Someone to Watch Over Me

by Anne Berkeley

  “That’s irrelevant! You’ve been collecting tips and pocketing the money, while paying me pennies for it! I sang those stupid twit songs you make me sing, I’ve worn this shitty uniform without complaint, and you’ve been freakin’ stealing money from me! I have a kid to take care of! What kind of person steals money from a single mother, you freakin’ asshole?”

  Well, I guess I just answered my own question. I was looking at him.

  At the sound of my raised and clearly agitated voice, Taylor opened the door. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”

  “Fucking wonderful.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’m fine, Taylor, thanks.” God, the guy was really serious. I bet he would’ve broken Billy’s fingers if I’d asked him to.

  Satisfied, Taylor nodded and closed the door again.

  Eyeing me, Billy blew out a deep breath. “Have a seat, Coop. Please.”

  “I’ll stand. Thanks.” I tried to rein in the angry tears that rimmed my eyes. I didn’t want him to see me cry. The hell if I would walk out sniveling.

  Rising from his chair, he pulled an envelope from beneath the blotter and crossed around his desk, perching on the corner with one foot on the ground. “You’ve outgrown us, Coop. We all knew you were destined for better things. It was only a matter of time until you caught your big break. And this is it, sweetheart. Everyone knows it.”

  “There’s no guarantee. Until then, I need this job.”

  “Until then,” Billy amended. “Maybe this will help.” He proffered the envelope.

  Barely able to restrain from snatching it out of his hand, I tore it open and extracted the check. No amount of severance was going to make up for the tips I was losing. Thus, I was flabbergasted when I took in the number of zeroes staring back at me. I could feel my face drain of color. All the things I said to him…I called him an asshole for shit’s sake. Oh, lord.

  “I can’t take this. It’s too much.”

  “It’s yours. I’ve just been holding onto it until the right time.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?”

  “It’s the proceeds from the tip jar for your performances. ‘The starving artist fund,’ the girls called it. They’ve been collecting it for almost a year, wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Overwhelmed, I had to sit down. I dropped onto the leather couch, my eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I mean, the uniforms really do suck and I hate some of the songs you chose, but the other part…”

  “I’ve been called much worse over much less,” Billy dismissed. “Just remember us when you hit it big. Give us a shout out. Send us some new patronage.”

  “What if I don’t make it?” The pressure to succeed increased twofold. I’d feel like an ass if I failed now. I had expectations to fill.

  Surprising me, Billy reached forward and squeezed my hand. “You live life to its fullest, Cooper, don’t let life pass you by, and you’ll already have won.”

  I shivered. Em had said almost the same exact thing.

  Abruptly, he stood and left the room, leaving me alone in his office. In the one year I had worked for him, I’d never seen him choked up, but I swear I saw some deep-seated emotion in his eyes.

  Stunned silent, I sat staring at the check in my hand. It would definitely help. I had an emergency fund, but this dwarfed it in comparison. Ten thousand dollars. I couldn’t quit my day job, but it would leave me open on weekends to spend more time with Levy, and to spend more time back stage, scouting out possibilities. I could talk to other bands. Maybe even build my own. The possibilities were endless. I felt like I’d just gained a new lease on life.

  Now if Grant would only allow me to live it in peace.

  A light knock on the door captured my attention. I looked up to find Tate standing in the doorway. “I’d ask if everything was alright, but it’s obviously not. Tell me what happened.”

  “You’ve officially hijacked my life.” Dropping my head, I pinched the bridge of my nose. I needed more Advil. A whole bottle full. “I’ve been ‘cut loose.’”

  “They fired you? Because of me?”

  “They think you’re my ticket to fortune and fame.”

  Sitting beside me on the couch, Tate took my hand. “I’m sorry, Coop. My offer still stands if you need help.” I flashed him the check, watched his brows rise to the center of his forehead. “Damn, that’s a nice severance for waiting tables.”

  “It’s all my tips from being on stage.”

  “Ah. The tip jar.”

  “Yeah, the tip jar.”

  “Did he give it to you before or after you called him an asshole?”

  “After.”

  “Good. I feel vindicated for you over the uniform.” Lifting my hand to his mouth, he kissed it. “So what do you plan to do?”

  “Sing. I might as well take advantage of the stage time.” Staring at all those yawning zeroes, I couldn’t squander the opportunity. “I earned this myself, but I can’t help feeling obligated to everyone here for believing in me. I don’t want to let them down.”

  “You won’t. It’s just a matter of time until you find the right label.”

  I thought he might ask me to sign under Hautboy Records, but I was relieved he didn’t. Mixing work and pleasure was a big no no. If things didn’t work out between us, it could get messy, something neither of us needed. At least in that, we were in full agreement.

  “You gonna be alright?”

  “I think so. Things are just happening so fast.”

  “Just remember to breathe, and don’t sweat it. You can handle this.” Standing, Tate offered his hand. “Come on. Your friend’s a little upset with himself. You need to go find him before he dismembers someone. He’s seriously fuckin’ huge. I thought he was going to pop my head off like a dandelion. If Evan wasn’t there to step in, I might’ve pissed my pants.”

  Temporarily distracted, I laughed. “I can’t believe you just admitted that.”

  “Hey, I know my limits. He would’ve trounced me.”

  “He needs to apologize to you, not me.”

  “Oh, he did. Sort of.”

  “He did or he didn’t, there’s no in between.”

  “He apologized for jumping to conclusions, but made it clear he’d use my face to mop the floors if I ever laid a hand on you.”

  “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you out there with him like that.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. I respect him for it. I think Evan’s considering hiring him on. We need another man since we lost Taylor’s brother a few weeks ago.”

  “Lost? I hope you mean no longer employed.”

  Tate grinned. “We didn’t lose him in the line of duty if that’s what you’re thinking. The chicks get crazy enough to bare their nails or pull out your hair, but they’re not going to shank anyone. He and his wife had a baby. He decided to stay closer to home.”

  “Oh, wow, now I feel dumb.”

  With his hand at the nape of my neck, Tate ushered me through the door, where Taylor and Evan stood waiting. They had their heads bent over Evan’s phone, but when they saw us come out of Billy’s office, Evan quickly closed the screen and slid it into his back pocket.

  “Where to?”

  Everyone turned to me expectantly. I lifted my shoulders. “Well, damn, why’re you all looking at me?” Tate was the boss.

  “You’re no longer employed here, Coop,” said Tate, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re free to do whatever you want.”

  “In that case, I think I’d like to sit at the bar. After today, I really need a drink.”

  Chapter 8

  “Please stop apologizing,” I said for the umpteenth time. No matter how many times I said it, Marshall wouldn’t give it a rest. I never thought such a large man could look so repentant.

  “You should listen to her,” Carter warned. “If you apologize again, she might kick you in the nuts.” Shifting in his seat, he cupped himself protectively.

  My face turned profusely
red. “I’m sorry! Ok? I’m sorry! How many times do I have to say it?”

  Carter scowled, his brows furrowed until a deep ‘V’ appeared between them. “I was trying to apologize to you, and you kicked me in the goddamn nuts!”

  “Just kick him in the nuts again,” Jake pleaded, winning a venomous scowl and a flip-off from Carter. “I can’t take his whining anymore, the little bitch. Ooooohhhhh she kicked me in the nuts! Someone get me some ice! I need ice for my nuts! Fucking pussy. Man up.”

  “Fuck you, Jake off.”

  “Ooh, original. I think my sister used that when she was fifteen.”

  Shaking his head, Tate leaned in close to my ear. “I didn’t invite them. Swear.” We found them at the bar, already half-loaded. Carter insisted we join them, having skipped out early from the picnic this afternoon. Really, he just wanted the opportunity to pester me.

  “They’re like the big brothers I never wanted,” I said, watching the two proceed to toss peanut shells at one another. Carter was throwing shells. Jake was throwing ice from my glass of water, that I was finished with, consequently.

  “As soon as you finish your routine, we can go.”

  Though I tried to repress a grimace, it must’ve shown, because Tate frowned, too. “I like them, really,” I assured. “It’s the routine, I’d rather not do.” If Carter harassed me this badly over my assault, he’d tease me mercilessly over the songs Billy chose for me tonight.

  “Because of the ‘twit’ songs?”

  My mouth popped open. “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “No, you were just loud.”

  “How much did you hear?”

  “Only the part where you told off your boss, but everyone in the hall heard that.” Taking a swig of his beer, he fought a grin. “Explain twit music. I’m pretty sure that’s not a genre.”

  Mildly satisfied, I let the subject drop. “Karaoke music. Prerecorded. But it’s not just that. They’re always just short of smutty. I’ve sang Shania, Peggy Lee, Nancy Sinatra, even Lady Marmalade by Labelle. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all good songs, but they come with a stereotype. People expect a pole dance to go with them.”

  “What about the songs you did last night? You think they weren’t smutty?”

  “I had to alter them or Billy wouldn’t have let me use them. Slow down the rhythm, draw out the chords and they would’ve been seductive instead of smutty. I wouldn’t have needed to use my body to draw in the crowd. I could’ve had them with my voice alone.”

  “Prove it.” Carter leaned forward in the booth, buoying his dare. “Your boss can’t pick your songs anymore. He’s already fired you. You have nothing to lose.”

  “Shut up, Carter,” Jake scoffed. “Why are you always picking on her? It’s no wonder she kicked you in the balls.”

  “Ignore him,” Tate added. “We all do.”

  “It’s fine. I can hold my own.” Leaning forward in the seat, I looked Carter in the eyes. “If I sing a cappella with an ovation, what do I get?”

  “No hip shakes or boob thrusting.”

  “Boob thrusting?”

  With a sexy pout and hooded eyes, Carter planted his hands on his hips and arched his back repeatedly, thrusting his chest forward. “Boob thrusting.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve never done that on stage.” It was good for a laugh, though. I almost spewed beer through my nose, watching Carter embrace his feminine side. “So what do I get?”

  “I’ll hand pick your band for you.” Carter Strickland was going to assemble a band for me? He was lit. He didn’t know what he was offering.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Does vanilla ice cream go with apple pie?”

  “If she loses?” Tate interjected, when I opened my mouth to accept. My smiled soured. Wow. Just wow. Did he really just diss me?

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “I know you can do it. I just want to make a point that Carter isn’t completely selfless. He always has an ulterior motive.”

  “It’s nothing unreasonable. I get to pick her next song.”

  “What song?” I asked. Tate was right. This could be bad. He could pick something like ‘My Neck, My back’ or something equally vulgar. Gah! What would I do then?

  “You said you’ve done Nancy Sinatra.”

  “These Boots Are Made for Walking.” It had to be the most requested song. I could kill Billy for arranging a men’s choice night. Still, it could’ve been much worse.

  “Bingo.” Smiling errantly, Carter tossed a peanut in his mouth. “When you sing that, you can hip shake and boob thrust all you want. In fact, I encourage it wholeheartedly.”

  “Come on, Coop,” Marshall spoke up. Offering his hand, he helped me from the booth. “You’re on in five.”

  Tate pressed a brief kiss to my lips before I could go. “Go kick Carter’s ass.”

  “Fine. I accept.” Carter and I shook on it, and then I made for the stage. Marshall led the way while Taylor took the rear. Evan and Derek stayed behind with the band. I felt like I’d stepped out of a fairy tale, though that could’ve been all the beer I drank. I had several bottles, attempting to numb the reality of my situation. Everything was going too smoothly. Deep down inside, I knew my string of good luck was bound to expire.

  “Are you nervous?” Marshall asked.

  “I think I might vomit.”

  “Piece of cake. You’ve got this.” Turning me toward him, he apologized yet again. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, Coop. I’m sorry for questioning you.”

  “It’s fine. It’s not like I haven’t used similar excuses before. Maybe if someone had called me on it back then, I would’ve left Grant sooner.” I wrapped Marshall’s torso in a brief hug. “Thanks for caring enough to ask.”

  “I’ll always have your back.” In Marshall-like fashion, he promptly deviated to a more comfortable topic. “What’s your line up?”

  “Get the girls together. It’ll buffer Carter’s mood when I nail this.” A tiny part of me worried that I’d screw up, but I quashed it down. I’d sung this song before, so I was confident that I could hit all the notes, and I knew the words by heart. After all, I wrote it.

  “You hate doing that routine.”

  “I do, but I’ve had a few drinks so I don’t really care right now.” Unable to contain my excitement, I began jumping in place. “I’m getting a band, Marshall! A BAND!”

  Consequently, I remembered how bad my back hurt, which quickly put a hamper on my giddy bouncing. “Damn,” I said, pressing a fist into my side. “I’m gonna feel that tomorrow.”

  Nonetheless, I was up. One by one, the band filtered offstage as they put down their instruments. Like last night, the heat was stifling. At least it would keep me somewhat limber.

  As the last band member walked off and I walked on, I prayed that I could hold my stomach down. The air smelled of beer and body odor, not a pleasant combination.

  I picked up the microphone and waited patiently for the noise to die down. “Thank you. Appreciate it.” Cupping his hands around his mouth, Carter shouted a lewd request. “No, Carter, I’m not going to take off my shirt. Sorry.” I had to pause for the catcalls and hooting to subside again. “And that’s totally cheating, by the way.”

  He was getting them wound up for a titty show and I was about to perform ‘in the manor of the church.’ Considering the majority of the audience was men, he might just succeed in getting me booed off the stage.

  “What’s that?” I placed my hand to my ear. “You’ll be my bitc—I mean bassist if I nail this performance?” Again, the audience erupted into a raucous clamor. Ha! Take that, Carter Strickland! Tit for tat was good for the ego. So were the six-pack of beers I drank. As you can imagine, I was feeling good. I had a decent buzz going on. I was feeling no pain.

  In my head, I changed my approach to something more attuned to their moods. Soulful wouldn’t cut it with this crowd. They needed something more upbeat.

  “Sweetheart,” Car
ter called over the crowd, “I know you’ll nail the performance; I’m just pointing out that you’ll sound much better unrestricted by all that clothing. It has to be confining.”

  Tate promptly emptied my remaining ice water on Carter’s lap. Carter gasped, sucking a sharp breath, suitably deterred from any further taunting and jeering. As the two commenced in a tense and more private conversation, I cleared my throat and raised the microphone.

  “Bear with me, boys, and I’ll give you a treat, but I have something I need to do first. Carter’s made me a challenge I can’t pass up. No, it has absolutely nothing to do with taking off my shirt.” They were persistent in their bid for boobs; I’d give them that. The good thing was I didn’t mind as long as I had Marshall and the stage between us. “Sorry.”

  At the far right of the stage, I heard one lonely call. “Cooooopeeerrrr!”

  Smiling, I closed my eyes, measured the beat of the music in my head. After testing the first few notes with a soft hum, I lifted the microphone again and purred the first few words. The next line, however, ended with a throaty growl, harmonizing my emotions with the lyrics.

  Where have you gone, the man I once loved

  This cruel game you play, I’m bloody sick of

  Your fists and your words, your barbs and slurs

  Cut me like a knife, why must you hurt

  Can’t take it no more, so I’ve gone away

  Now I’m free of, your coldhearted ways

  You can’t touch me, because I’m no longer yours, oh no

  I’m free of your will, and your evil lures

  I’m stronger now; don’t want you no more Mm mm

  I’ll never be, what I was before

  I’m not coming back; you’re no good for me

  I know what it’s like, to be finally free

  Now you’re all alone, and I’m better off

  You never loved, what you have now lost

  You never knew, what you have betrayed

  I gave you my heart, now I take it away

  Well, look at me babe, I’m hot as shit

  That thing we once had, I don’t miss it one bit