CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When a leather tan Mercedes limousine pulled off the highway and started for the house Billy ran to meet it. He wondered who it could be this time. It seemed nearly every country star in the world had come to visit John since he’d gotten out of the hospital. Several had been on tour in Europe for the past few months and Billy was hoping one of them had come home and come to see John. He wanted to meet them all! And his brother-in-law was his ticket to fulfill his dream.
The limo parked beside John’s brand new Chevy Silverado pickup and the back door was pushed open. A large white hat was what Billy saw first, then a tall, big man stood up in a light gray western cut suit. When the man looked up Billy recognized Allen Jackson and his hopes plummeted.
"Hi Allen, wanna see my new horse? He’s a beaut!" Billy said, having met Allen several times at the hospital. He wasn’t the famous Allen Jackson, but he was still a good guy and willing to do most anything for John and his family. Billy thought Allen might secretly be in love with Misty. He sure went out of his way to please her, Billy noticed.
"I’ll bet he is," Allen said placing a large hand on Billy’s back and walking toward the front porch with him. "Maybe I’ll take a peek after while. Right now, though, I gotta rouse John from his supper."
"John’s been actin’ funny lately," Billy said in a disappointed tone. "Like he’s scared or somethin’," he added.
"It’s called P.T.S.D., post traumatic stress disorder," Allen explained. "A lot of people get it after they’ve been hurt real bad. Like in a war or something."
"He was just shot," Billy said. "He wadn’t in a war!"
"Maybe he don’t know that," Allen said stepping up the porch steps and crossing to the door. "He, for the most part, trusted Danny and Danny tried to kill him for selfish reasons we may never understand fully."
"Danny was mad and jealous. John took Judy from him and he tried to take everything from John. He was sick! I hope he gets the death penalty!"
"He probably will," Allen said, opening the door and stepping inside.
John sat in the darkened study listening to his father’s recordings. Their voices were nearly indistinguishable from one another. He lay relaxed in a lazy-boy recliner staring at nothing.
Allen stood in the door and looked at him briefly, then came on in and sat on the sofa across from him. "You ‘bout through feelin’ sorry for yourself, John?" he asked in a mellow tone.
John glared at at him coldly.
"Yes, sir, your daddy’d be right proud of you ‘bout now if he could see you like this."
"Don’t bring my folks into this," John demanded, his anger quickly rising.
"You brought ‘em into it!" Allen accused. "Now, face the music, son. You’ve got a million fans out there you’re pissin’ on. They ain’t gonna put up with it for long."
"I wasn’t doin’ it for them, Allen!"
Allen looked at him coldly. "You like this house? Your new pickup? Billy’s horse? Your wife and son? The respect and adoration of millions of people all at once? If you do, and you want to keep ‘em, you’d better get off your duff and make ‘em some records. And make some appearances somewhere. If you don’t you’ll lose ‘em, Son. I can promise you that. This business is competitive. You either sing or sink. Your choice." As Allen said the last he stood up and stared honestly at John.
"Yeah and let some other nut take a crack at me? No thanks!"
"That was one in a million, John," Allen said, spreading his hands.
"Who say’s there ain’t two? Twenty? Five hundred?"
"Who’s to say there is? You wanna throw your life away and ruin your family in the process. That’s your decision. I’ll send the invitation from CMA back, declining, and you can drown in your fears in the dark, listening to a ‘has been’ while you fear the improbable.
"What about CMA?"
"You’ve been nominated for Entertainer of the Year. Among other things. You’ll probably not make it actin’ like ya’ are. Country fans don’t much like weak, tremblin’ cowards."
"I ain’t no coward," John said seriously. "Besides," he added softly, "I don’t even know if I can do it anymore."
"It’s a damn cinch I can’t do it for you," Allen said. "So, if it gets done, it’ll be up to you. It’s your reputation on the line and there ain’t but one way to find out. So, are ya comin’ or not?"
John stood up slowly, levering himself out of the chair, "Still a mite sore on the inside," he explained as he made his feet. He extended his right hand to Allen. "I ain’t very smart, Allen. But, I damn sure ain’t no coward, either!"
"Well, let’s go to the top, then," Allen replied, taking John’s hand and shaking it firmly while slapping him on the back.
When they came out of the house a few minutes later it was through the back door. Billy stood at the corral staring at the beautiful black Morgan gelding that John had bought him.
The stallion saw them coming and began to prance around excitedly. He stopped in front of Billy and stuck his velvety nose into the outstretched hand and licked up the sugar cube it held.
"They sure are beautiful creatures! Ain’t they? You rode ‘im yet," Allen asked before anyone could answer.
"Sure, lots of times," Billy replied. "He’s the greatest present I ever got from anyone. Except John," Billy said, smiling up at John. "I wish John was my dad and not my brother-in-law." Billy turned and crushed John in a hug.
"I love you too, Billy and I wish you were my son instead of my brother-in-law. So, that makes us even, don’t it?" John replied hugging the boy back.
"You always make me cry, John," Billy said, wiping his eyes. "But, I love you anyway!"
"I don’t mean to make you cry, Billy," John replied seriously.
"They’re happy tears," Billy said seriously. "Not sad ones. So, they’re okay, huh?"
"All tears should be happy tears, Billy," John agreed, wiping his own eyes.
"Come on now, let’s go make records, before I start blubberin’ too!" Allen said, turning away and started for the limo.
"Billy run tell your mom you’re goin’ with us," John said, shoving him forward gently.
John and Billy followed the limo to Austin and parked around back in the parking lot. They were in the studio less than five minutes later and John stood in front of the microphone with the Martin D-10 in his hands. When the music began to play, he didn’t. He stood relaxed but frozen.
"John, are you alright?" Toby asked from the mixing room.
John couldn’t answer. He slowly removed the guitar from around his neck and set it in the stand, then walked from the studio without a word. In the mixing room, Allen shook his head angrily and stomped out to meet him.
"What’s wrong with John?" Billy asked Toby.
Toby shrugged his shoulders and rewound the tape,
Allen caught John as he stepped from the studio. His face was red and his blood was near boiling. "If you want that boy in there to watch you fail, then keep stepping toward that door, John!" Allen said loudly.
"What’s the use, Allen?" John asked calmly. "My heart’s no longer in it."
"So you’re sayin’ you ain’t got nothin left to prove, that it? You’ve made it as far as you want to go, huh? Well, you ain’t the only one involved in this, son! What about your band? What’ll they do?"
"I don’t know, Allen," John replied, easing past him and taking a seat on the sofa.
"You figure it out, you let me know. But don’t you drag that boy down with you, he worships you, John! You’ll break his heart and I won’t stand for that. I’ll kill ya myself!"
Allen glared down at John, then turned and walked back into the mixing room and sat down. He stared silently at the suspended microphone and the Martin D-10 guitar.
John laid his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. He had never really thought about singing, so not singing really didn’t bother him that much. And as far as his band went, what did they do before signing on with him? They were obviously making a living. At least
they weren’t starving. So, if they broke up, so what? They had played with John Travis, Jr. The son of a legend and a singer on the road to becoming a legend like his father. In a sense they were famous, too. They were half of what made John Travis and the Travelers; without each other each was nothing.
John was still lost in thought when Janice came into the lobby from the song room as they had taken to calling the room where the unrecorded original demos were kept. She stopped and looked at him with wonder; there sat a legend in the country music business, and she stood not ten feet away from him.
As she crossed the room for the recording studio, John reached up, rubbed his face tiredly and sighed. She had no way of knowing that his mind was racing along at ninety to nothing and he was a million miles away from Jackson Recording. She smiled and walked toward him, thinking he was awake. It was hard to tell in the semi-light he sat in.
"John, can I ask a favor of you?" she asked nervously.
John opened his eyes at the sound of the beautiful, soft voice. He smiled seeing it was Janice Reeves. "Hi Janice. How are you?" he asked warmly.
That’s what she liked about John; he was always warm, positive and friendly to a no body like her.
"Great!" she exclaimed. "This is the most fun I’ve ever had! Making records and hearing them played on the radio! It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. Now, thanks to you, I’m really doing it!"
"You’re a very talented lady, Janice," he said honestly. "You deserve it."
"Thank you," she said with a large smile.
"Now, about that favor," he said, looking at her openly. "I’ll do it if I can. Just ask."
Janice became a little nervous. She had found a beautiful ballad that would make a perfect duo. She thought her and John’s voice would go together on it perfectly. She jumped in head first, wondering how deep the water really was. "I found this really great ballad by Towns Van Zant that would make a beautiful duo if we were to do it together. Would you counter me, please?"
"Aaaahhh!" John sighed sadly. "Everyone wants me to sing! But I don’t know if I can anymore," he said, then hung his head and scrubbed his face with his hands.
"And too scared to try; just in case, right?" she said, thinking of her own reluctance to try again after the death of her father. She sat easily beside him. "I was like that after the death of my father; while you were in the hospital recovering from the gunshots."
"What happened," John asked, turning halfway around on the sofa and laying his knee across the sofa between them.
By the time she had explained the whole thing she was in tears. John’s eyes were watery, too, feeling her sorrow. "What changed your mind?" he asked gently, holding her hands in his.
"You did," she replied honestly, wiping her eyes and laughing shyly at her tears.
"Me?" John asked surprised. "How, why?"
"When you were shot I realized we may only get one chance to do what we love and be famous at the same time. Then, when you didn’t die I knew it was because your mission here on earth wasn’t finished. You have thousands, maybe millions of fans counting on you to brighten their days just a little, so they can squeeze through today and face tomorrow," Janice said breathlessly, her eyes large and seriously honest.
"You think so?" John asked, thinking he had never looked at his singing like that before.
Janice nodded her head vigorously, then said, "I know so! Me and my daddy were two of those fans. I wanted to be like you; a beacon to guide the discouraged, but undefeated and undefeatable people who just need someone to show them the way in the darkness of uncertainty."
"I guess I’ve never really looked at it like that, Janice. I’m not real smart anyway," he said with a goofy expression and a smile.
"You don’t have to be smart to make people happy, John," she said seriously. "You just have to be there when they need you to be."
"I believe Momma and Daddy were proud of me, Janice. That’s really all I set out to do, you know?"
"America is proud of you John Travis!" she said, patting his hand with her own. "So why wouldn’t your parents be? You’re a beacon in the night; their port in the storm. You are their Bard!"
"Janice, I believe you’re an angel from Heaven!" he said. "Maybe my daddy sent you to me, because he knew you could be my port in this storm I’ve been stuck in. Let’s make your record…Hell, let’s break some records, too!”
They stood, hugged, exchanged kisses on the cheek and walked side by side to the recording room.
Just Beyond the Curve Page 32