“Are you all right, Carter?” Derek doesn’t know what to do. He’s got one hand on the wheel and the other reaches for me. I motion for him to keep going, but he ignores me. “Maybe I should stop for a bit.” The bus slows down as we near an exit at the Cumberland Gap Mountain Pass.
“Don’t stop. Just drive,” I hiss, the searing pain making me want to wretch.
“I’m pulling over—”
“I told you to just fucking drive, Derek!”
“Shut your ass,” Derek snaps back with a growl, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I’m the goddamn driver, not you, so I decide if we pull over.”
“And I’m the goddamn driver’s boss, so I say keep driving,” I snarl, clutching my head.
“You’re going to be roadkill in a minute if you don’t shut the hell up.” Derek eases the RV off the road and puts it in park. He disappears into the back only to return a moment later with some pain medication and a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” I mumble, taking them from him. I swallow down the pills and catch a smirk on Derek’s face as he watches me from the driver’s seat.
“Just drive.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” He shakes his head and puts the RV back into drive and pulls on-to the highway.
“Everything OK?” Luke asks, popping his head between the seats.
“He’s fine. Just having a meltdown.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine. Just a headache.”
Luke glances between us before moving back to his seat, shaking his head. I’m sure seeing two New Yorkers verbally battling one another had to be enjoyable to watch. He’s probably wondering what the hell he got himself into climbing into the RV.
Later, we end up pulling over in a rest area so Luke can take Molly out for a doggy pit-stop. He straps on the new leash I bought her and exits the bus to give us some privacy or some quiet time for his own sanity. He’s got to be questioning his decision-making process after that scene earlier.
Derek hovers over me waiting for some direction from me, any direction. His eyes are wide with fright when I look up.
“Don’t worry, man. This isn’t the end. Just bring me my pills.”
He scurries off to the table and brings me the whole bottle, twisting the adult-proof cap off for me in my aggravated state.
“Go lie down. You don’t need to keep me company up front,” he commands.
“I’m good, damn it. I don’t want to miss this adventure, not one fucking second of it. I’m a grown-ass man, not a preschooler who needs a fucking nap,” I snap at him.
He takes a step back from me, not used to feeling the brunt force of my asshole ways.
“Well, you sure are grouchy like a kid who needs a nap or a man that needs to get laid.”
He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and pulls his baseball cap down lower on his head before walking to the door.
“All right then. Go for a walk and get some fresh air. Or better yet, go find some pussy. Just don’t fucking scare me like that again,” he calls over his shoulder as he throws the door open and kicks it when it bounces back on him. He mutters and curses while he walks away, making me feel bad.
I meet up with Luke, and we play chase with Molly for an hour. Some little kids join in and by the time we make it back to the bus, my headache is gone, and my mood is much better. See, I knew bringing her along would be a good addition to the trip. She’s turning out to be one of those therapy dogs without any training.
Derek is still really pissed at me, and even though I give him one of my best apologies ever—hell probably my only apology, or at least in a long, long time—he continues to be moody.
I’m a little rusty. He needs to give a dying man a break. But it’s OK because that lightning bolt of pain scared the shit out of me too. I can’t be mad at him for yelling. I decide to give him space and time, so I go into my room to make some calls.
A few hours later, I come out with my notebook tucked under my arm. My notes are scribbled messily in it since I’m used to having a secretary do that for me, but the pages are full of a mighty fuckin’ good plan of action for Mr. Luke.
I take a seat next to Luke, who’s reading again. “Whatcha reading? You never told me before.”
“It’s called How Music Works by David Byrne.”
“Oh, yeah. And how does it work?” I lean sideways to take a peek at the cover. It’s solid black and tells me nothing about what’s inside.
“It’s a novel about one man’s musical journey from personal enjoyment before records to the age of the internet.”
“Really? Is it any good?”
“It’s pretty deep, but I understand exactly what he’s sayin’.” He places his bookmark between the pages and closes it. “Basically, it’s that music is an individual, soul-searching journey.”
Yeah, and so is your health.
I set my notepad down on the table, and his eyes widen in either fear or amazement at the jotted chicken-scratch, arrows, and circles with names and numbers written all over the margins.
“What is all of that?” His fingers complete an air circle over the page.
“That, my friend, is a plan and some gigs for you once we get to Nashville.” I tap the notebook several times with my index finger for emphasis.
“And what is this?” He points to a heavily traced doodle in the corner.
“Oh, that’s me doodling a bunch of grapes while waiting impatiently to some really bad hold music. Ignore that shit.” I click my pen and color it all in as one massive ink blot while he laughs and points to where I missed a grape. “Now listen, I got you a guaranteed five-minute spot at the Douglas Corner Café on Tuesday. That’s open-mic night, and if we can make it over to another hotel down the street before 10:00 pm, we may be able to get you another spot.”
“Holy shit, Carter. Two in one night? I don’t know what to say.” He sits back in his seat.
“Well I do. Tell me you can write music too.”
“I’ve dabbled in it. I may have a few songs in my soul.”
“I’m gonna puke, Carter,” Luke says, holding his steel girlfriend tight to his chest as we stand by the side of the stage in a hotspot called the Basement.
“You’re not going to puke. That’s just your nerves.” I turn to face him and grab his shoulders tight, shaking him slightly. “Listen to me. Do you want this dream to come true?”
“Yes,” he says calmly, but nods his head excitedly.
“Can we get your emotions all on the same page here? I’m not feeling your excitement.”
“That’s because I feel sick most of all.”
“C’mon, Luke. Do you want this more than anything in your whole existence?”
“Hell yes!” he shouts in my face, but not loud enough to drown out the jukebox.
“You’ve got ten minutes before the next set starts to shake these nerves and talk yourself into showing all these people here that living without Luke Boyd music in their life is akin to dying. Trust me, I know. Now I’m going to go find a seat and enjoy the show. Do whatever you need to do to rev yourself up because pep talks are not in my skill set.”
Luke nods his head and walks to the far corner of the stage, turning his back to me and the crowd. I know he’s scared shitless. Fuck, I’m feeling a little nervous for him, and all I’m doing is watching. He’s got to do this for himself; I can’t perform for him. I can only provide the opportunity.
It isn’t too crowded tonight with the heavy downpour of rain outside, but there still aren’t any open booths, so I head to the bar.
I slide onto the last stool next to a row of booths, hoping I’ll get lucky enough to snag one if I loiter nearby. Right behind me, a man jabbers on about “priceless contracts, no better deals, and sky-rocketing royalties” like he’s trying to convince someone to sell their soul to the devil. Jesus Christ, what a liar. I can smell the bullshit coming from his lips before he even opens them.
“Excuse us for a second,” his oily voice says, and the
booth goes silent.
“You’re hurting me. Don’t squeeze me that hard, Richie,” comes from a woman’s voice, her pain audible through gritted teeth.
I set my beer down to say something to Richie, the piece of trash, when she stumbles out of the booth and catches the end of the table with her hands to keep herself from falling on the dirty floor.
She stands straight and tall, adjusting her silver dress which had ridden while she sat, pushing it back down her long legs. It clings to her slim body as she brushes it off. She fakes an inspection of her shoes like they caused her to trip. “Go get us two more beers, Teddy. Long necks,” he says, dismissing her. As she turns toward the bar, I catch her rolling her eyes.
Large, round green eyes flash at mine for one second before she slides in between my stool and the next one. She holds up two fingers like she’s hailing a taxi, “Mike, I need two beers,” she hollers at the bartender on the other side. “For dumb and dumber” she mutters under her breath. I snort out loud at her comment.
She turns to me, looking me up and down with her cat-like eyes, before turning back to the bartender coming her way. Apparently, she’s passed judgment and finds me lacking. He places two bottles in front of her.
“Shit, Mike. They’re for Richie.”
“I got it,” he says, annoyed, stopping himself from twisting the caps. He takes them away and comes back with two longnecks, pops the caps off for her, and slides them her way.
“Thanks, Mike.”
Her full beaming smile makes my heart jump in my chest. She turns in my direction, sliding sideways from between the two stools with the beers held high so they don’t get bumped and spill. Her elbow brushes my shoulder, and a burst of tingling heat rushes up my spine. I swing my stool around to watch the show, praying to God she pours one of those all over him.
Instead, she slams the beers down on the table in anger, and pastes on an overly happy, fake smile. “Here are your drinks. I poisoned one of them, but I can’t remember which one.” She taps a perfectly manicured finger against her lips sardonically, then switches the beers around on the table, and shrugs her shoulders. “Good luck,” she says and walks away, the back of her dress flouncing with the sway of her ass.
I burst out laughing. The deep timbre of my voice makes the man sitting next to me jump, but I don’t care. I like her. She’s got brass balls.
“Hello. Hello.” A man in a cowboy hat stands center stage and taps the mic to get everyone’s attention. “Are we ready for more talented ladies and gents this evening?” The crowd cheers and whistles loudly. “We’ve got an amazing second-set line-up for you this evening. Can we raise our hands and hats for Mr. Luke Boyd?”
Luke walks onto the stage and takes a seat in the chair, next to the piano player and nods to him in greeting. He lays his musical contraption across his legs. Never looking out at the crowd, the piano player starts the song Luke’s been practicing, “Stars in Alabama” by Jamey Johnson. A few seconds into the piano intro, Luke starts singing, and I stand up in surprise, knocking the bar stool over. He’s played this song a hundred times over the last few days and not once did he sing it.
Holy fuck! He’s blowing my mind. The chorus arrives, and he slides his fingers nimbly across his girlfriend’s body making her purr like a kitten stretched out in the summer sun.
Fucking beautiful.
I’m so excited. I edge closer to the stage. My whole body is vibrating with the notes he’s releasing. I can’t believe Derek is missing this.
The lights dim to the somberness of the song while couples hold hands and sway back and forth, listening to Luke’s sad longing for home and his mama.
The song ends, and the crowd goes wild as the lights turn back up.
“Fucking beautiful, man,” I yell out over the crowd.
Luke stands and takes a bow, still never looking out at the crowd.
I meet him by the edge of the stage and slap his back with congratulations. “Man, that blew my mind. You never told me you could sing like that. It was nothing compared to the night I met you. You’ve been holding back. You were awesome up there.”
“Nah, I’m not any good. I’m just a steel guitar player.”
“That’s right, Luke. Stay humble. I can appreciate that.”
It takes us a moment to walk back to the bar with everyone stopping and congratulating him on a song well sung. He’s got a smile on his face a mile wide, and if he never makes it big, he’s got this moment to show he tried.
“C’mon, Luke. Let’s pack her up and get over to Hotel Indigo for their open-mic night. We need to ride this hot streak while there’s still heat left in it.”
“Then let’s go.”
7
Carter
Luke purrs out another two songs at the Hotel Indigo to a massive round of applause. Call me biased, but the claps he received were much louder than the five people who took the stage before him. A few people approach him afterwards, handing him business cards about singing and playing at other locations.
My heart has this funny little twinge in it watching him mix and mingle with people, making his dreams come true. Luke Boyd is charismatic, and suddenly, I know he’s going to do well in this town.
We head back to where the bus is parked on a side street around 2:00 AM. Rain is coming down in buckets, but it’s not hard enough to drown out a couple fighting in the back parking lot. We round the corner and see a man and woman arguing beside a car. The back door gapes open, revealing a third woman inside, half-dressed. The man’s shirt is untucked and buttoned crooked. His arms flail about as he raises his voice at the woman. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened here.
We intend to mind our own business until the man starts calling her names and airing out their dirty laundry for the whole world to hear. I’m not sure how that solves the problem of his cheating ways, but he’s serving up some pretty low-blows verbally about her cold heart and lack of services in the bedroom.
We reach the street corner. When I hear the word “cunt”, I can’t stand it anymore. I hate that word, probably because I heard it one too many times from my dad about my mother. I turn around and head over to where they are, placing myself in the center of their scene.
“It’s quite obvious what’s going on here. There’s no reason to call her names and embarrass yourself publicly like this. Just take your side-piece and go.” I glance sideways at the woman I’m protecting and see it’s the woman from the Basement with the silver dress and balls the size of Texas. Why is she with this piece of shit?
“Don’t get involved in this, man. Just take your Guido ass back to New York or New Jersey or wherever you came from and stay out of this,” he says.
What a fucking moron.
“C’mon, Teddy. Let’s go.” He grabs for her arm, but she steps back from his reach.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she growls from behind me.
“If you don’t come with me, you can kiss your singing career goodbye. I’ll make sure you never sing in this town again.”
“Well, it’s not like it was going that far when you were helping me sing. So, I’ve lost nothing, you rat weasel. You’re nobody in this town, Richie.”
He lunges at her, and she goes at him with me in the middle as a buffer. Luke jumps Richie from behind and drags him off us both. He squirms out of Luke’s hold and pulls his car keys out of his pocket.
“Fuck this, you dumb bitch.” He looks at the chick in the backseat and tells her to get up front, and she scurries to obey.
“Hey, honey,” Teddy leans down to yell at the woman in the front seat, “when he gets you into bed, he likes to fuck from behind, which is nice because you won’t have to see his face. Just keep in mind, you have to bend forward and down real low because his dick is so tiny, it doesn’t really reach. Just moan a lot and scream out God’s name. He’ll come soon enough, and you can go to sleep.” She winks at her, before Richie flips his middle finger at her and speeds out of the parking lo
t, splashing muddy water on us as he goes.
“You got somewhere to go?”
She looks at me and blinks, her magnificent green eyes are round and filled with worry. Then she looks at Luke and takes a few steps backward.
“We won’t hurt you. We just want to make sure you’re going to be OK. Can we take you somewhere?”
“I’ll find someplace to go. Shit,” she says, looking down at her sopping wet dress and shoes which are now covered in mud.
“What do you need? Some clothes, some money, what?” Luke asks, pulling out his wallet and waiting for her to speak.
“I won’t take your money, so put it away.” She turns and starts to walk toward the main street.
“If you need anything, just come to the big black RV with the silver flames painted on the side,” I yell, hoping she hears me.
She raises her hand in acknowledgement but keeps walking.
“Some people would rather choke on their troubles than ask for help. I don’t get it.”
“Don’t worry about her, Carter. You did everything you could. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
I haven’t been able to sleep for three days. I’d like to say it’s the excitement of watching Luke’s dreams come true, or that my medication is letting me enjoy my adventure, but weirdly, there’s a homeless, silver lioness somewhere in this city, and I can’t erase her from my mind.
Teddy.
I’ve never once worried about a chick. I never chase them down. I’ve never cared because there’s always another one two feet away willing to suck my cock for the chance at the non-existent diamond I’d never put on her finger.
But Teddy… There’s something about her that’s doing laps in my mind.
I’m worried about her. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling that something isn’t right, and I have no control over it. Knowing she’s out there and I have no idea where—or even worse, where he is or what he’s done to her—is fucking with my head. And I didn’t think anything could do that, outside of the tumor feasting on it.
Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology Page 64
