Jude’s Song (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 7)

by Mary Crawford

  I don’t want much — I just want someone to listen to me play and sing a little and maybe take a look at a couple songs I’ve written. I want to know if maybe — just maybe — I’ve got a shot at my dreams. I know I’m bucking the stereotype. I could go home to Texas, sing in a mariachi band, and perform at weddings and quinceaneras — but that’s not really what I want to do. Even though it’s traditional given my heritage, that music is not what I like. My abuela likes to claim it’s because there’s gringo blood on my dad’s side. Since he took off before I was old enough to remember, I have no idea whether she’s right.

  As I rearrange the speakers under the stage, I look up to watch Tasha dance in crazy circles on the stage. She seems totally lost in whatever music is playing through her headphones. Tasha is simply mesmerizing.

  Oddly, even though she’s dancing quickly, she isn’t paying any attention to the world around her. As soon as that thought registers in my brain, my body goes into full alert. ¡Mierda! She isn’t paying any attention. I sprint to the other side of the stage where Aidan has moved the orchestra because there are better acoustics from that side of the stage. I don’t think Tasha knows about the changes in the layout to the stage because she and Mindy took off early with the wardrobe people.

  I reach the side of the stage just in time to catch her as she falls backward off the stage. It isn’t the most graceful of landings — her lower back strikes my kneecap as I drop to one knee to support her body weight.

  “Ouch! That hurts,” she complains.

  “Well, Princess,” I reply dryly, “it would hurt a lot more if your head would’ve smacked the cement floor. You know, most people would say something like, ‘Gee, thank you so much for saving me.’”

  I think I must have said the wrong thing because Tasha’s jaw sets firmly as she replies, “Oh, I’m sorry. My brain was probably short-circuited by your profound body odor. Somehow, I always expected my Prince Charming to smell better when he rescued me. You’re positively overwhelming — and I don’t mean that in a good way.”

  Her statements should’ve been offensive, but she’s absolutely right. I’ve been moving so much stuff today that I am beyond ripe — but most people are so anxious to get near Aidan they’ll tell me anything they think would get them closer to such a big star. To have somebody completely call me out on the fact that I smell like overripe produce is awesome. I throw my head back and laugh. “Point taken. I clean up nicely, but do you? Would you like to put your money where your mouth is? I could meet you in an hour and a half for dinner.”

  “Did you just take it upon your stinky self to ask me out?” Tasha asks with an incredulous expression on her face.

  I look around as if I’m searching for someone. “I don’t see anyone else here, so I guess it must’ve beeen me,” I answer with more bravado than I actually have.

  “You’re crazy! Why should I go out with you? You smell rank!”

  “I smell funky at this very moment, but I don’t always. Besides, I saved you from a gruesome fall. It’s the least you could do.”

  Tasha barely disguises her eye roll. “I’m very grateful you saved me from a skull fracture, but I don’t want this to turn into some weird casting couch like they have in Hollywood. So, are you sure this is just dinner?”

  “I promise, this is simply dinner. Well, dinner and maybe some dancing in a slightly safer environment — if you’re up to it.”

  “Well, I suppose that would depend on how you smell,” Tasha replies with a smirk.

  It seems I’m not the only person who cleans up nicely. Tasha looks killer in stage costuming, but it’s nothing compared to how she looks all dolled up for a simple date. Her dark brown sweater slouches off her shoulders, her jeans are just the right amount of tight and she’s wearing the sexiest shoes I’ve ever seen. Leopard-skin and sky-high — they make Tasha nearly as tall as me. As always, her long inky curtain of hair distracts me to the point where I almost forget my name.

  Much to my embarrassment, Tasha walks around me like I’m a store mannequin and gives me a slow assessment. Finally, she announces curtly, “You’ll do.”

  The breath I’ve been holding escapes all at once. “What?”

  Tasha looks up at me with a mischievous look in her eyes. “I’m just yanking your chain. How does it feel to be on the other end of things?”

  “U-umm —” I stutter

  “Never mind, that was mean of me … I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. You look handsome, and you smell yummy too.”

  “Well, it’s not a huge accomplishment, since I smelled like the city dump this afternoon. It doesn’t take too much to make progress.” I roll my eyes for emphasis as I open my truck door and help her in. It would be nice if I had a cool sports car or something to wow her with, but I don’t.

  Tasha laughs at me. “You’d be surprised at the rank things I’ve smelled when guys try to impress me. Some of the things which pass for cologne should be labeled as toxic waste — but you smell nice.”

  I’ll admit I’m not great at small talk, but this is out-of-bounds-awkward even for me. I’m not even sure what to say to her comment. Do I say “thank you”? That seems dumb. I just slapped on some stuff my sister had lying around. She considers herself to be some sort of fashion stylist. If Fernanda’s ideas aren’t too crazy, I usually end up wearing whatever she tells me to. I don’t think I get to take too much credit. Rather than try to figure out how to follow up appropriately, I change the subject. “I hope you’re not one of those girls who plans to order salad. We’re not going to one of those kind of places.”

  Tasha raises an eyebrow at me. “How long have we been hanging out together? You should know better than to say something like that. I’m starving to death. My mom decided to talk my ear off during the last meal break, so I didn’t get a chance to eat much.”

  Without thinking, I reply, “Yeah, I heard. It sounded pretty intense.”

  Tasha’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Eavesdrop much?”

  I wince. “Sorry, I don’t make a habit of it, but it’s an occupational hazard. People forget guys like me are in the room. Your mom was pretty loud on the phone. It was hard not to hear her. What’s up with that anyway?”

  Tasha stares straight out the window as we drive down the highway. For a moment, I think she isn’t going to answer me, but finally she takes a deep breath and let it out. Traffic is a little heavy, so I can’t take the time to look over at her, but it sounds as if she is on the verge of tears.

  She sighs deeply before she answers. “I don’t even know how to answer your question. I guess it boils down to the fact that she has different dreams for me than I have for myself.”

  “What? She doesn’t want you to tour with Aidan O’Brien? Is she crazy? Your first single is just outside the Top 100 on the Billboard chart. That’s not even going mainstream — that’s on his new indie label, Silent Beats. It’s a huge deal!” My mouth is agape, my eyes open wide.

  Tasha shakes her head in resignation. “Oh, make no mistake — Ma wants me on those charts, but she wants me to be at the very top of them and she’s not sure Aidan is the person to get me there. The only problem is I’m not sure I want to be on the charts at all.”

  From the conversations I overheard today, I had a feeling she would say something like this, but to hear it said so bluntly and matter-of-factly was like getting a knee to the groin.

  “What? Don’t even make that face. You don’t know what it’s like to live my life —” she argues as she notices my sour expression.

  “All I know is that I would trade places with you in a heartbeat. I’d give anything to have Aidan’s ear for five minutes. I can’t imagine having a shot at a whole album and not just any album, but an album with him. Do you realize what he’s offered you?” I ask, still incredulous. “I can't believe Aidan O’ Brien is giving you the world on a platter and you’re just going to shove it back in his face. It’s not every day you get offered your dream job —”

  As we
stop at a stop sign, Tasha whirls on me, her eyes bright with anger. “Put a sock in it. If I wanted to hear that kind of garbage, I'd call my mom. You aren’t listening to me. This is not my dream. It’s never been my dream. It’s always been my mother’s dream for me. There is a difference. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always wanted to be a nurse — an oncology nurse, to be precise. I want to help little kids with cancer like the nurses who helped me at St. Jude’s.”

  My response is so resentful, it borders on rude. “It’s nice to have good intentions and all, but what about your talent?”

  Tasha buries her face in her hands for a moment before she turns back around and faces forward. I notice she wipes away some tears before she says quietly, “As much as I love singing, I wish I would’ve never started. Maybe the whole world would shut up about my stupid so-called talent and I’d have some control over my own life. Why is it so wrong of me to want to decide what’s right for me? Why do I have to live up to everyone else’s expectations? Why can’t I be like a normal person? Why can’t I just be nineteen and stupid?”

  “I don’t know — I’ve heard you have to be pretty smart to get into nursing school,” I tease. “Seriously, you got major skills. Little girls all over the world dream of having pipes like yours and you can shred a guitar like guys twice your age. It seems tragic to let all that go. My abuela says ignoring a God-given talent is like kicking him in the teeth.”

  Tasha gives me a watery smile as she admits, “That doesn’t sound like a very good idea — but what if I’m just as good at nursing as I am at singing? How will I ever know if I don’t try?”

  “I don’t know,” I concede. “I suppose there aren’t any easy answers.”

  “Speaking of easy answers — why don’t you have Aidan’s ear? You know he’s looking for talent to add to his label. He’s not exactly a hard guy to track down — he has jam sessions with us all the time. I haven’t seen you sit in on them.”

  My shoulders sag as I grip the steering wheel tighter. “It’s not that easy. It’s not like I’m one of the musicians or anything. I’m just the guy who moves the equipment around. Most of the musicians barely even know who I am. It’s like I’m invisible. Plus, what I do is weird.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tasha asks with a puzzled look. “Aidan says you’re one of the best equipment guys he’s ever had. He never has to worry about whether he’s got the right stuff or if you’re going to be late setting up. He loves the fact that he can count on you. I don’t think it’s so weird.”

  “No, my music is weird. Most people who look like me don’t sing country music. My family expects me to sing in Spanish and perform traditional music. In fact, they’re not happy I’m here helping Aidan at all. When my sister Fernanda followed me here to break into the fashion business, it was the last straw. My family doesn’t want to talk to me until I make something happen. My abuelo put it in crasser terms — but that’s basically the gist of things.”

  “So … basically you and I are in the same boat.”

  “Come again?” I respond, my voice dripping with disbelief. “I don’t think I heard you right. I clean up women’s panties from the stage and wipe sweat off of the instruments before I put them away. You’re one signature away from a record deal of a lifetime and a worldwide tour with Aidan O’Brien — I don’t think our situations have anything in common at all.”

  She shrugs. “The way I see it, we’re both a little too afraid to stand up for ourselves because we’re afraid we’re going to fail.”

  “Hernandez, why do you always have to fall for the lethally smart ones …” I mutter to myself.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught that,” Tasha says with a twinkle in her eye.

  “It’s probably better for me if you didn’t.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  TASHA

  WHEN JUDE ASKED ME OUT on a date, I didn’t know what to expect. I had no idea he would pull out all the stops and drive us all the way to Portland. I don’t really know much about Jude Hernandez, other than that he’s cute and quiet.

  I’ve noticed he seems to be a study in contrasts. He’s almost painfully shy, yet he was bold enough to ask me out on a date after I told him he reeked. Jude doesn’t hold a high-powered position within Silent Beats with a corner office and a title, but Aidan trusts him with every aspect of his business. He claims to be invisible, but he knows every person who comes in and out of the building and can direct them to the correct location. Even his appearance is a big contradiction. He dresses like a rodeo cowboy, but he carries himself with the confidence and bearing of a military officer. His easy laid-back smile is in direct contrast to his intense, arresting eyes. When I first met him, I thought perhaps he was wearing contact lenses, but he assured me his heterochromia is not only one hundred percent natural — but the bane of his existence. It soon became clear Jude is not the type of guy who would manufacture something like having one brown eye and one blue eye to draw attention to himself.

  As I think back, I don’t think I ever knew Jude was a musician even though he could easily pass as a member of our band. Sure, I’ve seen him carrying around a worn guitar case, but I always assumed it was one of Aidan’s. It isn’t hard to envision Jude as a country music star though. He usually wears a beat-up cowboy hat, jeans and cowboy boots. His unusual eyes, thick, curly hair and engaging smile have star power written all over them.

  I reach out and turn up the radio in his truck. It’s full of pops and skips, but there’s no mistaking one of my favorite songs by Brooks & Dunn. “There you go, Cowboy. There’s a song right up your alley. Knock my socks off and I’ll be the first official member of your fan club —”

  Jude clears his throat. “I can’t really do that.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t? Don’t you know the words? I thought everybody knew the words to this song. This is classic country.”

  “Oh, I know the words. I know them by heart. I’ve even made up a special arrangement for the bridge.”

  “So… what’s the problem?” Most guys I know go out of their way to show off in front of me.

  “When I try singing in front of other people, it’s like I become paralyzed.”

  “I understand. I have to meditate and psych myself up every time I get on stage. Stage fright is no laughing matter.”

  “No, it’s more than that. Stage fright is what I used to get when I had to give a report in front of the class. This is so far beyond stage fright I can’t even explain. It’s like my vocal cords don’t even work.” Defeat cascades from Jude.

  I study him with confusion before I finally blurt the question my curiosity won’t allow me to keep contained. “If you can’t sing in front of anybody, how do you know if you’re any good?”

  He grins at me sarcastically. “Give the lady a gold star.”

  I involuntarily recoil at the bitter tone in his voice. “Sorry, I was just asking a logical question.”

  Jude groans in frustration as he tries to gather his thoughts. He takes a deep breath and sighs. “Look, you’re right. I’m being an jerk. Honestly, I don’t really know whether I have your level of talent — or any talent at all. I used to make videos of myself on my iPad while I was learning to play guitar. It helped me with chord transitions and technique. I thought they were private, just for me, but my pesky little sister found them and showed my mom. Apparently, someone in my family knows somebody in the music business and showed the videos to them. This dude was going to sign me with some big talent agent. I don’t know what I think about the offer because the guy wanted some money from my mom for publicity shots and some other junk. It all seemed like some big scam. It’s hard to know what to believe.”

  “Yeah, I hear you.” I shake my head. “People like that are a dime a dozen in the pageant world. I don’t even want to know the amount of money my mom spent trying to make me a star.”

  “Maybe so,” he answers darkly, “but there’s a real difference between us. You’re a star now and I
’m just a guy hauling around gear — who happens to like to write songs I can’t sing.”

  I can tell from Jude’s flippant, angry words that he wants to be the guy who doesn’t give a crap about this — but what he’s trying to project and what I see are two very different things. As Jude pulls his truck to a stop in front of the restaurant, I try to figure out what to say. I don’t know what it is about Jude, but just looking at him seems to make the wrong words fly out of my mouth.

  Jude’s not the kind of guy to draw attention to himself. Even so, he’s been on my radar for a really long time. He totally earned my respect a couple years ago when Aidan’s friend, Trevor, was getting married and asked me to sing at the wedding. The news media and paparazzi were sniffing around and looking for a good story, but Jude not only ignored the cash bribes, he sent the photogs in a completely different direction. A lot of people I know would’ve sold us out in a heartbeat. So I know he’s not the shallow, uncaring jerk he pretends to be.

  The hostess walks us back to our table, and Jude takes the time to pull out my chair. He even stands by to help me out of my jacket. It’s such a quaint, old-fashioned gesture that it makes me blush. I’m not used to being treated like such a lady. Nearly everyone on Aidan’s crew has been nothing but nice to me, but they tend to treat me like a little kid and sometimes forget I’m even a woman. To them, I’m just one of the guys. After the rigors and the uber-competitive environment of the pageant scene, it’s been a refreshing and strange change of pace.

  Jude sits across from me and places his napkin across his knee. “I hope you’re feeling adventurous tonight. I know this isn’t a typical place to eat, but it’s a great way to get to know someone.”

  There’s something about the weird subtext in his statement which causes me to look around the restaurant a little more closely. It’s only then I realize everyone has little pots in the center of their tables. A gust of surprised laughter erupts from me. “Fondue? We drove all this way for melted cheese?”