by Layne Harper
“That sounds dreamy.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Rock your meeting.”
“Always.”
I slip my phone back in my pocket feeling high on MK. The girl is like a drug. I don’t even have to taste her to be a lovesick fool. I have this feeling in my gut that we’re going to be okay. We’ll figure this out, and we’ll find our happiness even if it kills us.
I place my fedora back on my head before I re-enter the private dining room. The waiters have broken the room back up into individual tables while I was gone. Apparently, the band left. Only Grace and Robert remain.
I make my apologies as I join them at small table in the corner. “Sorry about that.”
Grace looks perplexed. “Everything okay with Jude?”
“Oh yeah.” I’m curious why she thinks that was my daughter who I stepped out to call. “I mean, I guess. I talked to her before we came down for dinner. She has a test and a project due next week.”
I watch Grace’s face change when she realizes who has kept them waiting. I’ll give her credit there’s only a brief flash of annoyance before she replaces it with a polite smile.
Turning my attention to Robert, “I’m anxious to hear your ideas. I know it’s kind of become the thing for artists to do. Residency in Vegas and the fans come to us.”
He takes a sip of his bourbon and motions to a waiter. “Yes. We’ve watched our competitors do it with much success. They’re selling out every show, plus getting revenue from the rooms, gambling, dining, etc. We have Stan Upton whose illusionist show has done well for us. Plus, we have the comedy lounge that seats two hundred and fifty. Our guests love to watch the up and coming comics. When we’ve hosted concerts, they’ve always sold out. My investors and I feel it’s time that we have an artist take up residency here.”
A glass of bourbon is placed in front of me. I take a sip. “We’re a rock band though. I’m not interested in a Broadway style production. That’s not who ACE is.”
Grace interjects. “Robert’s people and I’ve been kicking around some ideas. Here’s one we think is interesting. What about you, alone on the stage with just your guitar, mic, and a stool?” She pauses for a second before she adds, “Like the night you played at the bar in New Orleans.”
I’ve relived that evening in my mind at least a thousand times. It was the first time I’d been on stage since rehab. I was pissed at my band and MK. I just wanted to play. Zed drove me to Eddy’s Bar. I took the stage with my guitar and sang my heart out. Then I realized my girl was in the crowd, and it made the whole experience fucking perfect.
“Just an empty stage and me? I’ve played like that in small clubs, but doesn’t Vegas want the glitz and glamour of a choreographed show?” I take a sip of bourbon as I play the theme song to Mad Max in my head.
“Garth Brooks did something similar, and it was hugely successful. You’d tell a story through your music. Talk about the meaning behind your songs. Since you’ve written them, fans will get a kick out of hearing about their origins. You can cover other’s tunes as well.” Robert holds up his high ball glass as if to toast.
I don’t join him in celebrating quite yet. “What about my band? These guys are family. We’ve been together since high school or the early days of playing in clubs around Austin. You want me to just ditch’em?”
Grace replies, “It would be no different than you taking years off from touring like you did when Jude was in high school. They’d be free to work on separate projects. Even if they just decided to sit home in their underwear, they have royalty checks paying their bills and the bills for future generations.”
Slamming my drink down, the liquid sloshes back and forth. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. We’ve taken hiatuses before, and they’ve done their own thing, but I never performed for payment without them.”
“We don’t have to pay you,” Robert interjects with a laugh.
My smile can only be described as sarcastic.
Getting us off this topic because I’m going to have to think long and hard about my band, I ask, “How many shows are you thinking?”
Grace replies, “Probably five a week. Like maybe Thursday night, two on Friday and two on Saturday nights. You’d do that for three months and then take three months off.”
“So I would only have to be in Vegas Thursday through Sunday morning?”
Robert answers, “There would be some publicity things we’d ask you to do, of course. But yes, we’d give you a permanent residence in the hotel. You could use it every day or whenever you perform. It would be up to you.”
The thought of performing without traveling from city to city does sound tempting, but we’re in the middle of a world tour. I offer him my hand. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer. I’m going to have to spend some time thinking about it.”
As we shake, he says, “Don’t take too long. I’ve got other artists very interested in the gig. You’re my first choice though.”
How kind.
As I turn to leave the restaurant, I hear Grace tell Robert, “That went better than I expected.”
Robert replies, “He’ll come around.”
I’m buzzed, and my head is filled with thoughts regarding Robert’s offer. I text Sam that I’m not joining them at the club and head up to my room to change. I’ve had just enough alcohol that a night surrounded by temptation would be a recipe for disaster. I’m choosing the be the kind of man that MK deserves.
Twenty minutes later, I’m diving into the hotel’s lap pool. Cutting through the water, I reach the edge do a flip-turn and head back in the opposite direction. I repeat my conversation with Robert over and over until I lose count and the chaos in my head is replaced with Sun, Sun, Here Comes the Sun.
My muscles scream with fatigue and my lungs ache, yet I keep going. Eventually the music in my brain ends also, and all I hear is the sweet sound of emptiness.
I have no idea how much time has passed, but my muscles are so fatigued that it’s hard for me to pull myself out of the water. Draping the hotel provided bathrobe around me, I drag my spent body upstairs to my room.
As I fall asleep, it dawns on me that this is the first time I’ve been in Sin City that I’ve gone to bed alone. But I really haven’t. MK’s pillowcase covers the hotel one, and she spends the night dancing through my dreams.
Chapter Twenty-Four
MK
September
SuzyQ @SuzyQNews
Spotted #ACE at Tao Nightclub. No @RealJohnnyKnite. #WheresWaldo
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands. #ILoveToPaint #FamilyRocks #BurntSugar
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
Having nightmares about no one coming to #NoPinkCaddy grand opening. You’re going to come right?
“Please consider hardwoods,” Bella pleads as I compare two paint samples. One is called Purple Haze the other is Orchid Sunrise.
Ignoring her, I place the small, square colored chips on the dingy, dark cement of the paint store. “I think I like Purple Haze because it has a cooler sounding name. The Orchid Sunrise sounds like a special drink the country club would serve at Easter brunch to get the members nice and toasted, but I think it will look better against the mint green checkered floors. What do you think?”
“Oh look. Over there. There’s the hardwood flooring section. I bet I can con an employee to change the name of some lovely oak to Orchid Sunrise.” Bella’s arms are folded and she’s leaning against aisle cap as if this is the worst torture she’s ever experienced.
“If you’d said Purple Haze for the name of the oak flooring, you might have been able to convince me.” I carry the paint chip to the counter and ask them to mix it for me. Then, we grab a shopping basket and fill it with all the supplies we’ll need for my painted floor project. “This will be so much fun.”
As she grabs a roller, she asks, “How do you talk me into all these crazy ideas? It’s like you hypnotize me, and
I just dumbly nod. ‘Sure, MK. It sounds like a great idea to give up my Friday afternoon and evening to do manual labor.’”
I kiss her cheek. “You love me. It’s a function of our deep and everlasting friendship.”
A mom and her daughter are walking towards us as we meander down the aisle. The child looks to be maybe three or four years old. As they pass, she says, “Mommy, I wish I could have a star on my cheek.”
Glancing over at Bella, I trace the star tattoo on my wrist. She’s smiling. “Kids are so innocent.”
Nodding, I reply, “They sure are. I bet she goes home and draws one on her cheek so she can be just like you.”
Bella grabs my arm. “I mean look at you. I’ve rocked my star scar so well that you had to be a follower and get one on your wrist.”
“Yup. We’re star sisters.”
That makes us both laugh.
Ten minutes later, we’re loading the trunk of Bella’s car with everything that I’ll need to transform my store’s floors into the vision in my head.
***
“Okay. Guys, thank you for coming. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve given up your Friday night on the town to help me. I love you all.”
Bella, Nyall, Mom, Dad, and Grandmother all arrived a few minutes ago to help make this project go faster.
“I’ve created templates.” I hold up the amoeba shapes cut out of thick cardboard boxes. “The idea is to make the floor look like a paisley fabric. I did a sample area over here.” Walking to the back of the store, I motion for them to follow. “It’s not dry yet, but this is the look I’m going for. I think we should start back here and work our way forward.”
Grandmother says in her thick Southern accent, “Darlin’, why don’t I get my yard guy and have him send some people over to do this? I’ll pay.”
“I wish it were that simple. It has to be dry and ready for the crew on Monday morning. I really don’t think it will take that long with all of your help.” I was shocked when Mom said that Grandmother was pitching in. She has a staff that takes care of everything around her home. I didn’t know she knew how to hold a paint brush.
“Well, I do have a minor in art,” she drawls. “I’ll be happy to put it to use and be a stenciler.” I watch my grandmother do something I’ve never seen before. She takes off her diamonds, putting them in the pocket of her Chanel bag and drops it on the floor. “Let’s get started.”
Mom and I exchange a look that says Are we sure an alien hasn’t kidnapped Grandmother and replaced her with a clone willing to mess up her weekly manicure?
We work in teams. Grandmother stencils, and I paint.
When we’re in a corner away from the rest of the gang, she says, “I got a check for a substantial sum of money.”
“Hmmm . . .” I respond as I fill in the trace with the lovely shade of purple paint.
“It was from Johnny Records. Strangely enough, it’s close to the sum of money I gave you to install the fence and gate around your carriage house.” Her probing eyes try to meet mine, but I’m smart enough to focus on my roller.
“That was generous of him considering he was the reason it was installed.”
“Mary Kay Landry, look at your grandmother,” she demands.
I pick my head up and give her a sheepish smile. “We’ve been talking.”
Now, I know where I get my eye rolling from. It’s genetic. “I make it a practice to not meddle in your love life, but do you think he’s a good choice for a future husband? He’s more of a really great summer fling.”
My mouth hangs open. Grandmother can be dirty. “We’re just getting to know each other again. It’s all just a bit of fun we’re having.”
She tsks. “A bit of fun and then you have a bun in the oven.”
Oh my God. This conversation must end and soon. “So, Grandma, how’s the charity ball planning coming?”
Fortunately, she takes the bait and gets me caught up on the plans. My phone vibrates in back pocket about five minutes into the conversation. It’s a message from Tripp.
Tripp: Headed your way. Need anything?
“Tripp is coming. Want him to bring dinner?”
To my surprise, Grandmother says, “Have him pick up that Mardi Gras pizza and some alcohol. This is a rather lame party.”
I think my mother’s eyes might bug out of her head.
“Okay.” I text him back with our dinner pick up request.
Calling our favorite Italian joint, I order the Mardi Gras pizza. It has purple onions, yellow squash, green zucchini, pepperoni and garlic on it. It’s a rule. Everyone must eat a slice so we can’t smell the stench of garlic on each other.
Thirty minutes later, Tripp knocks on the locked front door. I place my paint roller on the tray and race to let him in. To my surprise, a beautiful, dark haired woman is with him.
“I’ll take those.” I reach out my arms and he places the warm pizza boxes on them.
Tripp and the girl step inside, and he turns the lock behind him. Everyone stops what they’re doing and stares at the pair. It’s been ages since anyone has seen him by the side of a girl that isn’t me.
Tripp clears his throat and says, “I’d like y’all to meet my girlfriend, Roseanna.”
Bella and I lock eyes. She seems to be pleased so therefore I smile. I turn to the beautiful brunette and say, “Welcome, Roseanna.” She’s holding a brown paper bag and wearing a warm smile. “Thanks for coming. It’s nice to put a face with the name.”
“Yes. I’ve heard so much about all of you.” She has a hint of an accent. It might be Puerto Rican, but I’m not sure.
I grab the paper plates and red Solo cups from my beautiful kitchen cabinets. We haven’t filled them yet with the ceramic dishes I ordered.
Once we all have our pizza and either a glass of wine or bottle of Amber Abita, we sit down on the floor leaning against the brick wall.
“Your store is beautiful,” Roseanna compliments.
“Thanks. It’s my dream come true,” I reply as I take a bite of the floppy slice.
“Tripp said that you’ve wanted to do this for a long time. And a reality show on top of it. We can’t wait to snuggle into the couch and watch you on TV.”
Hmmm . . . Roseanna and Tripp are close enough that she’s his girlfriend, and they’re going to watch my show together. I couldn’t be happier for the two of them, but she better be good to my friend or I’ll sic Bella on her.
Grandmother asks how filming is going, and I spend the rest of our picnic dinner educating everyone about how a reality show is filmed.
Nyall says, “The place really looks fabulous. What’s left to do?”
“Well, we don’t have all the shelving installed. I want a mural on that wall.” I point to the plaster wall across from us. “It’ll probably have to wait. I used most of my budget on the kitchen. I need it for the show and to demo recipes, but I also want a place to teach cooking classes and just prepare things for shoppers to sample.”
Roseanna replies, “I’ve never been in any store like that. I think it will be great.”
“Thank you.” I smile at Tripp, pleased that he has chosen a woman that seems to be classy, polite, and worthy of his attention. “Okay, dinner break over. Everyone, back to work.”
“MK, I’ve got to run to my truck and get a tool box. I was going to install something for you,” Tripp says as he tosses his and Roseanna’s plates into the stainless-steel garbage bin.
“Ok.” I shrug.
He returns looking like the complete stud he is. Dark hair is swept away from his face and his deep brown eyes contrast perfectly with his olive complexion. His body fills the door frame. Dressed in a designer plaid shirt, it’s tucked in neatly to his expensive jeans. Carrying his shiny, red tool box, he looks more like he’s posing for a sexy book cover or Playgirl Magazine than helping me paint floors. I appreciate his beauty for what it is. His eyes connect with Roseanna, and she stands up, joining him by his side. Tripp is the definition
of what I thought I always wanted in a guy. Maybe my tastes have taken a walk on the wild side.
“We got you a little gift.” He pulls a thin, wrapped present from the back waistband of his jeans.
Handing it to me, I remove the green paper. It’s a vintage, rectangular sign that reads Come In, We’re Open. The writing is old, and it’s made of metal with hints of rust around the edges. It’s so gorgeous and perfect that I gasp. Hugging it to my chest, I feel as if I’ve won the lottery. “I love it.”
“Roseanna and I found it at an antique store in Mobile. We both thought that your store couldn’t open without it. Want me to hang it for you?” Tripp’s cheeks are blushing.
I hand Bella the sign and throw my arms around both of their necks, knocking poor Roseanna off balance. She recovers, and we both laugh.
Roseanna helps Tripp hang the sign while the rest of us get back to work. At some point, Bella’s phone finds an 80s-pop station on Pandora. Our painting chore turns into a karaoke dance party while we work. Even Grandmother gets into it and joins Bella and me in performing Jessie’s Girl.
Around midnight, I get a text from Aaron.
Aaron: About to go to work. Private show for some of the casino’s VIPs. My plan is to walk off the stage and straight to a car to take me to the air strip. Counting down the hours until I get to my MK.
Me: Rock their faces off.
Aaron: Always.
We’re working our way towards the door. The floor looks exactly how I imagined it. “It’s beautiful guys. Thank you.”
“What’s left?” Bella asks.
“Well, I need to finish this bit right here, and then let it dry. Tomorrow, I’m going to use a combination of black paint and paint pens to add the paisley details so it doesn’t just look like amoebas.”
“Need help with that?” Dad asks.
“I don’t think so. I . . . ummm . . . I’ll take care of it.” I’m not quite ready to share with my parents that the guy who made my life miserable might be back in the picture.
“Well, okay,” Mom says. “If you change your mind give us a call.”