A large, muscular arm reached out of the darkness for his elbow. “Hey, Tyler?” Jilly’s bartender rose from a booth blocking his path. “Join me for a drink?” His wide toothed smile looked tense.
Tyler couldn’t take his eyes off Dee. “Hey, good to see you…” he faked with a quick glance.
“Jake,” the bartender said. “What’re you doing here, Jake?”
“You were such a hit the other night, I thought I’d catch your act again.”
Jake pulled Tyler toward the table. Distracted for a second, he cocked his head, had Dee had too much to drink? Her friend seemed to be holding her up and guiding her out the door. Was she protesting?
Right. Dream on, country boy. My imagination’s gone haywire and my heart’s getting stomped on, that’s all. She forgot about me. Take it like a man. She’d rather be with her friend.
“What can I buy you?” Jake asked.
“How about a real drink. Whisky.” Just before hitting the leather, he snapped straight up. Hey! Where was the Dalmatian backpack?
He searched across the bar to see Dee’s girlfriend carrying the silly looking fuzzy purse when they exited the lounge.
****
At a quarter to nine that night, D’Anne slapped Dean on the back. “Come on!” Feeling a bit like a herd dog rounding up cattle in the hotel casino, she moved two seats down and tugged on Theresa’s flimsy sleeve. “Get away from those slot machines.”
Earlier during dinner with Theresa, D’Anne had drunk several cups of coffee. She’d been surprised by how stealthily the wine had snuck up on her and knocked her sideways. Granted she’d drunk on an empty stomach, but hell, if Tyler had shown up as he said he would, none of it would have happened.
Frustration ran abundant, making her tight in the chest and nervous as an alley cat having a bath. Deciding to go to the ladies room, D’Anne headed toward the back of the casino. She glanced down the secluded corridor and gasped. Jilly’s bartender and another man stood at the end. She recognized his huge shoulders and muscled frame. What were they doing there? Her heart jumped. A paranoid thought invaded her mind and made D’Anne want to run. She tightened her grip on the backpack.
Testing if the bartender followed, she made a slow, carefully choreographed Chinese dragon pattern up and down the casino aisles. Up one section and back down another, subtly glancing over her shoulder. He made the exact path a few slot machine aisles over. Pretending to be oblivious to her stalker, she continued in the serpentine fashion throughout the room edging closer to a bank of wall phones. He followed suit, his shadow sidekick did the same a few rows in the opposite direction. Taking no comfort in the noise and crowd, she wondered if anyone would notice if she called for help. But was a hunch about why, or even if they might be after her enough of a reason to scream?
She wiped any trace of fear off her face, edged closer to the main exit, forced herself to breathe normally, and tried to lose him. Stopping short, she ducked behind the huge dollar bill slot machine, and played I spy over her shoulder. She blew out a breath, her pulse pounded in her neck. No sign of him. D’Anne casually tiptoed closer to a public phone, fighting her wobbly legs and fading courage, only to find him guarding the entrance, craning his neck, obviously looking for someone—her?
Feeling completely paranoid and wondering who in the heck she intended to call, she headed back to Theresa. Mesmerized, moving like a robot at a bank of older slot machines—hand to paper cup for coin, drop it in the slot, pull the handle, and watch the fruit spin—her friend repeated the motions over and over.
She yanked Theresa’s arm, shaking her out of her stupor. “Come on, it’s time for the concert.” She watched for the men. They were nowhere in sight.
Taking a breath, she tried to relax, then tugged on Dean’s earlobe. He made one last deposit into his machine and got up to follow her. Before walking too far away, he stopped for an instant to make sure it hadn’t paid out. Nada.
Feeling safer in numbers and realizing the men had vanished, she and Dean moved on to the Black Jack section to collect Randy.
Once at the tall half-moon shaped tables, another concern stole her attention. D’Anne spoke quietly into her younger son’s ear. “Randy, where did you get money to play?”
He shot her one of his famous you-are-now-dead looks. She might have been out of practice, but she managed to withstand it, her parent’s armor still intact.
After the look, Randy ignored her and scuffed his card on the table asking the dealer to hit him with another. Wrong choice. He got a seven of diamonds making twenty-three. He tipped his head, looking defeated, then folded the cards and got up.
“I brought a hundred dollars for gambling.” He draped his arm across D’Anne’s shoulder. “I’m only down by fifty. I was actually doing pretty well…” He touched his forehead to hers. “Until you showed up.”
“Right.” Dean said.
“Shove it bro.” Randy glared at his brother, now being Dean’s turn to die by look.
“Listen,” D’Anne broke in while they walked. “You can gamble all you want later. Right now, it’s time to get to the concert.”
Randy’s arm slipped off her shoulder. “Country music? Come on.” He shoved his hands in his Dockers’ pockets as they moved along the crowded casino.
She hated how the boys seemed to think hearing Tyler and the band was a cruel form of motherly punishment. Why couldn’t they be open to something new? Why couldn’t they be excited for her and her friends?
Annoyed by both of her sons’ lack of enthusiasm, she walked ahead ignoring the people in the noisy room and the abundant stench of cigarette smoke. Determined to make it on time, she turned, gave them both their tickets, passed Theresa—who was still stationed at the same slot machine—and gave her a ticket, too, then split.
D’Anne had no intention of missing one second of Tyler’s big comeback.
Marlene and Gina were already seated at the large, white clothed table near the front of the stage. The reserved sign sat neatly in the middle in a little holder. Marlene looked youthful in a baby blue jumpsuit with a diving neckline. Her over-fifty figure looked more like under-forty tonight, at least as much as D’Anne could see with her sitting down. Gina’s full head of auburn hair was swept up into a knot on top of her head like a turn of the century Gibson girl. Busting out of her strapless, bright pink cocktail dress, she looked cute and very happy to be waiting for her husband to perform. D’Anne felt a bit underdressed in a basic black, slinky acetate-spandex shift—simple, chic, and comfortable.
“Hi,” D’Anne greeted the ladies and plopped the Dalmatian backpack on the floor by her chair. God she’d be glad to get rid of that burden by giving it all away tomorrow, like she’d planned. She chose the best seat at the back of the table facing the stage. The others could turn their chairs and crane their necks when it was show time. That would be their punishment for dawdling.
Her drill sergeant attitude softened a tad while she sat waiting for the show to begin. She’d cut Dean, Randy and Theresa some slack on the enthusiasm scale, but they’d better be on time or she’d crown each of them with a roll of quarters in a sock.
Happy to see both Marlene and Gina, a sudden wish for Tammy to be there surprised her. D’Anne realized she’d aligned herself more with the women of the band than she could ever have imagined three weeks ago. The thought had her waving a waiter down to order a drink. He brought two bottles of champagne on ice, instead.
“Compliments of the house,” he said, as he opened the first bottle.
“Well, ain’t we somethin’,” Marlene said, lifting her eyebrows.
Gina blew on her knuckles and shined them on her chest while accepting the drink.
D’Anne felt flat-out special, and grinned.
Randy, Dean, and Theresa strolled to the table just before the announcer began his introductory spiel at nine o’clock.
The waiter passed filled flutes of champagne to everyone. D’Anne made brief introductions noticing a catty glance from Theresa who pu
rsed her lips and gave the other ladies a once over.
Marlene hoisted her glass and made a quick toast. “Here’s to the ass kickin’ Tyler White band.”
D’Anne caught a disapproving look on Randy’s face, presumably over her choice of new friends and what they represented. She ignored it and thought, my how the tables have turned, and recalled her own similar reaction to several of his friends over the years. What goes around comes around.
Just before the show began, excitement made her heart flutter and kicked up her pulse a notch. She wondered what Tyler must have been feeling getting ready to perform. “I’m so excited,” she said to everyone, “I could spit.”
She brushed off subtle looks exchanged between Theresa and her sons, like they were concerned about her going mental or something. The rest of the world seemed to melt away when D’Anne focused solely on the showroom curtain, and a tight country combo started playing backstage.
Insanity was the only explanation she could come up with for her instantaneous thrill when the thick, purple curtain raised above a sparkly dressed, tall Texan and his equally sparkling band. They played “Your High Class Love Broke My Honky-Tonk Heart”
“Whoo hoo!” she heard herself holler like a middle-aged Rolling Stones groupie while she and Marlene clapped hands and danced in their seats.
Theresa may have hidden her concern before, but now with her mouth agape it became clear she was shocked by D’Anne’s behavior. Dean seemed amused with a half smile-half surprised face. And Randy looked utterly horrified, distaste clearly written across his tight mouth like he’d just sucked a lemon.
D’Anne shrugged them off, refusing to let them bring her down, and continued to have a good time with her other friends, Marlene and Gina. She wasn’t about to let anything ruin her last night with the band.
Tyler wasn’t the only one in a western-styled suit outlined in rhinestones. Both Bear and Ricky-Bob sported the same, the only difference being theirs were black and Tyler’s was white. And of course, Tyler looked several times better than either of them. Were his boots red?
J.T. wore a shiny black satin shirt with the collar outlined in glistening, light catching studs, and had the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The shirt opened down to his navel and tucked into tight fitting black jeans. His equally lustrous, raven colored hair shone in the spotlight like the Arapaho warrior she’d seen the first day she’d met him. If he didn’t look so damn sad, he’d be handsome.
The group made an impressive appearance and the audience was more than receptive when the band finished their first number. Tyler removed his white Stetson, releasing his gorgeous yellow mane, swept the hat across the stage, and ended by tipping it to D’Anne. Thrills sparked down her spine and a blush crept up her neck blossoming on her cheeks.
Theresa zeroed in on her with a knowing look. A nervous reflex had D’Anne reaching for her drink.
Uncharacteristically, Tyler stepped up to the microphone after the applause died out. “Hello, Las Vegas!” his rich baritone bellowed.
The crowd echoed the greeting with a roar.
“I’d like to thank Tanya Lockwood for inviting me here tonight. It’s been a long road back.” With that, they broke into their second song, a hardcore country classic.
Panic knocked the breath out of D’Anne when she spotted Ricky-Bob’s bass lying on its side near one of the speakers. She anxiously scanned the stage for the mock-leather case. It had been carelessly cast away near the wing. Her heart palpitated and she prayed all would be well with her plan and the money.
Several songs later, Bear reached for his banjo and Ricky-Bob for his mandolin. D’Anne grinned with pride anticipating the crowd’s reaction to “Star Spangled Heart.”
“We all sing about freedom, in the land of the free.
“We talk about justice, it’s there 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.”
As predicted, by the end of the song the audience jumped to their feet.
After several minutes of applause it became clear an encore was in order. Tyler instructed the band what to play. Bear and Ricky-Bob looked surprised, J.T. picked up his brushes, the ones he only used on the drums for slow songs. Ricky-Bob put down his electric bass and lifted the huge acoustic string bass from its side. Bear settled in on his stool preparing himself with metal finger picks on the table-like steel guitar.
Tyler counted out a waltz beat with a snap of his fingers and tap of his red boot. He caressed his acoustic guitar and picked out a lovely tune D’Anne had only heard on Ricky-Bob’s mandolin in the RV on the road.
The introduction was gorgeous and romantic as hell, and it gave her a chill.
“I was down and out in Nashville, lookin’ for a ride,
Feelin’ and dealin’ with ornery cowboy pride.
I asked a little lady…how it came to be
She was rentin’ herself, and a new deluxe RV.”
D’Anne’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart tripled its rhythm.
“She seemed a little frightened, yet and still, so filled with hope,
Said she needed money, was at the end of her rope.
Thought I’d do her a favor by rentin’ some space,
By the smile in her eyes, I saw the look of grace.”
D’Anne felt all eyes on her flaming hot face, but she couldn’t take hers off the man singing. His voice seemed particularly fine tonight and this song showed yet another facet of his talent and it made her want to weep.
“Now she’s dancin’ in the desert and I wish she would be kind,
Looks like my secret love must fight the hands of time.
Well she’s almost home…
And I’m waitin’ for a sign…
Lady, what will it take to make you mine?”
D’Anne’s eyes brimmed with tears. So he loved her, too. She tried to swallow but couldn’t.
“Tell me, what would it take, to make…you…mine?”
She wanted to swoon at his feet and tell him he’d had her by the heart ever since that shut-up kiss back in Abilene. She’d just been too stubborn and ashamed to admit it.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Randy shove back his chair and make a beeline for the exit.
Shocked back into reality, D’Anne chased after him through the door.
Several seconds down a long hallway, and out of breath, she finally caught up.
Randy turned. “How could you!” She saw fury in her son’s eyes. “You’re acting like a slut.”
She backed up to keep from slapping him. Anger gathered in her head making it pound before she exploded. “Go to hell!” A shockwave ran through her body.
His eyes widened in a storm of surprise, hatred and betrayal. “What kind of mother are you?”
“One that’s had it up to here—” she sliced the air above her head, “—with you and your judgmental attitude.”
“Dad’s only dead a couple of months, and you’re having a fling with a fucking country singer.”
Dizzy with anger, she clenched and opened her fists.
“Do you think I went looking for love right after your father died?” She grabbed at his arm, but he jerked it away. She stayed on him, like a herd dog. “Do you think I wanted any of this?” She gritted her teeth and tried to make eye contact. “Do you?”
His lip quivered with rage.
Her fingers nervously found her hair and combed through it. “I don’t think this is about me, Randy. I think it’s more about you.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“All your life, I’ve tried my best to fix your foul attitude, but you seemed to be born with it. I’ve gotten used to you blaming me whenever things don’t work out the way you think they should. I don’t know why I put up with it, but I couldn’t stand seeing you in pain. Well guess what, all the coddling in the world hasn’t helped. You’re still miserable
and angry…and I don’t know why.”
His head jerked toward her, “My father’s dead!” Hatred shot from his eyes. “You don’t know how I feel!”
She flinched. Her mouth watered and she swallowed hard.
“We all feel mixed up, Randy. Dean and I do, too. That’s what you don’t get.” She shut her eyes and figured, what the hell, might as well go all the way. “Someday, when you decide to grow up, you’ll realize sometimes life just happens.” Her stomach knotted so tight she thought she might puke.
“Right, and you had no control about falling in love with someone else.” Randy’s lips tightened into a thin, angry line. “You’re not even wearing your wedding band any more.” He jabbed his finger at her hand. So he’d noticed.
“Don’t try to accuse me of not loving your father. Because I did…and you know it.” She realized people were starting to stare, and moved in closer. She’d wracked her brain trying to figure out why he loved Reese more than her, where she’d gone wrong with Randy.
Lowering her voice, she said, “You know, for someone who has consistently screwed up, you sure have always expected me to be perfect. Well, I’ve got news for you—I’m human. And here’s another newsflash. It’s time for you to start acting like a man.”
Randy glowered at her.
“And your father wasn’t perfect either.” She clutched at his arm again to keep him from leaving in case he planned on it. “You’ve been fighting me ever since you turned fourteen.”
“You wouldn’t get off my back.”
“Your father let you walk all over him. One of us had to get tough.” D’Anne searched her son’s eyes for a glint of understanding. She got a blank stare, reminding her of the sullen, contrary kid he’d been at twelve. “You meant too much to me to let you screw up your life.” He stood stubborn and reticent, a prisoner of anger. She couldn’t give up. “Give me a break, Randy. I’m human. I make mistakes. I’m sorry you’re unhappy.” Her voice broke and her eyes stung. “But I’m not the cause, damn it. I’m just your mother.” She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. “And I love you more than you can ever imagine.”
He refused to face her, wiping his face with his palm, but he didn’t leave.
One for the Road Page 22