her.” He banged his head against the wall hard enough that I saw empathy stars.
“Relax, Kemosabe…I’m the only person she told, and my lips are sealed.”
“You say you’re the only one she told, but you can’t know for sure. I’ll be a laughingstoc
k at school. May as well drop out and get my GED now.” He kicked the wall, a scowl on his face.
“You aren’t dropping out.” I shut down my computer and stood up.
“Why not? You did.”
“No, I didn’t. I finished up online. I can graduate with the class if I want to…I just don’t want to.”
“Maybe I want to do that, too.”
I snickered at him. “You don’t have the self discipline.”
“But you do?” He sneered.
“Hello? Yes.” I preened, smoothing my hair and buffing my nails on my t-shirt. “I did it, didn’t I?”
“Only because you didn’t want to repeat eleventh grade.”
“Hell no, I didn’t want to repeat it. I didn’t deserve it. I turned that test in—she deliberately misplaced it.”
“But why? Why would a teacher do something so underhanded and evil?”
“Because she thinks I’m the one that started that rumor about her and the tenth grade math teacher making out in the lunch room freezer. She wanted to punish me—it was payback, pure and simple.”
“Oh shit! But…I’m the one that started it.” His eyes took up most of his face and his cheeks paled, appearing chalky beneath the vivid brilliance of his hair. “It was me and Craig, not you. You should’ve said something.”
“It’s no big deal.” I shrugged, unworried. “If I was still in school, I couldn’t go to New Orleans and see Jessie’s concert. You know how Mom is. She’d throw a fit.”
“She’ll still throw one. Who’s gonna help out at the flower shop if you go on a road trip all the way to New Orleans?”
“It’s not that far, and besides, it’s not like they need help right now. Homecoming is over, and Halloween is candy, not flowers.”
“Mom will still bitch.”
“Not if I don’t tell her.”
“Ha! She’ll bitch worse because you didn’t tell her. And how will you pay for the trip without money?” He folded his arms and arched his brows, sure he had me.
“I held back some of my birthday money, and whenever I get tips for deliveries, I pocket it. I have enough for the trip without having to beg for my savings account info.” I grinned, barely holding back my laughter as I watched him spit and sputter at the news.
Finally getting himself under control, he glared at me through narrow slits, demanding to know, “How did you manage to hold back part of your birthday money? Mom made me hand mine over so she could put it in the bank!”
“You’re technically an adult and you still aren’t doing your own banking?” I gaped, then smirked, gloating. “I took over mine after I started helping out more at the flower shop—last year.”
“She didn’t give me that option when I started my newspaper route…”
“Pssh—you were fifteen. If you’re still letting her do it, though…well, then that’s just your own stupidity. You get a check from the paper and tips from your customers. If you’re handing it all over to Mom, you only have yourself to blame. I told her from the very beginning, either I get my check and handle my own money, or I go find a different job. She got mad and puffed up like one of Grandma Elle’s hens, but Daddy took my side.”
“Still…if you don’t tell her—“
“She’ll get mad, but I am eighteen. That makes me an adult—“
“Under her roof…”
“But still an adult. If I decide to take a road trip without telling her to her face, and instead, leave a note on the fridge in the comment box—“
“Bock, bock-bock-bock, bock, bock…”
“I am not a chicken!”
“You’re leaving a note and taking off, instead of telling her your plans to her face and dealing with the fallout…call it what you want, but I see feathers.”
“You are an ass, and I am going to this concert.”
“You sure you have enough money?”
I chewed my lip, adding up my stash in my head before nodding. “I should have enough for gas, food, a ticket, and a room for the night. Worse case scenario, I may have to sleep in the car and graze on the way back if the ticket price sets me back too much.”
2
*
Slipping out of the house before Mom could come home for lunch and catch me, I tossed my overnight bag in the trunk of my colorful seventy-three Super Beetle convertible, and pointed her nose south. It was warm for autumn, so I put the top down and let the breeze dance and tug through my long multi-colored strands. Radio up, I was dancing in my seat and singing at the top of my lungs.
About an hour or so into my road trip, my phone rang. My heart sank to my shoes when I recognized the ringtone. Feeling a chill snake down my spine, I glanced at the display for confirmation. Just as I thought—it was Reggie. Turning the radio down, I tapped the screen to answer.
“Yeah?”
“Where the hell are you?”
“South of Little Rock. Why?”
“Mom is pissed. She’s threatening to call the cops and report your car stolen.”
“Just because I decided to go to a concert?”
“Yeah…” He paused. “I don’t know. Probably because you didn’t ask first, too.”
“I wish her luck with it. Dad put Helga in my name when I turned eighteen. The police may pull me over, but after inspecting my paperwork, they’ll let me go.”
“Your father put the title in your name?” Mom. I winced. “Why was I never told of this?”
“Mom, it’s my car. Grandma Elle gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. Why wouldn’t he put it in my name once I turned eighteen?”
“Are you paying the insurance?”
“Of course.” I rolled my eyes, gritted my teeth, and tightened my grip on the wheel.
“How? With what money?”
“I had Dad pull enough for a year’s coverage out of my savings account.”
“Oh, you had Dad do it.” I eyed the speakers, half-expecting to see shimmering waves of sarcasm rolling out into the car.
“Well, it was in mine and his name. It made sense to have him do it, so I could get insurance on it before we went to the DMV to do the transfer.”
“And who paid the taxes?”
I eyed the speakers again. “Mom, it was an in-family transfer. There were none.”
“Watch your tone, smart ass—and turn that car around or you’ll be looking for another place to stay when you do come back. You didn’t ask if you could go all the way to New Orleans for a concert.”
“No.” I winced again, bracing for the storm.
“What do you mean, no?”
“Just what I said, Mom. I’m eighteen, and I want to go to this concert. Most girls my age have already been to one, or more—but not me. You wouldn’t let me. Little Rock was too dangerous for a young girl out by herself. Well, I’m grown, now…and I’m going to this concert. You can chew my ass—or kick me out—later.” Gritting my teeth, I hung up and turned the phone off before tossing it on the passenger seat.
Taking deep breaths, in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying not to hyperventilate, I turned the radio up, and cleared my mind. I knew I was in trouble when I returned to Conway, but that wouldn’t be until sometime the next day. Even if she kicked me out, why let it ruin my whole trip? I had friends I could stay with until she got over it. I relaxed, got back into the music, and drove. I had six more hours of drive time ahead of me, then dinner, before my search for a scalper could commence. I laughed out loud. I was going to see Jessie Robertson in concert!
As I drew closer, my excitement increased. My first concert. I couldn’t wait. I breezed past the Louisiana state line, negotiated a path through Bastrop and Rayville, the first two of several small Louisiana towns seemingly placed just to slow me down. After what felt like forever, I was finally on the south side of Baton Rouge. I stopped at a convenience store to stretch my legs, visit the ladies room, and grab a soda, before continuing on to my goal.
Once in New Orleans, I headed straight for The Blue Orchid, wanting
to look things over before I grabbed a bite to eat. I’m not sure what I was looking for. Big flashing neon signs, maybe, with arrows pointing down, proclaiming a scalper was there? If so, I was disappointed. People walked back and forth, even entering and leaving the venue, but no one waved a single ticket in the air. I sighed, disappointed, and shrugged it off—after nearly causing an accident as I blocked traffic in my lane, barely creeping along. The car behind me lost patience, laid on the horn, and laid rubber as they flew past with a finger waving.
“Way to go, Julie.” Sitting straighter, I angled the nose of my car toward a McDonalds sign a couple blocks away, and picked up speed. “Worry about tickets after food.”
When I returned, a scant hour later, traffic had started to pick up—motorized and pedestrian. It gave me hope that I’d soon be the proud owner of a concert ticket, but though I walked back and forth, studying people to the point that they probably thought I was crazy, no one seemed inclined to approach me. It was growing perilously close to showtime. Out of desperation, I approached the doorman.
“Where do the scalpers usually go when they have tickets for sale?”
“They don’t,” he informed me. “The Blue Orchid prohibits scalper activity.”
“No scalpers?” A hot rush of tears flooded my eyes and my heart fell to my feet. “But, the concert’s sold out.”
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “Venue rules.”
Venue rules. Screw venue rules! Filled with despair, I stumbled away from the door, hearing my brother’s assurance in my head. Every concert has scalpers. This hadn’t been one of his pranks, either—as his twin, I could always tell. He had been serious. In his experience, concerts always had scalpers selling tickets. Unfortunately, I’d failed to consider where he’d acquired that experience before I’d come all this way. Now, Mom was pissed at me, threatening to kick me out, and I didn’t even have anything to show for it. She’d probably fire me, too.
What was I going to do? I couldn’t just go home and admit failure. I’d never live it down. She wouldn’t let me live it down. I stood on the sidewalk, buffeted by hurrying pedestrians and concert goers, staring at the digital marquee sign on the roof of the building through a sheen of tears. Jessie Robertson in concert. One night only. Sold out.