“Okay. You got your guitar?”
“With me?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“I do.”
“Great. See that spot over there in the corner next to the jukebox? The little step up? I call it a stage.”
“Yeah.”
“Grab your guitar and sing some songs. I know a few show business types, and I wouldn’t mind having live entertainment to bring some people in. That is if you’re good.”
“Really?!”
“Really.”
“Wow. Okay.” I stood. “Can I get another taco?”
“You’re hungry, huh? Usually three fill my customers up.”
“It’s for my dog. She’s out in my van.”
“Bring her in. She doesn’t bite does she?”
“Oh no. Not even.”
“I love dogs. Go get her and the guitar. I’ll make her up some tacos. Hey Mumbles, Candace, we’re gonna get some live entertainment in here,” he said to the two barflies.
Candace turned back to us and said in a scratchy voice, “Good. The kid looks like she might bring this place some much-needed class.”
The patched-eye guy mumbled something completely indecipherable.
“You two are always busting my balls,” Nick laughed.
I walked out to the VW and slid open the door. Cass was curled up in the back. She lifted her head and I blew her a kiss. “Hungry?”
This word always prompts her to perk right up. She leapt out, I grabbed my guitar, and we headed into Nick’s, me wondering if playing music in this dive bar might just be the answer to my prayers.
CHAPTER FOUR
Two weeks playing and singing at Nick’s taught me quite a bit, including how to make his famous tacos (except for the fish, his top secret recipe). I’d also learned how to pour a stiff drink or two. When my mama and daddy called every other day, I found myself telling little white lies about eighty-percent of the time. I told them a story about a fancy resort I was playing at out in Malibu and how Cass and I were doing just fine.
I guess in some ways we were. The hours at Nick’s were great—six to midnight every night but Monday (bar was closed. Nick said he needed a day off, but I had a sneaking suspicion there was more to it than that. Not sure why I felt it, but I did). The pay wasn’t great, however. I made eight bucks an hour plus tips, and the tips were, well, on the meager side, considering patrons like Candace and her sidekick Mumbles.
Speaking of Mumbles, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how he got his nickname. He was a stout old guy with deep lines across his forehead and around his visible eye. Nearly bald, he never takes off the eye patch. He’s a character. Don’t know how he got the eye patch, but one day, I’m sure I’ll get the back story, if I can understand it, that is. I think his accent is Irish—hard to say, though.
One evening I slapped him on the shoulder as I came in, guitar strung on my back, Cass tailing me. I hadn’t thought about it before I did it—it was a small slap on the shoulder, but he was wearing a tank top so the shoulder was bare, which meant no barrier. I realized that pretty much anyone who sat at a bar day after day had probably had some trauma in their life, but what came rushing at me in a wave was a searing darkness. Searing as in I could hear the pain this time. That was it. Black, loud and painful. It was only two seconds worth, but I instinctively brought my hands up to cover my ears. I shook my head, ridding myself of the pain and confusion. That had never happened before. “Hey, Mumbles. What’s up? How’s it going?”
I think his answer was something like, “Uh-huh, yeah. Good. Hell. Yep. Okay. Don’t know. You? Your ears covered? Okay?”
I decided to mumble my response, “Me. Too, uh-huh. Good. Okay. Think so anyway. Ears is fine.”
And that was the beginning of my friendship with Mumbles. Strange as it may be.
Candy—who preferred to be called Candace even though she revealed to me one night that her name was really Barbara—always sat two seats away from Mumbles. I think she had once been beautiful. She has deep-set green eyes, long white-blonde hair, and a terrific smile, but time, a hard life, and booze have taken a toll on her. It’s funny what people will reveal after they’ve had a few drinks. It didn’t take long before I knew all about Candace’s four husbands, her hopes of being an actress, her daughter who hadn’t spoken to her in eight years, and her cat, Goldy I didn’t have to touch Candace to quickly understand the traumas in her life.
And I learned a bit about Nick himself. He didn’t exactly have as many show biz contacts as he’d initially indicated. Turns out, Nick was the child star of a 1970’s show called “Next-Door Neighbors.” He didn’t talk much about it, but I know he played the precocious kid, Jeff. Something told me Nick had once been a bigger star than he revealed. I didn’t know much about actors or actresses. We were not allowed a. TV in the house growing up. The only exposure I ever really had to television was the one in my mama’s beauty shop and all I can say is it didn’t leave the most favorable impression on me.
One Tuesday night, not too long after I started at Nick’s, things were a bit busier than usual. Some of the college kids from USC liked to pop in on occasion. I think it was because of the tacos and cheap beer. I had just finished playing a set and decided to take a break and have a bite to eat. I sat between Candace and Mumbles. No one ever sat between them but me. Candace smiled at me. She was already a good three sheets to the wind and it was only nine-o clock. Then again, she’d been pretty bombed around six when I set up for the night. She patted my knee. “You are such a pretty singer, Sweet Pea. Isn’t she Mumbles?”
“Huh. Uh. Yep. Pretty.”
I smiled at them both and then scanned the bar. “Thank you. Hey, where’s Nick?”
Candace spun around on the red vinyl and pointed to a booth near the kitchen. “Old friends of his,” she said.
I spotted Nick seated across from a woman who from where I sat looked Hollywood pretty. In other words, she had a plastic quality about her, but whoever had done the work had done a good job. She was sitting next to a handsome guy, he was probably about fifty and it was hard to tell how old the woman was due to the good work. Nick appeared kind of uncomfortable but he was having a drink with them and their conversation looked light and cordial to me. I decided not to bother him about the tacos.
It was one of those nights when things simply felt out of place and a little off. Candace excused herself to go to the bathroom when another woman who she seemed to recognize walked in. The woman was an attractive redhead, petite, probably close to Candace’s age but again hard to tell age since guessing Candace’s actual age is near impossible. Candace glanced at me. “I’m going to the restroom to put some lipstick on.”
Hmm. Now that was a first.
The redhead sat at the end of the bar. A few minutes later I saw Nick come back behind the bar and head over to her. He kissed her on the cheek and they hugged. He looked happy to see her. I contemplated getting up to introduce myself when someone sat down next to me. Someone I had noticed in the bar before.
“Hi. I’m Jackson.”
I turned to face the guy. He could frequently be found in a back booth with his laptop, which he pounded away on, and he always ordered iced-teas. I’d seen him speak with Nick a few times but decided not to force an introduction…partly because the guy was always so focused on his computer, and partly because of how intimidated I get around hot guys (and yes, he was hot).
“Hi,” I said, looking into his brooding, dark eyes. Oh God, I sound like the heroine of a romance novel. Brooding? Really?! But they were, brooding and dark. He also had deep brown, disheveled waves of hair…very sexy. And, he was talking to me.
I started to stick my hand out and then thought better of it. “I’m Evie.”
“I know. I asked Nick.”
“Ah, so you know Nick?”
“Well, yeah. I love that guy. If I could only get him to star in my film project.”
Film project? Nick? I shook my head. “Okay.” I mus
t have made a face.
“I’m sorry. I get so excited sometimes. I never imagined I’d be hanging out with Nick Gordin.”
I felt like I was missing something crucial but decided not to pursue it. “Nick’s great. Thanks to him, I now have a steady job. I’ve been working here for a couple of weeks.”
“I know and you are an amazing singer. I love coming in to listen to you while I work.” He nodded down at his ever-present laptop.
“Thank you. That’s really sweet.” I could feel the heat rise to my face big time. I hoped the dim lighting made it hard for anyone else to see. “Um, so tell me about your project?”
“It’s a documentary for my film class. I’m in a graduate program at the USC film school. My subject is childhood stars and what happened to them. Nick would be perfect for it. His story is so fascinating.”
“It is?” I asked. I knew there was something more to Nick, and Jackson seemed to have a line on it.
“Oh, yeah.”
Candace came back at that moment. “Excuse me. That’s my seat.”
He glanced up at Candace, “I’m sorry,” then looked back to me. “Do you want to sit over there with me?” he asked, pointing to his usual booth.
I started to say yes when I heard Nick calling my name. “Evie, come meet a friend of mine.” He beckoned me from the other end of the bar, where the redheaded woman sat.
I glanced back at Jackson. “Rain check?” I asked.
He nodded. “I actually have somewhere I need to be.”
There were those brooding eyes again. Had I blown it? “Oh, ok.”
He smiled, “Rain check definitely.”
I turned away as I felt the blush reappear and headed over to Nick and Red. “Evie, this is, uh, well this is my good friend Rebecca Styles.”
“Friend, huh?” Rebecca raised an eyebrow and started laughing. She faced me. “You can call me Becky, hon.”
“I’m Evie.”
Nick nodded slowly, “Beck is in town maybe to stay, right?”
Becky took a quick sip of her drink before answering. “That is the plan. I’m looking for a place. I wanted to come home to be close to old friends. New York has been wonderful, but I needed a change of pace.” She smiled widely at Nick.
Okay, clearly something was going on here, but once again, I was missing whatever it was. Not to be cliché and all, but you could slice the tension with a knife. I looked back and forth between Nick and Becky.
“Hey, Beck, do you remember Bradley Verne?”
“Of course. You two still friends?”
“Yeah. That’s him and his wife I was talking with. I don’t think you’ve met her. They got married, you know, after…”
He didn’t finish his sentence, but Becky nodded as if she understood completely. “Want to say hello and meet his wife Raquela?”
“Sure.” Becky smiled politely at me and picked up her glass of wine and the two of them headed back to the booth where the other couple sat.
I walked back to the kitchen to fix my own meal since it was clear Nick was preoccupied. I couldn’t help but notice Candace’s death glare fixed on a seemingly oblivious Becky. Things around the bar were getting awfully interesting.
CHAPTER FIVE
As fond as I was of Nick, Candace, and Mumbles, I still had a major problem: the money (or lack thereof). I loved singing nightly at Nick’s. I love to sing, period. And play the guitar. But fifty bucks a night (and that was on a good night) was not going to get me far. Cass and I were still holed up in that motel. It stank. It was loud. And I was way over it. However, choices were few and far between. I’d been on the apartment hunt every day in my spare time. Studio apartments in L.A. ran at least twelve hundred a month and most landlords wanted first and last month’s rent (and this wasn’t even in the nice parts of town). On top of that, most didn’t rent to dog owners and if they did, they wanted at least a month’s worth of cash for the deposit. You do the math. That five grand from Mrs. LaRue was looking like chump change.
Late one night, lying on the creaking, uncomfortable motel bed with Cass, I found myself in tears. Cass scooched closer to me and practically licked my hand off. When the tears didn’t stop coming, she stood and licked my entire face dry (so to speak). I couldn’t help but start laughing, which only wound Cass up even more as she twirled in a circle, her tail swinging back and forth wildly, smacking me in the face with each twirl. “Easy girl. Easy. Stop! Stop it!” I laughed even harder, and then a knock at the door sobered me up quick. Cass started barking and the knocking grew louder. Uh oh. “Just a minute,” I yelled at the door and then hissed at Cass, “Stop, stop, shhh.”
“This is the manager. Open up the door. Do you have a dog in there?”
“No. No. It’s the T.V.”
“Open this door, or I will call the cops.”
I closed my eyes and cringed. “Cass, get down,” I whispered. “Down.” She growled. Not at me, but at the door. I got her off the bed and locked her in the bathroom. I cracked the door and there stood the manager—ugly, overweight, spectacled, and in a wife beater with his paunch exposed and hanging over ill-fitting sweats. Lovely. “Hi!” I put on my best fake smile. “Is there a problem?”
He crossed his arms. “You have a dog here.” A statement, not a question. Crap.
“No. It’s the T.V. Animal Planet.’
“We don’t get that channel. And the dog you don’t have is scratching on the bathroom door. I’m not deaf. You need to get out.”
“What?”
“No dogs. No cats. No birds. No lizards. No pets! Get.”
“Now?”
“Did I stutter?”
The beginnings of panic unfurled in my chest, “I-I can put her in the van for the night.”
“Nope. Get. Out. Bye-bye.” He wiggled his pudgy fingers at me, and he accidently dropped his keys. I bent down at the same time he did to retrieve them and my fingers touched his. That’s when I saw it. The manager in a car with a tiny little girl. He looked much younger, a lot less weight on him, and he was happy. They were singing Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head. Rain splattered against the windshield, and in an instant something hit their car. It went black and then I saw the manager crying over the girl. “No, Sara! No!” She was covered in blood. She was dead. I pulled my fingers back and stood up.“You got ten minutes,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” It was all I could say.
He frowned. “I was going to charge you for the night as well and keep the cleaning deposit. I can’t rent the room until it’s fully cleaned and fumigated, cuz if you read your contract I can do that. No pets. Pets have fleas and I am running a nice place here. I can’t allow someone to stay in this room after a dog has been in it.
“My dog does not have fleas.” She probably did. I have, in fact, seen one or two on her, but seriously, this guy was not running the Ritz Carlton by any stretch of the imagination. Motel 6 was a five-star by comparison.
“I said that I was going to charge you, but you seem a bit down and out, so I won’t. You still gotta go though.”
I nodded and shut the door behind him. I knew that if I had not touched him and saw what I had seen that he would have definitely charged me the money. In some ways it would have been worth it, even though I didn’t have much left. It is not easy seeing the sufferings of others, especially when it involves the loss of a child. It’s why I am usually so careful not to touch people. Damn. Hopefully his pain had been eased some.
I sighed, and took Cass out of the bathroom. I quickly threw my things into my suitcase and we left the motel without a clue as to where we would go.
We drove around for thirty minutes with me in a daze and Cass curled up in the back seat. I finally decided the best idea would be to park in a residential area and get up early in the morning and move. I found a quiet, well-lit street, parked, and climbed in back with my dog. Was this how people wound up on the streets? I couldn’t go back home. Not after all the faith Betty had in me, and I didn’t want to prove to my
daddy that I couldn’t make it on my own. I also didn’t want to wind up panhandling with Cass, looking sad and desperate. I could ask Nick for more money. I could ask him if I could work the day shift, but I knew that wouldn’t work either. Nick ran the day shift and it was rare many patrons came in during the day. I knew Nick did not have the money to pay me more. I also knew I didn’t want to give up the singing. It was all I had, besides Cass, and she counted on me.
I put a blanket over the two of us and eventually slept, only to be woken by the early morning sun and the droning of a nearby lawn mower. Who mows their lawn at seven in the morning? It didn’t matter. I needed to move before the neighbors wondered about the beat up van with the homeless lady and her dog inside. Reality hit me then that we were living out of my van. Reality also hit that I needed a shower. I was determined today was the day I got a day job and found a new place for me and Cass.
I washed up and put on some war paint inside a McDonald’s restroom after getting Cass and me a couple of egg McMuffins. I put an old U2 cassette into my tape player. I needed to upgrade my sound system to an Ipod iPod but the tape player still worked. I sang all the lyrics at the top of my lungs as Cass howled along with me.
I had a full stomach, was sort of clean, and received an attitude adjustment from none other than Bono himself. I was ready to take on the day. Little did I know what was in store for me.
At eleven o’ clock I received a phone call from Nordstrom. They needed a new MAC girl. For the record, MAC appears to be the best makeup in the world. Or maybe they just have the best marketing in the world. Because it seems everyone who is anyone wears MAC. I don’t, but that’s because I can’t afford it, but thank my lucky stars my mama took such great pride in teaching me how to make up my face, hers, and everyone else’s in Brady. This job had my name written all over it. I was going to get it if it killed me. I almost got the VW up to sixty on the freeway. It was shaking.
I walked in, trying to be as sophisticated as possible in my all-black ensemble and do you know what? They hired me! That night I celebrated at Nick’s with a glass of cheap Merlot and a hamburger.
A Perfectly Purloined Pinot (Nikki Sands' Mysteries) Page 6
