Page 9
Author: Teresa Mummert
“Marla, I know you’re probably dead on your feet, but I was wondering if you could take my shift. I know I’m asking a lot. I can give you all of my tips. I made nearly one hundred dollars. ” I was practically begging at her feet.
She gave me a sour look and didn’t answer me for a moment.
I lost all hope.
“All your tips?”
I grinned from ear to ear and wrapped my arms around her neck. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”
I dashed out of the diner as quickly as possible. Heading across the dirt lot, my head was spinning. I had no idea what I was thinking. I was sure he didn’t want to see me after the way I’d treated him earlier.
As I headed to my trailer, I slipped behind it and listened for anyone inside. I could hear my mother and Jackson in the living room. My bedroom was down the hall. I could get in and out without anyone noticing if I was quiet.
I slipped open the tiny window to my bedroom. I grabbed an old crate that was lying in the yard and set it underneath the window. I wasn’t sure it could support my weight, but there was no other way.
I stepped up and grabbed hold of the sill. I pulled my body halfway through the window. I suddenly realized that if anyone saw me, that person would think I was a burglar since I was dressed from head to toe in black. I wiggled through the tiny space and quietly tumbled onto my bed below. I lay perfectly still, waiting for someone to burst through the door to see what was going on. I held my breath and waited. Nothing.
I rolled off the bed and dug around in my closet until I found the bag with my new dress and sandals. I changed as quickly as I could, running my fingers through my hair. I slipped the tiny locket around my neck, letting my finger linger on the metal heart for a moment. I grabbed my work clothes and shoved them into the bag, then dropped it out the window to the ground below.
I grabbed my teddy bear off the dresser and pulled out enough money for a cab and change for the pay phone. I couldn’t get the stupid grin off my face. I was excited—happy even. I slipped out the window and lowered myself onto the crate. I grabbed my bag of work clothes and tucked it under the skirting of the trailer.
Chapter Eight
I REACHED THE PAY phone at the corner of the lot. I called a cab and waited, shifting my weight nervously from one foot to the other. It seemed like a lifetime. What was I doing? He wouldn’t want to see me after all the things I’d said to him this morning. With all of those pretty girls screaming his name, would he even acknowledge my existence?
I convinced myself to head back home. If I hurried, I could pick up the end of my shift and maybe make a few dollars. As I began walking across the lot, a car behind beeped its horn. I jumped and spun around to see a yellow cab.
A smile immediately appeared on my face and without a second thought I walked over and slid into the backseat. “I need you to take me to the Savannah Theatre on Bull Street. ”
The cabdriver nodded and pulled off into the night. My heart was racing. There was no turning back now. I didn’t know what I was going to say to Tucker, but I would figure that out when I was looking him in the eye. This was the craziest thing I had ever done in my life. I had never been to a concert. I could never afford it. In so many ways, this was a dream come true.
Savannah was more crowded than usual. The streets were flooded with visitors and concertgoers. My eyes scanned the front of the old building with the huge neon sign that read SAVANNAH. The giant marquee that spanned the entire front of the building read DAMAGED in large, red letters. My gaze drifted lower, taking in the group of people that crowded the street outside the theater. The men wore faded and tattered jeans with vintage-style T-shirts with catchphrases on them, just like Tucker. The women all wore next to nothing, hoping to catch the eye of one of the band members. Miniskirts and belly-baring shirts were the dress code for the night. I looked down at my dress and realized I was the most conservatively dressed. The excitement in the air was palpable. Everyone was smiling, and the hum of excited concertgoers could be heard from inside the cab. “Ten fifty-seven,” the cabbie called over his shoulder as he rolled to a stop. I slipped him $15 and told him to keep the change. At this moment, money was the least of my concerns. I couldn’t take my eyes off the outside of the theater as I slid out of the car. I don’t think I had ever seen so many people in one place at a time.
I held the dirty ticket in my hand, clutching it for dear life as I crossed the busy street. I wasn’t a crowd-type person, and I could feel my heart rate kick into double time.
I stood in line and stared down at the ticket. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should just go home. The crowd inched forward. Why would he want to see my face ever again after what I’d said to him? My mind went back to the bar just a few blocks away. I had to risk seeing him again. I couldn’t let him leave town thinking that I didn’t care. I wasn’t sure what was going on in my heart for this boy, but if nothing else—and despite the nagging guilt that I still felt because of it—I knew I cared. More than a little bit.
“Ticket. ” The lady behind the counter held out her hand.
“Oh . . . here. ” I held out my ticket.
“Front row, center. Enjoy your concert. ” She gave me a weak smile.
I beamed back at her. I felt like Cinderella going to the ball. In my new dress, I almost blended in with the crowd. I still felt as if I wore a big sign on my forehead that said WHITE TRASH, but it didn’t matter. Tonight I was actually living instead of just surviving. It felt good. I knew Tucker didn’t care about that, and I was here only for him.
I shuffled in the doors with a mob of fans, shouting and laughing with one another. It was crowded and hot, and I was beginning to get light-headed from all the excitement. Looking around me, I felt as if I had been abducted by aliens and dropped on a foreign planet. The women had expertly been made up as if they were walking a red carpet, and the guys all smelled as if they had been dipped in a vat of cologne and hair gel.
I made my way into the room and followed the others to the very front. I was practically on the small stage that curved across the front of the giant room. There was no way Tucker could miss me. I hoped I wasn’t making a complete fool out of myself. More often than not, I did. The theater, a beautiful, historic fixture in the city, was a major tourist attraction. But the inside was unexpectedly modern, with rows of seating and an open area in the front that served as a dance floor for concertgoers. Heavy, crimson curtains flanked the stage, as if a dramatic play were about to take place rather than a rock concert.
The girls around me were giddy with excitement. All they talked about was having sex with Tucker or the Twisted Twins, as they called Chris and Terry. Hearing them talk about Tucker in this way made my stomach turn. I shouldn’t be here. Obviously, I had no idea what being a rock star entailed. Why did I even care if he slept with a different woman every night? I have a boyfriend. Jax would never talk to me again if he discovered I’d run off, especially if he knew where to. And how much tip money I’d given up to be here, money we all sorely needed. A palpable sense of panic spread throughout every cell of my body. Suddenly I turned to leave, hoping that Jackson was passed out somewhere and I could make it back to the trailer before he woke up. I knew this was a bad idea.
Just as I began pushing through the crowd to make my great escape, the lights dimmed and everyone around me went off like firecrackers. The crowd was deafeningly loud. I spun around to face the stage.
A local singer took the stage. He wore a knitted, olive-green sweater and worn-out khakis. He would have looked as if he had just stepped out of a college classroom if not for his scraggly beard. He sat on stool in the middle of the stage with an acoustic guitar on his lap and began to play a quiet tune. His song was sad but somehow managed to put a smile on my face. The crowd hushed as his voice quieted to barely a whisper. It was magical to watch such a large group of people fall under someone else’s spell.
I became lost in my own memories of loss and pain as one song bled into the next. Before I knew it, the crowd was applauding and the man got up from his seat with a quick nod of his head and left the stage. The spell had been broken. I cheered along with the other fans, swept up in the excitement.
Then the Twisted Twins emerged from the darkness behind the stage, guitars in hand. They were clad in grunge gear that was ripped and torn. They wore more jewelry than I even owned, but somehow made it look masculine and even tough. They looked nothing like the men who had sat in my diner. A few moments later, another guy came out and sat at the drums. I had never before seen him. His hair was buzzed short and he was stockier than the other band members. He was shirtless and missing the trademark tattoos of his bandmates.
As loud as the crowd had been before, the sound paled in comparison to the noise they made as Tucker finally walked onto the stage. He had his jeans slung low and wore a baby-blue T-shirt that read GROUPIE.
He walked to the center of the stage and grabbed the microphone.
“Hello, Savannah!” He smiled, revealing those sexy dimples as his eyes scanned the crowd. They paused when they reached me, and for a second I forgot how to breathe. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said quietly, just to me. The girls around me went wild, absolutely certain that he was speaking to them. I didn’t care. I was too busy begging my heart to start beating again as I couldn’t help but let a megawatt smile spread across my face.
The twins began to strum on their guitars. The room grew louder as the audience’s anticipation mounted, then the crowd suddenly quieted down when Tucker stepped to the microphone.
Tucker began to sing, and I didn’t understand how I hadn’t recognized his beautiful voice sooner. The lyrics were beautiful, talking about staying with the person he no longer wanted for one more night. The song was incredibly catchy, and I felt myself swaying my hips with the crowd. It reminded me of our night of dancing, and I blushed when his eyes flicked down to mine, indulging in the fantasy of him and me. I wanted to be that girl he sang about, the love he lived his entire life for.
The song ended and blended perfectly into the next. He sang about having to say good-bye, a surprisingly upbeat tune given the subject. He danced a little as he sang, and I imagined my body pressed up against his as it was the night before.
I was lost in his voice, in the fantasy of it all. Music had always been a great escape for me, but this was surreal. Being front and center at a live concert, and at a show headlined by someone I knew, was magical. His heart and soul poured into the lyrics of his music. I listened as if I had never heard them before, the words taking on new meaning after knowing the kind of childhood he’d had.
When his eyes would meet mine, I felt as if we were the only two people in the theater, his words meant for only me to hear. I was happy. Genuinely happy, and I never wanted this moment to end.
The next song was slower, and Tucker sat down on a stool, taking a long sip from a water bottle before singing. The room dimmed and only a soft light illuminated him. He began to sing of being sad, his eyes closed as the room fell silent. I didn’t recognize it. The crowd swayed around me as Tucker poured his heart out to us, judging eyes be damned. I wished I had the bravery it took for him to sit upon that stool and expose his soul to the world.
As the song ended, he slowly opened his eyes and grinned nervously. I cheered and clapped with everyone else. He stood and the next song began. Everyone clapped together with the beat as Tucker poured his heart and soul into each song, each lyric. The lights flickered and danced off him. He looked completely in his element.
The last song wound down and the lights brightened around us. Tucker shot me a wink and held up his finger to let me know he would be a minute. I was grinning like a fool now. It was as if I had stepped into someone else’s life. I never wanted to wake up.
I was getting pushed and jostled by girls eager to meet anyone in the band that they could. Tucker’s bandmates all took a moment to sign shirts and CD cases for the fans in the front row. It was amazing to see how dedicated their fans were and how open and exposed Tucker was. He reemerged, beaming from ear to ear, and thanked every fan he met. Suddenly, it dawned on me that the woman at the bar last night had wanted his autograph, not his phone number. I had always thought the worst of people, and it had never occurred to me that not everyone had an agenda. I’d been judging Tucker from the moment he stepped into the diner, and none of it was deserved. When he finally reached me, he smiled as he put a hand on either side of my waist and lifted me effortlessly over the metal barrier that kept the fans out. My skin burned under his fingertips, and warmth radiated throughout my body.
White Trash Beautiful Page 9
