by K. G. Reuss
She turns to me, looking me up and down with her cat-like eyes, before turning back to the bartender coming her way. Apparently, she’s passed judgment and finds me lacking. He places two bottles in front of her.
“Shit, Mike. They’re for Richie.”
“I got it,” he says, annoyed, stopping himself from twisting the caps. He takes them away and comes back with two longnecks, pops the caps off for her, and slides them her way.
“Thanks, Mike.”
Her full beaming smile makes my heart jump in my chest. She turns in my direction, sliding sideways from between the two stools with the beers held high so they don’t get bumped and spill. Her elbow brushes my shoulder, and a burst of tingling heat rushes up my spine. I swing my stool around to watch the show, praying to God she pours one of those all over him.
Instead, she slams the beers down on the table in anger, and pastes on an overly happy, fake smile. “Here are your drinks. I poisoned one of them, but I can’t remember which one.” She taps a perfectly manicured finger against her lips sardonically, then switches the beers around on the table, and shrugs her shoulders. “Good luck,” she says and walks away, the back of her dress flouncing with the sway of her ass.
I burst out laughing. The deep timbre of my voice makes the man sitting next to me jump, but I don’t care. I like her. She’s got brass balls.
“Hello. Hello.” A man in a cowboy hat stands center stage and taps the mic to get everyone’s attention. “Are we ready for more talented ladies and gents this evening?” The crowd cheers and whistles loudly. “We’ve got an amazing second-set line-up for you this evening. Can we raise our hands and hats for Mr. Luke Boyd?”
Luke walks onto the stage and takes a seat in the chair, next to the piano player and nods to him in greeting. He lays his musical contraption across his legs. Never looking out at the crowd, the piano player starts the song Luke’s been practicing, “Stars in Alabama” by Jamey Johnson. A few seconds into the piano intro, Luke starts singing, and I stand up in surprise, knocking the bar stool over. He’s played this song a hundred times over the last few days and not once did he sing it.
Holy fuck! He’s blowing my mind. The chorus arrives, and he slides his fingers nimbly across his girlfriend’s body making her purr like a kitten stretched out in the summer sun.
Fucking beautiful.
I’m so excited. I edge closer to the stage. My whole body is vibrating with the notes he’s releasing. I can’t believe Derek is missing this.
The lights dim to the somberness of the song while couples hold hands and sway back and forth, listening to Luke’s sad longing for home and his mama.
The song ends, and the crowd goes wild as the lights turn back up.
“Fucking beautiful, man,” I yell out over the crowd.
Luke stands and takes a bow, still never looking out at the crowd.
I meet him by the edge of the stage and slap his back with congratulations. “Man, that blew my mind. You never told me you could sing like that. It was nothing compared to the night I met you. You’ve been holding back. You were awesome up there.”
“Nah, I’m not any good. I’m just a steel guitar player.”
“That’s right, Luke. Stay humble. I can appreciate that.”
It takes us a moment to walk back to the bar with everyone stopping and congratulating him on a song well sung. He’s got a smile on his face a mile wide, and if he never makes it big, he’s got this moment to show he tried.
“C’mon, Luke. Let’s pack her up and get over to Hotel Indigo for their open-mic night. We need to ride this hot streak while there’s still heat left in it.”
“Then let’s go.”
Seven
Carter
Luke purrs out another two songs at the Hotel Indigo to a massive round of applause. Call me biased, but the claps he received were much louder than the five people who took the stage before him. A few people approach him afterwards, handing him business cards about singing and playing at other locations.
My heart has this funny little twinge in it watching him mix and mingle with people, making his dreams come true. Luke Boyd is charismatic, and suddenly, I know he’s going to do well in this town.
We head back to where the bus is parked on a side street around 2:00 AM. Rain is coming down in buckets, but it’s not hard enough to drown out a couple fighting in the back parking lot. We round the corner and see a man and woman arguing beside a car. The back door gapes open, revealing a third woman inside, half-dressed. The man’s shirt is untucked and buttoned crooked. His arms flail about as he raises his voice at the woman. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened here.
We intend to mind our own business until the man starts calling her names and airing out their dirty laundry for the whole world to hear. I’m not sure how that solves the problem of his cheating ways, but he’s serving up some pretty low-blows verbally about her cold heart and lack of services in the bedroom.
We reach the street corner. When I hear the word “cunt”, I can’t stand it anymore. I hate that word, probably because I heard it one too many times from my dad about my mother. I turn around and head over to where they are, placing myself in the center of their scene.
“It’s quite obvious what’s going on here. There’s no reason to call her names and embarrass yourself publicly like this. Just take your side-piece and go.” I glance sideways at the woman I’m protecting and see it’s the woman from the Basement with the silver dress and balls the size of Texas. Why is she with this piece of shit?
“Don’t get involved in this, man. Just take your Guido ass back to New York or New Jersey or wherever you came from and stay out of this,” he says.
What a fucking moron.
“C’mon, Teddy. Let’s go.” He grabs for her arm, but she steps back from his reach.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she growls from behind me.
“If you don’t come with me, you can kiss your singing career goodbye. I’ll make sure you never sing in this town again.”
“Well, it’s not like it was going that far when you were helping me sing. So, I’ve lost nothing, you rat weasel. You’re nobody in this town, Richie.”
He lunges at her, and she goes at him with me in the middle as a buffer. Luke jumps Richie from behind and drags him off us both. He squirms out of Luke’s hold and pulls his car keys out of his pocket.
“Fuck this, you dumb bitch.” He looks at the chick in the backseat and tells her to get up front, and she scurries to obey.
“Hey, honey,” Teddy leans down to yell at the woman in the front seat, “when he gets you into bed, he likes to fuck from behind, which is nice because you won’t have to see his face. Just keep in mind, you have to bend forward and down real low because his dick is so tiny, it doesn’t really reach. Just moan a lot and scream out God’s name. He’ll come soon enough, and you can go to sleep.” She winks at her, before Richie flips his middle finger at her and speeds out of the parking lot, splashing muddy water on us as he goes.
“You got somewhere to go?”
She looks at me and blinks, her magnificent green eyes are round and filled with worry. Then she looks at Luke and takes a few steps backward.
“We won’t hurt you. We just want to make sure you’re going to be OK. Can we take you somewhere?”
“I’ll find someplace to go. Shit,” she says, looking down at her sopping wet dress and shoes which are now covered in mud.
“What do you need? Some clothes, some money, what?” Luke asks, pulling out his wallet and waiting for her to speak.
“I won’t take your money, so put it away.” She turns and starts to walk toward the main street.
“If you need anything, just come to the big black RV with the silver flames painted on the side,” I yell, hoping she hears me.
She raises her hand in acknowledgement but keeps walking.
“Some people would rather choke on their troubles than ask for help. I don’t get it.”
I haven’t been able to sleep for three days. I’d like to say it’s the excitement of watching Luke’s dreams come true, or that my medication is letting me enjoy my adventure, but weirdly, there’s a homeless, silver lioness somewhere in this city, and I can’t erase her from my mind.
Teddy.
I’ve never once worried about a chick. I never chase them down. I’ve never cared because there’s always another one two feet away willing to suck my cock for the chance at the non-existent diamond I’d never put on her finger.
But Teddy… There’s something about her that’s doing laps in my mind.
I’m worried about her. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling that something isn’t right, and I have no control over it. Knowing she’s out there and I have no idea where—or even worse, where he is or what he’s done to her—is fucking with my head. And I didn’t think anything could do that, outside of the tumor feasting on it.
She could be anywhere. I pick up my phone and type “Teddy Nashville” into Google. How many Teddy’s could there be. It’s an old name. Hell, I have no idea how to find her, and my search only leads me to some dude who’s definitely not the silver angel I’m looking for.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the phone as I close the search engine. The dark circles and eye bags are getting monstrous. I open my camera app and turn it around to see my face. Studying it, I swear I have a few more wrinkles than last week. Fuck. I might be trying to turn over a new leaf, but I still want to look good when they place my stiff body in the impeccable, new William Westmancott bespoke suit I plan to wear as I’m leaving this world.
A heavy rain starts to pound down on the RV.
A sudden knock on my bedroom door draws my attention. “Yeah,” I reply half-heartedly.
Derek slides the door open and stares at me for a moment. “We were going to head out for some breakfast, but with this rain, I think maybe we can hold off for a while. It might pass, but I know you need to take your medicine. You look like shit. How’re you feeling?”
“I’m fine. My stomach is a little upset right now.” I push the curtain back, holding it with my hand, and look up at the sky. Big, thick clouds of gloom have spread across the city. “I don’t think this is going to roll out of here anytime soon. Welcome to spring.”
Right before I let the curtain fall back, I see her. Teddy. She’s standing at the front of the church lot we’re parked in. I get to my knees on the bed as fast as I can and slide the curtain all the way to the end of the rod for a better look.
Yep. It’s her.
Pushing Derek out of my way, I throw the door open and run frantically toward her in my socks.
“Teddy. Teddy,” I holler, waving my hand at her. Jesus, why did we have to park in the farthest corner of the lot? It’s not like I’m out of shape. Hell, before I got sick, I worked out every day. I was a solid wall of muscle. But this fucking cancer is killing me.
Teddy starts to turn, looking left and right, probably to decide which way she should run.
“Don’t leave. Wait.”
She turns back to me and stands still with her arms crossed waiting, as the rain soaks her hair and clothes. When I reach her, I have to bend over and catch my breath. I raise my finger to let her know I need another minute. I stand up straight, but my hand flies to my chest as a bad spasm wracks it.
“Jesus Christ, don’t die on me here. Take your time.”
My eyes flash to hers. Does she know I’m dying? Do I look that sickly and bad?
“Are you all right? I’ve been worried sick about you,” I wheeze in between the words as I speak.
Her brow wrinkles in confusion. “Me? Why? You don’t know me.”
“No, but I know what that piece of gutter trash you were living with can do to women, and I was worried, OK? He should be putting you on that stage instead of trying to get it on with the new talent.”
“Are you a talent agent? You know, for that guy who plays the steel guitar,” her voice takes on a higher pitch, and her eyes sparkle.
“Hell no. I just like the way he plays and offered to give him a ride to Nashville.”
“Oh, I thought maybe you were a talent agent,” she says, her shoulders droop and any excitement that was in her eyes before fades quickly. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine so you don’t have to worry anymore.” She turns and starts to walk away.
“You got a place to stay and some food? A job to help you out, maybe?” I ask.
Though her back is to me, I see her body go stiff.
The rain pelts down on both of us. She turns her head slightly and asks over her shoulder, “What do you care?”
“I’m just trying to do some good deeds on this planet. Pay it forward or something like that. How can I help you?”
“If you aren’t a talent agent, then you can’t help me.” She shoves her hands underneath her soaked sweatshirt to keep them warm and walks away slowly.
“Like I said before, you need anything, you come to the black RV,” I holler at her back as she crosses the street and disappears into the alley.
She doesn’t raise her hand this time to acknowledge me or anything. Some people are just too damn stubborn for their own good. I make my way back across the parking lot in my sopping wet socks, cursing every now and again when I step on a pebble.
Diary
Day 11
Sorry I haven’t journaled in a few days. The road adventure kind of came to a standstill the minute we pulled into Nashville, while other adventures have taken off. I’m not sure which ones I should detail here, but after thinking about it, I say “fuck it”. You’re going to hear about them all moving forward, but I’ll start with the most recent developments.
After chasing down Teddy in the middle of a storm, then choking down some breakfast, I got a call from Rising Star Records. It seems they want to meet with Luke, so I set it up for tomorrow morning. They offered to send a car, but I think we’ll show up stylin’ in my Benz, so they know where to start the bidding. I won’t let them undervalue his talent.
I want to get him started on the right track, but I also want to get on with my own adventures. This town has been great for a few days, but I’m ready to leave.
On the Teddy front, well, I don’t know what to say. There’s something there my brain won’t let go of. I’ve never helped a damsel in distress before. I’m not even sure she’s in distress because she won’t tell me anything. Most women I know tell me their whole fucking story in one night. This chick’s like a clam. I’m going to have to pry the pearl out of her because she won’t give it up easily.
But just like Luke, fate seems to have placed her on this adventure, and I need to make sure we all make it through. If I ever see her again, that is. God knows she’s a constant on my mind. With every ounce of hope I have left, I pray I get one more chance to see her.
Eight
Carter
“I feel like a horse's ass in this outfit, Carter,” Luke whines at me.
With a roll of my eyes, I step away and survey how he looks in one of my suits and a tie. We are pretty damn close in size.
But he’s right. He does look unnatural.
“Fine,” I relent, frowning. “Wear whatever makes you comfortable, Luke.”
“Thank you, sweet baby Jesus,” he says, tugging the silk Armani tie off and chucking it aside. I snatch it up and place it back in the drawer, wondering how the hell he’s made it so far not knowing how to care for a tie. Knowing he needs some privacy, I move to the living area of the Beastmaster and flop down next to Molly.
“He’s worse than a damn woman,” Derek says, jerking a thumb in the direction of my room where Luke is probably tugging a red, plaid shirt over his head.
I laugh with him, wincing as my head throbs. I clutch at it, wanting to rock back and forth in the fetal position until the pain passes.
“Fuck,” I hiss, my eyes waterin
g.
“Carter, you OK?” Derek is on his feet, standing over me, his hand on my shoulder. My breath is deep and ragged for a moment before I get my shit together, and the pain subsides.
“Yeah,” I say after a moment, shaking my head, my hands twitching. That was a real bitch. I frown at my fingers, a strange tingling in them.
“You sure? You look like something’s wrong,” Derek pressed, concern written all over his face.
“I have a fucking brain tumor and six months to live. Of course, something’s wrong,” I mutter.
“No need to be a dick about it,” Derek volleys back, rolling his eyes at me. I let out a soft chuckle at him. I’ve got to hand it to him, he doesn’t put up with my shit. With Derek on my case, I know I can’t sit around feeling sorry for myself.
Before I can retort because calling him an ass feels right in that moment, Luke comes out of the bedroom looking as country as a fucking sack of potatoes.
“I’m surprised you didn’t go with the red plaid,” I say, nodding at him.
He grins, his eyes twinkling. “Blue plaid seemed more formal.”
“Is that a Chevy belt buckle?” Derek asks, a dark eyebrow raised.
“Sure is,” Luke proclaims, lifting his girl into his arms. It’s hard to suppress my laughter, so I clap him on the shoulder.
“You ready to do this?”
“No,” he breathes out. “But yeah. It’s now or never.”
“Then let’s go change some lives, Luke Boyd.”
Glen Andrews, owner of Rising Star Records, stares wordlessly at Luke as he finishes crooning an original he’s been working on. The blissful sounds of honky-tonk heaven and the good life are still hanging in the air around us.