by Ruby Laska
Of course, relaxing was what spawned these crazy ideas of Sheryn’s. Too much time on her hands was indeed a dangerous thing, Amber frequently joked with Gray. It gave her time to think, and thinking led to comparing herself with other musicians, especially other stars. Sheryn simply could not abide to be anywhere but on top of the world.
Naturally, Sheryn had been envious of Dollywood since its inception. When Dolly had built her little empire in Pigeon Forge twenty-five years back, buying a local theme park in the little town at the foot of the Great Smoky Mountains and pouring millions of dollars into it, Sheryn had been an unknown act playing church halls and nursing homes. She’d come a long way since then, but she’d never forgotten her vow to build something even more grand some day.
Amber unlocked the door and pushed it open a crack, then returned to burrow under the warm bed covers. Sheryn swept into the room, stopping to bend and hook an arm around Amber’s neck and plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Amber, you would not believe this place I found this morning. The Sunset Diner. These names! I tell you, I am tickled to death. I couldn’t have come up with better names myself. Why, they’re just crying out to have a song written about them.”
“Oh, really,” Amber murmured.
“Maybe if there’s time...”
“Forget it,” Amber said. “You came here to look into building a theme park, so that’s what we’re going to do. No getting side-tracked, remember? Gray gave me strict instructions that you were not to start any new projects until this one was either finished or dead in the water.”
“He’s no fun,” Sheryn pouted.
She and Gray made a tremendous team. Sheryn was responsible for vision, and enthusiasm, and wild ideas that more often than not led to success, no matter how avant garde. Her offbeat song ideas had often climbed the charts, catching the attention of a jaded public. She had been known to plague the road crew with ideas for the show which, though sometimes unorthodox, often produced wonderful effects. And Gray was content to work behind the scenes, negotiating the details that Sheryn found so bothersome, making sure her contracts were properly reviewed and their investments were performing and her image was well promoted, and solving the daily emergencies that defined their hectic life.
And Amber was always there, filling in the details, doing the legwork, running errands, memorizing the packed calendar, even smoothing the couple’s ruffled feathers now and then during a disagreement.
“Fun or not, he gave me strict orders,” Amber said, yawning and stacking the pillows for a back rest before leaning back on the bed. “Besides, it wasn’t me who wanted to come here in the first place. I was trying to talk you out of it, remember? Go ahead and sit down, since I’m sure I won’t be able to talk you into letting me sleep another half hour.”
“This is the best part of the day! Besides, girl, you never sleep this late,” Sheryn said, unwrapping foil from the food she’d brought. “Are you coming down with something?”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so. I guess I was just really tired from the drive,” Amber said. She could feel color rising in her face as the events of the night before came back to her.
Had she really sat in the cab of a truck with Mac McBaine? Worse yet, was he the man who’d invaded her dreams toward morning? Her eyes widened as she recalled the warm, callused hands on her skin, the rough stubble of his face arousing her senses as his lips traced the lines of her neck...
“Or, did you have a really wild night after I went to bed, perhaps?”
Amber looked sharply at her employer and best friend, but Sheryn was concentrating on her breakfast. Half a dozen biscuits were stacked on a paper plate along with packets of butter and jam. There were thick slices of country-cured ham, too, and tall steaming cups of coffee. As Sheryn unwrapped the last package, Amber sat up a little straighter.
“Don’t tell me,” she said, ignoring Sheryn’s question. “Did you really order country-fried steak?”
Sheryn grinned and speared one of the batter-coated steaks with a plastic fork, plopped it on a plate and handed it to her.
“Well, when in Rome, I always say.”
“Yes, I have to remember this is exotic fare for you. I guess, for a gal born and bred in Chicago, you’ve come a long way,” Amber teased, grinning. Not many of Sheryn’s fans were aware of the true story behind the star’s arrival at the top of the charts; the public version of her history left out the privileged upbringing, the childhood spent at the symphony and ballet lessons, rather than on a farm in the country.
Amber sliced off a big piece of steak and popped it in her mouth. “Wow, this really takes me back. I haven’t had this in years.”
“Yeah, ever since you got me started eating that rabbit food, I haven’t had a decent meal,” Sheryn said, taking a big bite out of a buttermilk biscuit swathed in butter and honey.
“Rabbit food!” Amber couldn’t help laughing. “It’s just a low fat diet, and as I recall you were extremely grateful last year at the Country Music Awards when you managed to squeeze into that size-eight dress.”
“Yeah, yeah. But we gals have been good long enough, don’t you think? I say we deserve a little fun now and then. Just don’t tell Gray.”
“I promise,” Amber said solemnly. She happened to know that, new diet or no, Sheryn routinely fell off the wagon and indulged in all her favorite things: ice cream, and cheeseburgers, and french fries and pizza. Luckily, she seemed to have the metabolism of a teenage athlete, and had no trouble at all maintaining her famous bombshell figure.
The two chatted lazily as they finished their feast. Five years before, when Amber had finally finished her night school degree and begun working for Sheryn, she’d expected to be answering correspondence, filing, and keeping the star’s calendar straight—all during the hours of nine to five. By the second week, when Sheryn had dragged her home to have dinner with her and Gray in their sprawling Nashville mansion practically every night, she saw that the job was going to be a little different from what she had anticipated.
Sheryn did need help getting things in order, it was true. Gray, to whom she’d been married for two decades, did his best to keep her organized, but it was a full-time job, and he was plenty busy managing her career, which in the last decade had gone through the roof. He had an entire legion of professionals to supervise; together, Gray and Sheryn’s business manager, booking agent, public relations staff, and the inevitable accountants and lawyers, kept things going behind the scenes.
While they were gracious with all the people who worked for them, the two of them welcomed Amber like family, knowing she had none of her own. Respecting her silence on the matter, they never pressed for details about her history, but opened their door and hearts to her. Though she never was able to communicate it in words, Amber was eternally grateful.
Before long, Sheryn was counting on Amber for everything from wardrobe help to traveling companion and chauffeur to dietitian.
“So,” Amber said, licking a few last crumbs from her fingers, “I can’t wait to hear what you have planned for the day, dressed in that.”
“Oh, come on,” Sheryn said, coloring a little. She was wearing a tight denim bustier top with a sheer overblouse. Her full breasts swelled over the top of the bustier. Her jeans, decorated with rows of rhinestone rivets, were practically painted on, and a pair of high-heeled black mules completed the outfit. Her hair, dyed a shade of blond so pale it was nearly white, was piled in an up-do with a few tendrils curling around her face. “I wanted to look nice for the fine folk of Heartbreak. After all, they may be seeing a lot of me.”
Amber sighed. “Well, I guess you’re just lucky you can pull that look off. You must have been extremely good in a past life to get those cheekbones and that perfect skin.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” smiled Sheryn. “In fact, Gray and I have been talking about how we’re going to have to fire you if you get any better looking—can’t have you upstaging the star with those killer green eyes
and mile-long legs!”
“Oh, get out of here!”
Chucking a leftover biscuit at Sheryn, Amber felt much better than she had upon waking. She pulled herself out of bed and slipped on the tortoise-shell glasses she wore for paperwork, pulled on the robe that matched her navy silk pajamas, and settled into a chair across from Sheryn.
“OK, let’s see,” she said, opening up a notebook and scanning her hand-written notes. “I don’t know when I’m going to convince you that there just isn’t a lot to see out here.”
“Oh, but there is! Small town America!” Sheryn said grandly, lifting her arms in an elegant swoop. “I want to see it all, to drink it in, to absorb it! I want the people of Heartbreak to think of me as—as just another neighbor!”
Sheryn sighed and continued. “That’ll be the day. But to get back to the point, I’ve written down all the local attractions I can think of. Even the bowling alley. By the way, Sheryn,” she added, glancing up, “I don’t think it’s such a great idea for you to just go walking around here on your own. Small town folks notice everything, and I do mean everything, out of the ordinary and send it on down the grapevine before you can catch your breath.”
“So what’s wrong with that? Just think of it as free publicity! Besides, I just feel so at home here!” Sheryn interrupted, licking butter off her fingers and stretching luxuriously.
Amber rolled her eyes. “At home? Don’t forget, I know you grew up on the North Shore of Chicago, remember? You were eating shrimp cocktail at the country club while these folks were cutting their teeth on grits and fried mush.”
“Well, I do think I’ve adapted pretty well,” Sheryn said smugly, taking a dainty sip from her Styrofoam cup.
“No one could argue that,” Amber murmured. Sheryn’s following included people from every walk of life, and it was her great gift that she was able to treat every fan like a long-lost friend. And the crazy thing was, she seemed to mean it. Her love of people was as expansive as her personality.
“Let’s talk about names some more,” Sheryn said, tipping back in her chair and threading her fingers together thoughtfully. “I still like ‘Sheryn’s World’, but I want to find something a little zestier—”
“Sheryn, please. Names are the last thing we need to worry about now. There are a million little details to think about first.”
“But names are so important!” Sheryn winked. “They put a picture in people’s minds. Why, we wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t let it slip that your hometown was named Heartbreak.”
“I know, I know—I should never have opened my mouth.”
“Oh Sugar, don’t you see, it’s destiny!” Sheryn savored the last syllable with characteristic drama.
“I still think it’s absolutely crazy to pick a town just based on the name,” Amber muttered.
“Well, there was the story you told me, too,” Sheryn said. “You know, how the frontiersman made it all the way through the Appalachians with his family only to lose his wife to illness, and so he stopped right here”—Sheryn emphasized the word as though she expected the long-dead settler to materialize right there in the room—”and built a home, pouring his broken heart into hard work.”
Amber turned away slightly and lowered her eyes. She could never tell that story without getting tears in her eyes. Part of it was the sweet sadness of the tale, but mostly it was memories of her mother telling the story while she worked at her sewing machine, mending and tailoring for the ladies of the town while Amber lay stretched out on the floor on her stomach, chin in hands, listening raptly.
How her mother had loved Heartbreak, the only home she’d ever known.
Amber cleared her throat and blinked hard. Time to change the subject. Tears were not an option, not today, not here. If she were going to cry at all, it would have to wait until she was back in Nashville. Safely away from the threat of all these memories.
“There’s dozens—probably hundreds—of towns that would be every bit as suitable for the park.”
“But they’re not called Heartbreak,” Sheryn said stubbornly. “People would come for that alone, even if it wasn’t my park.”
Amber sighed loudly. She should never have opened her mouth. Six months ago, spending the holidays with the Sawyers, she’d finally relaxed enough one evening to tell Gray and Sheryn a little about her past. A roaring fire and a good brandy loosened the lock on her heart, and she told them a little about what it had been like to grow up fatherless in a town of a few thousand people.
A town that just happened to be named Heartbreak.
Sheryn had fixated on the place, asking for details like a child begging for just one more gumdrop. Too late Amber recognized the tell-tell signs of a scheme forming in Sheryn’s mind—the light in her eyes, the way she leaned forward, tapping her foot excitedly.
At least she hadn’t told them about Mac.
“It’s not just the name,” Sheryn continued. “I get a good feeling from this place. And you know what I always say, we women need to trust our intuition.”
Amber couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, I’m sure you were picking up on the karma of this place from three hundred miles away. When did you feel it beckoning? During a pedicure and facial, perhaps? Or while you were shopping?”
“I’ve just got a good feeling about it,” Sheryn insisted. She could be so stubborn. Amber rubbed her temples before continuing, knowing there was no choice but to go along with her employer’s plan.
“Anyway. We were talking about you traipsing all over town, drawing attention to yourself. I think we need to do a little positive public relations work before we—shall we say—unleash you on the citizens.”
“But they love me here! You should have seen it, I must have signed a dozen autographs over at the Sunset Diner.” Sheryn beamed; no matter how many thousands of times she’d been approached for an autograph, she never seemed to tire of her fans. Amber reflected that she was a little childlike that way, almost naive in her enjoyment of the attention.
“I’m sure they do,” she said gently. She remembered the conversation she’d had with Mac last night. “It’s just that not everyone is going to think this theme park is such a good idea. You have to look at it from their perspective. It’s going to bring in tourists and night life and a lot of other things that will really change the face of this place. The people who live here are accustomed to life moving at a slow pace. I mean, there probably still isn’t anything open on Sunday around here.”
“Then they should be thrilled! I mean, what if they get a craving for a Big Gulp at two in the morning?”
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Amber said, exasperated. “Small towns aren’t like other places, Sheryn. Certainly nothing like Chicago or Nashville. You know, maybe it was a good idea to come here after all, so we can see how long you last. There’s nothing going on here. You’ll see—it’ll drive you crazy. I’ll bet we’ll be on our way back by tomorrow night.”
“Oh?” Sheryn said, a flicker of interest in her eyes. “OK, we’ll make a bet. I’m not only going to last all week, but I’m going to love it—and the town is going to love me, too.”
“You’re on,” Amber said, grinning. “If you still want to go through with this crazy scheme at the end of the week, you win. I’ll—I’ll bake you one of my Bailey’s chocolate chip Oreo-crust cheesecakes. But if you cave in, you drive home. And we don’t stop at a single Dairy Queen.”
“Oh, no,” Sheryn moaned in mock horror. “Guess we’d better get to work, then.”
Mac paused for a moment to wipe away the perspiration beading at his brow, squinting at the old Mercury V6 outboard he was working on. Damned if he could figure out what had blown the spark plug out of the cylinder head, charring the foam insulation. It had wintered under cover right on the lot, and Junior Wilkes had tuned it up in the spring. Junior might be young, but he was one of the hardest-working and smartest guys in the shop. When this particular boat had come back, Mac decided to take a look at it himself.<
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He took one more look at the work laid out before him and concentrated...and then he had it. Hadn’t Mercury had a problem back in the seventies with the aluminum alloys used in casting their blocks?
Satisfied, Mac made a mental note to tell Junior what the problem was. Bad news for the owner of the outboard, but on the other hand he’d gotten some fine years out of it. Mac could sympathize with anyone who held onto an old, reliable piece of equipment, getting to know its temperament, caring for it to ensure a long life.
That was how it should be.
When it came to boats, there’d never been a problem he couldn’t track down. His father had made sure of that. Whenever Mac was ready to give up on a repair, his father was there, ready to ensure he kept at it. Often, it was true, Pete McBaine motivated with threats and curses, but it had been effective. Many nights found Mac at work in the shop long after everyone else went home, knowing he wasn’t welcome at his own house until the work was done.
And on the few occasions when it wasn’t...Mac winced, the memory of his father’s heavy belt causing his back and shoulders to tense up in a leftover response to that old pain.
Still, if the old bastard hadn’t ridden him so hard all those years, Mac might not have had the guts to plow through the rough times since he took over the shop. It had been touch and go there for a while, with barely enough money coming in to cover expenses and payroll. But the tougher things got, the harder Mac worked. Without the lessons that his father had planted, the shop would be nothing more than an abandoned building, and Mac would probably be pumping gas.
So engrossed was Mac in tinkering with the outboard that he had tuned out the sounds around him. Besides the sounds of men at work, music played in the busy but neat cinder block room. The guys usually had the radio on WCAD—”Country All Day”. A few of them loved singing along, belting out their favorite tunes in voices more enthusiastic than lyrical. Even Mac had been known to join in once in a while.
