by Dee Ernst
“I got my state tax refund,” Diane lied calmly. “I had forgotten all about it.”
“Do we have to help you with all that?” Emily asked. “You know I hate all that gardening stuff.”
“No. It will be my project. It will give me something besides work to do while you girls are gone all summer.”
“Maybe you should find a boyfriend,” Megan suggested.
Diane turned and stared at her. “What?”
Megan shrugged. “Well, you should think about it. You’re still pretty.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” Diane said, hiding a smile.
“How about Dale Watson’s father?” Emily suggested.
“Bill Watson?” Bill Watson was about fifty, thinning hair, very shy and painfully thin. Diane looked from one girl to the other. “Is that the kind of boyfriend I should get?”
“Well, he’s nice,” Emily offered. “And tall.”
“Besides, Mom,” Megan pointed out, “you’re not so lucky with guys.”
Diane chewed her lip to keep from smiling. Michael would be there in twenty minutes. “Tell you what. You girls work on saving some money this summer. I’ll work on my rose garden. We’ll leave the whole boyfriend thing to fate, okay?”
Emily shrugged. “You’re not getting any younger, Mom. You don’t want to end up one of those ladies with a bunch of cats,” she said.
“Like Mrs. Winship,” Megan added.
Diane looked up at the clock. “Isn’t it time for you girls to go?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Emily swung her backpack over her shoulder. “What are you doing today?”
“What? What do you mean?” Diane asked, flustered.
“You look nice. Are you going somewhere?”
“No. I’m just hanging around here all morning.”
“Okay. Bye.” Emily slouched out. Megan kissed Diane quickly and followed her. Diane listened as the front screen door slammed shut, then leaned back against the kitchen counter in relief.
“Bill Watson,” she said aloud. “Oh, my God.”
She heard the front door swing open. He was early. She looked out of the kitchen and Sharon Ingoe was smiling at her.
“Hey, talking to yourself so early in the morning?” Sharon said cheerfully. “About what?” She tossed a file folder on the counter. “Here’s that stuff for Megan’s project you needed.”
“Thanks,” Diane said as she poured coffee. “My daughters think I should get a boyfriend. They have placed Bill Watson’s name up for consideration.”
Sharon made a face. “Boy, are they way off base.
Diane shook her head. “No, they’re right on base. He’s exactly the kind of guy I should be dating. He’s my age, nice, stable, divorced with kids, so he knows that whole trip. He’s got a good job, we’re both from the same community, and we know the same people. He’s pretty much perfect for me.”
Sharon leaned her hip against the counter. “What the hell are you talking about? I thought you were dating Michael the Cute.”
Diane stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “I’m forty-five, divorced, with three kids. I should feel lucky to get a guy like Bill Watson. What am I doing with a twenty-six year old poster boy who goes on tour for a living?”
“I thought you liked Michael.”
“I do. God, yes, he’s incredible. But he is so far removed from the kind of man I thought I’d be with at this point in my life. If you were single right now, what kind of man would you want?”
Sharon pursed her lips. “I’d want a man I don’t have to explain Paulie’s ADHD to. Somebody who understands why I’m at a soccer game instead of making dinner. Somebody who knows why I’m miserable about putting my mother in a nursing home.”
“Exactly. Bill Watson. Does Michael even come close to any of that?”
“Listen, you’ve been going out with one form of Bill Watson or another for the past few years. Without much success, I might add. The only man who’s managed to float your boat since your divorce was that English guy, and he wasn’t very Bill Watson-like. What’s so wrong with a guy who’s incredible?”
“I don’t know. I’m just a little overwhelmed right now.”
“By a poster boy? Well, that’s understandable.”
“He should be here any minute.”
“Oh?”
Diane blushed. “I’m making him breakfast.”
“Uh huh.” Sharon’s eyes danced over the rim of her coffee cup. “Is that what you’re calling it these days?”
Diane was smiling. “We are kind of in that can’t-keep-our-hands-off-each-other phase,” she admitted.
“I am so jealous. Really. He’s how old?”
“Oh, stop it. He had all the stuff I need for my roses sent over. A guy delivered everything yesterday. Can you believe it?”
Sharon looked into the back yard. “Now, there’s class for you. Most men send a dozen long-stemmed roses after that first big night. He sends a whole garden.”
“I know. I’m so lucky.”
“Hey, so is he,” Sharon said stoutly, “and don’t forget it.” She was still looking into the back yard. “Is that him?”
Michael had come around and was standing in the patio, looking at the pile of slate, roses and bagged compost. He smiled as the two women came out, kissing Diane and nodding to Sharon.
“Hello. I’m Michael.” He held out his hand.
Sharon shook it warmly. “Nice to see meet you. I’m Sharon. I was on my way out.”
Michael held up his hands. “Wait. Don’t leave on my account. Want to have breakfast with us?”
Sharon grinned at Diane. “Isn’t he sweet?” She turned back to Michael. “No, thank you,” she told him as she headed for the back gate. Once behind Michael’s back, she turned around to her friend and mouthed, ‘He’s so cute’, before leaving them alone.
Diane kissed him. “See. All the stuff is here. Everything is going to be beautiful,” she declared.
“Will you please let me help you with this?” he pleaded. “At least today? I mean it. You’ve already proven what a great hole-digger you are. We’ll get some things in the ground, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you. That’s what we can do this morning.”
“Now, about tonight. Do you like to dance? Ever hear of the 1896 Club?”
“I love the 1896. We were just there, in March - for my birthday. All the girls.”
“The girls? Emily and Megan?”
“No. Sue and Sharon and Carol and Clair and Ginny. The girls.”
“Oh,” he chuckled. “Well, how about tonight with the boys? Seth wants to take David there. Some people we know are playing. Great music. Even some Motown.”
“I’d love to go.”
“Good. So what’s for breakfast?”
“Blueberry pancakes, sausage, coffee, juice. How does that sound?”
“That sounds good.”
“But I thought,” she said slowly, sliding her hands under his shirt, “we could do something else first.”
He smiled. “Something else sounds good too.”
She heard his truck drive up, and came out the door to meet him. He was wearing a cowboy hat made of finely braided straw, with a thin band and a small blue feather. She met him in the middle of her walk and kissed him warmly.
“Are you in disguise?” She asked politely.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” he explained as they walked to the truck. “The 1896 is the kind of place where I’ll get recognized. I’m not in the mood. I figure in a club famous for R&B, they’ll leave the jerk in the cowboy hat alone.” He started the truck. “What do you think?”
She was looking at his feet. “Boots too?”
“Hell, yeah. Hand made by a guy outside Austin. They’re beautiful, really. And they add an extra two inches.”
“Michael,” she said wickedly, “you don’t need an extra two inches.”
He turned bright red. “Thanks. But I was actually referring to adding two inches to my height.”
“Oh. Well.
My mistake.” She was grinning at him. “Couldn’t you find a big silver belt buckle? Maybe in the shape of a cow’s head?’
“Ha. Ha. Keep it up. I’m tough.”
“Isn’t this a little early for the 1896?”
“Yes, but I figured we’d eat first. Are you hungry?”
“Of course. Are you going to wear the hat in the restaurant too?”
“I can’t believe you don’t like my hat. I’m crushed. Really. The girl who sold it to me told me it made me look sexy.’
“Michael, if you looked any sexier, we’d never get out of bed.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You look great, by the way.”
She smiled. She was wearing a denim skirt and a red sleeveless tee shirt, with an oversized black linen shirt as a jacket. “Thank you. If I had known we were playing dress-up, I’d have worn my fringed leather jacket.”
“You have a fringed leather jacket?”
“Since high school. It’s older than you are.”
“Oh.”
The 1896 Club was an old mansion that had been built in the twenties. The address was 1896 Main Street, and since the mid-seventies it had been a known primarily for the blues bands that came through on their way to the Big Apple. The owner, Bobby St. John, was an aging hippie who was on a first name basis with some world class musicians. NinetySeven had played there often, before they made it big.
It was almost nine by the time Michael and Diane got there, and there was already a small crowd gathered on the front porch. Michael was ignored as he made his way to the front table, and as he paid their way in he asked if Bobby was around. The bouncer had been leaning up against the wall. He was big, over six feet tall, heavy and brutish. At Michael’s question, he walked over and stood beside him, looming. He glared at Michael.
“Bobby who?”
Michael looked up at him. “Bobby who signs your paycheck,” he said patiently.
“How the fuck do you know Bobby?”
Michael looked at Diane. Her eyes were big and dark. He carefully put his wallet into his back pocket. He looked back up.
“I know Bobby,” he said calmly. “I’ve played here before. Is he upstairs?”
The bouncer shrugged and took another step toward Michael. The people in line behind them were watching. Michael took Diane’s arm.
“Excuse me,” he said quietly. The bouncer glared, looked around at everyone, and stepped aside. Michael and Diane went inside.
The place was crowded, but most of the people were milling around. Michael made for a table off in a corner. As they sat down, he looked around.
“This is a good spot. Too close to the speakers and you’ll loose your hearing for a week. What do you want to drink?”
Diane was looking at him, still wide-eyed. “What was that all about?”
Michael shrugged. “It was about him being the size of Duluth and me being a small guy he thinks he can intimidate. What are you drinking?”
“But that was shitty. Why did he do that?”
“Because,” Michael said patiently. “He can do that. He’s big and tough and he can be as shitty as he wants to be, because he figures I can’t stop him. And he’s right. Drink?”
“But,” she began, then stopped.
“But what?” he asked.
“Does it bother you?”
“Yeah, it bothers me. But I figure I’ve made more money so far this year than he’ll make in his lifetime. A month ago I had lunch with Mick Jagger. I’m spending my Friday night with a lovely, gracious woman instead of standing guard at a nightclub. Now. What do you want to drink?”
“Just club soda.”
Michael stood up and turned as a short, stocky man with a long white pony-tail grabbed him from behind, growling, picking him up off the ground.
Michael grinned. “Hello, Bobby.”
Bobby St. John dropped Michael and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. “When Jackie said some douche-bag in a cowboy hat was giving him a hard time, I figured it was you.”
“Jackie needs a leash,” Michael said mildly. “Behave yourself, Bobby, this is Diane. And this is Bobby St. John.”
Bobby looked at Diane carefully. “You’ve been here before,” he declared.
Diane nodded. “Yes. A couple of months ago.”
“I remember. A bunch of women. A tall blonde got Will Richenbach to play ‘Happy Birthday’.”
Diane smiled. “Yes. You have a very good memory. It was my birthday, actually.”
Bobby pursed his lips. “I remember good-looking women. The blonde was hot.”
“Carol. I’ll tell her you said so.”
Bobby squinted at Michael. “What’s with the hat?”
Michael sighed. “Please sit, Bobby. I don’t want to deal with any more shit tonight.”
Bobby sat down heavily and signaled the waitress. “Sure, Mike. Jackie is just an asshole. Hey, Seth and the Irishman are upstairs doin’ lines with the boys. Why don’t we go up?”
Michael shook his head. “No, thanks. We’re here to listen.”
Bobby shrugged. “Sure.” To the waitress. “A shot and a beer for me and Tex, whatever the lady wants, and no tab, okay?” The girl took the order and left. Bobby leaned toward Michael. “Just one number, towards the end? Jonelle would love it. She sounds great. Been clean for almost a year.”
Michael shook his head again. “Seth will sing with her.”
Bobby shrugged his shoulders, resigned. The drinks arrived. Michael and Bobby took their shots together, talking. Diane watched them, and the crowd around them. No one even glanced in their direction. Suddenly, there was a murmur and Seth Bascomb came up to the table, followed by a very short, balding man. Both were grinning.
Seth grabbed a few chairs from the next table and sat down. He smiled at Diane and introduced David Go, who was clearly stoned and obviously enjoying himself very much. Bobby left after a few minutes, and then the band started playing.
They played old R&B covers, Motown, reggae. She and Michael danced. He was loose and graceful. She was having a wonderful time. For the third number, the guitar player who had been singing stepped aside and tiny black woman got up and sang, an old Staple Singers hit, in a deep, sexy voice.
“She’s great,” Diane said into Michael’s ear. He nodded, smiling, pulling her closer. Over his shoulder, she could see Seth. He had been dancing with a tall redhead, then had switched to a heavy-set black woman. Seth was the center of attention on the dance floor, grinning and happily putting on a show. No one had even glanced at Michael.
The music slowed, and she and Michael moved together closely. He was slightly taller now, and she had to tilt her head to look into his eyes, very blue and serious under the rim of his hat.
“You’re making me crazy, you know,” he said into her ear, his hands on her hips. He kissed her hair softly. “Let’s get some air.”
They went out onto the front porch. The air was slightly chilled, and the street was quiet. People were smoking and talking, and they found an empty space on the steps to sit.
“Having fun?” he asked, slipping his arm around her shoulders.
“I always have fun with you. You’re a good dancer. The band is great. Do you know them well?”
“Yeah. Jonelle has an amazing voice. We were kinda close. She got pretty fucked up for a while. Seth is tight with the percussionist. They spend too much time stoned. They’ll never be more than a cover band, but they’re a great cover band. Lots of fun.”
“Have you played with them before?”
“Yes. They’re talented. It’s fun to play with different people. And they’re really into blues. I love playing blues.”
“So play with them.”
He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Seth is having fun.”
“Seth is always on. I don’t know how he does it.”
“Hey.”
“What?”
“Your hat really is sexy.”
“God, we need a room. Now.”<
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“Listen. About next week,” she looked sheepishly at him. “You’ve been invited to a picnic. The chairman of my Department, Marianne Thomas, who is also a good friend, asked me to ask you to her annual year-end extravaganza. I told her about us, and she wants to meet you. I also think she’s hoping to shock the rest of her guests, but I warned her that you’re very normal.”
“Normal? Shit, that’s deadly. Sure, I’d love to come. Can I wear my hat?”
“No, you may not. Maybe the boots.”
“I have something to ask you, too. My father wants to meet you. Lunch at the Country Club was his suggestion.”
“Really? Oh, my. The Club. I’d love to meet your father. Any day will be fine.”
“Fantastic. I’ll let you know. Stand up - the set’s over. We’ll get trampled.”
She stood up quickly and leaned against the railing as people surged out the door and onto the sidewalk. Diane was watching them when she heard someone say Michael’s name. She turned and saw Jonelle, the singer from the band, wrap her arms around Michael’s neck and give him a slow, deliberate kiss in his lips.
“Michael, baby, you look fine,” Jonelle cooed. Michael smiled.
“Hello Jonelle. You all sound great.”
“Yeah, we’re doin’ good.” She was leaning against his side, one arm around his shoulders. She was petite, pretty, with close-cropped hair and dark, honey-colored skin. Diane watched her with interest. She could tell by the way Jonelle acted, her careless familiarity with Michael, the intimate smile, that they had been lovers.
“What’s with the hat, baby?” Jonelle teased, her hand rubbing Michael’s chest. You goin’ to the dark side?”
Michael chuckled and shook his head. Jonelle turned deliberately to Diane.
“Seth said you had a new lady,” she said flatly, looking Diane up and down.
“Yes. This is Diane.”
Jonelle turned back to Michael, ignoring Diane. “You gonna play later, baby? We used to play good together.”
Michael smiled faintly. “Maybe,” he said, a slight edge to his voice.
Jonelle took her arm away. “So, ask the new girlfriend. Maybe we could do a request.” She looked at Diane again. “You got a request?” she asked.
