One for the Road

by Lynne Marshall

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

  Tyler growled the slightest bit to accentuate the last phrase while he strummed his guitar. As though on cue, the crowd clapped and yelled their appreciation at the mention of their homeland flag.

  “Oh, my, this is a nice one.” Lura Mae reached for D’Anne’s forearm and squeezed. She recognized the gesture from spending time with Tyler. She liked his mother and offered her a sincere smile while the song continued.

  She felt another hand grasp her other arm and remembered J.T. had placed Tammy, his very own Country Barbie doll from Dallas, in the seat next to her. Her perfume smelled like vanilla icing. Her long, tanned legs crossed with several anklets and a rose tattoo at the ankle.

  J.T. didn’t want the waitress left alone while they performed, or so he’d said as he’d slid her in the chair next to D’Anne. Perhaps an issue of trust haunted Mr. Runaround when the tables were turned. Was there a glint of possessiveness in his playboy eyes? And more importantly, did he expect D’Anne to baby sit?

  Hey, what goes around comes around, guy. Dee smiled at the sweetness of Karma.

  “Ain’t they great?” Tammy said, stretching the last word into three syllables.

  D’Anne found herself studying the young woman’s wild mane of blonde waves and her huge bust, wondering if either was real. Faint brown roots answered the first question.

  D’Anne looked up before Tammy could catch her. “Yeah, they’re terrific. I never get tired of listening to them.”

  “Are you Tyler’s old lady?” Tammy asked, brown eyes sparkling from a flawless complexion.

  D’Anne festered at the old part while she watched bugs fly through the stage spotlight. “Nope, just the paid chauffeur.”

  Tammy giggled and jiggled over the top of her low cut tank top. “I’d like to get me a job like that.” She giggled again, breasts rippling in soft fleshy waves.

  Oh yeah, no false advertising there.

  D’Anne thought about how she’d come by the job and knew she wouldn’t wish those circumstances on her worst enemy, let alone a—she couldn’t quite get herself to use the word innocent—Country Barbie airhead.

  She imitated Tammy’s arm pat. “Trust me, no you wouldn’t. And don’t limit yourself to following

  J.T. around the country. Get a real job. Make him come to you.” She stared straight at Tammy and found a wide-eyed look of puzzlement, until a drum roll drew the wannabe groupie’s eyes back to the stage.

  By the end of the song, the audience stood on their collective feet applauding and cheering The Tyler White Band. Tammy stuck two fingers inside her mouth and whistled a sharp blast, embarrassing D’Anne. She stepped toward Lura Mae who managed to rent the air with an even louder whistle, leaving D’Anne envious of her skill and breath control. Hypocrite. Give the chick a break.

  Tyler switched to a playful song for his second set, the intro starting slow and sweet. “Since you cain’t make up your mind…and won’t let me plead my case…” He hammed and stretched the notes with a well-controlled voice. “Honey, I’ll step back and give you some time…and lots and lots of space…”

  What had started slow and serious turned to a rowdy, upbeat bar-type song.

  “And while you’re thinkin’…I’ll be drinkin’…down at Stinkin’ Pete’s place…”

  Ricky-Bob dazzled the audience with his violin skills moving from schmaltzy to hilltop hoedown and back. Bear played an expert steel guitar solo. And Tyler strummed and sang the hell out of the song until he had the audience eating from his hand.

  Obviously choosing to keep the mood light and fun, Tyler followed with several country classics and barroom anthems before finishing off with his one big hit.

  Lura Mae clapped her hands and tapped her foot and winked at D’Anne as they both sang the bridge along with the rest of the crowd. Before song’s end, she found herself slapping a high five and making a couple of hip bumps with Tammy while they stood. It occurred to D’Anne she couldn’t remember the last time she’d loosened up as much and had such fun.

  Her foot bumped the Dalmatian backpack briefly, drawing her away from a carefree spirit to the one remaining burden. She bit her lip. A plan to deal with the money began to formulate in the back of her brain. It wasn’t what Reese had in mind, no doubt, but she liked the way her scheme would work. The greater good, she thought, the greater good.

  When Tyler removed his Stetson and swept the stage with his signature bow, it dawned on her she loved the way she felt. She hadn’t been this elated since her boys were born. She didn’t want the trip to end, at least not as soon as next weekend in Vegas.

  She looked back at the stage and found Tyler smiling just for her. She grinned and waved at him. She felt that tingly thing that happened whenever she caught him staring. When he winked, her heart jumped a hurdle—was that love?

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Well that’s just dandy.” Tyler flipped his cell phone shut, looking frustrated. “They cancelled the gig in El Paso.” He sucked a tooth, crossed a foot on his knee, and patted his boot.

  Once he started clearing his throat, D’Anne knew he was upset.

  “They cain’t do that, can they?” Bear protested. “Did you sign a contract?”

  “The club closed down.” He leaned further back against the couch and bumped shoulders with D’Anne. The tension was palpable.

  She listened with interest, her mind racing. How many times in her family life had she had to dance around last minute changes and come up with solutions? And how often had she succeeded? She’d have done anything to keep from seeing disappointment on either of her sons’ faces back then, and thanks to her extraordinary meddling abilities she’d rarely had to. Right now, she couldn’t bear the negative vibrations pinging off the walls of the RV.

  No gig, no money.

  Ricky-Bob sat up straight. “Anything else around here we can do?” He flipped open his cell phone and pushed speed dial in a distracted gesture.

  D’Anne opened her mobile phone. Tyler did the same. Bear sat deep in contemplation, stroking his flimsy beard.

  “Hey, hon, it’s me.” Ricky-Bob said.

  “May I speak to Earl Schneckt?” Tyler’s deep voice overrode R.B.’s.

  “Hello Theresa?” D’Anne placed a finger in her ear to tune out the other two. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to call. Listen, does your sister still own that Southwestern restaurant in Tucson?”

  ****

  An hour and a great deal of finagling later, Tyler watched Dee and the boys hoot and slap high fives as if they’d just roped a cow at a rodeo. Together they had lined up two more gigs. They’d play Monday at Earl’s Honky-Tonk Haven in Odessa, and pick up a second night at the Tucson Café and Western Grill on Wednesday. Only union scale pay, but the Tucson Café offered a small percentage of the take on the night they’d play. It’d be a tough ten-plus hour drive to Tucson, but no one complained.

  “Wait until J.T. finds out he gets to spend another eleven hours with Tammy in the Mustang.” Dee did a poor job of suppressing her smirk.

  Tyler called Pauline to alert her to their change in plans. The record company scout told him she was taking a meeting, but had some updates. Dee rested her head on his shoulder while he listened. His arm reached behind and pulled her closer, as easy as breathing. He could get used to that, feared he already had.

  “…and I want you to sign a contract giving us rights to that patriotic song of yours, so we can start promoting it. What’s your fax number?”

  “Hang on there, Pauline. I haven’t given you the okay to copyright my song.”

  She shot back with a nasal twang. “We had a verbal agreement I would tape it, which I did in Abilene, and take it back to my company. Now, MeggaDecca wants it.”

  “But I’d prefer to copyright it myself.”

  Dee’s head shot up with interest, listening intently.

  “I don’t see what the advantage is, Tyler. We’ll pay you a great deal and of
fer unlimited recording studio time. Not to mention great promotional opportunities.”

  “Just remember, I haven’t signed anything, yet. You know that.”

  Dee kicked her foot out to snap Bear out of his thoughtful haze. She stabbed at Tyler’s phone with her finger and tugged on her ear for Bear to listen. Tyler used his free hand to pat the air, attempting to calm Dee down. It became hard to hear and he’d missed the last thing Pauline said. “Listen, we can discuss creator and claimant on my song in Vegas, okay? In the meantime, don’t move ahead on that plan of yours. I need time to think.”

  Bear, Ricky-Bob and Dee craned their necks to listen closely as Pauline spoke, but Tyler kept the receiver close to his ear. “Don’t forget what we can do for your career. You have to think about yourself, now. The exposure we can offer is far more than you could ever generate on your own. Good song or not. Now, I’ve arranged for a newspaper interview. What’s the address where you’ll be playing in Tucson?”

  “Well, sure, exposure is always good. I won’t say no to that. It’s the Tucson Café and Western Grill.” Tyler turned to Dee, offering the receiver. She took the phone and repeated the address to Pauline in short clipped bursts, repeating both the spelling of the street and the name of the restaurant.

  “I’m the chauffeur,” she said, at the end.

  Tyler saw her cheeks turn pink when she returned the phone to him. Her sharp green eyes narrowed with suspicion. He patted her knee and winked to reassure her. Dee blushed more.

  “Okay, Pauline, I’m going to say goodbye now. I’ll look forward to that newspaper interview.” He hung up and spoke quickly. “She’s trying to pull a fast one on me.”

  Bear stood, making the snug RV quarters feel suddenly tighter. “You cain’t let her take control of that song, even if we do sign with her label.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Can you guys tell me what’s going on?” Dee looked frustrated and confused.

  Tyler clamped his eyes shut and pressed on his temples to ease the pressure.

  “Pauline is trying to get me to sell “Star Spangled Heart” in exchange for expensive recording studio time. I told her I’d think about it back in Abilene.” Tyler felt Dee stand. He opened his eyes and looked up into hers. “She wants to copyright it. I don’t trust that she wouldn’t put me as the creator and assign MeggaDecca as the claimant, which is like stealing the song from me. I get the title, they get the money.”

  Dee looked furious. “You can’t let her do that. How can she dare to do that?”

  Ricky-Bob spoke up. “Ah hell, Dee, it happens all the time. If people are desperate enough to get recording contracts they’ll do anything and sign anywhere.”

  “Well not him!” She paced the RV cabin and chewed on a nail, thinking, and staring at the floor. Dexter followed her path like there might somehow be food involved.

  Pissed that Pauline was pushing for a quickie deal, Tyler tensed. But seeing Dee with her hackles up on his behalf was somehow appeasing, if not an out and out turn on. He started wishing Ricky-Bob and Bear would take a hike.

  “Just in case this gets sticky, didn’t you tell me those guys we thought were following us for the…”

  Afraid she’d say too much, Tyler sat straighter and cleared his throat. She stopped herself before saying money.

  “…Anyway, weren’t they from Sundown records and didn’t you say they taped one of your concerts, too?”

  “Yeah, so?” Tyler relaxed and spread both his arms across the back of the couch.

  Dee was worked up, acting like a T.V. sleuth. Steam practically rose from her brain as she thought. She bent and petted Dexter. “If that Pauline person pursues the music rights, saying you let her tape the song with an understanding she and her company would buy it, can’t you claim the other guys taped you first and they had an understanding, too?”

  “Honey, that’s a great idea, but it’s not necessary.”

  Bear broke in as if some sort of party game. “In the meantime, we’ll beat Pauline to the punch and get the paperwork sent off to the Library of Congress. Where’s your lead sheet for “Star Spangled Heart?” ”

  Tyler searched around the RV cabin for his music. Bad memories of lost royalties from his CD ten years before popped up in his head. He’d been screwed by his old recording company on music rights and was damned if he’d ever let that happen again. He located the charts for the song. “Yep, I put the date I wrote it right here at the top.”

  “Well, sign the dang thing. Get it notarized,” Bear said, tugging on his beard.

  “I’ve got the copyright forms around here somewhere.” Tyler stood up and looked at Dee who’d come to a halt. Dexter sat at her feet looking eager. “Let’s go make some copies and mail this baby off.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and took his arm. “Now you’re talking.”

  Moved by the teamwork from his band and especially Dee, Tyler prepared to leave. She’d pitched in and found him another gig in Tucson and proved herself to be completely on his side. He felt cared about from someone other than his mother for the first time in years. He needed to get the copies in the mail ASAP, but dang he had a strong hankering to take Dee into the back room and have his way with her.

  He left the RV with Dee on his arm and Dexter under foot, heading for the Rabbit with a smile on his face and a definite something to look forward to later.

  ****

  Around nine o’clock that night, D’Anne and Ricky-Bob found themselves together at the bar in the dank and dark dive called Earl’s Honky-Tonk Haven. The band was just about ready to play, but waited for J.T. Scary looking oil workers, with mean spirits and faces to match, crowded the bar even though it was a Monday night. Cuss words swarmed like termites from wood in a furnace room. And thick smoke tortured her lungs with each breath.

  The joint was the sleaziest of all the clubs they’d played so far, hands down. But, like Tyler had said, it was work, so she didn’t complain. She was there to support him.

  She’d asked for water expecting it to be bottled, got a questionably clean glass, and opted to order soda from a can instead.

  “R.B.?”

  “Yes, Dee?” He leaned on his crossed forearms against the bar, boots hooked around the lowest rung on the stool. A long neck sat opened in front of him.

  D’Anne had placed the Dalmatian backpack by her feet where she could keep track of it with her sandaled toes. “You plan on playing that upright bass anymore this trip?”

  “I may, but I doubt it. It’s a beaut, ain’t it?” “Totally. I’ve never seen a blond bass before. You sure play the hell out of it, too.”

  “Why thank you, Dee. It gets a sound the electric bass can’t imitate. Problem is, it’s just not loud enough for all the instruments these days. I’d mic it, but Tyler prefers the cleaner sound of the electric bass, so I save it for the soft and pretty tunes.”

  “Tyler’s got a point there,” she said, brushing her bangs away from her eyes. Haircut went to the top of her to do list.

  “You play?”

  “No. I can barely whistle, let alone play an instrument.” She took a swig of her soda trying to act casual. Her mind refused to give her peace while it computed the odds of her plan working out to give all the money to her favorite charity. The big toe on her left foot played footsy with the fuzzy backpack.

  Someone touched the back of her neck. She turned. Tyler treated her to a soft, warm kiss. The taste of him took her breath away. Being in a public bar didn’t stop her from making a spectacle of herself by opening her mouth and submitting to his sensual invasion. The man had her wrapped around his finger and she couldn’t deny it. She circled her arms around his neck and drew him closer to prolong the thrill. She pressed her breasts to his chest feeling her nipples tense beneath her lace bra. He moaned and she realized they either had to break it up or risk taking each other, right there, on top of the bar…which didn’t seem like such a bad idea at the moment.

  D’Anne seriously considered st
retching out on the counter just as Tyler stopped kissing her. She saw the same dazed, hooded expression in his eyes she assumed reflected in hers. They stayed like that, staring, titillated, and drugged on each other for several seconds.

  J.T.’s muscular, tattooed forearm reached from behind and tapped Tyler’s shoulder, breaking the spell.

  “I’m here. Let’s go,” J.T. said.

  Tyler clicked back into business as usual. “Let’s get on up there, then.” He stalled just long enough to peck D’Anne on the cheek. He whispered to her. “We’ll pick this up later.”

  He kissed her again, this time just below the ear, and walked off. D’Anne was left with a cascade of fine chills swirling across her shoulder and heading south. A hot flash threatened. She needed water and she needed it fast.

  “I’ve never seen a chauffeur get treated like that.”

  When D’Anne heard Tammy stretch the last word into two syllables, she snapped back into the moment. Vanilla cupcakes came to her mind as she gladly inhaled a scent other than stale smoke. Tammy wore a skimpy blue sundress, and had pulled her faux flaxen hair on top of her head, held there with a huge white plastic claw.

  “It’s part of my contract.” D’Anne took a swig of soda, heard Tammy’s silly giggle, and willed her full body flush to recede.

  Tyler started strumming his rhythm guitar, Ricky-Bob thudded a beat on bass, and Bear got fancy with the steel guitar while J.T. bumped and thumped along on drums. The band played a funky cowboy song D’Anne had never heard before. She found herself tapping her foot and shaking her booty on the barstool, and for some odd reason, thought about Marlene.

  On a whim, she fished out her cell phone from her purse and dialed Marlene’s number. When she answered, D’Anne held the phone out so Marlene could hear the band. After a few seconds, D’Anne spoke loudly into the receiver. “You like what you hear?”

  She could barely hear her squawking voice answer. “That’s Tyler! Who is this?”