One for the Road

by Lynne Marshall

  He walked into the bathroom and looked at his face in the mirror. Well, isn’t that just peachy. On top of being a has-been, you look like an old man. He studied the deep blue circles and lines under his eyes, reminding him of many wild, sleepless nights in his youth.

  Tyler had finished college in Texas to appease his mother, could have been an accountant in Dallas, but knew he never wanted to be anything but a musician. So he broke her heart and moved to Nashville. Well, a musician he was. And he was also enough of a bookkeeper to know his bank account was in the red and things weren’t going to change in the near future.

  “Ain’t life great,” he mumbled, as he took the first swipe at his jaw with a razor.

  Tonight, in the city of blues, he’d be playing in the only honky-tonk bar in Memphis, just like the old days working his way up the ladder of the country music hierarchy. If he had to, he could swallow his pride to survive, but that didn’t stop it from getting stuck in his craw. He took a swig of the convenience store coffee he had picked up on his way home.

  Maybe he could nap on Dee’s big RV bed while she drove the couple hundred miles on I-40. Miss California could handle a straight line, couldn’t she? After last night, maybe she’d be too rattled to handle anything. Shee-it. Just what he needed. He took another drink.

  Tyler wiped his face with a warm, wet towel. God it felt good. He took one more look at himself. Less grizzled cowboy and more seasoned entertainer. He ran his fingers through his hair. Was his forehead getting higher or was his hair starting to recede? He studied it closely, took a hand mirror and turned to spy on the back of his head. Could he see any scalp? He moved a patch of hair to cover a suspicious spot. Satisfied, Tyler turned sideways, sucked in his gut and decided he’d better skip breakfast…and maybe lunch, too.

  ****

  “You were right. I found a note.” If D’Anne could hear gloating, her friend’s reaction on the phone would be in Dolby Sound.

  “What did I tell you,” Theresa said, after a long silence.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on.” D’Anne sat on the edge of her bed, resting her elbows on her knees, feeling lost. “What could be bad enough for Reese to kill himself? And why did that bastard need to do it while making love to me?” She bit back her tears. “He made me feel like it was my fault.” “Listen, there’s more to this than we can see.”

  Though long distance, Theresa soothed her, sounding like the voice of reason.

  She gave in to crying and trying to speak at the same time. “Someone tore up the RV looking for God only knows what.”

  “What?”

  She heard Theresa’s concern and tensed up. “I think they may have been looking for the money Reese’s note said he left for me.”

  “What money?”

  “That’s just it, I don’t know. Reese said he left me some cash, but how much or where? I don’t have a clue.” She massaged her temples with one hand, thinking hard and coming up with nothing.

  “Don’t forget, I knew Reese too. He wouldn’t leave you money and not tell you where it was. There must be a clue in the note.”

  “Not really.” She strained through tears to read the note in her trembling hand, again.

  “Read it to me, D’Anne.”

  “No, it’s private. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about it.” She tensed her lips. “I shouldn’t have told you, and if anyone asks, I’ll swear I never found one.”

  “D’Anne, you’ve got to talk to someone. What are you going to do? Tell your musician friends? And how do you know they aren’t in on tearing up the RV?”

  “They couldn’t have been. I was watching the band perform when it happened. Someone knew I wasn’t around.”

  “Just my point,” Theresa said. “They arranged to get you out and then sent someone else in to look for the money.”

  “Quit sounding like a conspiracy freak. Besides, why would they do that? They didn’t know Reese and they need me for this tour.”

  “Forget about the tour. Come straight home, D’Anne.”

  “Can’t do it, Theresa. I gave Tyler my word, even took the first week’s pay. Which reminds me, I need to fill the tank with diesel fuel before they come to load up everything.” She hopped up from her bed, felt a dizzy rush from lack of sleep and sat back down.

  “I’m here, anytime you need me,” Theresa said. “You just be careful.”

  ****

  By noon the band had packed the RV and car with instruments, amps, and luggage. D’Anne felt a wave of claustrophobia as the RV filled with larger-than-life males and excess baggage. An overwhelming scent of male filled the cabin. She fought back a panicky feeling and thought about calling Theresa for moral support. Could upholstery cleaner get that smell out? May as well get used to it.

  Tyler had left his cowboy hat off today. She watched him through the window and pondered the days when men wore longer hair. What would those blond waves feel like if she were to run her hands through them? Stress was making her think weird thoughts.

  Forcing her attention back to task, she checked her list, then busied herself with menu planning in the cockpit seat while sneaking the occasional peek at J.T.’s tight ass. Both ashamed and disgusted with herself, she blamed the leering on the excess testosterone in the air.

  As though sensing her response, J.T. sauntered across the cabin to the 25-inch TV screen above her head in the cockpit. “Mind if I watch television?”

  “Be my guest.” She sipped iced tea from her travel cup and scribbled a few more items onto her reminder list.

  Tyler said an affectionate goodbye to Marlene outside and came aboard. Marlene stood at the curb looking like a goofy teenager, waving and shouting. “Bye-bye. Y’all knock ’em dead, y’hear?”

  “We’re good to go whenever you are, Dee.” He nodded and smiled at her, then turned and waved one last time to Marlene.

  Bear leaned out the door just before locking it. “Marlene, you keep your fine self out of trouble.”

  D’Anne smiled when Marlene giggled like a girl. She took a deep breath. It was time to make a choice. Be uptight and suspicious the whole way, or relax, get to know these guys and hire an expert cleaning crew once she got back to Los Angeles. She clenched her jaw, blew out a puff of air and settled for somewhere in-between.

  J.T. flipped on the country music video station and made himself comfortable on the couch. Within a few seconds, Bear broke in.

  “Hell, we sound better than that.” He plopped onto the other couch, flung his legs up and cradled the back of his head with relaxed arms. “Don’t worry, Ty, we’ll get you back on the charts in no time.”

  Ricky-Bob stood in the center of the room looking stuck in the fifties. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lip. He seemed enthralled with the video performer. “Hey, George Straight is a master.” He used the cigarette to point at the screen. “Listen to his songs, simple finger poppers with good words. We should get us some songs like that.”

  D’Anne bit back a warning about how he’d better never even consider lighting one of those things up in front of her. “These days, it seems like patriotic songs resonate with Americans.” She added her two cents to distract herself.

  The cabin went silent. The group appraised her with one long, dead stare, making her wish she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “I think drinking songs resonate with Americans all the time,” Bear said, carefully pronouncing her word.

  He reached for the music case balanced against the couch, opened it and lifted out a beautifully polished, light wood guitar. He strummed it, tuned it and played a few chords just like the ones on television. J.T. copied the rhythm, using his hands and fingers on his thighs. Before she could put down her list and slide the key in the ignition, Ricky-Bob and Tyler had pulled up the dinette chairs, picked up their acoustic guitars and joined in for a jam session.

  Tyler sang words as though off the top of his head. “Baby, you’re my jukebox. Your music twists my socks. I put my two bits in and you sing sweete
r than sin.”

  Ricky-Bob added, “I’m gonna pick my favorite song, so we can dance the two-step…all night long, all right.”

  They continued trading bawdy verses, egging each other on. “Hey,” Ricky-Bob said, “Write that one down. It’s a hit.”

  “Yeah, we’ll sing this tonight for the drunks that don’t have dates,” Tyler said.

  “Ain’t that us?” Bear scratched his jaw. They laughed and broke into another song.

  The beat was bouncy and raunchy and it made D’Anne smile. She placed her cup on the console, then adjusted the accelerator and brake pedals to suit her. She tapped her toe to the rhythm and started the engine. A satisfying bus-like sound erupted and vibrated beneath her feet like a lion’s purr. She let the engine idle while she pondered the trip, finally admitting she was excited.

  A cold nose jabbed her hand. Dexter stared at her with sad eyes. He turned around three times and attempted to settle into a bundle beside her chair, but stood back up, on alert. She paused to scratch his ear, then looked out from the huge wrap-around windshield to the street. She used the humongous outside mirrors and pulled away from the campsite with a lurch.

  She hadn’t driven the RV in two months, but felt confident it would come back to her as they went along, sort of like riding a bike. She glanced back to the pavement and swerved just in time to keep from sideswiping the Thanks-Come-Back-Again sign. She made a quick recovery and found herself humming an old Willie Nelson tune, “On the Road, Again.”

  D’Anne glanced over her shoulder at the band, making merry and completely oblivious to her near miss with the guide rail. A subtle sense of pride at being their chauffeur surprised her. For the first time in weeks, her mind was on something besides Reese.

  She grinned.

  No doubt about it, she felt good vibes from these guys. They seemed harmless and who knew, they might even come in handy as a decoy to whoever was after Reese’s money.

  Chapter Four

  “Come inside with us.” Tyler gestured toward the club in Memphis.

  “I am not leaving my RV in this sleazy alley for six hours,” she said, glowering at him. “They’ll strip the RV clean, if I do.”

  “Who is ‘they,’ Dee?”

  “I don’t know…the alley dwellers?”

  Her eyes searched the nearest foul smelling Dumpster, positive they were hiding inside and just waiting for the high sign to climb out to do their evil deeds.

  “They’ll go tell their friends and pretty soon my hubcaps and mirrors and chrome strips will all be gone.” She felt foolish saying it after eyeing a new Cadillac parked in the reserved owner’s spot for the Silver Spur Club. But since no one was going to look out for her, she’d have to look out for herself. “And then they’ll scratch the deluxe paint job just to thumb their noses at me.”

  “You’ve got quite an imagination,” Tyler said. A tiny smile twitched his mustache. “The way I see it, you’re more likely to scratch the paint from the way you drive than from parking out here.”

  “What!” She swung around. “I got you here in one piece, didn’t I?”

  “That’s debatable.”

  She flashed the palm of her hand walking backwards toward the motor home. “I’m going back to the campsite and you can call me when you’re ready to be picked up. I’ll park out front of the club, you can load up there.”

  “At three in the morning this noisy rig will wake up the whole campground.”

  Why did he sound like the reasonable one when she was only trying to see to her own welfare? “There are only about three other people staying at the place.” D’Anne stopped on the top step. “And that’s another thing. Where in the world did you find that campground?”

  “Marlene has connections to private campgrounds in these parts.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate having some input the next time you set us up. I’m not sure where I feel less safe, this stinking alley or that sad excuse for a campground.”

  “I’m sorry it’s not up to your California Spa standards here, Dee.” His voice sliced through the air. “—but I’ve got a budget to keep and three musicians to pay.” He looked away, and mumbled. “Not to mention an uppity chauffeur.”

  “Humph!” She arched an eyebrow. “Don’t forget, cook.”

  “If you call what you served us for dinner cooking, okay…and cook.”

  “Just because you’re not used to eating without everything smothered in gravy doesn’t mean it’s not good.”

  “If you like chicken shoe leather, it’s fine,” he said with a teasing twinkle in his eye.

  “I’m still getting used to the electric grill. Besides, it didn’t seem to stop Bear any. He had seconds.”

  Loitering by the nightclub door, Bear moved inside when he heard his name.

  Tyler slanted his face closer to hers. “Hell, he was having so much trouble swallowing he kept shoving more in just to push it down.”

  Damn, he had the upper hand. But, she had the RV…and Dexter.

  She swung around and climbed inside the cab without another word.

  The engine started with an extra rev thanks to her heavy foot and lurched forward. Dexter lifted his head from his paws, then sat up and started panting along with the hot purr of the engine.

  She left Tyler standing in the alley grinning and waving goodbye. He was dressed to knock the ladies dead—tight jeans, long-sleeved shirt with fancy stitched seams and cowboy hat angled just right. D’Anne rolled her eyes. She stripped gears shifting into drive, straining to avoid the alley walls, knowing he was watching. Flushed and flustered, she pulled out into the street.

  “I just hope I remember the way back to the damn campground.”

  ****

  “Yes, Dean, I’m just fine. I’m in Memphis. Maybe I’ll go visit Graceland tomorrow.” D’Anne had sprawled on the couch to call home. “Have you heard anything about your father’s life insurance policy yet?” She stroked Dexter’s head and smiled, grateful he was there to keep her company.

  “They’re just waiting on the autopsy lab reports. Once they have the official cause of death, everything should be in order.”

  Fear shot through her. Nitrites and Viagra—lethal.

  Dean paused. “Mom…Randy is really pissed off at you. He thinks you need a shrink.”

  Her heart sank to her stomach. Her happy, fat baby soon turned as contrary as the cowlicks that sprouted all over his little boy head; the angry middle school kid followed by the moody teenager with an electric blue Mohawk; then the chronically unemployed, withdrawn young man-son, thought she was crazy. She glanced around the cabin cluttered with strangers’ suitcases and bags, taking a quick inventory of her current living situation. Maybe he was right.

  “Randy has a lot of growing up to do before he straightens out my life.” She flung her legs to the ground. “I’ll be in Vegas in three weeks. I can’t wait to see you, Dean.” She thought about her sons and Reese, and got misty-eyed. She tried to disguise her raspy voice. “Tell Randy I love him. I love you, too, Dean. Never forget that.”

  “I know, Mom.” He cleared his throat. “Take care. Say hi to Elvis for me.”

  She sputtered a laugh. “Hell, if I see him, I’ll kiss him for you.” She hung up.

  Well, now what do I do?

  It was only ten o’clock and the band wouldn’t be ready for pick up for hours. D’Anne thought about taking a nap, even stretched out on the couch, but couldn’t relax. She flipped on the TV, but couldn’t find anything that caught her interest. She took a quick walk outside for Dexter’s sake. When she came back, she looked around at all of the half-opened suitcases and shaving kits strewn across the cabin and decided to straighten up.

  She attempted to pick up Bear’s duffle bag, but settled for dragging it to a spot next to the pullout bed. Let’s see. If I put this here, then I can make the bed up before they get back. Then we can slide out the extensions and all go to sleep without having to mess with this later. The thought of them all
going to sleep in the same small vicinity unnerved her. Was the bedroom door enough of a barrier?

  She used her foot to shove J.T.’s bag toward the dinette set, which doubled as a bed. D’Anne put Ricky-Bob’s suitcase on the couch with the pullout mattress big enough for him and Bear. That left poor Tyler having to make do with the captain’s chair. “At least it reclines. He can put his feet on the dash. Hell, I don’t care.”

  She reached for his suitcase. A shaving kit sat on top. D’Anne yanked the bag. The kit dropped to the floor and spilled open. His razor, soapbox and two bottles of prescription pills fell out. She scrambled to pick everything up and put them back inside. She glanced at the first prescription bottle. Take one tab once a day with food for blood pressure. She noticed it was a beta-blocker, the same kind of medicine Reese used to take. D’Anne examined the second bottle. Viagra. Hmmm. I wouldn’t have pegged Mr. Macho for having lover-boy problems. Knowing blood pressure medicine could cause sexual dysfunction in a man, she gave Tyler the benefit of the doubt. Smugly feeling the upper hand again, she put the bottle back inside his kit, searched for an extra fluffy pillow out of pity for Tyler and his manhood problems, and plopped it onto the copilot chair.

  Fingering the headrest, she pictured the tall cowboy singing and the ladies swooning at the club. If they only knew the half of it. So why did she wish she were there?

  The band had gotten all dressed up to play for a bunch of drunks in a bar. Paying drunks, Tyler might add. It was a world she couldn’t relate to, but was intrigued by it just the same. Maybe next time Tyler invited her to come with them, she’d go.

  Dexter nosed his way under her hand. She stroked his matted fur for comfort. Her mind drifted back to that tall, fine figure of a man—the guy who needed Viagra. A sympathetic smile touched her lips and a seed of fondness took root in her heart.

  D’Anne put sheets and blankets on the two beds and when she was done, fell onto her own for a short nap. Dexter joined her.

  ****