by Dixie Cash
“Now, never say never, Debbie Sue,” Darla said. “You might turn out to be such a hit I have to take you on tour with me.”
“Oh, holy night, Christmas lights and Santa Claus,” Edwina said breathlessly. “Debbie Sue, wouldn’t that be something? What if Darla gets the Country Music Award for Entertainer of the Year? We could go up onstage with her. I can see it now.” She looked heavenward with a starry-eyed gaze. “I’ll tell all my ex-husbands to kiss my butt on national TV.”
“You’ve already told them to kiss your butt,” Debbie Sue said. “Several times, I might add.”
“But not on nation . . . wide . . . T . . . V, ” Edwina said with emphasis.
“Let’s not put the cart before the horse, Ed,” Debbie Sue said.
“Ladies, I’ve been out of contention for that award for years,” Darla said, laughing. “The performers who win do hundreds of shows in a year. My little tour would scarcely make a ripple.”
Tatts by Matt became animated. “And you starting with our little telethon is such an honor, Miz Denman. Are all of your people here?”
“Yep. Let’s knock some dust off this thing.”
As Mike and Eddie made their way to their instruments again, Debbie Sue and Edwina climbed the side stairs onto the stage and stood behind Darla.
“Listen,” Darla said, speaking in a low voice to avoid being overheard, “you haven’t explained why you’re calling him Tatts by Matt. That can’t be his name.”
“That’s the name of his business,” Debbie Sue replied. “Tatts by Matt is a tattoo parlor. He asked us to call him that because it’s his way of advertising.”
“I see,” Darla said, but the blank expression on her face said she didn’t get it. She cleared her throat and said, “Matt, honey, what do you say we run through a couple of numbers now with full lighting? Let these ladies get accustomed to the bright lights.”
“Perfect.” Tatts by Matt agreed. “Let’s get you girls in place. I’m sure I don’t have to tell Miz Denman where to stand.”
Taking Debbie Sue and Edwina each by an arm, he steered them to a couple of microphones just behind the single one at front center stage. “Pole mikes are kind of old school,” he explained. “Most performers nowadays choose the head gear apparatus, but Mr. Denman wanted these for the nostalgic look.” He stood each woman behind her individual mike and went on, “I have to admit I like the look too. Also, it gives you something to hold on to when the music gets emotional. He’s got a good eye for showmanship, Mr. Denman does.”
“How close do we need to stand?” Edwina asked, moving back and forth from the microphone.
“It doesn’t matter. Your mike won’t be on, but it’ll look more authentic to the audience if you stand close.”
“The mike won’t be on?” Edwina asked.
“Ed, did you forget?” Debbie Sue said. “We’re not singing. Only Darla is singing. All we’re doing is mouthing. Mouth and move and sway. Mouth, move, sway. Only,” Debbie Sue added with finality.
“I know that,” Edwina said. “But she might appreciate me singing. I don’t have that bad of a—”
“Mouth. Move. And sway. Got it? Ed, I don’t want you embarrassing us.”
“How could it embarrass us if I’m the one singing?”
“Because I’m the one who’ll have to beat the shit out of you and that will embarrass me. I still haven’t forgotten the result of that karaoke bit in that hotel in New York.”
“Oh,” Edwina said in a tiny voice. “Okay, okay already.”
Turning his attention to Mike and Eddie, Tatts by Matt said, “Looks like y’all are all set up. I’m going to find a seat in the audience and enjoy.”
Darla waited until he found a seat. Then she looked over her right shoulder to Eddie and Mike. “You boys ready? Let’s run through Whispers from West Texas. That’s one this crowd should appreciate.” Turning back to the left, she asked, “You gals know that song well enough to lip-sync?”
“I’ll say,” Edwina piped up. “That was the lullaby I sang my babies to sleep with.”
Darla smiled and turned back toward the audience, raising her hand in what Debbie Sue imagined was a signal for the band to begin. And they did.
The mournful sound that could only be captured by an electric guitar unfurled a tender introduction and Darla stepped to her spot and sang.
For the second time that day Debbie Sue was transfixed. She had never heard Darla Denman sing in person and was pleasantly surprised that her voice was richer and stronger than a recording could capture and that she sang perfectly on key. She sang a song so heartfelt that anyone who had ever experienced a broken heart must have felt it shatter again, and those who hadn’t had to be suddenly made aware of the torture it could bring.
She stole a glance in Edwina’s direction and to her horror saw that she was engaged in some sort of sign language, seemingly putting action to the words of the song like a hula dancer telling a story with her hands.
Reaching over, she grabbed Edwina’s wrist, stopping her. “What in the hell are you doing?” she stage-whispered.
“I’m giving the song a face,” Edwina whispered back, continuing to undulate her opposite hand. “You know, character. Something the listener can relate to. A visual image.”
“Edwina Perkins-Martin, I want you to look closely at my face. If you continue with this bullshit I’m going home. I will not do this with you.”
Suddenly the music stopped and Darla turned in their direction. “Is there a problem, ladies?” The question came at them in a stern, all-business tone. “I thought we had a clear understanding of your role.”
“Absolutely clear, Darla, er, uh, Miz Denman,” Debbie Sue stammered. “We won’t interrupt you again. Sorry.”
“And may I just say,” Edwina said, “you have never sounded better.”
“Well, thank you. Now, can we continue?”
“Sure,” Edwina said. “Let’s take it from the top.” She turned to Debbie Sue. “If that’s all right with you, Freddie Lou.”
“Bite me, Ed,” Debbie Sue said. Looking at Darla, she shrugged her shoulders. Darla turned back to face the auditorium.
Debbie Sue knew that in resurrecting her career, Darla had prepared for many obstacles. She only hoped it could withstand Edwina Perkins-Martin.
But perhaps her fears were unfounded. For the next three tunes Edwina behaved perfectly and Debbie Sue was able to let down her guard. Teetering on her red high heels, swaying her hips, she pressed her lips in a phony hum and watched and listened to Darla as she finished her closing number. The singer still had it, Debbie Sue thought. She could still belt out a honky-tonk tune with the best of them.
Bob called from the middle row of the auditorium, “Darla, I’d say that’s a wrap.”
Darla shielded her eyes as she looked toward the direction of the voice. “I think so too.”
Debbie Sue whispered to Edwina, “What do you think that means?”
“I think he means we’re finished. You know, wrap it up,” Edwina whispered back.
“You mean we’re finished?” Debbie called out to Bob. “But I hardly did a thing.”
“But what you did do was spectacular.” Bob said, having made his way down the aisle and onto the stage. “You girls were terrific. There won’t be a soul in the house who’ll think you’re lip-syncing. Debbie Sue,” he said, singling her out, “when Darla hit that big long note and you grabbed the mike and stepped back, your face mirrored the pain and misery she was singing about. That was fantastic. Your instinct for stage dramatization was dead-on. Try to do that again tomorrow night.”
As Bob and Darla walked away, Edwina propped a hand on her hip and leaned in to Debbie Sue. “What was all this ‘don’t embarrass me’ bullshit you bitched at me about? You’re over there being all dramatic and after what you said to me, I was afraid to move.”
“Dammit, Ed, I don’t even know what stage dramatization is. My ankle buckled and I fell off my shoe. I grabbed that mike stand for b
alance, like that skinny little thing could keep me from falling on my ass.”
“Oh, hell, I’m sorry,” Edwina said. “Why didn’t you grab me instead?”
Debbie Sue began to giggle. “I just figured it would better if only one of us had her legs up in the air instead of both of us.”
Both women broke into laughter that halted only when Darla came over. “I’ve never in my life seen two people have more fun together,” she said.
Roxie approached, looking bored and detached. “What’s keeping us from going back to whatever the name of that town is we came over here from?”
Until that moment, the three of them had been oblivious to Roxie joining them. “You don’t have a very good memory, do you, Roxie?” Debbie Sue said.
“I have an excellent memory for the things that matter.”
“Believe it or not, knowing where you come from is pretty damned important. And it oughtta matter.”
Roxie gave Debbie Sue the head-to-toe. “Not if you know where you’re going. And I have a real clear view of that.”
Without looking back, she sashayed over and sidled up to Bob, who was speaking to someone on the far end of the stage.
“Oh, I just can’t stand her,” Debbie Sue said. “I’m sorry, Darla, but she’s impossible. Does she piss off everyone, or is it just me?”
“Oh, she’s not so bad once you get to know her. She’s—Oh, hell, who am I kidding? Everyone in the group would like to flush her head in the toilet.”
Chapter Eleven
Due to being able to use the stage and equipment in only bits and snatches, the rehearsal had taken all day, but it had gone without a hitch. Still, Darla was in a black mood. Memories mixed with the current state of her affairs sometimes did that to her, even though her good sense told her that thinking back on past mistakes was like trying to un-ring a bell, and walking on the splintered glass of memories didn’t change anything but your attitude.
Her entourage milled around the stage, talking and joking, and she tried to mix in, but wasn’t doing it very well.
“It’s getting late,” Bob said. “Let’s gather up and go back to Salt Lick and eat and rest.”
A collective agreement came from the group. Darla headed for the exit alone. Dark had descended, but she stepped outside into the well-lit parking lot. She walked toward the borrowed pickup, but the closer she got to it, the less appealing spending another evening under the same roof with the current Mr. and Mrs. Denman became. Her two new backup singers were walking a distance away. “Hey, ladies,” she hollered, and waved. The two women stopped, then came toward her. “Which one of you knows how to make a good margarita?” she asked.
Edwina gave her a big grin. “I’m in negotiations this very minute with Jose Cuervo to put my picture on his bottles of tequila.”
These two women were so likeable. Darla’s melancholy began to fade. “I knew it. You can’t come to Texas and not find someone who makes a good margarita. Do you put Grand Marnier in it?”
“Does the male animal leave the toilet seat up?” Edwina drawled.
“Then if you don’t mind the intrusion, I’d like to go home with one of you tonight. I’m not up to being nice to Roxie this evening.”
“Hey, both our husbands are out of town,” Debbie Sue said. “We’ll have a slumber party. Like kids. We can flip a coin whose house.”
“No, let’s not,” Edwina said. “My trailer looks like somebody went through it with a leaf blower. Let’s go to your house, Little Homemaker Debbie Sue.” She turned to Darla. “Her house is always cleaner than a starving man’s dinner plate.”
“That’s only because Buddy likes it that way,” Debbie Sue replied.
Edwina cackled and said to Darla, “You have to overlook her. She’s whipped. That man of hers—”
“I am not whipped. It isn’t just Buddy who likes things tidy. I like everything neat too. We don’t have any kids running around, so we don’t have any excuse for it being messy.”
“You don’t have kids?” Darla asked, surprised. Being childless herself, she always found a kinship with the rare woman who didn’t have children. Back when she had been at an age when she might have borne children, her only interest had been her career. “I just assumed you did.”
“I’ll go get my pickup and drive it over here,” Debbie Sue said. “No need in all of us walking all the way to it.” She appeared to be fishing her keys from her jeans pocket as she walked away, but Darla had noticed that she had ignored the question and comment about children.
“Oh, Edwina,” Darla said, mortified and watching Debbie Sue trek toward a red Silverado. “I said something that hurt her feelings. I wouldn’t have done that for the world, I just assumed—”
“Oh, hon, don’t blame yourself,” Edwina said. “That’s a story we’d need several drinks to get into.”
Debbie Sue wished she hadn’t let the comment about kids slip out of her mouth. She and Buddy might have buried their son’s tiny body in the Salt Lick cemetery years ago, but the memory was as fresh as if they had lost him only yesterday. She knew she could count on the talk of kids not coming up again, because Edwina knew to steer the conversation away from that tender spot in Debbie Sue’s heart.
Ten minutes later she and her two companions were headed toward Salt Lick. Like giant candles, flames showed in various distant spots against the black horizon—gas being burned off from oil wells. Cabell County had almost as many oil wells as people.
“Haven’t seen that in years,” Darla murmured from the backseat. “My daddy worked in the oil fields, you know.”
She began to quietly hum and sing along with the radio. The soft sounds were soothing and Debbie Sue stared out the windshield as if on autopilot. The tension that had squeezed her shoulders and spine all day began to ease and the knots in her muscles began to untie.
“Hey.” An all-too-familiar voice next to her broke the silence. “You trying to see how slow you can drive before the engine rolls over and dies, or what?”
Debbie Sue’s eyes popped wide and she looked at the speedometer. She was driving ten miles an hour. Hell, she usually didn’t even get in the pickup until it was going at least twenty. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d driven up a paved road at less than seventy. “Whoa! Guess I was getting too relaxed.” She laughed, punching the accelerator and kicking up the speed to what was, for her, normal.
“I don’t think there’s any such thing as being too relaxed,” Darla said. “It seems like I’m always wound tight about something or someone.”
“Then you’re in for a treat,” Edwina exclaimed. “Tonight we all get the full treatment. Mango masks, manicures and margaritas.”
“Yum,” Darla replied. “Those are some of my favorite things that start with the letter M.”
“Men aren’t on that list?” Edwina said.
“Nope. For me the word men begins with the letter E. Eligible men.”
Debbie Sue laughed. “Spoken like a woman with a good head on her shoulders.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Darla said, “but I’ve learned a thing or two in this ol’ world.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, isn’t there a man in your life now?” Edwina said.
“Ed, that’s personal,” Debbie Sue said.
“Oh, that’s okay, Debbie Sue,” Darla replied, “I don’t mind her asking. Nope, I don’t have anyone in my life. Not sure I ever will have again. I’ve had four husbands, you know. Some would say I’ve had my share.”
Debbie Sue was sure she heard a hint of wistfulness in Darla’s tone. “And speaking of mango masks,” she said, hoping to change the subject, “that woman Valetta Rose put this crap on my face and it feels like paste. I can’t wait to wash it off.”
“It might feel like paste, but under stage lights, it makes your face look luminous,” Darla said.
“I didn’t let her touch my makeup,” Edwina said. “She might be a makeup artist, but nobody paints my face but me.”
/> “She’s sure a quiet one,” Debbie Sue said. “I haven’t heard her say two words. What’s her story, Darla?”
“I don’t have a clue,” Darla answered. “I met her for the first time when we boarded the bus back in Nashville. She was Roxie’s idea. I told that overbearing girl I couldn’t afford to pay a makeup artist, but Roxie said she wanted a professional and she’d take care of it out of her own pocket. Or I should say, Bob’s pocket.” Darla laughed. “I’m like you, Edwina. I’ve done my own makeup for years. Never used a pro, but with this new high def they talk about all the time, Roxie might have the right idea.”
“Oh, hell, I forgot about that,” Edwina said. “Remind me to add an extra layer of foundation. I might be ready for my big moment in front of the camera, but this forty-year-old face definitely ain’t ready for high def.”
“Is that so?” Debbie Sue said. “How come your face is five years younger than the rest of you?”
Edwina huffed indignantly. “I was speaking in general.”
When they neared Salt Lick city limits, Debbie Sue slowed her speed. They turned the corner where the Styling Station was located and headed out of town toward Debbie Sue’s home.
“Looks like everything’s okay in the shop,” Edwina remarked.
From out of the blue, Darla said, “Roxie always gets what she wants. By hook or crook, she always gets her way. Turns out that might work out in Mike’s favor. He and Valetta Rose shared the bedroom last night.”
“The hell,” Edwina said. “I hadn’t pegged them as a couple.”
“I’m not saying anything happened between them,” Darla said. “I don’t know and don’t care. All I know is they shared a bedroom. Hell, tonight she might be sharing with Eddie. Nothing would surprise me. There’s just no telling. It’s like the old pea under the shell game, you never know what you might find.”
Darla smirked.
“The hell,” Edwina said again. “Musical beds among the musicians, huh?” She chortled at her own joke. “Musical beds. Musicians. Get it?”