Dark River Road

by Virginia Brown

  The first set went pretty fast and the lights came back up a little as she went into her finale in obvious preparation to go off-stage, and Chantry happened to glance to his right. At a table on the opposite end of the stage, he saw Chris Quinton. He wasn’t really surprised, wondered if she had seen him, too, and wondered then if Dempsey noticed him sitting there.

  Chris stared at Tansy with an open look of hunger mixed with desperation. Like a man drowning. Jesus. Anyone who looked at him could see how he felt. It was too obvious.

  Breathless, Tansy finished her song and the lights blinked out for a moment. When they came back up the stage was empty and the house lights came on. After a twenty minute intermission she’d be back. The waitress brought him another beer, and Dempsey ordered another coke then looked at Chantry.

  “Sounded kinda like her, but didn’t look much like her,” he said. “I might not listen to the stuff kids listen to these days, but ever’body else sure seems to like her. What’d you think?”

  “I always knew she’d make it. She’s got more than just a good voice. She sucks you right into the song.”

  After a moment Dempsey nodded. “Yep. Sounds about right. Had my feet tappin’ a few times. A little loud, but that’s all right. Yep. She’s damn good.”

  Chantry grinned. He glanced back at the table on the far end of the stage but Chris wasn’t in his chair. A nearly full drink still sat on the white cloth. It was loud, people all talking at once and laughing too loud like people did when they drank too much. This was mostly an adult crowd instead of teenagers, fans who’d followed Tansy for the past six years since her first hit came out. She wasn’t yet thirty, yet had managed to get her life together and realize her dream.

  It hit him then, how proud he was of her. Honored that she still considered him her friend, and a little ashamed that he hadn’t managed to shake loose from his past like she’d done. It made him protective of her, and he thought about Chris and what he might do or say and what Quinton might do if he heard Chris had come here tonight, and he got up from the table and made his way back behind the stage, just to be sure everything was okay.

  Chaos greeted him, nothing more than the frenzy of dancers changing clothes and people rushing around, and a security guard stopped him before he got too far.

  “Can’t go back there, sir.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait here.”

  It didn’t matter where he stood, as long as he knew no one was giving Tansy any trouble. Now that he knew how deeply Quinton prejudice went, he didn’t intend to let down his guard for Tansy or himself. Not as long as she was this close to Bert Quinton.

  He leaned against a wall and crossed his arms over his chest, intercepted a few curious glances his way, and knew his battered face had to make people wonder. He probably looked like a Saturday night boxer. The loser, at that.

  In a few minutes, he caught a glimpse of Tansy half-dressed, people swarmed around her in a frenzy of activity, doing stuff to her hair, fixing a strap on her outfit, brushing glittery powder on her face. Then he turned and saw Chris Quinton only a few feet away, eyes locked on Tansy so fiercely she should have felt his gaze. Maybe she did. Because an instant later she looked up and straight at Chris. She’d been putting on an earring, fastening a huge cluster of bright blue feathers and plastic to her ears, but stopped in mid-motion. Her lips parted, her eyes got wide, and for a minute she didn’t move, even when someone close to her asked if she was all right.

  It was the look on her face that said it all. A blind man couldn’t have missed it. Chantry was sure Chris wouldn’t.

  He didn’t.

  Both of them moved forward at the same time. Tansy made an impatient motion with one hand when a guard tried to hold Chris back so he let go, exchanging a puzzled glance with another attendant while Tansy walked toward Chris and he walked toward her. They halted less than a foot from one another, said nothing for a moment but just stood silently. Then Chris held out a rose that he’d had in one hand, long-stemmed, one of those roses like Chantry’s grandfather grew in his backyard, white petals with deep pink centers. A Peace rose, he thought he’d heard it called. Maybe it was significant to them, because Tansy reached for it with a hand that shook slightly, her long fingers curling around it, brushing over the back of Chris’s hand.

  The world seemed to have narrowed to the two of them, and Chantry didn’t know how anyone watching couldn’t see that this was something important, but some skinny guy with wire glasses and a clipboard came swishing by to say she’d better get her ass in gear, that she could meet fans later.

  Clutching the rose, Tansy smiled at Chris, said something soft to him and he nodded, then she went back to being the center of activity again while someone yelled One minute left. As she moved toward the stage she saw Chantry, gave him a quick smile and lifted brow that let him know she was okay, then she was gone, stepping out to a thunderous roar from the crowd. Oh yeah. She’d be fine. Like Mikey, Tansy had learned how to land on her feet. Funny, he’d always thought he was the strong one, but Mikey was more resilient than he’d ever be.

  Chris turned around and saw him. He looked half-awkward, half-defiant. As if he thought Chantry might say something. He didn’t. Instead he turned around and went back to the table to sit with Dempsey for the rest of the show.

  At the very end, for her last song, Tansy motioned for her band to take it down a notch. She pulled the microphone toward her, lights forming a blue pool around her that somehow brought out the red highlights in her hair and made her look exotic. She’d gone from red to blue in her costume, this one a long skirt that fit snugly down to her ankles but was split up the front almost to her waist. Nothing lurid, since she wore some kind of matching body suit underneath, but sexy as hell.

  “This last song,” she said huskily into the mike, “is for two very special people in my life. My dad, who’s watching me perform live for the first time ever, and my best friend. They’re here with me tonight, sitting at this front table here in the Grand Isle, and I hope enjoying the show.”

  To applause, a light briefly danced over the table where Chantry and Dempsey sat, both of them appalled at the attention, while Tansy laughed. She shook her head when Chantry leaned back out of the light.

  “Yeah, they’re shy, folks. Anyway, this is a song I wrote a long time ago when there was a lot more rain in my life than there were rainbows. I’ve never performed this live before, so let me know how you like it.”

  She stepped back, and a simple melody played, saxophone, guitars, violins and keyboard, with a low, soft drum whisk keeping time. Chantry watched her, remembering the uncertain girl and finding it hard to equate that Tansy with this confident young woman standing on stage in front of nearly a thousand people. A pretty good crowd for the casino. He bet she filled the Pyramid in Memphis with ten times that many in a few weeks. There was talk of a sell-out crowd.

  Then she began to sing, and again he remembered her as he’d seen her that night on his front porch, her face pressed against the screen, talking about rainbows.

  “Memories always get the best of me,”

  she sang, her voice low and plaintive,

  “when the rain starts fallin’ down,

  and when I look around, you’re not there.

  I wake each day with hope the rain has gone . . .

  Oh yeah, that there’s a rainbow at the end.

  I’ve been chasing rainbows half my life,

  waitin’ for the rain to go,

  waitin’ for the light to shine,

  for the time to be yours and mine.

  And then the raiiiinnnnn”

  she sang in a rising, drawn-out soprano that seemed to soar forever,

  “beats me down to the ground

  Where I see no light, nothing but shadows

  All around me.

  Will I ever see it again,

  that light I need,

  that love I left behind,

  the love that wasn’t mine?

  The saxophone
took over, the melody lamenting the loss of love and hope. He’d never been one to really listen to the lyrics of a song, remembered melodies only if he heard them a lot, but now he could almost see Tansy writing this song, miserable and lonely and afraid, taking refuge in her music.

  Eyes closed, Tansy sang from the heart,

  There’s so much I never said,

  so much you never knew,

  What could I say or do

  to make it all come true?

  Promises made in sunshine,

  I would be yours and you would be mine,

  Gone before the rain came down,

  Before the first drop hit the ground.

  I’ve been chasing rainbows half my life,

  waitin’ for the rain to go,

  waitin’ for the light to shine,

  for the time to be yours and mine.

  I wake each day with hope the rain has gone . . .

  Oh yeah, that there’s a rainbow at the end.

  Oh yeah, um hm,

  Lord, there’s a promise waitin’ on me . . .

  oh yeahh, um hmmmm . . .”

  He looked over at Dempsey, who stared at Tansy like he’d never seen her before, a sad curve to his mouth as if he wanted to spare her all the pain she’d endured. He could have told him that it’d made Tansy who she was, that maybe she’d never have succeeded without it. Mama had once told him that fire made steel hard enough to endure, that unless the heat got high enough it’d break too easily, and he figured he and Tansy both had been through some pretty hot flames.

  When the song ended, she bent from the waist, hair falling around her face in a silky curtain as the crowd erupted into applause. The band began to play what must be her signature song and she left the stage, blowing kisses, waving, and disappeared into the wings while some guy came out to tell the audience the slot machines were hot tonight and the beer nice and cold.

  Chantry stood up. “You going back to talk to Tansy?” he asked Dempsey, and wondered if she was meeting Chris after her show. He had a feeling they had a lot to talk about now that he’d finally gotten up enough nerve to face her. As far as he knew, Chris didn’t even know about the baby, what had happened, or how Tansy had nearly died in some New York tenement. Maybe they wouldn’t even talk about that for a while. It may take time for Tansy to know if she could trust him to hang around. Chris may do a hit and run again, take off like a scalded cat before his grandfather found out he’d gone to see her.

  Dempsey looked up at him and shook his head. “No, I think she’s got other company right now.”

  So he had seen Chris. That figured. Dempsey didn’t miss much. Never had. Chantry just nodded.

  “Okay. You staying here tonight or going back to Cane Creek?”

  “Tansy insisted I get a room. Said she gets a free one for guests as part of her contract. I don’t rightly know if I believe that, but if it makes her happy to think she’s foolin’ me, I’ll just let it pass. It’s a big room, got two king-size beds in it if you want to stay.”

  “Have to be at the clinic early tomorrow. Open half a day on Saturdays. Guess I’ll head on back home. I know you’ve got a hot date with a slot machine. Break the bank. Make me proud.”

  To his surprise, Dempsey slung an arm around his shoulders and gave him a quick hug. “It sure is good to have you back, boy. Don’t know if you know just how good it feels to have the two most important people in my life here at the same time.”

  It was uncharacteristic affection, usually expressed in small ways, and, taken by surprise, Chantry didn’t know quite how to respond. He settled for an awkward hug back, one of those male-bonding kind of one-armed gestures that looked casual but passed for emotion if anyone cared to look below the surface. There was a lot he sometimes wanted to say, but never could find the right words or time. It was easier when he didn’t care. Then he could say what was on his mind quickly enough.

  He’d taken to using the alarm system on his Rover since replacing his tires, and he hit the button when he got close to it in the lot. Vapor lights put off a pretty good glow, and security guards rode around in little trucks keeping an eye on patrons’ cars and people coming and going. There was a big parking garage, but he preferred the lot as it was easier to get in and out of most of the time. Traffic was always pretty steady. Limos and taxis and tour buses usually lined up at the front of the casino, coming down from Memphis or over in Arkansas, and up from the delta. He had to hand it to Quinton. He’d seen a good thing before it happened.

  When he pulled out of the lot, he saw the big silver coin turning in the sky atop a high-rise building. The Silver Dollar. Quinton’s casino. However it may be listed on deeds and loans and documents, it effectively belonged to him.

  He passed by the casino kind of slow, looking at the stagecoach out front, the mock-up of a Wild West saloon complete with saloon girls inside and blackjack and poker dealers wearing nineteenth century costumes. He hadn’t been in, but Dempsey had described it to him. Said the slots got pretty loose near the end of the month and then it’d be too crowded to find a parking space in the lot. Security patrolled the parking lot now, flashing lights atop open three-wheeled vehicles that looked like souped-up golf carts. He tried to visualize beefy Brad Durbin sitting in one of them but couldn’t quite get that picture right. He’d probably just sat inside anyway, staring at monitors.

  When he got home, he had a message on the answer machine from Cathy. She sounded a little drugged, but pretty good, even laughed a little as she thanked him for the flowers he’d sent.

  “I don’t know how you knew my favorite flower,” she slurred, “but they’re beautiful. I’ve always loved roses. You’re sooo sweet, Chantry. After ever’thing . . .I mean, you callin’ me ever’ day and all . . . I hope ya believe I never thought Brad was dumb enough to follow me. I’m so sorry ya got . . . caught up in my mess. Well.” She laughed. “Guess ya can tell I’m takin’ pain pills. Call me when y’can. I’m back at home now. Bye.”

  He wasn’t a flower kind of guy, but he’d sent her whatever the florist thought a woman might like. Roses were always a lucky guess.

  It was late, and he took a shower and went to bed. Tomorrow after leaving the clinic, he’d visit Laura Quinton again. He had no illusions about how much she’d tell him or if she’d even talk to him. Anything could happen.

  Moonlight sliced through the wooden blinds and over his bed, and he lay awake for a long time looking up at the moving ceiling fan blades that made odd shadows in the room. It took a while to relax, and he thought about Chris and Tansy. He hoped she didn’t make a mistake.

  Next thing he knew, morning light hit him in the face and he squinted one eye open. It had to be early. Open blinds were the best alarm clock in the summer time. All his muscles were still sore when he first woke in the mornings, compliments of the guards and inmates at the Quinton County jail. It’d take a while to fully recover. He hadn’t been this sore since his first week in boot camp, and he’d been a lot younger then. A few weeks past eighteen. He’d hit thirty his last birthday. Old enough to know where he was going in life, old enough to let go of the past. Maybe Tansy was right about that.

  Sometimes he wondered if he should rethink everything. Was it really worth it to nail old man Quinton’s ass to the wall? It’d be a dirty fight. And he might lose. But what did he have that was worth anything anyway? He just existed right now. Went through the motions. Got up, drank coffee, got dressed and went to school or work, forgot everything but animals until the day ended and he seemed to come out of a daze again, to the reality that was his life. Empty. There had to be more to it than this. An old girlfriend had told him he’d flat-lined emotionally. There was no pulse, no heartbeat when it came to feeling anything. He suspected she was right. Anger was about the most intense emotion he could drum up most of the time.

  It was all he’d felt for too long to change now. Maybe it was too late for any other kind of life. This was all he knew. It was safe, insulated. Familiar. An absence of emoti
on kept him sane. Or what passed for it.

  There was the usual round of domestic pets at the clinic, and since Doc was in the field, he got stuck with Precious again. Precious hissed foully. Mrs. Tidwell gave him a disapproving stare.

  “What happened to your face? Never mind. I’m not at all certain I trust you to touch my cat.” She hugged the beast to her chest as if he’d rip Precious from her loving arms. He wasn’t even tempted.

  “Fine. Come back Monday and Doc will be here.”

  “Wait,” Mrs. Tidwell said when he turned to walk out, “I suppose it won’t hurt if you look at him. But I’m watching you.”

  It was the usual malady. Too rich food causing digestive upset and diarrhea. He didn’t feel like sugar-coating it for her.

  “If you ran over him with your car it’d be quicker and probably less painful,” he said, and heard Mindy groan behind him. “Stop feeding him all that crap. He’s old. He needs special food or you’ll be stuffing him in a box and planting him with the tulips before long.”

  Mrs. Tidwell’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and she must have tightened her grip on Precious because he squeezed out a lump of poop the consistency of soft-serve ice cream that slid down the front of her dress. She thrust out the cat in a reflex move, and Precious took the opportunity to sink his fangs into Chantry’s arm before he could move out of the way. He swore horribly, Mrs. Tidwell shrieked, and Mindy somehow managed to get Precious unfastened from his arm and into a cardboard carrier.