by Pamela Morsi
She nodded as if she accepted his excuse, but Red was pretty sure she didn’t.
They stood looking at each other for another long, slightly uncomfortable half minute before Cam broke the spell.
“It was great to run into you, Tash,” he said and then turned to Red. “I’d better go find Daniel and the girls. I’ll see you back at home.”
A minute later he disappeared into the crowd and Tasha made a hasty excuse to return to the MiniMules table.
So that was the wife he might have had, Red thought to herself. Tasha was indisputably attractive. She was also young and smart and stylish and well-educated. But she wasn’t exactly the spontaneous type. She wouldn’t be very suited to the honky-tonk musician’s lifestyle. And she didn’t seem as if she would be very much fun.
Red felt a very self-satisfied smile spreading across her face. Their breakup may have been a teenage heartbreak, but it was a great stroke of luck for them both.
Red returned to her cupcake-pushing crusade. For a bespectacled redheaded kid who reminded her of herself at that age, she managed to find the very last of the sugar-free/salt-free/gluten-free non-dairy. The girl looked at it as if it were the miracle she’d always been waiting for.
By the end of the evening, most of the cupcakes were gone and the kids who came by for seconds were not among the more picky variety. EMS had not been called to the scene for anyone and Red considered that a personal victory.
At ten minutes before nine, Tasha came over and ordered Red to “close up and break down the table.”
She decided to translate that directive on her own terms and began loading up the few leftover cupcakes in the pastry boxes they had come in.
By the time she got down to the decorations, Tasha had returned and was efficiently breaking them down and boxing them up.
“These are mostly Carson’s,” she said. “Do you want me to drop them by her house or do you want to take them to her?”
“I don’t know where she lives,” Red answered.
Tasha raised an eyebrow as if the answer surprised her. “I thought you two were friends,” she said.
Red wasn’t quite sure how to answer that, so she tried to go mostly with honesty is the best policy.
“I’m not really ‘friends’ with anyone in this town,” she said. “I know a few people, but not very well.”
“Except for Campbell Early,” Tasha said.
“Yes,” Red answered simply.
A moment of silence stretched very broadly between them as Red snatched up the tablecloth and began folding it. She needed to be careful. Just because Cam was no longer in love with this woman and because she could never have been happy with him didn’t mean that she couldn’t be a lot of trouble for Red. A wounded raccoon was sometimes as dangerous as a bear.
“I’m sure Carson was quick to let you know that Cam was once my steady boyfriend.”
“I think she did mention that,” Red answered, deliberately smiling. “But I believe she got the story all wrong.”
“Wrong?” Tasha was looking straight at her, her brow furrowed.
“Sarah seemed to think that Cam broke up with you,” Red said. “But when I asked him about it, he said that you broke up with him.”
“Oh yes, I did break up with him,” Tasha agreed.
“It’s so long ago, it’s a miracle that either of you even remember.”
Red thought she’d handed her the perfect end-of-conversation line. All she needed to do was make a joke about days of old and an ancient former obsession with Pearl Jam. They would both share a little chuckle and the topic would never come up again.
“I broke up with him,” Tasha said. “But it was his fault.”
“Yeah, well, in some way it always is,” Red tried again, with the oft-used, tried-and-true, men-are-pigs diversion.
She didn’t take that lifeline, either.
“I still very much care for Cam,” she stated instead. “But I love my sons. Trent and Tyler are the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Red wasn’t sure what that had to do with it, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t need to, Tasha seemed determined to tell her anyway.
“I am so glad that he’s finally found someone like you,” she said.
Red was immediately on guard. Her back stiffened and her eyes narrowed. She was ready to mop the floor with this snotty twit.
“What exactly do you mean, ‘someone like me’?” she asked with deliberate, dangerous evenness.
“Someone who’s already had a family,” Tasha replied. “I mean, it was all easy to understand with his mother and what he went through. But getting a vasectomy at eighteen, well that is just more than almost any teenage girl can get her mind around.”
To: [email protected]
November 2 10:14 a.m.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Disaster!
Mom you will not believe what my father did. I am SO angry. ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY. We went to see Abuela this morning and she was not there. She finished her rehab and Dad had her moved to some nursing home in the Valley. THATS THREE HOURS AWAY. Why would he do that? STUPID STUPID STUPID.
The Red person just made excuses for him. She said that he must have tried to call us and didn't get us and then forgot that he didn't tell us. That he must have thought since we are busy in school that she would be better off down there close to her sister and her sister's family.
That's maybe what SHE would have done. I can't stand her. Dad probably called and she forgot to tell us and now she blames it on him.
No. She wouldn't of taken us out there if she knew Abuela wasn't there anymore. It is Dad. He is the one who messed up and makes me SO MAD!!!!!!!!!
Daniel cried. Right there in the rehab place in front of nurses and people. It was awful. At least Red didn't shush him or nothing like that. She hugged him and patted him.
I guess trying to be Abuela. No way. She told him we could drive down to the Valley tomorrow. That is Sunday and if we go we will miss church. Red said that God will understand. But I don't think she knows much about that. I will let you know.
Livy
19
The days after the Harvest Party were so busy that Red hardly had time to think. It was hard enough to keep up with the kids’ schedules, frequent trips to the grocery store and her usual workday. She now added to that Sunday car trips to the valley to see the children’s grandmother.
From Red’s perspective, however, being busy had its advantages. It gave her a lot less time to think. Most of what was on her mind, she didn’t want to think about.
Cam was busy, too. Brian had decided to “make it legal with his baby mama.” This created two almost conflicting imperatives for the band. Brian would be leaving to take a “real” job to support his family. Without him, the band really ceased to be a band. So the other musicians would need to find a place for themselves with other groups. They all understood that and were looking to make the transition sooner rather than later.
But Brian needed to put as much cash together as he could to pay for his wedding and to get settled into a place. So he was piling on extra gigs wherever he could. They were winding up at the same time they were winding down.
Cam had been approached to play studio back-up in Austin for a young performer that appeared to be ripe for some success. He liked the guy and his music, so he didn’t even consider turning it down. Red teased that he’d become a pinball with a fiddle; she never knew when he was going to bounce in next.
She did manage to catch him one morning for a quick cup of coffee together.
“I haven’t signed the lease contract yet,” she told him.
He was surprised. “Why not? You were so anxious to get it.”
She nodded. “I was,” she said. “I was thinking a lease would give me some protection. But I’ve read it a half-dozen times and it just doesn’t offer much of anything at all. I’m here and I can pay rent and as soon as they want the building, I have thirty days to get out
. That doesn’t seem like much of a lease.”
He nodded sympathetically. “That doesn’t sound very good.”
“Would you read it over?” she asked. “You went to college. Maybe you can see something I can’t.”
“I can read it,” Cam agreed. “But I’m a fiddler, Red. What you need is a lawyer.”
“I don’t know any lawyers,” she said. “And with business like it is, I couldn’t afford one.”
“With business like it is, you can’t afford not to have one,” Cam said. “What about Brad Carson?”
“Who?”
“Brad Carson,” he repeated. “Didn’t Sarah say he was a real-estate attorney?”
“Yeah, I guess she did. But I couldn’t ask him.”
“Why not?”
“Because I barely know her, and I don’t know him at all.”
“And if you did, would that make a difference?”
Red opened her mouth to say that it would, but she saw Cam’s eyebrow raised and knew he would recognize a lie when he heard it.
“I don’t like taking help from anyone,” she said.
“Especially from men,” Cam pointed out.
“Yes, especially from men. Look, in a business like this, with the woman up front, it’s almost expected that some man is pulling the strings.”
“I know that you’ve got to guard against that,” Cam said. “I understand it and I’m okay with it. But sometimes you’ve just got to take a chance on letting friends help.”
“I do,” Red insisted. “The last few months, I’ve been letting you give me a house and you help me with babysitting and things here at the bar, as well.”
“Yeah, and I’m glad about that,” Cam said. “I can help and I want to. That’s what people who are in love with people want to do.”
Red ignored that.
“And I’ve let the regulars at the bar do things, too.”
“That’s right,” Cam said. “And why do you think you’ve been willing to do that?”
“Because...because the people who come in here, we’re all struggling to make it. And we all know that if I need you today, maybe you’ll need me tomorrow.”
“Exactly,” Cam said. “And you should apply that same philosophy to Sarah and Brad.”
Red shook her head. “No way. That’s different.”
“How is it different?”
“They’re different,” she said. “Or maybe I’m different.”
“And you don’t think the people in Alamo Heights do the same thing as folks here at the bar? That in the heavenlike ’09 zip code there is no tit for tat or I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine. And, God forbid, no community pulling together to help each other.”
“Oh puh-lease! I’m sure they do for each other, but nobody there needs my help.”
Cam shook his head. “Everybody needs help sometimes. Having a nice house in a good neighborhood doesn’t make anyone immune to disaster.”
“Okay, Mr. Do-Gooder Genius, if I did accept a favor from them, how would I ever pay it back?”
“Hey, you already told Sarah that she could get drunk and listen to music here anytime.”
Red shook her head and laughed.
“Do it,” Cam persisted. “People are people and you can’t make assumptions about them based on some huge generalization about what they do for a living or how much money they make. Give them a chance.”
“I’m more experienced in this than you think,” Red told him. “I’ve given people like that a chance and lived to regret it.”
“But you did live,” Cam pointed out. “This is a great bar, Red. And right now it’s dying. If you don’t get something going with your new landlord pretty quick, you’re not going to have anything left to save.”
She knew he was right. She hated it but she had to agree with it.
After he left, Red swallowed her pride with the dregs of her coffee and gave Sarah a call.
“I’m so glad to hear from you,” she told Red. “I’ve been afraid that you might be mad at me for deserting you at the cupcake table. You had to take on Tasha without any backup!”
“It was fine,” Red assured her. “She and I will probably never be friends, but we got along fine.”
“Oh, I knew you could handle her,” Sarah said. “You really are my hero. Did she mention Cam at all?”
“Cam came by to take the kids home,” Red answered. “They hugged each other and it was all friendly and everything.”
“Oh my God! I would have loved to have been there,” Sarah said. “Why do my kids always need me just when something really exciting is going on? I’m sure Tasha wanted to rip your throat out. She didn’t do anything or say anything?”
Red was not about to share the very startling revelation about Tasha and Cam’s breakup. It was a fact revealed to diminish Red and to test the waters to see how close she and Cam might be. Red felt as if she’d handled it well, in that she’d offered no comment at all and managed to keep her expression as blank as possible. However, she wasn’t interested in bragging about that to Sarah. The woman might see the incident as a personal version of One Life to Live. But for Red, this soap opera was not ready for prime time.
“I actually called to see if I could get you to help me,” Red said. “Or rather, to see if your husband, Brad, can help me.” Red briefly explained her concerns and Sarah was very eager for her husband to help.
“So, if you’ll give me a number where I can call and maybe get an appointment with him.”
“I’ll call him myself,” Sarah said. “Don’t worry another minute about it. Brad will take care of this.”
Red had her doubts, but fifteen minutes later he called. He seemed like a pretty reasonable, no-nonsense kind of guy.
“You’re not alone in this,” Brad assured her. “Businesses in these gentrifying neighborhoods are being pushed up or pushed out. There’s a limit to what you can do about that, but I do have some experience and I’ll try to get you the best deal that I can.”
He asked Red to make a copy of the contract. He would stop by and pick it up on his way home from work.
Red was surprised at how she felt after hanging up the phone. Nothing had changed, but somehow she felt better.
The afternoon rain apparently ran off the construction crew and a pleasant quiet settled inside. The interior was drastically changed from just a few weeks before. She’d had the pool table carted out into the garage and wrapped in plastic. She hated to give up her devoted players—every quarter that went into the slot went into her till—but she wanted to keep the music, and the music was overhead. To pay the overhead, she needed customer seating.
Of course, the music itself had been forced to change. Outside in the open air, she’d had large groups, loud and raucous. Within the confines of the bar, she’d opted to go with smaller groups and more acoustic performances. That created a real scramble with the schedule. Some of the bands she signed just had to be canceled as inappropriate for the current venue. The bar now required a much more intimate performance, much less structured.
“It reminds me of Luckenbach,” Casey told her one evening. “Just a bunch of people who love music getting together to make some.”
Red hadn’t yet decided if that sold more beer or less, but she was aware of the change in the clientele. Most of the regulars still showed up as usual. But she seemed to have lost most of her party-hearty crowd. To her surprise she was seeing some new people—music people. And they appeared to be quite willing to stand shoulder to shoulder all evening to hear a good band.
Karl showed up a little after six.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, but Red waved him off.
“As much as you’ve had to cover for me in the last few months,” she told him, “I could wear out my apologies completely.”
Karl nodded acceptance.
Red retrieved the leasing contract from beneath the cash drawer.
“I need to run down to the Quick Print and get a copy of this for a guy who
is coming by,” she said. “His name is Brad Carson. If he gets here before I get back, give him a beer and have him wait on me.”
“Sure thing.”
Red hurried out. The small business center was just a few blocks downtown. Once there, she copied the twelve-page contract fairly quickly. But by the time she managed to return to the bar, Brad was already waiting. She recognized him easily. Dark suit, dark hair, but the same baby face Red had kissed on Elliot. She walked right up to him.
“Hi, Brad.”
The guy rose respectfully to his feet. Not the usual behavior of guys on bar stools when the barmaid walks up.
To say he looked shocked was putting it very mildly. His eyes were as big as saucers and his jaw actually dropped.
“You’re...you’re Sarahs friend?”
“We’re on Cupcake Committee together,” Red answered. If he was disapproving, at least he couldn’t blame Sarah for seeking her out. “Sit, sit,” she said to him and popped herself up on the adjacent stool. “I see you’ve already got a beer.”
“Yes.”
Karl walked over and set her usual iced-tea highball in front of her.
Red gave him a nod of thanks and took a generous sip before turning her frill attention to Brad.
“I was out getting this copied for you,” she said, handing over the contract papers. “I hope you can help me make sense of it.”
In the less-than-perfect light of the bar, Brad looked over the contract and asked Red a few questions.
There was something strange about their conversation, and at first Red couldn’t figure out what it was. Once she did, she had to hide a smile. When Brad Carson talked to her, he looked her directly in the eyes. He looked only in her eyes. Even when he was forced to gaze down at the papers, he did so quickly, without so much as a glance below her chin.
Red did not have the most amazing cleavage on the planet, not even the most amazing cleavage in town. But she did have a nice cleavage and showing it off was just part of the uniform. Very few men passed up the opportunity to get a good look.
Brad did. He managed in fifteen minutes of discussion not to peek even once. She admired that about him. And her estimation of Sarah went up, as well. Her mother might have picked Brad out, but Sarah ultimately signed off on him and she apparently had high standards.
