by Ashley Quinn
TEXAS BLUES
Copyright © 2016 by Ashley Quinn
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
—
To LP, you have so much kindness and compassion. There’s so much chemistry between us, and that’s important too, but ultimately your kind heart is why I love you. Being with you reminds me that there is still so much good in the world - And there is not enough gratitude I can give you for that. I am thankful for all of our days together.
To Texas, thank you for welcoming me with open arms. Thank you for the sunsets and the rivers and the vistas and the lakes and the cities and the desert and the country and the desert and the wide open road and the healing.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
EPILOGUE - TEN MONTHS LATER
CHAPTER 1
One, two, three. Deep breath. One, two, three thirty-two year old London Foster counted silently in strict rhythm as her feet pounded against the crisp belt of the treadmill. Fatigue poured through every cell that made up all five feet, six inches of her body as she swallowed hard. She steeled herself and slowly turned the plastic dial to increase the machine’s speed. Staring ahead, she hoped to ignore the persistent burning in her calves. London closed her eyes and reopened them as a thin trickle of sweat slid between her slick shoulder blades.
One, two, three. Deep breath. One, two, three she continued to count inwardly. Beads of sweat pooled at her hairline and snaked down her neck. She could feel her jet black hair was falling out of its short ponytail and matting itself to her face. She was also very aware that her thigh muscles were beginning to feel like jelly, but she refused to miss a beat. Stevie Nicks’ unmistakable voice poured into her ears from tiny earbuds. She took another deep breath and continued running.
“Strange, she runs with the ones she can’t keep up with
Oooh, it’s so strange...He slows down, desperate to stop her
They meet in the middle
They both run from the one that haunts them...”
London stole a quick glance around the small gym as the beat continued. This is my therapy she thought smugly. Why Dad would suggest I waste money on a counselor when I can work the pain out of me is beyond me. The ground-floor workout facility of the 88-story skyscraper was one of the many perks of being one of the youngest and most talented Senior Copywriters at W.H. Young Advertising. The agency was the most prestigious in Chicago and, because it was housed on three levels of the looming building, London frequently enjoyed the corporate gym facilities on the main level.
At this hour, the gym is always empty she thought with a trace of satisfaction. Just the way I like it. After all, who is still at work at 10 P.M. on a Wednesday? Besides me, of course. She reached out and gently turned the dial to decrease the treadmill’s speed. London slowed to a brisk walk and dabbed at her forehead with a small white towel. Through tinted windows, she watched as a spring breeze picked up outside and caused a few empty bottles to roll noisily down the wide sidewalk. A bright yellow taxi slammed on its brakes to avoid rear-ending a Mercedes that pulled in front of it. The driver punched his fist against the horn and threw his hands up in frustration.
London felt her stress give way to immeasurable fatigue as the last strains of violin, guitar and drums ended the song on her iPhone. She closed her eyes again and took a long swallow from her water bottle. I’m too exhausted to think she realized. And that’s the best part of working out. The pain is good. There’s no room to feel anything else.
Her mother’s trademark grin flashed in her mind’s eye. She always had that smile, no matter how badly the sickness ravaged her body London thought. A strange hollowness settled in her gut. God, I miss her. Maybe I would have gotten through the shock of it all quicker if Kayley hadn’t left me for Tara two months later.
London quickly twisted the dial on the treadmill back to a 10. She ignored the cramped stitch in her right side and the memory of her selfish ex-girlfriend hauling boxes into her former best friend’s S.U.V. Tara didn’t even have the guts to get out of her truck and talk to me she remembered. And she was supposed to be my closest friend. And Kayley? She never cared about anyone except herself.
She took a deep breath as the tension grew in her legs. I need to be too tired to feel anything else except this work out.
It had been just over a year since her mother passed away and her former girlfriend had committed the ultimate betrayal with someone London had considered a close friend and confidant. She still couldn’t believe how quickly the cancer, over eight months, had taken her strong, vibrant mother from newly retired to planning her own funeral.
A bright light out of the corner of her eye caught London’s attention and she stifled a frustrated groan. She quickly tore out her earbuds and swiped at the screen of her phone.
“Hey, Holly,” she panted.
“Damn girl, either you’re still at the gym or you’re getting some,” Holly Brewer observed dryly. “And London? I sure hope it’s the latter. It’s almost 10:15 at night.”
London quickly slowed the treadmill. She’s a Chicago girl, through and through. “Yeah, right,” she retorted. “Getting some would imply that I’m actually interested in anyone. You know I like to work out after the day is over.”
She could practically hear her forty-five year old boss and friend rolling her eyes. “Whatever you say,” she replied. “You’re going to want to hear what I’m about to tell you. In confidence, of course.”
London’s ears perked up as she ducked into the empty locker room. “Sure, what’s up?”
“Word is that Daniel put in his two weeks’ notice late this afternoon,” Holly went on. “I don’t know the details yet, but there’s a rumor that Leo Burnett poached him and he’s jumping ship to go to the bigger agency and our largest competitor.”
London wrinkled her nose as she tried to picture Daniel’s face. She didn’t have much interaction with the Chief Marketing Officer. Holly, as the Director of National Accounts, had far more communication with upper management. “How’s the C.E.O. taking that one?”
“Well, Mr. Hanson and the rest of the executive team want to fill his position as quickly as possible. Of course,” Holly went on slowly.
“Of course,” London agreed. She stretched as she opened her locker and relished the delicious feeling radiating through her legs.
“And he would prefer to hire from within...” Holly continued.
“Good opportunity for the right person to move up,” London said as she stifled a yawn.
“Oh, for the love of God, I’m talking about us!” Holly finally spat. “I do nearly everything already that Daniel did. My eye is on that position and I have a good feeling that I’m a front-runner for
it. That just leaves the question of who would fill my role.”
London plopped onto the locker room’s long wooden bench and anxiously waited for Holly to continue.
“London, I want to present you to the C.E.O. as the perfect candidate to slowly transition into my position if I were offered the C.M.O. role,” she went on proudly. “I’ve mentored you myself for the last four years. You’re the youngest and most talented Senior Copywriter that this company has. Your knack for advertising and your ability to write is something that can’t be trained; people either have it or they don’t. I know there’s a lot of little things to learn in my position, but you’re quick and I know you could pick it up with a transition period.”
London stood and twisted a lock of sweaty hair around her index finger nervously. “Okay, you’ve got my attention,” she replied after a short pause. “But I just don’t know. I’m a writer. That’s not only a strength, it’s also my passion. Really, my only love. I’ve always steered clear of getting too involved in corporate things...”
“Look, I know I have a whole team to supervise,” Holly started. “But you and I have always had a closer relationship. You deserve this upward mobility. I can’t remember the last sick day or vacation you took. London, I know the C.E.O. is going to speak with a handful of us individually tomorrow to vet candidates for Daniel’s position. He’ll jump at the opportunity to replace him quickly and have someone ready to fill my role too. Your work speaks for itself. This could be really good for you.”
London felt an unfamiliar spark of excitement inside her chest as the thought settled in. “I don’t know, Holly. I just never envisioned myself as a corporate type.”
“Tell you what, I’ll speak to the Mr. Hanson during our one-on-one tomorrow and we can discuss it after,” Holly replied. “Oh, and by the way, I got tickets to the After Dark gala at the Art Institute this Friday. It’s an annual fundraising event hosted by the Board of Directors. Michael always gets tickets since he’s a partner at the firm and they represent the Art Institute at a huge discount. Anyway, he’s already booked for a speaking engagement at Northwestern’s School of Law so that means you’re accompanying me. Just so you know.”
“I...What?” London asked as she ran a hand through her messy hair. She thought of Michael and Holly Brewer, movers, shakers and Power Couple of Chicago. With Michael a partner at one of the biggest law firms in the city and Holly poised to move up the ladder at W.H. Young, they really do have it all. All of the important stuff, anyway. Money. Success. Influence. All of the things that I’ve learned matter most.
“It’s a lot of fun. You’ll enjoy it,” Holly said quickly. “There will be a cocktail party with hors d’oeuvres before. Plus live music, more food, more drinks and special exhibits during. Of course I can't forget the rubbing elbows part that I hate. But don’t worry about any of that. Just put on your best little black dress and be my pretend lesbian date for the evening.”
London laughed. “I don’t wear dresses.”
“Then your best mini-Power Lesbian suit!” Holly cracked. “Come on, London, when’s the last time you’ve been outside of that apartment?”
London opened her mouth to reply.
“And being at work or at the gym doesn’t count,” Holly finished.
London closed her mouth and paused. “Fine, I’ll go,” she sighed. “But only because I know if I blow you off, you’ll just show up at my door and drag me by my hair anyway.”
“You got that right!” Holly crowed. “Good. You and I understand each other. That’s why we’ve always connected so well. I’ll e-mail you the details about the gala tomorrow. For the love of it all, please go home.”
London grinned. “I’m on my way,” she replied as she slung her gym bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for the head’s up about the opportunity. I really appreciate it. You’re one of the only people that’s ever really had my back.”
Holly was quiet for a moment. “I know neither you or I are good with the mushy feeling stuff, but you know I’m here for you, right? If you ever want to talk, you know. It’s not good to keep things bottled inside you. Especially with what you’ve gone through in the last year.”
London paused as she reached the glass doors of the gym. “I...I know,” she stammered and then laughed it off. “I’m fine. I’m always fine.”
Holly sighed. “Whatever you say, girl. I can't imagine how it felt to lose your mom so quickly after she got sick. And I know you don’t have the best relationship with your dad or your sister...”
“Half-sister,” London corrected her.
“Right,” Holly continued after a brief pause. “Just know that I am here for you. I feel a little like a Mother Hen, you know? I’ve taken you under my wing since your first day at W.H. Young.”
London glanced at the large clock above the doors. “Damn, it’s getting late. You’re right. I need to get home already, even though I feel like I’m suffocating in that loft most of the time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you then,” Holly replied with a sigh. London felt triumphant that her friend had given up for now. “I’ll bring us some big-ass Frappucinos to get through the day.”
London smiled at her casual cursing and pushed open the doors of the gym as they said their good-byes. A certain heaviness settled over her at the thought of holing up in the nondescript, but extremely expensive, high-rise loft for another night. All this money, that glamorous building she thought ruefully. And I still can’t seem to fill the emptiness.
London quickly sidestepped a laughing couple that had piled out of the backseat of a taxi. She felt a glare settle over her features as the man’s free hand casually fell to the small of his girlfriend’s back. London rolled her eyes and continued walking briskly.
I’m bitter she realized weakly. When will it stop? I’ve been jaded my entire life. After all, Mom and I were never part of Dad’s plan. He didn’t plan to get her pregnant while they were in college. He planned to be Chairman of Foster Oil & Gas, the company his grandfather started. So he paid her millions over the years in financial support but never took an interest in me. The checks came, but the birthday cards never did. He’s a businessman and it was a simple decision. He chose money over love. Money is tangible. Love is messy.
London paused at an intersection and took a deep breath. “Love doesn’t mean anything anymore,” she whispered.
The sparkling skyscrapers of Chicago loomed protectively around her, their bright lights twinkling in the velvety evening sky. There was something comforting about being another anonymous soul in the third-largest city in the United States.
Some days I’m suffocating and other days I’m so glad just to blend...And not think London thought as she quickened her pace across the street.
At least I have a possible promotion to look forward to she comforted herself. Even if I’m not really sure I want it. It would be stupid to turn it away, right? Maybe I am my father’s daughter after all. Maybe that’s what my life was meant for. Climbing the corporate ladder, earning the mega-bucks and making a name for myself in advertising. Maybe other people are meant for all that love and romance and family stuff, but that’s not me. I’m one of those people meant for money. After all, I was born to the heir of a successful Texas oil and gas company...Even if he barely acknowledged my existence before Mom passed away. I’ll be a mover and shaker all by myself.
CHAPTER 2
Thirty-year old Natalie Silva took a deep breath and enjoyed the feeling of warm morning air filling her lungs. She lay in the bed of her pearl-white Ford F150, her pride and joy, and let her feet dangle over the top of the tailgate. She blinked at the wide, expansive sky above her and yawned.
Nothing like starting your day before dawn to keep this bakery up and running she thought proudly. But it’s worth it. At what other job could I spend my morning experimenting with new pastry ideas and then take a break in the back of my truck before the A.M. work crowd comes through?
The last streaks of lig
ht pink and yellow faded into clear blue as the bright morning sun rose. The incredible sunrises and sunsets were one of Natalie’s favorite things about living just outside of Fort Worth. Not only did the sky seem to stretch on forever, but the sun and stars seemed close enough to reach out and grab.
Texas sky isn’t like any other sky in the world she thought with a grin. They say everything is bigger in Texas, and the sky is definitely one of those things. She could hear the oil rigs far in the distance, a familiar sight along the lengthy highways in and out of the Fort Worth area.
She pulled her phone from the pocket of her worn jeans. 6:15 A.M. she thought as she struggled to sit upright. About two minutes until what I think will be the best lemon bars this side of the metroplex are ready and roughly five until Aunt Celia gets here. Between prepping for two catering events scheduled over the weekend and readying the menu items for the food truck, Natalie knew it would be a long day but she couldn’t picture it any other way.
She hopped out of the bed of her truck just as the faint ding of the stove sounded through the bakery’s open back door. Natalie quickly smoothed her apron, already streaked with powdered sugar and flour, and ran a hand through her long brown hair. Natural blonde highlights from exposure to the hot Texas sun had lightened it considerably from the nearly black hair she’d had as a child.
Natalie swung the back door of Mission Bakery closed behind her just as a small bell above the front door trilled to announce a visitor.
“Tia Celia, you’re right on time,” Natalie greeted her aunt with a grin. She carefully removed two long, steel trays from the oven. “Are you ready to try the best lemon bars in Texas?”
Celia Silva laughed as she closed the door behind her. “You work harder than anyone I know, mija,” she remarked good-naturedly. “I know Jane and I are co-owners of the bakery, but I think I may as well retire. I’m nearly fifty-eight as it is, why not? I ought to call her up right now and tell her to sell the house and get rid of the car because we’re going to buy a camper and move to an island somewhere!”