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Slow Burn

Page 3

by Isabel Morin


  But maybe he wasn’t like that anymore. Women were probably a dime a dozen for him now.

  It was almost a relief when they arrived at the hotel, though it meant she was actually going to have to start working and she had no clue what that really meant.

  Grabbing her bags she followed him from the car, her gaze moving from his corded arms to his tight ass, only to be brought up short when she ran into him. He stood there holding the door for her and grinning as she blushed red hot and passed by him without a word.

  The rest of the band arrived just as she and Jesse finished checking in.

  “Jesse has a radio spot at five-thirty across town,” Stu said. He looked tired from the drive but was no less intense for it. “I’ve got contracts to look over, so I want you to take him,” he said to Beth. “You’ll need to leave in,” he looked at his watch, “twenty minutes. Give the DJ these talking points and make sure he mentions the California shows and new album. Go straight to the club afterwards for load-in and soundcheck.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, trying not to look rattled as she took down the instructions on a pad of paper she had in her purse.

  The guys were already heading for their rooms.

  “Got that, Jesse?” Stu called. “Meet Beth here in twenty minutes.”

  “Got it, chief,” Jesse said, his guitar banging against his leg as he turned the corner and disappeared.

  Stu turned to her. “You good?” he asked.

  She nodded and he walked off without another word, looking at his phone.

  This wasn’t how she liked to do things. She worked best with everything planned out in advance. Back home she had lists and schedules and excel spreadsheets. Going with the flow was not working for her. She’d have to get a copy of their itinerary from Stu so that she wasn’t taken by surprise every step of the way.

  She looked around the lobby, its worn maroon carpet and threadbare chairs typical for a lower-priced chain, but better than the kind of dirt cheap motels she’d feared. Her room was standard fare, nothing fancy but clean and air-conditioned.

  She’d had her phone off all day so that nothing would distract her or annoy her new employers on her first day, so she threw her bags down and checked her messages. One message from Cheryl, one from her mother. She called Cheryl first.

  “Good, you’re still alive,” her friend said.

  “Not that much has happened yet, just a lot of driving, but I’m getting to know Jesse better. He seems decent. Kind of cocky, but nice.”

  “You drove five hours with the hot lead singer? Yikes.”

  Beth laughed and flopped onto the bed. “It wasn’t like that.” She thought for a second. “Well, maybe it was a tiny bit like that, but only because he’s pretty flirtatious. He’s like a whole different species from Jeff. Which is pretty refreshing, I have to say.”

  “Refreshing enough to cut your man moratorium short?” Cheryl teased.

  “No way. He probably flirts with everyone.”

  “Well, they definitely picked the right woman for the job. You’ll have that band whipped into shape in no time, and you won’t take crap from anyone. At least, I hope you won’t. Make sure they treat you right.”

  Beth laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” She looked at her watch. “Damn, I’ve gotta go. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes and I still have to call my mom and shower.”

  “Call me soon, okay?”

  She agreed, smiling as she hung up. Weird how their roles had reversed. For years she was the one worrying about Cheryl, scared that she was going down a dark road with the strip club and bad boyfriends. Now Cheryl was the settled one, the one whose life was on course.

  It was silly to compare, though, and anyway, it wasn’t like she was tragically lost or something. She was just going through a transition. Change was healthy.

  She took the quickest shower of her life, glad all over again for her shorter hair. Jeff had liked it long so she’d left it like that for him despite her desire for a change, but the week after they split up she’d had it cut. It had been ridiculously liberating to feel all that hair falling away like so much baggage. Like she was cutting Jeff out of her heart and her life, becoming the person she’d been wanting to be.

  Now it fell to her chin in shiny layers, and she couldn’t help but think it made her look younger and more carefree. Like the kind of person who might have fun or take a risk now and then.

  Still dripping on the carpet she called her mom while tearing through her clothes. Luckily her mom didn’t pick up and she could make it a quick and easy message, one that gave no hint she was living a mother’s worst nightmare.

  Opening her suitcase she scanned through her tank tops, t-shirts, jeans and skirts. What did assistant road managers generally wear to Americana/alt-rock/country shows? Then again, it didn’t really matter what people usually wore, because she was unlikely to have it. She had the most boring wardrobe ever, though maybe that was just as well since she wasn’t looking for anyone to notice her.

  That decided, she pulled on a plain black t-shirt and denim skirt.

  Time to go. She put on more deodorant, smoothed some tinted balm over her lips, grabbed her tote bag and rushed out the door.

  She stood around for several minutes, already starting to sweat from nerves, and was just beginning to worry she’d have to go looking for Jesse when he sauntered into the lobby in jeans and a t-shirt, his guitar and messenger bag slung across his shoulders. His gaze took her in from top to bottom, and judging from his lopsided grin, he was perfectly happy with her sartorial choice.

  “So why are you the only one getting interviewed?” she asked once they were en route. “Shouldn’t the whole band come along?”

  Jesse sighed and ran his hands through his hair. From the looks of it, she’d worried more about her appearance than he had.

  “Well, I write everything. I mean, they contribute obviously, but they’re my songs. Plus sometimes I need other musicians. I’ve been playing with Matt and Brian for years, though, and we’re pretty tight. They get some decent paychecks working with me, but they also work with other musicians in between gigs.”

  “So Will’s new?”

  “Yeah. The guy who was supposed to tour with us backed out at the last minute when his wife got sick, and Will was available. I’d never met him before, but Stu knew him.”

  He sighed and leaned his head against the seat, his eyes closing.

  Now that she looked, she could see he was tired. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and the electric energy he’d emitted the whole way to town had worn off. Now he was just a guy who’d been up late for a lot of nights in a row.

  She was looking forward to the show tonight, looking forward to seeing what the band could do with an audience in front of them. From what she’d seen on Youtube they put on a good show, but she already knew that seeing Jesse in person and seeing him on a little screen were two entirely different things.

  Her Australian GPS guide, whom she referred to as “mate” whenever she talked to him in private, guided them into the radio station parking lot with a few minutes to spare. Jesse grabbed his guitar and cowboy hat and started for the glass doors.

  Beth stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Are they going to be recording video of this?” she asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Then lose the hat,” she said, moving to take it from.

  He clutched it to his chest. “What for? This is my lucky hat.”

  “It’ll hide your fabulous face and hair. Give the ladies something to look at.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m the assistant road manager. I know what I’m talking about here.”

  He shook his head, a wry smile curling that fine mouth of his. “Whatever you say Miz...what’s your last name?”

  “Levine.”

  His smile went from wry to dazzling. “Mm. A nice Jewish girl.”

  She grabbed the hat and swatted him with it before throwing it in the car
. “Not that nice. Let’s go, cowboy.”

  Once inside she handed the DJ the sheet of information and Jesse was ushered into the studio. She sat in a tiny room that seemed to function as a lobby, though it had just a few scattered chairs and a spring water dispenser. It also had a window into the studio so she could see and hear Jesse and the DJ chatting while a guy adjusted a video camera and the sound engineers did their thing. Then the recording sign lit up and the DJ introduced Jesse to his listeners.

  “Tell us about playing with Buddy Higgins,” the DJ began. “You started with him pretty young from what I hear.”

  “You heard right. When I was seventeen the band I was in opened for him in Austin. After our set he told me he’d liked what he heard and asked if I wanted to play guitar for him.”

  “Pretty impressive for a kid that young.”

  “Yeah. He’d fallen on hard times but he still had his chops. My parents were totally against it, but in reality they were never around to stop me. I mean, I was hardly home and they were always working, so I just kind of did what I wanted. It was pretty crazy because we played a lot of roadhouses, just a lot of dives in general, and they could get kind of rough. I learned a hell of a lot playing with him.”

  “You played covers when you first went out on your own, if I’m not mistaken. When did you start writing your own songs?”

  “As soon as I started to play, but early on I was really just copying the music I liked. It wasn’t until I was maybe nineteen or so that I started to develop my own sound. It was a few years more before I wrote something that wasn’t derivative or just plain awful.”

  “I hear a little bit of everything in your music,” the DJ said. “Some old school country, some blues, rock.”

  “I like so many different artists and genres, I guess it all just comes through.”

  “That it does, and we’re thrilled to have you in our neck of the woods. Why don’t you give us a taste of what we’ll hear tonight at the Granada.”

  “Glad to,” Jesse said, digging in his pocket for a pick. “’Course, I’ll have the band behind me, but this’ll give an idea. This one’s called ‘Waiting for the Rain’ and it’s on the new album, ‘Scorpion King.’”

  Then he started to sing, and even sitting in a soulless, over-air conditioned room, his voice slayed her. The song he’d chosen was mournful and yet had hints of light in it that made it somehow uplifting. Or maybe it was uplifting the way anything beautiful was, whether it made you laugh or cry.

  She’d been right about leaving his hat off. Being able to see his face, to see when he closed his eyes as he sang, lent a greater intimacy to his playing.

  He was talented, and the realization chased away her lingering doubts about coming on tour. Until two days ago she’d never heard of Jesse Rhodes, but he was the real thing. She’d be putting her efforts into someone who deserved to be heard, who’d make people feel something. It was a far cry from the world of accounting.

  The DJ asked him more questions about the album and Jesse played another song, this one an upbeat, rocking little number that had her tapping her toe. He didn’t look tired anymore. His energy was back, full but sort of throttled back for the intimate surroundings. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. The guy was charismatic, a star waiting to be discovered.

  “That was really good,” Beth told him once they were back in the car.

  “You think?”

  She looked at him, surprised by his apparent need for reassurance. “You sounded great. Couldn’t you tell?”

  He shrugged. “It’s weird playing like that. You’re not alone, but you don’t have the energy of an audience to work off either.”

  “Well, I was sold,” she said, his uncertainty making her want to reassure him. It was the truth anyway. “If I wasn’t already going to your show, I’d want to now.”

  He gave a little smile, the tension leaving his shoulders.

  “That first song was so sad. Is it about your father?”

  “Inspired by him, I guess you could say.”

  For a second she thought that was all he was going to tell her. He picked up his hat and rubbed his thumb along at the curled edges like it required all his concentration.

  “My dad’s a mechanic,” he finally said. “A good one, and my mom works as an aide in a home for seniors. There’s hardly any work so they do what they can. I respect the hell out of them, but I’ve never understood why they didn’t leave town when they were younger.” He put the hat on, then took it off again, a frown between his brows. “When I was younger I was mad all the time that I had to live someplace that seemed like such a dead end. I get kind of crazy when I think what it must be like for my dad. I suppose I identify with him, and it seems like such a waste to work so hard for so little.”

  “Do you think he hates his life?”

  He thought for a second. “Actually, he’s always seemed pretty content with what he has. That’s part of what drives me crazy. I would hate to be that invisible. Like nothing you say or want matters to anyone.”

  “Maybe he’s okay with what he has, though. Who knows, if your parents love each other…”

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t be upset by how they live?” he asked.

  “God, I don’t know. I don’t blame you for wishing they had easier lives. People often settle for too little. I guess I just mean that maybe they’re okay.”

  He seemed to take this in. “Maybe you’re right. I mean, they’re appalled by how I live, too. But I send them any money I can spare, and someday they’ll have a decent place to live, even if it’s in the same shitty little town.

  “Well, there you go. Everyone’ll be happy.”

  He gave her a funny smile, like he wasn’t sure whether he believed it but really wanted to.

  Matt, Brian and Will were unloading gear when she pulled into the Granada parking lot and up to the back door. She caught the guys ogling her as she and Jesse unloaded the car, and Jesse scowled at them like he was the only one allowed to stare at her ass. She ignored them all, glad to move after all the driving they’d done.

  Stu was waiting for her when she returned from parking the car. “Here, put this on,” he said, shoving a shirt at her. “You’ll handle the merch table.”

  “Um, what’s a merch table?”

  He didn’t even bother to sigh. “Merchandise table. We’re selling CDs and t-shirts and a few vinyl pressings. The price list is in the box,” he said, pointing to the boxes she’d just brought in. “Set up opposite the bar, and whatever you do, don’t let one of the club staff take over the table. I told that shithead there was no way, but if someone comes over, you get me. You’d think taking a thirty percent cut would make them happy, but they’re always looking for ways to screw us.”

  “Why do you let them take such a big cut of the stuff you sell?”

  “That’s the industry for you. They take a huge cut of the door and they take as much as they can of our merchandise sales. I’m hoping we can get better terms once we hire a business manager. I’ve been handling all the contracts, and frankly I don’t have the time to haggle over each one.”

  “Does that mean you won’t be Jesse’s manager anymore?”

  “It means I won’t have to handle every damn thing myself. A business manager can handle contracts with clubs, insurance, and the financials. We’ll need someone doing that after this tour so I have time to focus on his career.” He sighed and looked around, his expression distant, like he was looking into the future. “I won’t be touring with him anymore, either. We can get a tour manager for that. I’m too old for this shit anyway,” he muttered, walking away.

  Beth held up the shirt Stu had given her. Jesse’s name was scrawled across the top in a slanting white font on the black background, and there was a photo of Jesse beneath that. It was the same image that appeared on the all the tour posters, sexy and brooding. A good likeness, though it had none of the humor she’d seen in him.

  Given that she was a 34D, the medium
he’d given her was probably the safest bet. She headed into the bathroom where she fussed with her hair before changing into the shirt. The fit was good, sexy rather than baggy, but without the annoying pull over her boobs. Unfortunately, now she had Jesse’s face plastered to her body, and that was more than a little weird.

  She passed Will and Matt as she headed back toward the boxes. Everything still needed to be brought into the main hall and put out, and she had no idea how long it would take her to get it all ready.

  “Now that’s an advertisement,” one of them laughed behind her. “I only wish it was my face on that rack.”

  Burning with anger and mortification she turned around to see which of them had said it. Matt looked away like a guilty man, while Will just looked embarrassed.

  Jesse was a few feet behind them, and when she caught the look on his face it was obvious he’d heard it, too. Before she had a chance to say anything, Jesse was in Matt’s face.

  “Apologize, asshole.”

  “I was just making a comment. I didn’t mean for her to hear.”

  “Well, she did hear. Apologize or you’re fined five hundred dollars.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “Do I look like I’m shitting you?” Jesse growled. “Beth is saving our asses taking this job, which means we treat her with respect. Got that, asshole?”

  Beth stood there, miserable. She’d never confronted any of the idiots who’d made comments about her breasts before. Usually she was too mortified, too meek to say anything. Besides, who wanted to confront the kind of jerk who’d say that? But she had to work with Matt and she couldn’t let this set the tone for the next four weeks. Nor did she want Jesse fighting her battles for her.

  She walked up to Matt and stood in front of him. “Forget the apology. I only want one if you mean it. I’ll just point out that from this angle you appear to have a tiny dick.”

  Matt’s mouth fell open in surprise. Will started coughing and Jesse stared at her in surprise before a pleased smile spread over his face.

 

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