In Plain Sight

by Sherryl Hancock

  “You think I got nothing to do on the road but to talk to your girl?” Memphis asked as she packed her stuff.

  “I’m not saying all the time, but if you chat with her when you have time, I can take cues from what you say.”

  Memphis looked at her best friend. The guy was clueless.

  “Oliver, does it occur to you that if you need to take cues from me to get and keep a girl, maybe she isn’t the girl for you?”

  Oliver looked perplexed. “But she’s hot.”

  Memphis snickered, shaking her head. “You men are so fuckin’ easy, it’s a wonder you lemmings don’t just run off a cliff all together, chasing a pussy.”

  “Hey, you chase just as much pussy as I do.”

  “Yeah, but the difference between me and you, Oliver, is that I actually love women and respect them for the amazing creatures that we are. You just want pussy. That’s it.”

  Oliver grinned. “And that’s wrong?”

  “Yes, stupid man, it is.” Memphis sighed and shook her head.

  “Memphis, just do this for me…” Oliver put his hands together as if begging as he walked over to her.

  “Don’t beg, it’s not dignified,” Memphis said. “Oh wait, who’m I talkin’ to? Fine! But only because that poor girl needs a good conversation now and again.”

  Oliver grinned widely. “You are like so awesome, I can’t even begin to tell ya…”

  Memphis shook her head. “Shut the fuck up and write down your login info.”

  She left the house twenty minutes later, with Oliver’s details tucked in her pocket.

  As she came to, she looked around the room. There were multiple metal signs on the rough, wood-railed walls, including a Tennessee Walking Horse Whiskey sign. Her blue eyes settled on the man sitting at the desk, narrowing as she saw that he was looking at the piece of paper she had been carrying. She reached into her pocket to confirm her suspicion and found it empty. She balled her hand into a fist as she sat up. He was older, probably in his fifties. His face was grizzled and wrinkling from long hours spent in the sun. When he looked up at her, she saw that his eyes were droopy and watery. She didn’t like the look of him at all.

  “Oh, you’re awake.” He sounded surprised, and he stood up.

  She moved to get up as well, not wanting to be at any more of a disadvantage than she already was. He walked around the desk, his eyes on her.

  “So, what’s your name?” He leaned a hip against the desk, his arms crossed in front of his chest officiously.

  She simply looked back at him, her expression blank.

  “Where are you from?” He received the same look. “Where’s your family?”

  She thought it was rather inane of him to continue asking questions when she very obviously wasn’t answering him. Did he think a different question would garner an answer when the others had not? He straightened up and took a step toward her, lifting his hand to her as well.

  She took a step back involuntarily, her chin coming up, her eyes widening with fear.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, honey,” he said, his voice gravelly.

  Her expression didn’t change, nor did the tension so obvious in her body relax at his assurance.

  “You need to tell me your name,” he said, more firmly.

  She looked over at her paper on the desk, then back at him.

  “What is that, anyway?” he asked.

  “Mine,” she answered simply, her voice clear.

  “So you can talk.” He grinned as if he’d just caught her in a lie somehow.

  She just stared up at him, the look in her blue eyes expressionless.

  Suddenly the door opened and a heavyset woman walked in. Seeing the scene before her, she shook her head.

  “John, you’re probably scaring the hell out of her!” she said. The slip of a girl looked terrified.

  The woman turned to her. Her face was puffy and her lips were covered with a jammy-looking pink lipstick. “What’s your name?”

  The girl’s eyes went to the sign on the wall. “Tena. Tena Walker.”

  The woman glanced at John and said, “See? You were just scaring her, that’s all.” She looked at the girl again. “What are you doing out here with no shoes on, honey?”

  The girl blinked a couple of times, reaching up to rub her nose to give herself some time to formulate a reply.

  “My family is camping. I was just taking a walk,” she said, her eyes continually straying over to John.

  “John, why don’t you let Tena and me talk?”

  John shrugged and walked out of the room. The woman turned back to her. “Are you hungry?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Okay, let’s get you something to eat.” The woman reached out to take the girl’s hand.

  Tammy guessed that the girl was about thirteen; she had no way of knowing she was actually sixteen, her shy, hunched posture belying her age. As they passed the desk, Tammy leading the girl, she didn’t see the tiny hand flash out, grab the sheet of paper, and stuff it back into her pocket.

  Twenty minutes later the girl was eating a sandwich, her bites small, her face downturned, looking furtively around the restaurant they were sitting in.

  “So your family is camping?” Tammy asked.

  The girl nodded. “Over by the proving grounds.” She was referring to the Chrysler Arizona Proving Grounds. “My dad works for Chrysler, and we took the trip down.”

  That was three miles from where they sat—it made sense to Tammy.

  “Okay, well, I’m going to drive you back,” Tammy said. She nodded, her jowls jiggling.

  “Oh, no, I’m okay. I like to walk.”

  Tammy looked at the girl, thinking she had no concept of what to wear for a hike. “Okay, well, how about we get you some shoes before you go back?”

  The girl looked like she was considering it, then nodded.

  “Perfect,” Tammy said, smiling.

  An hour later the girl walked away wearing the red Converse sneakers she’d found at the secondhand store in town. She also had Tammy’s address because “Daddy will want to thank you for your kindness.” Tammy smiled as the child walked away, not even noticing that she wasn’t heading in the direction of the proving grounds.

  Two months later, Tammy received an envelope containing the exact amount of cash that she’d spent on the tennis shoes and sandwich. There was no note or return address.

  It was two days before Memphis remembered to sign in to Oliver’s account. When she did, she saw that Oliver was really all over Kiery22 about sex. She curled her lips in derision. He needed a muzzle. She decided she’d be the in-between for the less sexual stuff. That night, when they got to their first stop, she lay in her hotel room bed and signed on. She knew Oliver was at a business meeting with his boss, so she’d be safe talking to Kiery.

  Oh-Liver23: Hi Kiery!

  Kiery22: You know, it’s really Kieran

  Oh-Liver23: I did not know that. That’s a beautiful name.

  Kiery22: Thank you Is your name really Oh-Liver? LOL

  Oh-Liver23: Yes, my parents are passionate about liver.

  Kiery22: LOL! That’s funny! Can I guess that it is really Oliver?

  “You can guess it, but you’d be wrong,” Memphis muttered, grinning.

  Oh-Liver23: You got it!

  Kiery22: So what are you doing?

  Oh-Liver23: Listening to music.

  Kiery22: What kind of music do you listen to?

  Oh-Liver23: I listen to anything and everything.

  Kiery22: What are you listening to right now?

  Oh-Liver23: Sia’s Elastic Heart

  Kiery22: I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.

  Oh-Liver23: It’s a great track. You should listen to it.

  Kiery22: I will look for it.

  Oh-Liver23: The lyrics are really good.

  Kiery22: What are some of them?

  Oh-Liver23: My favorite part is when she equates her heart to an elastic rub
ber band

  Kiery22: Oh those are really great lyrics. I like the visual on the rubber band and talking about how she may “snap”

  Memphis shook her head. “Oh, Oliver, she’s way too smart for you, buddy…”

  Oh-Liver23: Yes, the idea that pulling too hard on someone’s heart could cause it to snap is a definite visual.

  Kiery22: Who else do you listen to?

  Oh-Liver23: Far too many to list here. Everything from Michael Jackson to Linkin Park to Trans Siberian Orchestra to Elton John.

  Kiery22: Oh my goodness you do like a lot of different kinds of music.

  Oh-Liver23: It’s because of Memphis, she is always listening to something different. That is, if I can hear it.

  Kiery22: What do you mean if you can hear it?

  Oh-Liver23: She wears headphones almost all the time, it’s rare to see her without headphones in her ears.

  Kiery22: That’s funny and a little weird.

  Memphis’ eyes narrowed. “Really now?” she said, her lips curling. “Because talking to some guy on the Internet is so totally normal…”

  Oh-Liver23: It’s just her thing.

  Kiery22: Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that, I’m sorry.

  Oh-Liver23: It’s okay.

  Kiery22: So how come you have a girl for a best friend? Don’t most guys have guys for best friends?

  Oh-Liver23: Well, Memphis is different.

  “She chats up girls on the Internet for me, and scores me pussy all the time…” Memphis rolled her eyes.

  Kiery22: Different how? Are you two like a couple?

  Oh-Liver23: Oh, no, no, we’re not. She doesn’t even like guys.

  Kiery22: Your roommate is a lesbian?

  Oh-Liver23: Yep.

  Kiery22: Well, that’s very modern of you.

  Oh-Liver23: What do you mean by that?

  Kiery22: I didn’t mean anything bad, I just thought that most men would be intimidated by living with a lesbian.

  Oh-Liver23: Why? They’re just like everyone else.

  Kiery22: Ollie… I didn’t mean anything by it.

  Memphis stared at the screen, feeling her ire flow. She knew she was being defensive, and it wasn’t the girl’s fault, but it just felt like someone thought there was something wrong with her, and it pissed her off. Finally, with a sigh, she just shut Messenger down. This was Oliver’s problem, not hers. Fuck it.

  ****

  In London, England, Kieran Haley stared at the screen with tears in her eyes. She knew that somehow she’d made Oliver mad, and that he’d more or less just walked out on her. She didn’t know what it was about this particular guy, but she found herself wanting to get to know him. Sure, he’d pulled some of the same things other guys online had, but he had moments where he was so sweet and considerate. On top of that, he would talk to her about things like music, like they’d been doing before she’d opened her big mouth—typographically, of course.

  Closing her laptop, Kieran got up and set it aside. She did her best not to look in the mirror. Part of her wondered if somehow Oliver knew that the picture she was using wasn’t really her anymore. She weighed more—far too much more, as far as she was concerned. Even if the scales only said it was twenty-five pounds, on someone her size, only five foot two, twenty-five pounds was a lot. She felt fat and hated it, but she just couldn’t get motivated to change it. She’d hoped finding someone to chat with online would help. She’d found someone thousands of miles away in Hollywood, California. Somewhere so far away that it was likely she’d never meet him. And now she’d made him mad.

  She’d worried that because she wouldn’t automatically talk sex with him, he’d stop talking to her. She’d been so happy when he’d spoken to her again. Somehow she kept sticking her foot in her mouth. It was nerve-racking!

  ****

  Memphis walked into a bar in Montreal, Canada. It was a lesbian place, and what she’d consider a target-rich environment. She was wearing her customary skinny jeans, a short-sleeved black button-up shirt with a white tank top under it, black heeled boots, and her red, white and blue Beats Dr. Dre headphones, which were practically a fashion accessory for her.

  She looked around and identified any number of prospects, then walked to the bar. She ordered a beer and a shot of tequila. She downed the shot and picked up the beer as she turned to look at the crowd. She tuned in to the music, listening to the fades and transitions and wincing when she heard a mistake, then tilting her head when the mistake wasn’t corrected. Then it just got worse, and her fingers were itching to take over the DJ’s table.

  “You’re actually twitching, I think,” Remington LaRoché said from behind her.

  Memphis turned to the retired MMA fighter, now a bodyguard. She grinned. “Yeah, ya think they’d be offended if I ousted their DJ?”

  “It might upset the DJ.”

  “She should be upset, with her transitions… and her mixes… Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.” She rolled her eyes as another mistake screeched through her head. She knew that to normal people it sounded fine, but she was especially tuned to music, and therefore heard every ripple that wasn’t right.

  Remington turned and held up two fingers to the bartender. A couple minutes later the woman handed her the shots with a flirty wink. Remington raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond otherwise. She handed one of the shots to Memphis.

  “Maybe if you have enough alcohol, you’ll be able to tune it out,” she said with a grin.

  Memphis took the shot and shook her head. “I wish it was that easy. I’d have to practically be unconscious. I’ll be back,” she said, and headed for the DJ’s booth.

  Shaking her head, Remington watched the smaller woman walk away.

  “What’s going on?” Wynter asked as she walked up.

  “Memphis is having issues with the music. We’re likely to have an international incident on our hands if she’s not careful.”

  “Hey, where’s mine?” Wynter asked, seeing the empty shot glass in Remington’s hand.

  “Bondye… I’m sorry, hold on.” Remington turned back to the bar and held up two fingers again.

  “You know, if you get drunk it’s my ass, sexy,” the bartender said.

  “The last ones were for my friend—this one’s for my fiancée,” Remington said pointedly.

  “Damn.” The bartender grinned, then her eyes widened as they trailed over to Wynter. “Oh my God, you’re Wynter Kincade! That would make you Remington LaRoché. Oh, I am so dense! Sorry, ladies! Love you both! Remi, you totally rock! Of course so do you, Wynter.”

  Remington nodded, her expression nonplussed.

  Meanwhile, Memphis stood at the booth, her hands on the glass as she pressed her face against it to peer in at the DJ. She was a cute little redhead, and Memphis wondered whose girlfriend she was.

  The DJ looked up and saw a blond with a Mohawk staring at her. She laughed. The girl was very cute and had a really sexy look going, so she waved her into the booth.

  “Did you need something, honey?”

  “I need you to let me help you DJ,” Memphis said, smiling engagingly to take the sting out of her words.

  The redhead looked surprised. “Are you saying you don’t like how I’m doing it?”

  “I’m saying if you make one more mistake that you don’t correct, my head is likely to explode…” Memphis gave the girl a sidelong look, one eye closed, the other peering at her. She grinned. “Will you please, please, please let me help you?”

  The redhead laughed at the face Memphis was making. “I’m Chloe,” she said, extending her hand.

  “I’m Memphis, and please, let me take this for a second.” She couldn’t handle any more of it.

  Chloe stood back, putting her hands up, smiling all the while.

  “Okay. You’re making your fades too quickly—you gotta be smooth about it.” Memphis motioned to Chloe to stand in front of her as she slid her headphones up over her ear, the consummate DJ move.

  Chloe did a
s Memphis said, noting that the blond definitely had some of the terms down. Chloe was five feet tall, so standing behind her with her two-inch boots on gave Memphis only four inches on the girl. It was enough. She put Chloe’s hand on the fade lever and then put her hand over Chloe’s.

  “Okay, now listen for the change.” Memphis put her hand on the other girl’s shoulder, tapping out the beat. “You gotta give it about an eight count. Now, nice and slow… Can you hear the difference?”

  “Yeah!” Chloe said, smiling and nodding.

  “Okay, now what do you have here…” Memphis looked at Chloe’s queue list. “Oh, Whitney… Whitney, honey, come here,” she said reverently, making Chloe smile.

  “Okay, we’re going to transition here. You got the Pioneer, babe—use it,” Memphis said, smiling. “Right here.” She moved Chloe’s hands to two different knobs. “Now, cut this in, nice and smooth. Now let’s drop in some bass… like that—just like that.” She spoke almost as if she were making love, her voice low and sexy and so very smooth. “What else have we got… Oh, Queen—that’ll hit the spot right there. Ready?”

  Chloe laughed, nodding. “Yes!”

  Memphis’ hands moved over the mixer, and it was easy to see that she knew exactly what she was doing. Chloe finally just stepped out of her way, watching her every move. Soon after, a couple came over and knocked on the class. Chloe’s eyes widened when she saw Wynter Kincade and Remington LaRoché standing there. Remington was grinning at Memphis.

  “Oh my God, you’re Memphis McQueen!” Chloe exclaimed.

  Memphis glanced back at the redhead with a grin, nodding even as she transitioned another song.

  “That mix you made for the fight was just outrageous. It was so good!” Chloe said, her eyes wide. It was like she was talking to a celebrity, and in the DJ world, she basically was—at least, an up-and-coming celebrity.