“Thanks, Ricky. That’s nice.” I took the money and stuck it in my pocket.
“I hope you’re not going to quit on me now that you’ve got your rich boy toy,” he said grinning at me.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go there,” Becca said, putting her half of the cash in her bra.
“It’s okay, Becca.” I turned back to Ricky. “No danger there. Don’t worry. I’ll be lugging trays and cleaning up beer until I’m eighty.”
“Good,” Ricky said, patting my shoulder. “You girls need a ride home?”
“No, but thanks,” I said, and Becca and I headed home in my Toyota.
I hadn’t been to the apartment all day and when I checked the mail, there was an official-looking envelope mixed in with the stack of bills and pizza coupons that choked our mailbox.
A record label’s name and address was printed in the corner and at first I thought it was another rejection. Definitely not what I needed tonight.
But then I noticed the hand writing on the address. Dex’s handwriting.
“Anything good?” Becca asked, coming up the stairs behind me. I shoved the letter under some other mail and smiled. “Nope, nothing worth the paper it’s printed on.”
She went inside and dropped her stuff on the floor. I followed but went straight to my room. “I’m hitting the sack.”
“See you in the morning,” she said, settling into the couch cushions with a bag of Doritos.
I sat on my bed and stared at the envelope for a full five minutes, a range of emotions coursing through my body, making my fingers tremble. Excitement. Disappointment. Pain. Hope.
I ripped open the flap and pulled out the letter. Two tickets fell into my lap, but I didn’t bother to look at them. I unfolded the letter.
Sydney,
I’ve been invited to perform at the Opry Saturday night. I know I said I’d leave you alone but I can’t stop thinking about you. It would mean a lot to me if you were there.
Love,
Dex
It was short, but I could feel the sincerity in every word. And that one four-letter word before his name. I’d never heard him use it before. It sent my heart tripping, and even though I knew it was a sentiment I could easily share if I let myself, I couldn’t go there. I just couldn’t. I picked up the tickets and stared at them for a moment.
I wanted to go. And I didn’t. And I did.
I could feel Dex’s emotions though his short note. His excitement about finally being taken seriously as a performer worthy to grace the Opry’s stage. I knew that feeling. How could I say no? But how could I say yes if I ever expected to put my feelings for him and our impossible potential relationship behind me? I couldn’t. But I couldn’t let him down, either. This would be it. Our final meeting. I’d watch from the audience, then go home and forget all about Dex Wilder. For good.
I picked up the tickets and went to my bedroom door.
“Hey Becca? What are you doing Saturday night?”
* * * *
The Opry was usually staged in a specially constructed theatre on the grounds of the Opryland Hotel and the Opry Mills mall. But a few times a year, when the newer venue was being used for something else, the Opry came home to the Ryman. Tonight was one of those nights and the theatre was filled to capacity.
The auditorium seemed intimidating to me when it was empty. Now, with 2,300 people filling the seats, I couldn’t imagine performing on the stage without puking my guts out beforehand.
The energy of the audience was nearly tangible. People from all walks of life, from tourists to locals; celebrities to nobodies; rich, to just-making it by, sat side by side in the antique church pews filling the hall. People wore everything from formal dress, to jeans, to full-on country-western costumes. It was as diverse and as varied a crowd as you could imagine, but they were all there for one reason. The music. It was all about the music here.
Becca and I had good seats on the bottom level, right on the center aisle. We were close enough to the stage to see the sweat on the performers’ brows, but not so close we had to crane our necks to do so.
We got there well before the opening act and I couldn’t help but wonder if Dex was nervous. He’d performed hundreds of shows in front of large crowds. But the Opry was special, and I imagined a performer’s first performance there was like losing virginity. It symbolized not just record sales or radio air play or concert ticket sales, but true acceptance as an artist. Dex had topped the charts for two years and only just now had been invited to perform at the Opry.
It was a big night for Dex and I was honored he’d wanted me to be there, even if I still wasn’t sure I should be.
“Did you see who is sitting two rows behind us?” Becca whispered.
I turned casually and glanced back. “George Straight,” I whispered.
“I don’t care how old he is. He’s hot.” She smiled over her shoulder at the poor man.
I’d spotted several big time country stars in attendance tonight, but was trying not to be a total fan girl about it. That wasn’t the Nashville way. People treated celebrities just like the neighbors they were, and even though I was a transplant from the Midwest, I got it.
“Knock it off, Becca. He’s married.”
The lights blinked and went down and the MC came out to greet the crowd.
My palms were sweating and I could barely sit still in my seat, waiting to see him. Dex, on stage.
There were several acts before him, though I couldn’t have told you who they were. All I could think about was Dex.
Finally the MC took the stage to introduce him.
“And making his first Opry appearance, a man who needs no introduction. Double-platinum recording artist and CMA’s entertainer of the year, Dex Wilder!”
The crowd applauded and my heart beat a pounding rhythm in my chest. When Dex walked out, it nearly stopped.
Dex wore his signature black cowboy hat, dark jeans and black boots. His face was clean shaven, though, and under the lights, the planes and valleys of his face were even more pronounced. He flashed the crowd a winning smile while he adjusted the mic stand, then bid everyone good evening.
He sat on the stool in the middle of the stage by himself and the lights dimmed, except for a small spotlight on Dex. He cradled his guitar across his lap and propped one booted foot on the rung of the stool.
He was so handsome he took my breath away. He was every cowboy fantasy I’d ever had, but better. Because I knew he was real. He had that unusual kind of magnetism really stellar performers have, but that wasn’t the only reason I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
His being alone on the stage wasn’t his usual set-up. His big, loud party songs usually boasted the full back-up band, complete with electric guitars, drums and sometimes a banjo or violin, and scantily clad backup singers. They were almost as famous as Dex himself, kind of like the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders. But tonight it was just Dex and his guitar.
He looked so small on stage. When he flashed a nervous smile, I suddenly knew what he was about to do.
“No,” I whispered.
“What’s wrong?” Becca asked.
“He’s going to blow his contract,” I said.
“What?”
“Just listen.”
My hands were clamped together, white-knuckled in my lap, and I knew I was chewing every bit of lip gloss off my lips.
Dex strummed a few times, the beginning of the familiar melody spilling out. Nerves, I though. He’s nervous.
Dex looked up and addressed the crowd again. “I know you folks expect a party song from me tonight, but tonight I’d thought I’d do something a little different. This is something I’ve been working on with a very talented new songwriter,” Dex looked straight at me and my breath caught. “And someone who is very special to me.” He nodded. “Thanks for being here, Syd.”
I smiled weakly and nodded back. Hundreds of eyes went to me, but I only had eyes for Dex.
He smiled at me and turned his attention to the
guitar.
The melody came easily and sure to his fingers. He’d been practicing and knew the tune by heart. I could hear the crowd behind me whispering, a little confused but curious as to what the hell Dex was doing. I didn’t see his manager or producer, but I was sure if they were here, or at home listening to the broadcast, they were about to pop something.
What the heck was Dex doing? He had a successful career. Made lots of money. So he did shallow little party songs. There were hundreds of musicians in Nashville probably listening to the show right now who would kill to have the career Dex had, and here he was, willing to throw it all away.
To risk everything.
For something he believed in.
Something he loved.
A wave of warmth spread over me and I realized I was looking at the bravest man I’d even known.
The notes echoed through the auditorium, low and sweet and thready at first, building to a stronger line as his rich baritone blended with the music and the lyrics perfectly.
With every note he sang, I could feel the crowd’s growing awe. Dex was good. He truly had talent and knew how to use it. And he was risking everything to show people what he could do.
Shivers ran though me as I heard my words – our words – the lyrics we’d written at his house that night, spill elegantly from his mouth. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine he was singing just for me, that we were alone. That the night had ended differently than it had that awful morning.
He sang the two verses we wrote, then played a bridge I hadn’t heard before. I opened my eyes and stared at him. It was perfect. Then he launched into the third verse.
He looked directly at me now and I could feel thousands of eyes on me, gauging my reaction. Gauging his.
The song was about the rush of a first love, first attraction that consumed him. But the third verse was about something deeper. How the emotion had crept up on him until he could think of nothing else. Until he’d fallen in love totally unexpectedly. It was about us.
The song ended on a hopeful note, the narrator wanting to know if the woman he adored felt the same way.
I swallowed. And smiled weakly.
The final notes of the song wound out sweet yet hopeful, echoing throughout the completely silent auditorium.
I held my breath. Would it be well received, or would Dex be basically blackballed from performing the music he’d chosen? Would the fans let him change or would his career end right there?
There was a shocked lull.
Then the place went wild.
Twenty-three hundred pairs of feet hit the floor as everyone stood and clapped and cheered for Dex.
He looked a little shocked at first, then smiled. Bigger than I’d ever seen him smile before.
“Are you okay?” Becca shouted into my ear and it was then I realized tears were streaming down my face.
I wiped them away. “Yeah.”
Dex had risked it all for what he wanted. Professionally and even personally with me when he told me how he felt. He’d taken a chance. Rolled the dice. Risked everything he’d worked so hard to build.
And what about me? I was afraid of a tabloid photo and a few backhanded remarks? It seemed silly now as I stood looking up at Dex, the man I knew I’d come to love for his honesty and his bravery and his good heart. To risk a couple of bad photos for the man looking down at me with so much love in his eyes. I had been a fool. A complete idiot. So what if people said I’d got what I’d gotten because of Dex? That made me want to try that much harder to prove myself. I just hoped it wasn’t too late.
I slid out of the seat and hurried up the aisle.
Dex was still at the mic thanking everyone. Everyone was still cheering and clapping and yee-hawing. The sound was deafening. And heavenly.
I hurried up the aisle, Becca right behind me, and headed for the backstage area as I heard Dex tell everyone goodnight.
His was the last act of the night and I couldn’t wait one more second to see him. To touch him. To tell him everything that had hit me like a ton of bricks only moments before.
I loved him. And I had to tell him so. Immediately, if not sooner.
The burly security guard who had put me in handcuffs the first time I’d crashed Dex’s dressing room stood sentinel outside his door again. Dex had made him his chief of security. But this time I had Becca.
“You can’t go in there, Miss –” he narrowed his eyes. “Oh, it’s you.”
He radioed for backup and pulled his handcuffs off his belt. “You’re not getting by me again, Missy.”
I crouched, too, ready to do whatever was necessary to get to Dex. “Oh yes, I am.”
Suddenly a banshee whoop pierced the air and Becca launched herself at the guard.
I ran past him and into Dex’s dressing room, slamming the door behind me.
I leaned against the door, panting. I heard Becca’s yells as she was carted away and I smiled. I’d be bailing her out in an hour, I was sure.
“You came.”
Dex had walked out of the bathroom, toweling his sweaty hair. And when he saw me, his whole face lit up.
I brushed my hair out of my face and walked over to him.
“Yeah. I came.”
“I’m glad.” He slung the towel around his neck and gripped the ends with white-knuckled hands.
We started to speak at the same time.
“Go ahead,” he said, looking down at me. I could feel the intensity of his gaze on me, his body heat. But the look he gave me, one of so much hope and love was what sent my pulse skyward this time.
“You were amazing.”
I shook my head when he tried to speak. “No. Truly amazing. The performance, yeah, but just your pure courage. To put it all on the line.” I shook my head. “You’re amazing.”
“Or amazingly stupid.”
I moved towards him until my neck was tilted way back and his lips were only a few inches from mine.
His hands dropped from the towel to my shoulders.
“You’re pretty amazing, too,” he said. There was a sad note in his voice. “I know I said I’d leave you alone –”
That was when I rose up on my tiptoes and kissed him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and put everything I was thinking and feeling into that one kiss.
And when we broke apart, he was smiling.
“Does this mean—”
I kissed him again and there were no more questions.
He leaned in and kissed me back, uncertainty gone, leaving only Dex and me and the passion that ran hot between us from the first time we met.
Just as I was really getting into the kiss, the dressing room door burst open and a cluster of men all talking excitedly at once flooded the small space.
Dex broke the kiss and glared at them.
It was his manager, his publicist, his agent, his producer and the president of his record label. They all looked like carbon copies of each other. Short, balding, dressed in dark slacks and blue button-up shirts with sports coats.
“No, if we market him as a singer-songwriter, we can get more mileage,” his agent was saying. “And think about the royalties.”
“The test came back negative,” said his publicist. “He’s not the daddy.”
“Let him be the singing cowboy. A balladeer,” said the producer.
“I want him in the studio first thing in the morning,” said the president of Dex’s label. “We’re going to release this as a single on Monday.”
“Get out,” Dex shouted over the top of them all. “Now.”
He literally shoved all of them into the corridor. To the security guard standing outside, he said. “Don’t let anyone else in tonight. Understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Wilder. Sure thing.”
Dex slammed the door and turned the lock.
I was laughing. “Dex. You’re going to get in trouble. Those were important people.”
He shook his head. “No. You’re important people.”
A shiver ran
up my spine as he stalked towards me his eyes gone dark and deliciously dangerous. “And you’re mine.”
He leaned in and kissed me almost sweetly.
“Let’s go home.”
Chapter Ten
Flash bulbs greeted us when we emerged from Dex’s dressing room, but this time I hardly noticed. My body hummed with awareness and I could hardly wait to get back to the house. The security guard cleared a path for us and we made out way to a waiting car parked out back of the auditorium.
Somehow, we managed to restrain ourselves until we drove through the gates of his Brentwood home. We managed to keep most of our clothes on until Dex shut the front door of his house behind us.
We managed to keep from touching each other until we were finally alone in his bedroom. And then we didn’t.
Dex unbuttoned most of the buttons on his shirt before, with growing impatience, he ripped it the rest of the way off. Buttons flew across the room and clattered on the floor.
I giggled and worked on my own buttons.
He jerked his white T-shirt over his head and went to work on his fly with a mischievous look in his eye.
“Funny, is it?” I kicked off my shoes and shimmied out of my dress.
His breath caught. I guess he liked my black g-string-and-bra set.
He was down to his boxer-briefs with his pants pooled around his bare feet. And all he could do was stare at me.
I gave him the sauciest grin I knew how and sauntered over to him.
I traced a finger down the center of his chest, then looked up at him through lowered lashes, flashing my best innocent look.
“You like?”
The way his shorts were bowed out said yes.
I stroked my hands down his hard torso, over the twin rows of muscles that stippled his torso and lower to the waistband of his briefs.
He reached for me, but I danced out of his way. “Uh-uh. My turn.”
“Sydney.” There was a warning in his voice, a barely constrained violence that sent erotic shivers tripping up my spine.
“No touching until I say, okay?”
Nashville Heat Page 12