I study my dad again. He’s usually all about the farmer look. White wash wranglers, huge belt, plaid shirt, and baseball cap. Tonight he’s wearing dark jeans, a designer button down, and his old black cowboy hat is sitting on the seat between us. Still the same old huge belt, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he sleeps with that thing on.
After we turn off the drive onto the gravel, I’m still gawking at my dad.
“Daddy, for real. Where did you get those clothes?”
I can’t help but be a little hurt that he didn’t get me to take him shopping. I am the only estrogen in our house.
“I, um, I just got the same type of stuff that you make your brothers wear. When I was in the city last.” Dad stutters. He forces a smile and reaches across to grip my shoulder. “Just wanted to look nice for my baby’s 16th.”
I grin at him. “Not technically for two weeks.”
CHAPTER 10
Graceland
It’s already a thousand degrees in the huge rodeo arena. Half the town is here, and more are trickling in behind us. I ditch my family as soon as we walk through the massive doors to find my friends.
I weave through the crowd, saying hi to everyone because I know everyone. Everyone knows everyone. The last “new person” to town was Emma like six months ago. It was the biggest thing that had happened here in years because Emma is not normal. She was way worse before Hunter.
At the far corner, in the back of the arena, most of my friends from school are sitting on the bleachers. My shoulders pull back as I get closer.
Lacy is huddled into Kelsey talking about something important because Kelsey is waving her hands and speaking really fast. It’s impossible to keep up with her when she is like this, especially when she stops speaking English altogether and switches to broken Japanese. Kelsey’s boyfriend, Brandon, is talking to her older sister, Melanie, a couple rows below. I think it’s funny how hard he tries to impress her. I don’t approve of any girls my brothers are interested in. Well, Emma, I guess, but only after I knew she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. She will, though. They always do.
“Damn, G. Nice legs, I mean dress.” Frankie’s drawl grates on me. Country gangster doesn’t suit him. Frankie is always the first one to talk. And usually the last. Basically he never shuts up. I smile and push his shoulder, making him stumble a little. The liquid sloshes in the cup he’s holding.
“Whoa, girl. Easy. I had to work really hard to get this.” He flips his shaggy red hair from his eyes and winks.
I lift an eyebrow and cross my arms in front of my stomach. Dermott is here, and I feel him staring at me. The last time we saw each other didn’t end well. Although it doesn’t usually end well. Starts out great, though.
“You drinkin’?” I ask, ignoring Dermott's gaze, and Kelsey giggles from her spot next to Lacy. Her cheeks are red, which is hard for Kelsey with her rich, smooth skin.
“Kelsey’s drinkin’. I ain’t doing nothin’ but holdin’ it for her, baby girl.” Frankie wiggles his brows, gripping my hand and taking a drink. Dermott glares. Lacy shakes her head. Always the responsible one. She hasn’t touched alcohol since that party with her douche ex, who thankfully decided to take a hike for the summer.
Frankie passes the cup to me, and I take a sip, holding in a cough because it’s pretty much straight whiskey. Dermott's watching me again, so I take another sip. The warmth of the booze travels down my throat and settles in my chest. It’s crazy how alcohol does that, makes you so aware of it. I focus on the warm chill that spreads from my chest to my fingertips, and I take one more sip before handing it to Brandon.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lacy stealing frequent glances behind her. The whiskey makes me bold, and I nudge her, saying loudly, “He’s with my Dad, over there.”
I point across the crowded dance floor to Asher, standing with my dad. Lacy glares and looks down at her feet. A pang of guilt mixes in with the slow burn of booze. She really likes him. My brother, I mean. I scrunch my nose as the thought fully grips me. Gross.
Sighing, I climb on the bleacher beside her and throw my arm around her shoulder. I lean in, resting my head on her, and give her my sweetest smile. She rolls her eyes, and I laugh, putting my mouth to her ear.
“I’m sorry, Bear,” I whisper, and she smiles. “I love you both. But it’s not fair of me. I still refuse to choose, though. You’re on your own if you go for it.”
Lacy sits back, her eyes wide.
“I don’t–”
“Sure you don’t. I won’t be mad at you, Lacy. I just don’t approve. I just can’t.”
Lacy tucks her hair behind her ears and forces a smile.
“You don’t approve of any relationship,” she says, and Dermott looks at me again.
“Relationships end in pain, Lacy. If that’s what you want. Go for it. I choose to just have fun. And speaking of which...” I grin at her, and she shakes her head.
Hunter, Emma, and Bentley should be here by now. I scan the room and take it all in: the smell of dirt, straw, and sweat, the sound of a hundred conversations going on at once, the soft play of music from the stage speakers are all so familiar. The Summer Kick-Off is my one constant. Most of my best memories are made here.
I hear a loud boisterous laugh that I would pin to Daddy any day. His laugh is distinct, but I haven’t heard that laugh in awhile. I look at him standing with our school librarian, Ms. Trimble. She has one hand on his forearm and the other on her chest. She laughs like he just said the world’s funniest thing. Which he didn’t. I know my dad.
Just then a pair of arms goes around my waist and twirls me through the air, making the warm whiskey kick back. I screech. It’s one of the twins. It’s always one of the twins.
I yell at him to stop, but he doesn’t until I’m thoroughly dizzy. Archer lets go, and I wobble. Dermott slips his arm around my waist so I don’t fall over, and I cling to his familiar arms.
“What was that for?” I glare at Archer.
“Well, we couldn’t give you birthday bumps.”
“So your plan B was to make me throw up instead?”
Archer laughs and pulls me from Dermott’s grip, and I’m thankful for it. Yeah D’s hot, but I’ve been there already. Actually I’ve been there multiple times. I keep going back, but D and I have an arrangement.
My brother hugs me quick and lets me go.
“Happy birthday, Gracie Marie.”
“Whatever,” I reply through a smile. Dermott and Brandon both shift their weight from one foot to the other at the same time, and I smile bigger. Hunter wraps his arm around my shoulders and says hi to my friends. Brandon says hi, but Dermott just shifts again. Guys are always uncomfortable when all my brothers are with me, but I would bet my horse that Dermott is thinking about what we did in the back of his truck on spring break. Nothing serious but serious enough that my brothers would kill him if they found out.
I suppress a laugh before changing the subject.
“Where’s Emma and Bentley?” I ask Hunter who nods to his right. They’re making their way to us, Emma, the seeming clueless woodland fairy like always. It drives me crazy that she is so damn cute. It makes it hard to hate her for stealing my brother. Bentley, on the other hand, looks delicious with his hands in the pockets of perfectly cut jeans, a black blazer over a grungy t-shirt, and his hair looks the same as always, hanging in front of his ice blues making him look like a man with secrets.
Emma breaks away from Ben and basically skips to Lacy, throwing her arms around her. Lacy smiles and hugs her back. Lacy’s much more accepting and understanding of Emma. Lacy’s the one who talked me through it when Hunter said he was leaving. I stand back and listen to my friends talk, watch my brother stare longingly at my best friend, and Bentley being bombarded by Kelsey, Mel and Mel’s friend, Julia, while Brandon glares. Mel’s voice catches my attention.
“So, where are you from?” she asks leaning forward like she’s really interested in what he has to say. Ben shifts a little, bu
t his expression remains calm. Like always.
“L.A.”
His answer shocks me, and apparently, it shocks Mel too.
“Los Angeles? So cool. Why did you come here?” She says ‘here’ like our town is the last place on earth anyone would want to be, and I don’t disagree.
Bentley shrugs. “Needed a change. This is definitely different.”
He smiles, and I feel Mel melting because I am right there with her. Illegal. Seriously.
Our little group is interrupted by Leslie Duncan, the town’s sole lawyer and the lead singer in the only band in town that covers old country and rock music. He pushes his way through the crowd and gives me a big hug.
“Graceland, I can’t believe you’re sixteen already. I remember when you were three. You just refused to keep your dress on, and your mother had to chase you off stage more than once.” He chuckles to himself, and I force a smile at him, but in reality my stomach is churning and burning at the thought of her. People think because I don’t remember her it doesn’t hurt or it doesn’t matter if they talk about her like she was a good person. A doting mother. I notice Bentley watching me. His face gives nothing away, but his eyes are absorbing me in the same way Hunter’s do. Like they know what I’m thinking before I think it.
“Anyway,” Leslie continues. “I just came over here to tell you Manny’s truck broke down so we’re short our guitar player, meaning we won’t be starting for another hour or so. Sorry, Grace, I know how much you love to dance.”
I assure him it’s okay but really I can’t stand the thought of hanging around for another hour. I’ve been dancing my whole life. Daddy put me in ballet so I’d have something ‘girly’ in my life, as he put it. My poor clueless father. But I do love it. I just like to be moving, I like the way the music can take over and the body moves with it. The push and pull between them, the way they work together and off each other to make perfection. Dancing keeps my mind steady, especially in the winter when there's not as much farm work.
“You guys play cover stuff?” Bentley pipes up, and everyone looks at him.
“Yes, young man. And you are?” Les steps up to Bentley, looking up at him. Ben shakes his hand.
“Ben, sir. I’m helping Carter out on the farm this summer.”
A wide smile spreads across Les’ face.
“Wonderful, wonderful. You play guitar?”
Ben shrugs. “Yeah, since I was a kid. I know a lot of old rock, so I could play as long as I know the song. You might have to change your line up a bit.”
It takes all my strength to keep my mouth shut and my eyes their regular size, but I never would have pegged Bentley for the musician type. My eyes flick between Ben and Les as Les thinks about it.
“Let’s try it, why don’t we?” Les would have put his arm around Ben’s shoulders to guide him but I doubt he could have reached, so he drops his arm and just gestures Ben to follow.
A bump to my hip distracts me, and Lacy’s standing next to me.
“Didn’t see that coming, hey?” She laughs. Mel, Kelsey and Julia are beside us in seconds.
“So that makes him like ten times hotter. Jesus, Gracie, why were we not informed?”
I shake my head.
“I had no idea.”
We all watch, even my brothers, as Ben makes his way to the stage and casually throws a guitar strap over his shoulder, like this had been the plan all along. I don’t think anyone believes it, that he can play. But there he is, twisting the little knobs, tuning the guitar, shaking the hands of the other band members and plucking at the stings. I remember the first time we met and my liking his calloused hands. His working hands. Not a working man. Musician. I think I like that better. This makes everything better.
Ben plugs in his guitar and strums a chord. The sound fills the arena, and the vibration travels through me making my skin tingle.
Mel is right.
Ten. Times. Hotter.
CHAPTER 11
Bentley
I am such an idiot. I have no idea why I admitted that I play. That I’m good. I’m not good, I’m great. I had to be. Nothing but the best was my father’s motto. Unless it was being a good parent. Then he’d settle for sub par. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been dragged onstage to play in place of some cracked out guitarist. Sometimes I’d play off stage, and the real player would just air guitar, if he was capable.
It does kind of feel good to have the instrument in my hands again. I never thought I’d miss it, and I didn’t until now. I miss playing, but I don’t miss what playing means in my family. I have an obligation to continue playing, to cater to fake spoiled douchebag famous people who want the world and want it for free, who think they know music, but in reality only know money. Not all of my dad’s clients are like that, but most of them are.
This is music. These guys. Middle-aged teachers and lawyers and mechanics who come together through love of music to play together. Sure they don’t write their own stuff, but neither do I. I just play when the studio needs me to, just like I’m in cover shoots when ‘piercing eyes’ are needed or abs for a music video. What I do is fake. Pandering to people who have forgotten what it means to hold an instrument in their hands and to create something from it.
Les holds up his thumb to me, asking if I’m ready. I nod. He steps up to the mic and everyone turns to watch. The first couple songs are the hardest because no one dances, but the first Johnny Cash song brings almost the whole town out. I smile as my hands slide effortlessly over the frets, and my fingers pluck the strings perfectly. There’s nothing like some old country to bring a country crowd. I watch the arena as I play and feel envious. The small community with wives dancing with their best friends’ husbands, Grandpa’s teaching grandsons to two step, a crowd of young girls moving to the tune, unconcerned with how they look or who’s watching.
I see Emma holding Hunter’s hands, swaying offbeat as he shakes his head, refusing to dance. Archer sits on the bleachers with three or four girls sitting with him. It doesn’t take much to be hot shit in a small town. In L.A. there is a game, a hierarchy, a method to getting noticed. Here, Archer and Asher play football, which automatically makes them top before anyone notices anything else.
Sweet Lacy is leaning against a wall by herself, watching me and smiling that kind smile. There’s a girl that’s real. Asher sneaks up behind her, taking her around the waist, and she jumps, looking around. He whispers something in her ear, and I can see her face go red from here. I smile as she shakes her hand from his and looks around again. My guess: Gracie.
Gracie. I’ve never in my life met someone like her.
After we are done with the first set, Les calls her on stage, and she looks down, pretending to be embarrassed, but I know better. I barely know her, and I guarantee she loves the attention. She steps up onto the stage and holds my gaze. Her white dress makes her look like an angel or Greek goddess or whatever other cliché and ridiculous description my brain can conjure. She beams at the attention, but she’s not surprised by it. This happens every year I assume.
“As per tradition, everyone usually sings our Graceland Holloway a birthday tune, but this year is a special year.” Les holds the mic and reaches for Gracie’s hand. She smiles a grateful and shy looking smile. She would be so great in L.A. That smile is perfect. Perfectly and meticulously crafted.
“This year, Gracie turns sixteen so we should all sing extra loud for her.”
Les starts singing, and soon there’s a big chorus of happy birthday, and Gracie looks over her shoulder at me. I’m not singing. I don’t sing.
Gracie says thank you and winks at me on her way down the stage. I can feel my resolve fading, my ability to say no wanes with every sultry look, with every slip of that accent. She may not be experienced in the way she wants to be, but she sure does know how to wear a guy out. Especially in that dress.
I watch her make her way through the crowd. She knows exactly how to work people, how much to give, how much contact,
how to smile, how to act. Her persona changes so fluidly, so effortlessly. She would fit perfectly in my world.
My heart hammers, and I almost miss a chord in the chorus of the song we’re playing. I don’t want someone to fit into my world. I want someone who is real.
I can’t stop watching her as she dances to every single song. Les wasn’t kidding when he said she likes to dance, and she can definitely dance. It makes me want to dance with her. To show her I can dance. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to prove something to anyone before.
***
We finish the set, and I unplug the guitar. The last song was particularly fast, and I struggled to remember it. It’s weird how I can remember the chords to a song I played years ago but can’t remember what I learned in school only last month. I make my way outside for air and suck in long deep breath. I still can’t get over how clean the air is. Dusty, yes but clean. I walk the grounds until I find a small stable and duck inside. I don’t really feel like talking to anyone, and I’m the new guy in a small town. I can imagine I’ll be forced to talk.
It’s dark, and I can’t see much in the little stable except from what is illuminated by the silver moon. The long corridor is swallowed by darkness and only about one or two stalls are visible. There’s a snorting sound in the distance of a horse that's not happy I woke it up. A shadow passes through the light, and I spin around to see Gracie backlit in silver. She smiles at me and steps into the stable. I instantly know I’ll give her anything she wants. She has me cornered. And wearing that dress. I’ve heard of strong men. I’m not one of them. Not with Gracie.
“What was that?” She laughs as she approaches me. She steps in. Close. I can smell her. Straw and apples and fresh air.
“What was what?” I shrug even though I know what’s what.
“You never said you were a musician.”
“You never asked.” Which is true. I haven’t really thought about it. She's never asked me anything about myself. She doesn’t even know where I’m from, but she’ll come on to me no problem. The public Gracie, the one that hides and schemes and manipulates. The one that doesn’t care about how her actions affect others. I don’t like that Gracie. Right now, that's clear, but her face lit in the moonlight reminds me of earlier.
Under the Dusty Sky Page 5