One for the Road

by Lynne Marshall

  Bear flashed a toothless grin, searched for his partial in his shirt pocket, and slid it back into his mouth. D’Anne had seen way more than she wanted. She loaded everything on a serving tray and started to pick it up. Tyler beat her to it. She opened the screen for him, nodded her thanks and smiled as he ducked his head to get out.

  She greeted the band. “Morning, guys. Breakfast is ready. Who wants coffee?”

  Bear’s thready blond hair stuck out every which way. D’Anne suppressed a giggle. J.T. looked just as sexy as usual, even more so with the stubble on his chin. Ricky Bob’s pompadour had fallen to the side. She couldn’t keep from grinning and looked forward to enjoying what was left of the morning with her eclectic gang of musicians.

  “Let’s eat,” she said.

  Once they had all been served, D’Anne asked, “So what are everyone’s plans today?” She heard evasive grunts and full-mouth mumbles from the guys like they might be afraid she’d want to tag along.

  Tyler cleared his throat, evidently feeling obligated to offer an answer. “I feel a song coming on, think I might write one. How about you, Dee?”

  “Me? I’m going to Graceland.”

  ****

  “I might pop in for a bit at the club tonight,” D’Anne said when she dropped the band off in the alley at seven. She had stayed away from camp as long as she possibly could during the day, although she was dying to check out the cooler. They need their space. She tried to convince herself, but knew all she really wanted to do was avoid Tyler and the crazy, mixed up feelings he provoked in her.

  So why didn’t she stop herself before she blurted out “I want to catch your act, again” just after they finished unloading?

  They were all too preoccupied with speakers and guitar cases to respond. She hoped they hadn’t heard her so she could change her mind. She wondered how four musicians could possibly need so many different instruments.

  Bear belched and rubbed his belly. “Great chili, Dee. I’m still enjoying it. Even if you did use northern beans.” He pushed a large amplifier with a banjo case on top inside the back door. “Did you know the Silver Spur is the only country music club in these parts of Memphis?”

  “Yeah,” Ricky-Bob said. “This is generally a gospel and blues town. Hey, them cornbread muffins tasted just like my granny’s.”

  “Thanks, you guys.”

  “Looks like we may keep you around.” Tyler’s unmistakable voice chimed in as he passed by, carrying a guitar case in each hand.

  D’Anne wondered why his words made her feel so good. A tiny starburst tickled her chest when she glanced his way. He set the instruments down and ruffled Dexter’s ears.

  “Now you be a good boy for Miss Dee, ya hear?” He lifted a guitar case in each hand and moved toward the entrance. “I’ll put your name on our guest list. It should get you in free.”

  She tightened up her plans to go to the club. Tyler looked too good to miss in the black cowboy shirt with fancy white seams. She wanted to watch his long legs and cowboy boots tap out the beat while he sang. He really was a born-again entertainer from what she’d seen at the fairgrounds show, and she wanted to see how he handled a smaller venue.

  He paused at the door. “You better take off before them alley dwellers start feeding off your RV.”

  D’Anne caught herself in a middle finger salute.

  She turned to leave, while making a brief mental list. First thing, investigate the cooler. Next, call Theresa to let her know I haven’t dropped off the planet.

  She didn’t wait to get back to the campsite to call Theresa. Instead she dialed her friend on the speakerphone in the cockpit while she drove. “Hey, girlfriend, what’s shakin’?”

  “I’ve been thinking about you,” came the familiar voice. “I’m on the patio drinking wine all by my lonesome.”

  “Where’s your new boyfriend?” D’Anne kept her eyes on the road, imagining Theresa on her spacious deck in the Los Feliz hills overlooking the sprawling Los Angeles city lights.

  “Another business opportunity with his financial planner.” Theresa hesitated for an instant. “Sometimes I think he’s got a sweetie somewhere, but he’s too ornery and ugly for that.”

  They’re never too ornery or ugly for that. D’Anne kept her thoughts to herself. “Cheat on you? Never. He knows you’d kill him.”

  Theresa laughed. “This time, it’s really about money…I think.”

  D’Anne thought about her own money troubles and grimaced.

  “No offense to you, D’Anne, but Reese really screwed up my retirement plans with that deal he talked me into.”

  “Yeah? Well, he screwed up our retirement plans, too.” She pulled into the campground entrance.

  “So where do you think Reese’s money stash came from? You know, from the suicide note?”

  “What are you getting at Theresa?” she snapped. “You’re a grown woman. You make your own decisions. I doubt Reese talked you into anything against your will.” She swung wide and had to concentrate on lining up the Deluxe Cruiser with the hook-up in their campsite. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m broke. At least you’ve still got a job.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I better cut myself off from the liquor. I’m saying things I don’t really mean.”

  D’Anne parked and leaned closer to the speakerphone. Thinking of her long-time friend’s usual playful eyes and mischievous smile, she changed the subject. “I went to Graceland today. You’re talking to a lady who’s seen The Gold Room, where every single gold and platinum album the King ever made lined the walls.”

  Theresa squealed.

  “The LPs glared so much, I needed shades.” They spent the next several minutes discussing Elvis’s grand castle in Memphis and ended their conversation on a friendlier note.

  “I miss you, hun.” Theresa was beginning to sound tipsy. “Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t I meet you someplace and drive the rest of the way home with you? We’ll make it a girls’ road trip.”

  “That’s a thought.” No way. “We’ll talk more about it when we get closer, okay?” Please forget all about it. “Meantime, I’ve got to walk the dog and dress for the Silver Spur Club. The guys call me their roadie, you know. They said they’d put my name on a list so I won’t have to pay a cover charge.”

  Theresa giggled like a drunk.

  “I guess I’m in, huh?”

  “Sounds more like you’re in over your head,” Theresa said.

  “Bitch.”

  “Back at ya, babe. Kiss kiss. Who loves you?”

  “Right. Goodnight, Theresa.”

  Soon as D’Anne hung up, she headed for the storage bin and the old cooler. She repeated every step from the night before without benefit of the security guard freaking her out. After sliding the huge cooler out of the storage bin, she flipped open the lid and her hopes were doused when the only things green inside it were a few old leaves and a nasty mold patch.

  ****

  The parking lot was crowded with trucks and SUV’s. D’Anne could hear the band when she slammed her car door shut. A wave of excitement hit her. Hey, I know those guys.

  She smoothed the multicolor peasant skirt with her hands and straightened the collar on her simple, sleeveless, white eyelet blouse. With sandals and pedicure intact, she prepared to enter the fracas. When they tried to charge her, she mentioned she was with the band. The large cowboy bouncer walked inside, brought out a list and found her name on it. Tyler had done what he’d promised.

  A gust of second hand smoke and amplified music met her at the doorway. A huge cavernous room, reminiscent of an old barn, complete with sawdust and peanut shells on the floor, rose up before her. The stage seemed half a mile away, yet her eyes connected with Tyler the moment she entered. He nodded at her as he sang a hard, bouncy-rhythm country song. She tore her glance away and searched for a place to sit.

  The joint was jumping and so were most of the waitresses’ breasts. There seemed to be a standard three-inch cleavage displa
y requirement for the ladies delivering beers by the looks of their partially unbuttoned, horseshoe insignia, blouses. Jeans appeared spray painted on, hugged the entire array of waitress fannies. And boots finished off their attire—high heeled with pointy toes, the kind that never saw a horse. She counted no less than six of them.

  D’Anne tried her best not to lock eyes with an older cowboy leering at her from across the mile-long bar. She pushed her way in and ordered a white wine, pretending not to feel self-conscious while clutching nervously at her throat. D’Anne surveyed the crowded room. The club seemed to be doing a great business.

  In a barn filled with dungarees, tailored shirts and cowboy hats, D’Anne stood out like mismatched buttons. That was until she spied another person in a dark corner that didn’t belong, either. She couldn’t see his face. He wore a suit that looked like it came from Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills instead of the abundant rodeo wear in the club. She wondered what his story was. Maybe he was the owner?

  The song ended and the bar gave an appreciative applause. D’Anne forgot to clap, distracted by the outsider and the leering cowboy.

  The band revved up for another raucous tune when an announcement broke through the sound system. “There’s a white Rabbit, license plate ‘Alkymom,’ you’ve left your lights on.”

  D’Anne flushed with embarrassment and caught the band laughing when the bartender said Alkymom instead of A Lucky Mom, as she headed for the door. She shook her head at Tyler and he grinned like a catfish just before starting his next song.

  She tried her best to go unnoticed when she re-entered. The Armani man in the far corner had vanished, but the older cowboy had cozied up to her spot at the bar.

  “I kept your seat warm for you,” he said, lips curled into a creepy smile beneath his handlebar mustache.

  Fighting off a cringe, she sat on the barstool and graciously thanked him. The bartender had wisely waited until she returned to serve her wine. D’Anne had been out of circulation for years, but even she knew never to drink from an unattended glass in a bar.

  “The other day,” Tyler’s deep clear voice commanded the attention of everyone in the room, “a new friend of mine suggested I write a patriotic song. So today, I did. I’d like to sing it for you now.”

  D’Anne perked up. Ricky-Bob switched to a mandolin and Bear plucked on a banjo. Tyler strummed his acoustic guitar. J.T. used a snare drum for a quiet marching rhythm underneath, like the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” The music began with a folksy, bluegrass feel and then Tyler’s distinctive voice cut through the accompaniment.

  “We all sing about freedom, in the land of the free.

  “We all talk about justice; it’s real for you and me.

  “About the blessings heaped upon us, we all rave, ’cause it’s true.

  “And my star-spangled heart loves your red, white and blue.”

  D’Anne’s mouth gaped open, awed by his lyrics. The crowd grew silent, even the waitresses stopped dead in their tracks to listen. The tall cowboy singer drew their attention with the heartfelt song, praising the country they all loved and took for granted.

  The second verse modulated up a key and grew louder. His full voice, touched with a fine timbre, met the challenge and captured the crowd as music and emotion swelled.

  By the time he’d finished the verse, a few veterans stood and removed their ball caps while they applauded, whistled and stomped. The refrain was even better.

  “Red, white and blue, stars and stripes, I love you,

  “From the east to the west, we stand taller than the rest,

  “U.S. of A., Old Glory, Statue in the bay,

  “American independence will always see us through,

  “That’s why I love the red, white and blue.”

  D’Anne knew a hit when she heard one. She predicted this would be the next Country crossover if Tyler ever got the chance to record it. He’d managed to tap into the nation’s soft spot with poetry and music. In her heart, she felt it was just a matter of time for his star to rise again.

  At the end, she hopped off the barstool and stood to applaud along with everyone else.

  ****

  Damn it felt great to be appreciated again. Yes! Tyler knew he’d found his niche with this song. It just seemed to roll out of him earlier that afternoon.

  He and the band bowed. They hit each other on the arms and butts and congratulated themselves for a job well done. He already had ideas on how to rework the refrain, how to make it better. The cries of bravo and encore and heavy glass mugs banging on the bar brought an ardent smile to Tyler’s face. He tipped his hat.

  Would he have ventured down this road if Dee hadn’t had the audacity to mention patriotic songs the other day? On a dare from Dee, he’d given it a shot. He looked at the lady standing with all the others and liked what he saw. She dripped with class and stood out like a shiny brass button on an old denim jacket. He caught her gaze, offered a sincere smile, and tapped the brim of his hat at her. She pumped her fist in the air and gave a catcall. It made him grin harder.

  And all would have been well, except for one nagging thing. As he scanned the audience, a couple of faces off to the side of the stage looked familiar. He’d been drawn to them because of the man in the suit.

  “Mebbe we better sing another song, Ty.”

  Bear brought him back to the moment. He switched to his electric guitar and started the riff for “Your High Class Love Broke My Honky-Tonk Heart,” and the wood-planked club floor filled with line dancers.

  His memory flashed like fireworks while he sang. The round, swarthy face and the other tall, skinny guy, “Mutt and Jeff,” sure that had been them. He’d watched them pack and leave before sun up in Nashville. Hadn’t they been the ones at Marlene’s campground the night D’Anne’s RV had been broken into?

  Chapter Six

  D’Anne left in a hurry to get back to the campsite and switch the car for the motor home. She’d become quite an expert at lining up and hooking the Rabbit to the tow hitch on the back. They’d agreed to drive through the night to get to Texarkana to avoid the sweltering heat in Arkansas. The reward would be two days of down time before their opening act for the Four States Fairground YMCA benefit concert Wednesday night. She thought ahead and changed into more comfortable traveling clothes and made a big pot of rich, potent coffee for the trip.

  No one waited when she drove up to the curb in front of the Silver Spur Club. She had to double park and walk across the street to the entrance to look for the band. When she approached, it sounded like a riot going on inside. She went on alert. Loud voices, jeers and cheers, the racket of furniture cracking and breaking, heralded that bedlam had broken out. Cautiously, she reached for the door. Cuss words flew like bullets the moment she opened it. D’Anne’s eyes shot open wide and her heart raced a quick trot around her chest when she peered inside.

  Ohmagod. D’Anne caught her breath and reached for her throat. A full-blown barroom brawl unfolded before her. Though several men were fighting, her eyes went directly to a familiar face. Bear used his head as a battering ram into a local cowboy’s stomach and drove him smack against the wall, following up with two quick fists to the man’s face. The other guy managed to grasp a chair and swing it over the back of Bear’s head, shattering the wood. She winced when Bear staggered, grabbed his skull and roared. He took hold of the other man’s shirt and flung him in a half circle before landing him against an old player piano, starting an off-key concert.

  D’Anne squealed and shook her hands like a sissy. Tyler found her, took her by the elbow and quicker than lightning, escorted her outside, practically lifting her off the ground.

  “Wait here,” he said. His eyes were dark and excited. “Keep the door open on the RV and be ready to go when I give the signal.”

  A bundle of questions exploded in her brain, but she couldn’t make her mouth move to ask them. Tyler nudged her forward and slipped back inside. She did what she was told.

  On the first trip,
with Ricky-Bob’s help, he wheeled equipment out the door. Tyler yelled something at D’Anne. Too stunned to hear it from inside the RV, she went to the door. “What?”

  “Unlatch the Rabbit and leave the keys on the seat.” Tyler’s blasting baritone voice punched the night.

  She wanted to ask why and what was going on, but he didn’t give her a chance. He ducked back inside for more amplifiers and drums. Again, D’Anne did as she was told. Shaky, uncooperative hands made the job twice as hard.

  J.T. joined Ricky-Bob and Tyler with the last batch of equipment and the men worked in sync to load everything as fast as possible. There was still no sign of Bear. After the last storage bin was slammed shut, Ricky-Bob and J.T. ran like a flash inside the RV. From the street, Tyler gave D’Anne the high sign.

  “Git! Go. Go. Go.” He waved his arm like a flagman on speed at the raceway.

  D’Anne didn’t know where she was going or why, but she put her foot on the gas and managed to peel rubber as the RV took off on a crooked course down the street.

  Breathless, she called over her shoulder, “What’s going on?”

  “Some tourist made a comment to a biker,” Ricky-Bob said. “The biker turned out to be a Vietnam vet and took a swing at him. Bear never could resist a good old fashioned fist fight.” He slid onto the couch and let out a hoot. “Hell, J.T., that’s the most action we’ve seen in a long time.”

  “Where in the hell am I going?” It occurred to D’Anne she didn’t have a clue.

  J.T. walked forward to the cockpit and pointed out the window with a steady hand. “Just up the road apiece, about a mile, is a public park. Pull in there. Ty will find us. We’re too big to miss.”

  D’Anne followed his instructions and parked. She walked on wobbly legs to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee, offered some to the guys and got down two more mugs.

  “Is he going to be all right?” She took a sip and noticed her trembling hands.