"Because Wild Wind Records told me I'd be staying with the band on the bus during the tour."
"Chickenshits didn't even bother to pass the news on to us," Eddie said as he entered the lounge from the bunk aisle on the other side of the galley.
Jared knew the comment probably wasn't aimed at him. He had already gone a couple rounds with Hank before the women arrived and was feeling a little defensive, but he got the impression Eddie had a tough time dredging up any kind of lasting interest in anything that didn't sport tits. Still, he climbed to his feet, stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, "I agree they could stand to improve their communication skills."
That was nothing short of the truth. But it was late, everybody was tired and this wasn't the time to get into it. "That's nothing to do with me, though. It's something you really should take up with them."
"Which you can be sure we'll do," Nell said, slinging a protective arm around P.J.'s shoulders and moving her back a step, making him realize for the first time how close they'd been standing. The other woman met his gaze squarely. "Seeing's how we only have your word for it that you're even supposed to be here."
Nothing like being Mr. Popular.He hitched a shoulder. "Hey, do what you have to do," he said as if he didn't give a damn. "But it would be pretty stupid of me to invent something so easily verified, don't you think?"
With a final glower, Hank turned his attention to P.J. "You want me to toss his ass off the bus until we find out what's what?"
Jared reined in the temper threatening to slip its leash, but he couldn't prevent his eyes from narrowing at the musician or taking an aggressive step closer. "You're welcome to try, champ."
Hank promptly went chest-to-chest with him and something inside Jared howled to know just what the hell P.J.'s relationship was with this clown. He'd watched through the crush of musicians and roadies at the post-concert party in that broom closet they'd called a dressing room, but he could have sworn the fiddle player had spent more time watching Nell than Peej. So why did the guy keep acting like a jealous lover?
"Knock it off, both of you," P.J. ordered, muscling between them. The heat of her shoulder and hip burned through his clothing for a second before she got a hand on his and Hank's chests and shoved them back a step. Then she stepped back herself, dividing a glare between them.
"It's bad enough that my label's treating me like an irresponsible eighteen-year-old," she snapped. "I don't need you two acting like a couple of junkyard dogs on top of it." Then she blew out a weary-sounding breath and looked at her band member. "But he's right, Hank. I suppose we should make sure WildWind authorized him to share the bus with us, but it would be beyond dumb to lie about something so easy to check-and the Jared I knew was never stupid. Besides, face it, it's their bus."
For just a second her voice held a forlorn note. Then faster than the speed of light she gave an oh well, who-the-hell-gives-a-rip shrug and turned her attention to him. "Pick whatever bunk's available after Hank and Eddie choose theirs." Turning away, she added, "Which reminds me-I'd better go grab one for myself."
"Uh-uh, girlfriend," Nell said from the front of the bus. "You get the stateroom."
P.J. jerked around to stare at her friend, then walked forward to join the other woman. "The what?"
"Stateroom, honey. As in an honest-to-gawd bedroom at the end of the bus. It's got two double beds and an actual door. With alock. " Nell grinned. "Can you say privacy? No tumbling out of a claustrophobic little enclosed bunk for you, Morgan."
"Or you, either, Husner. Two doubles sounds like a bed apiece to me." She whooped, hooked Nell around the neck and planted a smooch on her cheek. "We're outnumbered at the best of times in this biz. I say us girls gotta stick together. Oh, man, a room. I am so off to bed." She started boogying her way down the aisle with the same exuberance she'd shown when she'd first entered the bus but came to a dead stop when she reached the spot where Jared stood blocking the aisle.
He couldn't have said why he didn't get out of her way, but he stood his ground.
"Excuse me," she said politely enough, but the look in her eyes as they met his suggested she'd be pleased as punch to apply her fist to his nose. Not that she gave voice to the desire by so much as a word or inflection. "It's been a long day," she said neutrally, "and I've got a radio satellite tour scheduled to start at five a.m. So if it's all the same to you, I'd really like to catch at least a few hours' sleep."
Feeling like a bully who'd burst her balloon not once but twice tonight, he stepped aside and watched her continue down the aisle toward the rear of the bus. "What's a satellite tour?" he inquired of her back.
The stateroom door closing between them was his only reply and he turned to look at the remaining occupants.
Eddie merely said, "I'm off," and left the bus.
Hank rummaged through the compact fridge beneath the galley's counter.
"Hand me that bottle of Jack Daniels, will you, Hank?" Nell said. "I could stand a shot."
And Jared got it-he was lower than a cockroach and they couldn't be bothered to step on him, never mind talk to him. He reclaimed his spot on the bench seat.
After pouring a shot of whiskey into a stubby glass and tossing it back, however, Nell apparently decided to take pity on him, for she abruptly turned, leaned her hip against the galley counter and gave him a level look-a vast improvement over her earlier you're-the-shit-on-the-bottom-of-P.J.'s-shoe glare.
"A satellite tour is a series of radio interviews conducted over the phone via satellite," she said. "They're usually set up for the morning commute programs, which means getting up before dawn if you're on the west coast. At least Peej doesn't have any east coast ones scheduled."
"Yeah," Hank agreed. "It'd be a shame to add anything else to her burden. Between Wild Wind's insulting behavior and you playing watchdog, she's got pretty much all she can bear."
"Then maybe I should just go to bed and get out of everyone's hair."
"Well, you could do that," Hank agreed. "It'd be a damn shame, though, if you got all settled and we had to roust you out whenwe're ready to go to bed. Since you might pick one of the bunks we want."
Like there was anymight about it. Slumping down on his tailbone, he tipped the brim of his hat back down over his eyes, stretched out his legs and crossed his arms over his chest, willing himself to outwait P.J.'s band members without complaint-even if God alone knew when Eddie would return.But, shit.
Just:shit.
THE MAN WAS DRIVINGto his job as a security guard in Iowa City when he heard Priscilla Jayne's name mentioned on the radio. Keeping one eye on the truck tailgating him down Highway 38 as he slowed for the approach to I-80, he reached over and turned up the volume.
"-so stay tuned," the DJ said. "This is Dan the Man McVann and the morning crew. We'll be right back to talk a little smack with Priscilla Jayne after these brief messages from our sponsor."
The man didn't find them all that brief and he fidgeted in his seat as he waited for the interminable commercials to cease. He'd written three letters to Priscilla Jayne this spring but hadn't received so much as a single reply in return. They'd been wonderfully flattering notes, too-well, at least the first two. The one he'd written last Saturday had rightly taken her to task over her lack of respect for her mother.
"And we're back!" The DJ's voice broke into the man's growing agitation. "This morning's guest is Priscilla Jayne, whose new CDWatch Me Fly we've been watching fly off the shelves at an amazing rate since hitting the stores last week. Welcome!"
"Thank you, Dan," said the raspy voice the man remembered from the show he'd seen her on. "I'm happy to be here."
"As I just mentioned to our listeners, your new CD is burning up the charts."
"Yes, isn't it great?" Her laughter rolled out of the speakers. "It seems to be doing very well, and I'm so grateful to my fans for their support."
The man, who had found himself smiling at the rich sound of her laugh, scowled. "Then you might try responding when t
hey go to the trouble of writing you."
"Your critically acclaimed debut albumOutside Looking In spent a record ten weeks atop the Country Albums Chart and has been certified double platinum for sales in excess of two million," Dan the Man said. "Do you find it daunting knowing how much your sophomore album has to live up to?"
"It scares the bejeebers out of me if I let myself think about it too long or too hard," she agreed. "But I try to just take everything day by day. I'm very proud ofWatch Me Fly and hope my audience will find the album as singable as I do. I love the entire project, but if listeners take away nothing else I have faith that they'll at least enjoy a song or two. I believe we've got some really great singles on this CD."
"I guess so!" the DJ heartily concurred. "'Let the Party Begin' debuted at number three on Billboard's Country Album Chart and 'Crying Myself to Sleep' at number seven."
"It's been an excellent week," she said in that easy, friendly voice. "Unfortunately, I spent most of it driving cross-country to get to Portland, where I played my first concert on the new tour last night. So I haven't had much time to savor it."
"Speaking of your cross-country drive, I wonder if you could put to rest a rumor that's going around," the DJ said.
The man went on alert but instead of asking about Priscilla Jayne's mother the way he should have, McVann said, "Some of the journals are claiming you were spotted playing all kinds of bars across the West last week. True or false?"
The DJ's "morning crew" chimed in with their guesses, but the man ignored them as he awaited Priscilla Jayne's response.
"That's actually true," she said. "I got my start playing honky-tonks and clubs. Plus, growing up I lived in-man, I can't even tell you how many wide-spot-in-the-road towns. I had a week to kill on my way to Portland, so I stopped along the way at some taverns in a few small towns and jammed with the local bands."
"That must have thrilled them."
"It thrilledme to play with so many gifted musicians. The truth is a good part of this business comes down to blind luck. There's so much talent out there, even if much of it never goes any further than playing gigs at local taverns."
Dan the Man didn't appear to have much interest in non-platinum-selling performers. "So are you driving yourself from concert to concert?"
"No, I'm traveling on the bus Wild Wind hired for us. Concerts are scheduled almost daily, so for the most part we'll finish one performance, get on the bus and sleep while Marvin, our driver, delivers us to the next destination."
"What did you do with your car, then-leave it in Portland?"
"No. It's being driven back to Aspen."
"That's where you live these days?"
"Yes. I'm a brand-new home owner-or at least it still feels brand-new. I bought a house last year."
"You mentioned earlier that you moved around a lot."
"I did and I hated it." Then she laughed. "And I know choosing a career that puts me on the road for a good part of the year when I've spent most of my life craving a home I didn't have to up and leave at the drop of a hat must sound like a-whatchamacallit-a paradox. But having a place I can call my own makes all the difference."
"Because it'll always be there for you to go back to when the touring is over?"
"Exactly!" Her raspy voice was full of warm approbation that he understood her feelings so well.
There was an infinitesimal pause, then the DJ said, "So if a stable home life is so important to you, why did you fire your mother?"
The man in the car let up on the gas pedal as he sat straighter in his seat. "Excellent question."
Dead air filled the airwaves for several long seconds. Then Priscilla Jayne said in a voice not exactly cold but definitely no longer warm, "Excuse me while I pull the knife out of my heart." She gave a theatrical grunt. "There-and only the minimum of blood, too, as long as I keep my finger in the hole."
Laughter came from the morning crew, but the man didn't understand what they found so amusing. He didn't find the singer's flippancy one bit appropriate.
"I gotta hand it to you, Dan the Man," she said. "You slid that blade in slicker than the devil."
"Yet still you didn't answer my question."
"Noticed that, did you? Well, let me see if I can put this in a way you'll understand. My personal life is exactly that. Personal. I don't mind putting it all out there in my songs. I do mind flopping my private business onto the table for wholesale consumption by a bunch of people who don't know the first thing about it." Her voice warmed. "Marina, you still there?"
"You bet," replied one of the sidekicks.
"Can I ask you a personal question?"
"Sure, I guess."
"What's your relationship with your mother?"
"Why, it's fi-that is, it's:nothing I care to talk about on the radio."
"I hear that, sister. And I rest my case."
"Yetyour mother has gone on record to state you broke her heart," the DJ insisted.
"Well, what can I tell you, Dan?" she said lightly. "There's just no pleasing some people."
The interview wound up a minute later but long after the radio crew signed off, long after the man clocked in at work and commenced his rounds, he continued to seethe.
Because this was wrong. This was just plain wrong. Priscilla Jayne lacked all reverence for her mother and she shouldn't be allowed to get away with such flagrant disrespect.
Well maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't. Because he had several weeks of vacation time coming.
And he just might use them to teach her a lesson in honoring her parent.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Priscilla Jayne Singles "Let the Party Begin" and "Crying Myself to Sleep" Lighting Up the Charts
"HEY, IT'S ME,"Jared said the moment his brother-in-law answered the phone. P.J.'s concert filtered faintly through the thick walls of the San Francisco arena behind him. "I need the name and number of the suit who hired us for this assignment. I've been leaving messages at Wild Wind for the past three days, but either he's dodging me, which doesn't make sense, or I'm not asking to speak to the right guy."
"We have a problem?"
"Aside from wasting our time playing watchdog for a clueless client, you mean?"
"O-kay." John's voice was slow and easy. "You wanna expound on that a bit? But make it quick, wouldja? Sympathetic as I am to the plight of the poor working stiff, I don't count myself among your number for the next fourteen days."
Jared felt the tension that had been building over the course of the past week begin to unwind at John's mellow voice and offbeat sense of humor. "You heading up to the cabin?"
"Yep. In about twenty minutes. Just me and Tori."
"No kids?"
"Well, okay, me and Tori and Grayson and two of his very large, always hungry and extremely loud friends."
Jared grinned at the thought of his nephew and his friends wreaking havoc with John's downtime. "Es staying in town?"
"Yep. Running her and Gray's and your future children's inheritance into the ground while I wet a fishing line or two. Which, in the interests of getting this vacation on the road, brings us back to your request. Why do you feel we're wasting our time accompanying P.J. on her tour?"
"It's make-work, Rocket. There's not a damn thing for me to do here-an illustration of P.J.'s face oughtta be next toconsummate professional in the dictionary."
"I'm not sureconsummate professional is actually in the dictionary," John murmured. "Not linked together, anyhow."
He ignored the interruption. "It's clear to anyone with eyes in their head that this tour is important to her. She doesn't need anyone to get her to her concerts, she sure as hell makes her sound checks without assistance and with the exception of the first show in Portland, where we had the only two-night engagement so far, she's been on the tour bus within a half-hour of each show's closing."
"So what do you think compelled them to hire us?"
"I honest to God don't know." Leaning against the arena's concrete exterior wall,
Jared settled his shoulders more squarely to absorb the residual heat still stored from the day's high-eighties temperatures, enjoying the warmth that seeped through his T-shirt to the slowly relaxing muscles below. "Wild Wind has a bundle tied up in this tour and there's a lot of negative press out there making it sound as if P.J.'s unreliable. But it's common knowledge it's been stirred up by her mother, so why the hell would they take Jodeen's version of the situation as gospel?"
"Because people tend to believe where there's smoke there's fire and P.J. hasn't exactly been fighting to tell her side of the story?"
"Okay, human nature being what it is, I get that. But they don't once ask their new million-dollar baby what's going on? From everything I've seen so far they're doing a bang-up job on the logistics of this tour. Yet their approach with P.J. is friggin' passive/aggressive. They just slapped a watchdog on her without bothering to discuss the problem. Why hasn't anyone picked up a goddamn phone to deal directly with her?"
"Is that what you'd recommend?"
"Hell, yes. They could probably learn the real story and have a team of spin doctors slanting the sympathy factor back where it belongs in a heartbeat if they'd just take five lousy minutes out of their schedule to talk to her. I'd also warn them that this is no way to build loyalty in their performers. They're putting a lot of money into building P.J.'s career. But if they treat her like a rebellious teenager at the same time, why would she want to stay with them once the tour is done?"
"Yeah, I can see where she might find it insulting to go about her business in a professional manner only to have them sic the dogs on her anyway. So!" His voice turned brisk. "You clearly know what you're doing and you've got a game plan. You don't need my input, except to tell you the guy you want to contact is Charles Croffut. Call Gert in the morning to get the number to his direct line."
Jared grinned, for he could all but hear the sound of his brother-in-law rubbing his hands together in anticipation of his vacation. "Thanks, John. Kiss Tori for me and cast a line or two in my name. In fact, if I free myself up within the next couple days I just might join you."
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