The Trouble on Highway One

by Anne McClane

  Lacey’s heart sank when she remembered each other instance preceded a request to come in to work on a production dark day.

  “Sorry, Kandace,” Lacey said as she closed her search results window. “I haven’t had the chance to try any of the places to eat around here, I might try to tonight.”

  “Well, forget about that one,” she said, setting down her mug and grabbing a seat from a nearby table.

  Shit.

  “Roger and I tried it, they told us it would take an hour to seat us, when we could see empty tables right behind the host stand. And there wasn’t even a bar where we could wait.”

  “Huh,” Lacey said. “That’s good to know.”

  “Where did you wind up eating?” Lacey asked. After a very short time, Lacey had become self-conscious of using “y’all,” because most of the people on the set had fun teasing her about it. But in this case, she really meant to say “you,” because she was convinced Kandace’s boyfriend Roger was fictitious.

  Lacey knew all about making up people. She had spent so much time alone at her old job, as an executive assistant and bookkeeper in New Orleans, that she had created imaginary co-workers.

  “Oh,” Kandace answered. “We waited, and we ate there, and everything about it was terrible. The service, the food, everything.” Kandace had one hand on her broad hip, and the other hand gesturing with tightly folded fingers. It appeared very practiced, like a politician telling “humanizing” stories.

  Most of the stories Kandace told made her seem like a human with a pretty negative, or at least limited, point of view, Lacey observed. Even her description of Roger left much to be desired. Lacey once asked her what Roger was like—she had no pictures on her phone—and Kandace’s response was, “Oh, you know, just an average guy. Nothing special.” Lacey quit attempting to build bridges after that.

  If you’re gonna make shit up, go big. Go grand, Lacey thought. She was inspired.

  “You know, a co-worker at my old job, Marva, she once walked right past the host—and past a line of about five people waiting—and sat right down at an empty table,” Lacey said. She was surprised at how easy it was to invent a story about a make-believe co-worker, and even more surprised at how little guilt she felt over it.

  That’s how to make shit up.

  It seemed to work. Kandace leaned in from her rolling chair.

  “Did they throw her out?” she asked.

  “No! That’s the best part of the story,” Lacey said, trying to decide what the best part of the story might be. Got it.

  “She sat there, quiet and patient as a dove, which she was not naturally, mind you, and the host, the people waiting, everyone just shrugged. A server came over right after that.”

  “Was she old?” Kandace asked. “She sounds old.”

  “Not as old as her name sounds.”

  “Well, I don’t care how old or sweet she looked,” Kandace said. “I wouldn’t have just shrugged and let her take my seat, if I was one of those people waiting.”

  I’d imagine not.

  Kandace stood abruptly, apparently done with story time. “Hey, I have news about Kevin,” she said.

  Here it comes.

  “He’s supposed to be here Monday,” she said. “We have an iron-clad assurance from his people.”

  “What’s your feeling about it?” Lacey asked.

  “It’ll happen. We’re about to enter into breach of contract territory, and his people are smarter than that.”

  Lacey was surprised at the bullshit-free answer. Every now and then Kandace showed glimpses of the director she could be.

  “Is everything ready?” Lacey asked. She knew the request to come to the set, during what was supposed to be her time off, was coming.

  “Yeah, you know, I think we’re in good shape. The delays gave us the chance to get ahead of the curve. Can you get me a new Movie Marvel report?”

  There were hundreds of reports in the production accounting software they used. Lacey had learned how to use it in just a few days, but she was still figuring out what Kandace meant when she asked for a “Movie Marvel” report. It could mean a budget, a schedule, a vendor list. Lacey had to guess according to context.

  “Sure, I can get you a new schedule as soon as I plug in Kevin’s revised date.” Lacey hoped that was the right answer.

  “Great. Email it to me as soon as you can.” Kandace grabbed her mug of Diet Dr. Pepper and wobbly straw, and walked back to her office.

  Lacey could barely contain herself. No request to come in tomorrow? Something didn’t seem right.

  Alone again, Lacey checked the time. 6:30 p.m. There was no telling when Jimmy and Monica would arrive. No huge rush to get that report to Kandace, but maybe she would earn some brownie points by dispensing with it quickly.

  Ten minutes later, she emailed a revised schedule to Kandace, and reopened her search window. She wanted to go to somewhere on the beach, and maybe decide where to eat once they got there. She hadn’t been to the beach since her abbreviated trip with Ambrose the day they arrived. She had been too busy since that time to attempt another excursion.

  Her laptop pinged, a reply message from Kandace.

  Thanks, looks good. Oh, am gonna need you on Sunday, after all, some last minute stuff.

  Lacey’s mood darkened. She waited before replying.

  It could be worse, she told herself. At least she still had tomorrow off.

  Sure, no problem, she replied. She made faces at the screen and a few obscene hand gestures.

  Lacey opened the schedule she had just emailed, and checked the new estimated end date for the production. Her first thought surprised her. She thought of football. She realized she would still be in California at least halfway through football season.

  Back home, everyone would be getting fired up for training camp, seeing how the new recruits looked, making plans for their fall Sundays. Usually, all the hype annoyed her. After Fox died, she intentionally drew back from fandom, relieved at the respite from days lost to tailgating and cheering the home team.

  But she had a sudden renewed interest in the Saints. She’d have to be sure to get to a game once she got back. Fox’s aunt, Tonti, had held season tickets for decades, probably as long as the team had been in New Orleans. She was sure Tonti would be glad to have Lacey’s company at a game.

  Lacey always had a bond with Tonti, and it had grown even stronger since Fox died. Tonti had only just recently shared her memories of Birdie, her childhood nanny. Lacey could tell she was digging deep to reveal how much she loved Birdie, who only worked for the Becnels for five years.

  She had told Lacey “there’s something in you that’s like Birdie. That’s all I know.”

  Thinking of Birdie, Lacey felt a pang. She was beginning to wonder if her “traiteur transformation” had been a fluke. She’d seen no sign of her healing ability manifest since before her failed effort with Nathan’s father-in-law.

  She hadn’t been able to heal him. He’d been too far gone. And since then, her ability had gone silent. The thought that it might be gone forever, a “limited-time-only” phenomena, made her ache more than she expected.

  And his father-in-law’s death was a weight that sat right between her shoulders. The trial for the person responsible, Edmund Villere, was a cord that could pull her back to New Orleans before she was through with her work on Magical Choices. She’d had no word about the case for weeks, which had her counting her blessings and waiting for the other shoe to drop, all at the same time.

  Suddenly, Lacey wasn’t so eager to return to New Orleans and catch a Saints game.

  She tried to focus on her present reality. Quit thinking about the past. Or the unknown future. Focus on the now.

  Here, there were new people, and new things to learn, but so far, it hadn’t been quite what she’d hoped for. Eli had been a no-show, alo
ng with the movie’s star, Kevin Horner. They’d been delayed in Los Angeles, for reasons Lacey could never get a clear answer on, causing a flurry of rescheduling and up-ended timetables.

  At the least, Lacey hoped Eli could help her figure out if the events of earlier this summer were just some chance accident. At best, she had hoped for intensive Jedi training under Eli; by this time, she was supposed to be able to at least sway the thoughts of some weak-minded fools.

  She laughed at her own joke. Yeah, if I was Eli. She was supposed to be able to heal, and Eli had indicated, vaguely, that there were other things she might learn she could do. She had no reason to believe that she could read minds, like Eli apparently could. Unfortunate that. No, she’d come here for training on her own “gift”—a gift she knew little about, but that Eli seemed rather knowledgeable of. He was supposed to teach her the ropes, so to speak.

  Instead, Eli was AWOL and she’d been left to her own devices as the production accountant on Magical Choices after only a week of training. Lynn, her short-term mentor, had told her, “You’ve got it figured out already, call me if you need anything,” and promptly left to begin her maternity leave.

  Lacey checked her phone again. She tried to break herself out of her bored-anxious emotional loop, which was only getting worse as the weeks wore on.

  No word from Jimmy.

  Her laptop pinged. Another message from Kandace.

  Just found out the Moneyman will visit the set.

  Lacey assumed that meant someone from the production company. Maybe the person responsible for all the “state-of-the-art” equipment.

  Okay. Do you know when? she replied.

  Not exactly. Some time in the next week and a half, best I can figure.

  A message from Jimmy flashed on Lacey’s phone. She wanted to end the digital conversation with Kandace quickly, before she read it.

  Okay. How should we prepare for that visit?

  Silence from Kandace. Exasperated, Lacey read Jimmy’s message.

  So sorry, Budge. Won’t make it tonight, Monica stuck at work. But we’ll be there early tomorrow. With a surprise you’ll like.

  Lacey knocked her head against her desk. Her anxious boredom threatened to overtake her.

  Kandace replied. Not sure yet. Let’s discuss Sunday.

  Okay. I’m leaving shortly. I’ll see you then.

  Lacey didn’t wait for a response before powering down her laptop.

  4

  Near Solvang, California

  It was a long ride to Rideau Vineyard, and Lacey fought to keep her eyes open. In high summer, the rolling hills were baked to a yellow gold, and the drive lulled her into a dreamlike state. She hadn’t slept well after another lonely meal of frozen vegetables and half a bottle of wine.

  Her brother and Monica had arrived at Lacey’s rental around eleven that morning, in an SUV with a hired driver. Jimmy announced his surprise (and the reason for the driver): they’d be drinking all day, on a tour of some of the Central Coast wineries.

  His text was not mistaken . . . this was a surprise Lacey liked.

  Jimmy sat in the front of the SUV with the driver—a friend of his, he said. Lacey sat in the back with Monica, who was lovely. Eyes the color of sepia that twinkled when she smiled, which was often. She wore her dark hair straight and long, framing her deep brown features. And she had a warmth to her that made Lacey feel an immediate affinity.

  Back when Lacey and Jimmy were younger and both lived at home, she remembered the girls Jimmy had dated always seemed aloof. They made Lacey feel like a snotty kid sister.

  I suppose a lot of time has passed since then.

  Lacey figured there must have been several women she’d never met, in the time her older brother had been in Los Angeles. Growing up, she and her brother had been close. Lacey had been at LSU when Jimmy moved out west with his best friend and bass guitarist, Dave Guidry. And once Lacey met Fox and got wrapped up in his life, she drifted out of regular contact with her brother.

  But Jimmy had been there for her when she lost Fox, and then when she found out about all of Fox’s infidelities. She was sorry that her misfortunes were the reason they’d become close again; but just the same, was very happy to have her brother back in her life. And she was also happy she had been there as his fortunes started to turn. His band, LeViticum,—she still didn’t like the name—had just begun to break out.

  They drove through a desolate, barren patch of land. A charred hillside piqued Lacey’s concern.

  “So, Chump,” Lacey said to her brother, “where are you taking us again?”

  “Don’t worry, Budge. This looks like it was a controlled burn,” he said, referring to the hillside.

  “Where we’re going—Rideau Vineyard—should be pretty green. It’s a winery started by a woman from New Orleans.”

  “How do you spell Rideau?” Lacey asked. Jimmy spelled it out.

  “I guess that fits,” she said.

  “There are some great wineries around where you’re staying,” Jimmy said. “This one’s a bit of a hike from where you’re at, but I thought you’d appreciate the connection.”

  The scenery changed to long, low farm fields, broken up again by rolling hills. Like the terrain couldn’t make up its mind.

  “For sure,” Lacey said. “It’ll be nice to see someone from home who made a go of it out here. And how do you know so much about wineries? And ‘controlled burns,’ too, since I’m asking?”

  “Fifteen years in California. It’s like a path to citizenship.”

  “Huh. Wouldn’t have figured that for you . . . the winery part,” Lacey said. She knew Jimmy as a beer-and-whiskey guy.

  She smiled at Monica, who nodded knowingly.

  “Just wait,” Jimmy said. “After all your hob-knobbing on set with the movie stars and their sycophants, you’ll be doing wine tours and bikram yoga and full body cleanses.”

  “How are those things even remotely related?” Lacey asked. “And I’m hardly hob-knobbing. I’ve spent the past month running reports and waiting around for the star to show up.”

  I’m not hob-knobbing now, at least.

  Lacey thought back to her brief flirtation with Kevin Horner, whom she’d met while he was in New Orleans filming a different movie. The one little kiss they shared might’ve qualified as hob-knobbing. It made for a fun story, but one that she preferred to keep to herself. It wasn’t worth the jokes her brother would make at her expense.

  “Are we getting close?” Lacey asked.

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said. “Didn’t you see the sign where we just turned?”

  “Oh. No.”

  Patches of green lay beyond the low buildings they drove toward.

  “I wonder how the water rations affect them here,” Monica said.

  “It’s got to be a challenge,” Jimmy replied. “I guess it ultimately raises the end prices.”

  “Yeah. It’s a good thing I’ve had so little time, I guess,” Lacey said. “Otherwise, I’d really miss a leisurely shower. The dude I’m renting from made me so paranoid about wasting water when I got the keys from him.”

  The patches of green bloomed into a tree-lined pathway opening onto a verdant expanse, set with wooden picnic tables. The driver pulled up to an adobe with a pitched roof, that looked like it would be just as home in a European vineyard as it was in California’s Santa Ynez Valley. The lush flower garden that ringed the building bore no sign of deprivation.

  The three passengers slowly unfolded themselves from the car. Lacey clasped her hands and stretched her arms above her head, yawned. She noted how petite Monica was. She went to Jimmy’s side, and barely reached his shoulder. Lacey smiled. They looked good together.

  The tasting room was elegant, but not stuffy. Wood paneling everywhere imbued the place with a warm and welcoming feeling. Lacey wondered if every winery t
asting room was like this.

  Guess I’ll find out soon enough, since this is our first stop.

  They listened to the spiel at the bar. Lacey and Monica started with the Syrah, Jimmy went for the Grenache.

  Jimmy swirled the wine in his glass, and pulled out his phone. From another pocket, he pulled out a pair of eyeglasses.

  Lacey guffawed. She’d seen her “bad-boy” brother’s reading glasses before, but the amusement hadn’t worn off yet.

  “My little sister apparently finds the aging process amusing, Mon,” Jimmy said. He rolled his lip and stuck out his tongue at Lacey.

  She returned the look. “Whatever, Chump. It’s not the aging process, it’s the production you make of it.”

  “Production? Well, I never . . . ” Jimmy put a hand on his hip.

  Monica laughed. A pleasant, high, Tinkerbell kind of laugh. “I swear, y’all turn into twelve-year-olds around each other. I imagine it can get pretty annoying, but right now, it’s funny.”

  Lacey smiled, hearing Monica use “y’all.” Jimmy said she was from Baton Rouge.

  Jimmy set down his wine glass, and tapped a reply to some message on his phone.

  “Looks like Trevor is going to join us at the next stop,” he said to no one in particular.

  “Really? That’s interesting,” Monica said, one eyebrow raised.

  “Trevor, your lead singer, Trevor?” Lacey asked. This was an intriguing turn. Jimmy was an “everyone’s welcome” kind of guy, so she was never surprised when new people showed up anywhere Jimmy might be. It just so happened Trevor was a “new” person she was a little familiar with. And she wasn’t opposed to becoming more familiar.

  Jimmy looked down at Lacey over his glasses. “Yes, Budgie, Trevor, our lead singer, Trevor.”

  “You’ve met him before?” Monica asked Lacey.

  “Yes, once, briefly,” she answered. “LeViticum did a show in New Orleans back in June.”

  Lacey thought she saw Monica roll her eyes when she said the band’s name. She smiled.

  5

  Edgard, Louisiana