I'll Sing for my Dinner

by BR Kingsolver

  “Do you play any other instruments?” I asked as we drove.

  “Pretty much anything with strings,” she said. “Mandolin, violin and cello, along with guitar. I play a fairly good pedal steel, banjo, and bass, but not as well as guitar.”

  Violin and cello? “How about electric guitar?” I asked.

  She shot me a look that said I was a bit simple minded. “I can play anything you can play on a guitar,” she said. “Have you heard Eric Clapton’s unplugged album?”

  “Some folk and classical guitarists don’t ever pick up an electric,” I said in my defense.

  “Kind of hard to lug an amp around when you’re hitchhiking” she said. “And an electric is useless without a place to plug it in. The Martin can be played anywhere.”

  When we got to the mall, I jumped out of the truck and started to lock it. But she just sat there.

  “Mr. McGarrity, when you offered me a gig last night, you said Wednesday through Sunday. Wednesday was yesterday.”

  Smiling, I said, “There will be one next week, too. I checked the calendar. The forecasters predict one every week until the end of the year. I haven’t seen a calendar for next year, though.”

  She didn’t smile. “Does that mean you’re offering me a job to play every week?”

  “Yes, Cecily. Every week. As long as you play the way you did last night, wear some decent clothes, and don’t do anything that would make me fire you, you’ve got a job as long as you want it. I talked with Kathy, my assistant manager, last night. What you predicted would happen did. People stayed after dinner and ordered more drinks. It was my best Wednesday ever. If you want a job, you’ve got it.”

  “If you give me an advance, can I pay you over time? Like take twenty-five dollars out each night until I pay you back? This isn’t going to be cheap. I need everything. I don’t even own a bra. Can you afford five hundred dollars?”

  I noticed there wasn’t a bra when I loaded her clothes in the dryer. A surge of elation shot through me. At the rate she was suggesting, it would take her a month to pay me back. I wouldn’t mind having her around that long. Not at all.

  “There’s something else,” she said. “If I’m going to stay here for a while, I’ll need to get an apartment. I’ll have to borrow money against my pay to do that, too.”

  “It’s just me in that big old house,” I told her. “My brother theoretically lives there, but he’s never home. I’ll tell you what. Help with the housework, cook me breakfast, and we’ll worry about an apartment sometime down the line.”

  She gave me one of those grins of hers. “Sort of like having a wife, without all the entanglements, huh?” Climbing out of the truck, she said, “If you want all the wifely benefits, though, you have to make breakfast sometimes, too. I may be cheap and easy, but a girl has to set some limits.”

  I stood there stunned as she walked away. Turning back, she said, “Are you coming?”

  ~~~

  Chapter 4

  Cecily

  We walked out of the mall after three hours, laden down with shopping bags, and I had a wardrobe. I told the sales lady in the western store to burn my old clothes. My new cowboy boots pinched a little, but Jake said they would loosen up as they broke in. I also had a nice pair of flats, and a pair of three-inch pumps with stiletto heels.

  I bought three pairs of boot-cut blue jeans, some western shirts, a few blouses, three dresses and two skirts. By shopping the sale racks, I’d managed to keep it under the five hundred I estimated, including two bras and a two-week supply of panties.

  When I did my laundry the night before, I threw the panties in the trash. As yucky as the idea was of wearing another woman’s panties, the idea of even touching the ones I took off was worse. So I’d taken some of Mary’s. Not any of the sexy ones, just a few pairs of cotton ones, sticking them in my pack. They fit. She might have been taller than I was, but very slender.

  I wasn’t sure all the clothes would fit in my backpack, but I’d worry about that later. It had been so long since I had any decent clothes.

  Help with the housework? I had never done housework in my life. But if that’s what he wanted, I could learn. I’d learn calculus or cow roping if it kept me near him. I chided myself for falling in love so quickly, but I wanted someone to love me, and something deep inside me wanted it to be him. I hadn’t felt safe in years. The past six weeks had been filled with terror. And suddenly, out of nowhere, this man made me feel safe. I would do anything to continue feeling that way.

  I felt like a new woman when I walked into the bar. Kathy looked at me and I saw her eyes widen in surprise. Jake went behind the bar and motioned her over to where I took a seat.

  “Kathy, meet Cecily. She’s agreed to play for dinner Wednesday through Sunday evenings, from six until eight. I told her we’d pay her a hundred dollars a night out of the till.”

  Kathy nodded, not looking surprised.

  “It’s only seventy-five,” I said, “until I can pay Mr. McGarrity back for the clothes he bought me.”

  She smiled, and I relaxed. Women are often uncomfortable with me, and seeing as I’d walked in off the street the way I did, and gone home with her boss, I wouldn’t blame her at all for not liking me. But she didn’t seem to have a problem with all this.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, sticking out her hand for me to shake. “You have a beautiful voice. I really enjoyed listening to you last night. What’s your last name, honey?”

  “Uh, Buchanan.”

  “I’ll send Tom out to change the sign,” she said, walking away toward the kitchen.

  I looked at Jake.

  “If we have a great new act, there’s no reason to keep it a secret.”

  One of the cooks came out of the back and headed out the door.

  “You might want to go with him,” Jake said, “and make sure he spells your name right.”

  I trailed Tom out the door and watched as he got a tall ladder from the side of the building and leaned it against the sign. Climbing up with a canvas pouch over his shoulder, he pulled red letters out of it and started adding another line to the sign. When he was finished, it said, ‘Dinner music by Cecily Buchanan Wed-Sun eves’.

  I stood there, reading it over and over again while Tom put the ladder away. So many emotions boiling around inside me. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to cry, cheer, or be terrified. But the chances of anyone connecting Cecille Buchanan of Baltimore with Cecily Buchanan in Greeley, Colorado, were pretty small. There wasn’t a warrant for my arrest, as far as I knew. I went back into the bar and had a hamburger with fries and a glass of wine.

  I played until 8:30, and then gave way to a bunch of cowboys who started setting up their instruments. I hadn’t realized they were the band. They took a table right in front of the stage about eight, and listened to me play while drinking beer. The best looking one approached me as I was putting my guitar away.

  “Hi, I’m Jared McGarrity, Jake’s brother,” he said, sticking out his hand.

  I shook it. “Cecily Buchanan.”

  “My brother has some strange ideas sometimes,” Jared said. “But he hit gold this time. Welcome aboard, Cecily. I haven’t heard anyone play like that in a long, long time. We should be doing the intro for you.”

  I felt my face warm a bit. “Thank you. I’m really looking forward to hearing you play. Mr. McGarrity told me about your band. He’s pretty proud of you.”

  “Mr. McGarrity? You mean Jake? Proud of me?” He shot a look over his shoulder at Jake, standing behind the bar watching us. “That’s kind of nice to hear. All he ever tells me is that I’m a knucklehead.”

  Jared and his band took the stage while I put my guitar out of the way behind the bar and sat down. Jake poured me a glass of wine.

  “Mr. McGarrity,” I started, but he held up his hand.

  “Please, call me Jake. You’re making me feel old, and people around here are teasing me about you being so formal.”

  “I’m sorry. I certainly don�
��t think you’re old,” I said, running my eyes over his body, his strong, handsome face. “I was just trying to be respectful. You are my boss, after all. What did you think? Was the set I did okay?”

  “Cecily, you talked about angels this morning. I don’t know what angel sent you here, but I’m glad he did. You are a rare talent. What in the hell are you doing here?”

  I bit my lip. It was a reasonable question, and I didn’t want to lie to him. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about my past?” I asked. “I don’t want to think about yesterday. I feel as though I’ve stepped into a whole new world.” I looked into his face. “Jake, can you just accept that some really bad decisions brought me to your door, and let us move on from there?”

  He stared at me for what seemed the longest time, then nodded. “Yes, we can do that. If you ever want to talk, I’ll be glad to listen. But I can understand. I give people the same kind of answer when they ask me about my time in the Marines.”

  He reached out, squeezed my hand, and then drifted away to help a customer.

  Maybe, I thought, but I’ll bet what he says doesn’t include the phrase ‘bad decisions’. I was the queen of bad decisions. It would be nice to get my crazy life under control. I watched him while he worked. I had finally met a nice guy, and I wondered if I was smart enough to hang on to him. We only met the night before, but when he looked at me, his eyes said that he was interested. Interested didn’t begin to describe the way I felt about him.

  When the band took their first break, Jared came and sat next to me at the bar. “Jake says you play electric, too.”

  “Yeah. I can play just about anything with strings.” That wasn’t a boast.

  “Would you like to play a few songs with us? I have an extra guitar.”

  “I don’t know that many country songs,” I said. “But listening to you, I was thinking about some songs I’d like to hear. Do you guys know any Willie or Emmylou?”

  “Wow! Yeah, with your voice, we could do some Emmylou stuff.”

  “Is your other guitar tuned the same?” I asked.

  “No. Want to go take care of that?”

  We went up on stage and he handed me a white Fender Stratocaster, a Jimi Hendrix guitar. Jared had been playing a hollow-body Gibson most of the evening, but switched for a few songs.

  Strapping on the Strat, I strummed it to hear how it was tuned. And then one of my imps seized control. I launched into Purple Haze, running the entire introductory riff. When I stopped and looked around, everyone in the bar was staring at me.

  Stepping to the mic, I said, “Sorry. I’m not used to driving a guitar this powerful. It just sorta got away from me.”

  Everyone laughed.

  We got me in tune with the rest of the band, and when the other members came back from their break, Jared introduced me.

  “We have a special treat tonight, a psychedelic rocker from the East Coast.” That got a laugh. “Those of you who happened to catch her playing here during dinner last night or tonight know what a special talent she is, and she’s graciously agreed to sing a couple of songs with us. Please welcome Miss Cecily Buchanan.”

  Their band was tight and I liked playing with them. Jared was an excellent lead guitarist, and their pedal steel player was pretty good. The bassist and drummer were also good musicians. The rhythm guitarist was adequate, but had a nice voice. We played half a dozen Emmylou Harris songs, including Luxury Liner, Quarter Moon in a Ten Cent Town, Roses in the Snow, Boston to Birmingham, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, and I sang a duet of Hello Stranger with Jared.

  I’ve never been shy on stage, and the applause and cheers as I put the guitar down and stepped off the bandstand felt as good as if I’d been playing Carnegie Hall. It’s better than food. I drank it all in shamelessly. For the first time in years, I felt whole, like myself. I remembered that I used to live for that feeling. How had I gone so far astray? This was so much better than any drug.

  Jake came out from behind the bar and I skipped toward him. I threw my arms around his waist and gave him a hug. He hugged me back, in a friendly sort of way. His large strong hands on my back felt good. He didn’t try to pull me into him, and for some reason, it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.

  “Damn, Cecily, you’re incredible,” he said.

  I looked up in his face. He was smiling and happy for me. Filled with approval. My heart seemed so full I thought it might burst. Where had this man been? Why hadn’t I run into him two years ago? Someone who seemed genuinely happy when I succeeded, instead of jealous?

  I pulled his face down to mine and kissed him on the lips. “You can’t imagine how happy you’ve made me, and I’ve barely known you a day,” I said.

  When she wasn’t busy, Kathy came over to where I was sitting at the bar watching Jared’s band. We chatted a bit, and I could tell she was curious about me, but she didn’t push.

  “I’ve never known a Marine before,” I said at one point. “I always imagined them as being very serious and stoic. Jake isn’t that way at all.”

  She cocked her head and gave me a funny look. “Most people see him exactly that way,” she said. “I worked for his parents, so I’ve known him since he was a kid. Jake was always different. When he graduated high school, he received a full-ride scholarship to play football, and a much smaller scholarship to study music at a liberal arts college back east. No one who really knew him was surprised when he chose music.”

  “Jake played football?” I asked. He was certainly built, but seemed a bit small, being barely six-feet tall.

  “He was an all-state running back,” Kathy said. “Fast, quick and shifty, but he ran with power.”

  “That’s the guy who carries the ball?” I knew as much about football as I did about building rockets. I had seen it on TV a couple of times but never paid any attention to it.

  She chuckled. “Yes, that’s the guy who carries the ball.”

  “But Kathy, you still haven’t answered my question. You said most people think he’s stoic and reserved. He’s not that way at all.”

  “What I was trying to explain,” she said, “is that he has a sensitive side. He’s always been more interested in music and art than most people, at least around here. I think you bring that out. If you don’t see him as the hard-ass Marine, it’s because he’s showing you that other side of him. Or maybe the side most people see isn’t there when he’s with you.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t quite know what to say to that.

  “Cecily,” Kathy said, “I don’t want to speak out of turn, but I’ve never seen Jake look at a woman the way he looks at you. I hope you appreciate the kindness he’s shown you, and that you won’t take advantage of him.”

  In his truck on the way home, he said, “I was a music major in college. Unfortunately, I suffered some nerve damage to my left hand in the service. I can still chord a guitar, but I don’t have the fine control to play the violin any more, or to get real fancy on the guitar. But I can tell when someone is classically trained. Your voice isn’t just a happy accident. It’s opera quality.”

  Suddenly scared, I looked over at him. “Jake, please.”

  “I’m not going to ask you about your past, Cecily. But you said you can play anything with strings. Does that include the lute, Celtic harp and the sitar?”

  I bit my lip and didn’t answer him. His question really scared me. Was the list he mentioned just an accident?

  “Watching you on that stage tonight,” Jake continued, “you turned my brother’s band into a supporting cast without any effort at all. You were the star. You’ve played a lot bigger venues than bars, haven’t you?”

  “Jake, don’t make me lie to you. Please?” Oh, God. This wasn’t going well at all. Although the tone of his voice was kind, he was asking all the wrong questions.

  “Okay.” His voice mellowed, and I breathed easy when I heard him backing off. “I don’t know how you got here, or what you’re running from, and it’s none of my business. But, honey, a blind man could see
that you stick out like a bottle of champagne at a college keg party.”

  He didn’t say anything else. I was close to panic. Had I been stupid, performing in public? But I had to eat, and music was the only marketable skill I had. Maybe I should run again, get away before anyone discovered who I was, where I was. But I really couldn’t do that. I owed Jake for the clothes he’d bought me. For feeding me last night. For believing in me just because I asked him to. Hell, he was taking me home, putting me in a soft, warm bed, and not even expecting to share it.

  I decided he really was an angel, and as long as I stayed with him, everything would be all right. I just had to believe that. All of my other options led back to the madness.

  I hadn’t dreamed the night before. I guess I was too exhausted. But the dreams came that night. Not the worst ones, but I was standing on a stage with spotlights blinding me, and then out of the lights came a face, and he was reaching for me. I struggled to get away, but no matter how hard I ran, he was always there when I turned to look.

  ~~~

  Chapter 5

  Jake

  It had been two weeks since Cicely came to live with me. I could see her cheeks starting to fill out from regular meals. The seat of her jeans, too. She told me when we bought her clothes that they were the size she wore, and assured me that they really weren’t too big. She obviously hadn’t been on the streets so long that she didn’t remember her life before.

  She had a bright, sunny attitude, a quick smile, and an infectious enthusiasm that endeared her to everyone who met her. The shell-shocked look I saw in in her eyes that first day had faded, but the enigma of her past remained.

  After she kissed me that night, I made sure to keep a safe distance from her. No more spontaneous hugs. Not that I didn’t want her in my arms, but it would be far too easy to fall for her. The way she smelled and the feel of her lips caused an immediate reaction south of my belt. I couldn’t remember a woman affecting me that strongly, not even my first love.

  I got up before she did one morning and started to make breakfast. The next thing I heard was her pounding down the stairs.