by Carsen Taite
“Greer, I’ve never pried in your private life, but I have to ask you something.” His pause seemed to last years. “Were you involved with Macy Rivers?”
She didn’t have words adequate to express her shock. Never in a million years would she have expected her no nonsense uncle to buy into the mindless gossip spewed out by TMZ, E! News, and the National Enquirer. This place wasn’t safe after all. She had to get out of here and find another place to stay. She would call Rick and have him make the arrangements. She stood and shrugged off his grasp. “Aunt Ellen’s going to be upset if you don’t head down to dinner. I’ll see you later. I’ve lost my appetite.” Without waiting for a reaction, Greer stalked from the room.
Within moments she was on the phone to Rick. Her message was fast and clear. “Get me out of here.”
“Slow down. I thought you were staying with your family for a while.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. Things aren’t what I imagined them to be.” Greer had expected a warm welcome from everyone, Drew included. She had also expected to be treated like the baby in the family and to hide away in spoiled comfort. She did not expect to receive rules, ultimatums, and prying questions about her personal life. She’d be better off hiding away in Ethan’s hotel room. All she could think about was getting away from this place, and she told Rick her desire in no uncertain terms. “I’m stuck here with no money, no clothes, and no car and driver. My cell phone is dead, and I’m too scared to use it even if it wasn’t. I want my life back.” She didn’t bother to tone down the escalating volume as she continued. “I want you to fix things. Now. Do you understand?”
“Aw, honey, everything’s going to be fine.”
Greer gritted her teeth. She recognized the placating tone Rick used when he sensed she was getting out of control and needed to be handled. She didn’t want to be handled right now, she wanted some action. “Don’t patronize me. I want you to fix things now! Get the good-for-nothing publicist to leak a story saying Macy was begging me for drugs, that she was desperate. So desperate, it’s clear to me she had used before and was an addict. Tell the public I didn’t have anything to do with her out-of-control behavior and, if Macy had some kind of latent crush on me, I had no idea and I certainly didn’t encourage it. Can’t these idiot reporters get it through their heads I have plenty of women falling at my feet? I certainly don’t need to try to lure supposedly naïve young country girls into lesboland. Got it?”
The other end of the phone was silent. Even as she had her fit, Greer realized Rick knew from experience her anger would pass. Well, she was sick and tired of no one taking her seriously. “Dammit, Rick, answer me!”
“I hear you, honey. I’ll get right to work on things and I’ll be in touch.” A dial tone signaled he had ended the call, obviously choosing to endure Greer’s increased wrath rather than listen to her any longer.
*
“I’m ready. Let’s get everyone in here.” Ainsley sighed as Paul opened the door and signaled in the executive team of the Lancer Hotel. She had spent the last two days making her own observations about the property and its personnel, and it was time to take action. Even though she purposely cultivated her bitch on wheels reputation, she would always dread this part of the transition process. She watched as the hotel management filed in, a much smaller team than she was used to working with, consisting of the guest services manager, the engineer, the controller, the concierge, and the general manager, Drew Lancer, who also doubled as director of sales. Their expressions were grim. Industry practice usually dictated a clean sweep during a transition. Sure, the management team was always told they could stick around and re-interview for their positions, but everyone knew their hopes of rehire were dim. The only team member assured of her position was Drew Lancer. As the daughter of the former owner, she would be the one most likely to be resistant to change. So why did Drew look as depressed as the rest of the group? Oh well, she thought, they were all in for a bit of a surprise.
“Thanks to everyone for welcoming us during what is always a difficult part of the process,” Ainsley lied easily. She figured if she acted like they had been welcoming, they might start acting like they could more than tolerate her presence. “I’ve worked with the Steel Hotel Corporation for a number of years, and I can assure you the changes you are about to see will be exciting. As you know, Drew Lancer, a major force behind the hotel’s current success, will be staying on as the GM.” Ainsley nodded toward Drew and forced a smile, which Drew did not return. Lovely. Drew needed to get on board if they were going to have any chance at a smooth transition. Based on her team’s reports, all the Lancer employees had a strong sense of loyalty to the former owners, which meant keeping Drew on could cut both ways.
Now for the surprise. Ainsley decided to cut to the chase. “How many of you have your desks packed?” Everyone began inspecting something on the floor. “Hopefully no one. For the next two weeks, you’ll remain in your current positions working side by side with a member of the transition team.” She could feel the air in the room lighten with her announcement. This approach to transition was highly unusual. Normally, following an acquisition, corporate management would have hand-selected personnel for many of the key positions at the new hotel and job interviews were pro forma—but nothing about this acquisition was normal. Frank had made the decision to purchase this property on the fly. Probably due to altitude sickness, Ainsley could only imagine. Apparently, the family who previously owned the hotel had been slick negotiators since it was unheard of to include a contractual provision requiring the new owners to keep the current general manager. In any event, Ainsley and Paul decided, considering the circumstances, it would be better to keep the original team in place for a few weeks before they made any snap decisions. If the current personnel measured up, they would be spared the chore of finding replacements.
“Consider this time a lengthy interview. We’ll revisit the situation in two weeks. Now, does everyone have the status reports I asked you to prepare?” Her swift transition from impending termination to regular business didn’t dissuade the Lancer team from sharing barely concealed smiles with each other. Ainsley studiously avoided giving in to the lightened mood. They had a lot of work to do, and these people better show they had the right stuff to get the job done.
*
Greer had spent the last two days holed up in her old room, watching cable and eating the supply of energy bars Ethan had packed the day she left Chicago. She was dressed in a pair of Drew’s sweats she had found in the closet, and sitting next to her on the bed was her first love.
The moment she pulled Betty, the Martin D-28, from the back of the closet, the memories of the first time she had held the guitar in her hands came flooding back. She’d worked her ass off that summer, saving for a brand-new acoustic Fender dreadnought she’d seen at Grandma’s Music & Sound in Albuquerque. One Saturday, Drew dragged her out of bed super early for a trip to the Tesuque Flea Market to look for some funky new art for the hotel. Greer had griped the whole time. She’d worked a double shift the night before, and she was enjoying the opportunity to sleep in before heading back to the hotel for another late shift. Greer strolled the dusty dirt aisles of the market, more focused on the coffee in her hand than on unique trinkets Drew kept pointing out. When she first laid eyes on Betty, she almost dropped her coffee in surprise. She’d seen other Martins at Grandma’s but had never given them a serious look. She could work double shifts all year long and still not be able to afford to call a Martin her own. Yet here was a beautiful specimen, sitting upright in its case, mere inches away from the dusty ground.
“She’s a D-28, circa 1967.” The elderly man spoke in loving tones. Greer groaned. This baby was so out of her reach. They might be standing in a dusty outdoor flea market, but the atmosphere did nothing to devalue the gorgeous guitar.
“You play?”
Greer pulled her attention away from the instrument and back to the man. “Yep. She’s beautiful.�
�� Way to bargain, she thought, then she realized she couldn’t afford this guitar. Brazilian rosewood and mahogany combined to make this the most beautiful guitar she had ever seen. She longed to feel it in her arms, make those strings come to life. As if he could hear her thoughts, he picked up the Martin and handed it to her. “Why don’t you try her out?”
Greer wanted to take it from him, but she knew once she held the Martin, no other guitar could measure up. “Thanks, but I better not. I’m saving for a new guitar, but she’s out of my league.”
The man smiled and pushed the guitar into her arms. “Play something.” Greer didn’t resist. She cradled the Martin and spent a moment exploring the feel of the classic guitar before building to a riff. She reveled in the growl of the Martin and didn’t even notice the knot of observers who paused to watch her get acquainted with her new friend. When she finished, she reluctantly handed the guitar back to its owner. The man shook his head. “She needs you. She needs to be played.”
Greer shook her head. “She’s worth way more than I can afford.”
“Give me what you’ve saved and promise me you’ll always play her like that.” The man would accept none of her arguments, and Greer finally decided she wanted the Martin more than she wanted to resist. She wrote a check for $300, the money she’d saved for the Fender, and walked away with Betty, her first real guitar.
Years later, Greer broke her promise to the man. When she signed with Rick, he insisted she play the guitars provided by her promoters. She couldn’t really complain since she always had the latest, greatest acoustic and electric guitars on the market, but seeing Betty tucked away in the back of the closet in her old room, she felt a tinge of guilt. And longing. She wouldn’t have survived her first paying gig without Betty in her arms. The smoky bar had been scattered with patrons more interested in their next beer than the lyrics of the tunes she belted out. Lyrics and tunes she had penned herself. Like Betty, her songwriting was a distant memory. She protested at first when Rick told her the record company insisted on first rights to select the tracks for her albums, but he finally convinced her the company’s producers were paid to know what would sell and what wouldn’t. If she wanted to make it big, she couldn’t be so personally invested in every detail of her music. She had made it big on Rick’s advice, but she couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she had found her own way.
Greer had pulled the guitar out of her case and cradled it in her arms, but she couldn’t manage to play. She wasn’t ready. She probably wouldn’t be until she could put her latest calamity behind her and get the hell out of this place. Greer made a silent promise to Betty: next time she took the stage, the Martin would be right there with her.
She hadn’t heard from Rick since her call to him on Monday. She had a wallet full of credit cards she didn’t dare risk using, no car, and nowhere to go even if she had a way to get there. She thought, more than once, about calling the El Dorado and asking for Ainsley, but she wasn’t sure what she would say. Hi, can I come stay in your room for a few days till I get my life straightened out? Oh, and can I borrow some cash? See, I’m really rich, but I can’t use my own money because I don’t want my real identity to be exposed because lots of people don’t like me right now. Greer grimaced as she remembered Ainsley was one of those people.
Up until last week she would have told anyone who asked that she loved her life. Ostensibly, she had everything she could ever want. She was rich and wildly successful. Every time she entered a crowded arena, thousands jumped to their feet and cheered. In a single twenty-four-hour period, her tower of success crumbled. Rick always said all press is good press, but he didn’t have to live her life. She spent her days kissing up to sponsors, watching her weight, and checking off items on the rigorous daily schedule Rick planned out. The decision to come to New Mexico was the first one she had made on her own in as long as she could remember. As out of control as she felt about her life now, at least she was out of the watchful eye of the media, Rick, and her personal trainer.
“Mom wants to talk to you. Downstairs. Now.” Drew’s entrance interrupted her assessment. Greer tried to see around her, but Drew was determined to block the TV. She would rather watch another infomercial than converse with her sullen cousin. “Leave me alone.”
“I’d love to leave you alone, but Mom doesn’t. They’ve given you a place to stay, the least you can do is talk to her.”
Greer ignored the jab like she’d ignored everything else since her conversation with Clayton on Monday, but Drew wasn’t done.
“Mom’s never done anything to you. She loves you like you’re her own daughter. Can you manage to put aside whatever’s going on with yourself and give her five minutes of your precious time?”
Greer refused to meet her stare, but she stood, straightened her clothes, and followed Drew downstairs to the kitchen. The smell of dinner cooking did her in.
“Greer, sweetheart, you look thin as a rail.” Ellen ushered her into a seat and set a large sandwich in front of her. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour, but eat this snack before you blow away.” Greer tackled the monster sandwich and saw Drew roll her eyes. Ellen settled into the seat beside her. “Your agent sent this package for you today.”
Greer choked. “He sent a package addressed to me? Here?”
“No, Ms. Secret Identity,” Drew responded. “He sent it to Mom at the bank. She had to drive into town to pick it up for you. Try to act a little more grateful.”
Greer stuck her tongue out at her. “Sorry, Aunt Ellen. I was only concerned about your privacy.” She tore into the envelope and dumped the contents on the table. Several bundles of hundred dollar bills were accompanied by a tiny note. Greer, here’s some cash to help you out. Still think it’s a good idea for you to stay put for now. I’ll be in touch. Rick.
“Not what you were expecting?” Drew asked.
“Not exactly.” Greer wasn’t in the mood to talk about her predicament anymore. She had a date with Ainsley tomorrow, and even though she had absolutely no idea how she was going to get to town, she was determined to have a great time. “Drew, I’m tired of hiding out in my old room. Can we have a truce?”
Drew glanced at the piles of cash on the kitchen table and flashed a grin, which Greer reflected was an increasingly rare event. “Might cost you,” Drew said.
Greer laughed and waved a stack of bills. “Can you give me a lift into town tomorrow afternoon?”
“Ask for something else. I won’t be able to get away tomorrow. Fiestas starts and tomorrow night’s Zozobra. I’ve got the dragon lady from corporate and her team of minions on my ass twenty-four/seven, and I can’t cut out to be your chauffeur.”
“Chill, it was just a question. I haven’t been to Fiestas in forever and I thought it would be fun to check it out.” Greer shot a glance at her aunt, hoping she would remember to keep their little secret.
Ellen piped in. “I’ll run you into town if you don’t mind getting there around four. Clayton has a doctor’s appointment, and I can drop you off on the way. You can get a ride home with Drew when she gets off work.”
“Great. Thanks.” Greer flashed back to the waves of pleasure she experienced from the last kiss she’d shared with Ainsley and secretly hoped she wouldn’t need a ride home.
Chapter Nine
She had no business taking the night off, but Ainsley was determined nothing was going to get in the way of her date with Tray. The Lancer was booked solid with the strangest mixture of guests. A large contingent of somberly dressed characters, bibles in hand, had appeared at the front desk, asking a lot of questions about the burning of Zozobra. Luckily, Ainsley had read up on the subject after Tray’s aunt had suggested she take it in. Based on what she’d learned, she wondered if this curious band of Quaker-looking folks knew what they were in for. A local artist had started the tradition over eighty years ago as a private party in his backyard. In the sixties, he assigned the rights of the popular event to the local Kiwanis Club, and
they spent months out of every year building a forty-nine-foot-tall figure out of wood, wire, and muslin to represent Old Man Gloom. On the Thursday before Las Fiestas was to begin, they posed the carefully constructed man on a local hillside and set him on fire before of an audience of around thirty thousand people. The act was supposed to symbolize the burning away of everyone’s troubles, but Ainsley thought the whole process sounded downright morbid. She could imagine a thousand better date activities than sitting on a blanket in a park, watching some fake person burn to the ground, but if this was the only way she was going to get Tray to herself in the dark, she was all for it. She hadn’t expected to crave companionship while on this trip, but ever since she’d met Tray, she couldn’t be responsible for her cravings.
“Paul, I need to get out of here at five.”
“Hot date?”
“I want to check out all the fuss about this Zozobra thing.”
Paul arched his eyebrows. “Really? I wouldn’t have pictured a big burning man to be your cup of tea.”
“Well, you know…” Ainsley’s voice trailed off. She couldn’t think of a plausible explanation that didn’t include divulging her real intentions. Paul, apparently, wasn’t going to let her off the hook.
