We hop out of the truck, grab Mike’s guitar, and head inside through the service door. The story of my life—the back door to seedy bars. I can’t help but smile a little.
When we get inside, a very nervous-looking Jenny is pacing back and forth in the small storage room where the employees keep their belongings. Mike is on her like white on rice. He takes her shoulders and rubs them tenderly, quietly talking to her as I stand there feeling slightly awkward.
I’ve got a few pairs of sticks with me, but my kits are all stowed back in Portland, so I haven’t banged on a set of drums in a very long time. I know I can still play. You don’t do something for several hours a day every day for a decade or so and forget it in a few months—if ever. But I would like to check out the kit that the bar has set up. It’s probably a piece of crap, and I’m sure I’m going to want to make some adjustments so it’s at least tolerable.
Mike’s got Jenny smiling now, and I’m about to slip out and go up front, but just then, Marsha comes hustling in.
"There you are, cowboy," she drawls at me.
I give her a wave. "Hey, Marsha."
"Hey yourself. I couldn’t believe it when little Miss Jenny said you boys were coming to play tonight. I guess you’re not trying to hide out anymore, huh?"
Mike saunters over, dragging Jenny along by the hand. "Nah, we just couldn’t stand listening to that crap music you play around here for one more night. Realized if we were going to get anything decent we’d have to play it ourselves."
"Be nice, Michael," Jenny says, smacking him on the arm.
Michael? Holy shit. No one but his mother has ever called him Michael. He refuses to look at me, but even under the dark stubble that covers his cheeks, I think I see a blush. I try to stifle the smirk I can’t help but feel.
Marsha’s used to Mike’s rudeness. She rolls her eyes and redirects her attention to me. "Y’all aren’t scheduled to go on for another thirty minutes. You want an O.J. and club?"
"I’d love one, and I’m also wondering if there’s a way I can get a look at the drums up front? I might need to make a few adjustments to the setup before we start."
"Sure thing. I’ll take you up there right now." She smiles at Jenny. "You going to be okay, girl?"
"Yeah," she says in a strong Texas drawl. "Having Michael—and Walsh—here really helps. I figure I can’t mess up too bad with two professionals there with me." She smiles up at Mike and I see his whole body soften. Fuck. I don’t care what he says about not wanting to get in her pants—he’s so far gone it’s not even funny.
I leave Jenny and Michael to their mutual admiration society and follow Marsha up front. The lights on stage are low, and it’s set back behind a large dance floor, so I can work on the drums without being seen much or seeing much myself. Marsha gets me my drink and leaves me to it. The kit’s not as bad as it could have been. Nothing fancy, but utilitarian, smaller than what I play for large rock concerts. Drums in country music are a quieter part, so this will do well for what we’re playing.
I sit down and test out the foot pedal, tap each of the drum heads in succession, make a few changes to height and spacing, then start a slow, soft beat, just to reacquaint myself with the feeling of it all. I close my eyes and let the rhythm take over. It washes through me like a long-lost love. Reverberates around my bones, pulsing in my veins. I breathe deeply, the release of the repetitive motion soothing any nerves I might have had about performing. As the plain rhythm becomes smooth as silk, I break off into some flourishes, forgetting that I’m supposed to be warming up, not attracting the attention of the whole place.
It feels good to be back with my old friends. Like magic. I’m relishing the sensations when I hear voices growing louder and louder nearby. I slow down and open my eyes, stopping on a dime when I see who’s standing a few feet away. Marsha and Tammy are up in each other’s faces. Marsha not a bit intimidated by Tammy’s four inches of extra height. They’ve both got their hands on their hips and scowls on their faces.
I stop playing just in time to hear Marsha say, "Look, lady—and I use that term loosely—I don’t care if you’re the damn Queen of England. You can’t go onstage and bother the performers. He’s not a circus act, he’s a musician!"
Oh hell. I cringe, waiting for the wrath of Tammy to explode all over the dance floor. Instead, I see her take a minute where she visibly forces herself to back down. She crosses her arms, either defensively or to keep from bitch-slapping Marsha, and looks at the ground. Her tone is almost conciliatory as she answers my chesty protector.
"All I’m asking is would you please let him know that I’m here? I don’t see how that’s such an imposition—"
I stand up, clanging a couple of cymbals as I do so. Both women seem finally to notice that I’m not playing anymore. I walk to where they are on the dance floor.
"It’s okay, Marsha. I do actually know this one." I wink at Marsha, and Tammy’s eyes narrow. It warms my heart to see that her wicked self is still in there.
"All right. If it’s good with you, Walsh. You might want to give your groupies a little lesson in manners though—"
"Groupies?" Tammy’s voice goes up about ten decibels. Marsha has no idea the insult she just laid out on the former Princess of Lush.
I jump forward and grab Tammy’s elbow before she can haul off and hit Marsha, an act that would be really bad in so many ways.
"Thanks, Marsha. I got her."
Marsha huffs off back to the bar, and I lead Tammy to the small curtained-off area behind stage.
She pulls her arm out of my grasp as soon as we’re alone. "You didn’t tell me you were performing," she blurts out.
I look at her eyes, trying to gauge her frame of mind. I can’t tell at this point.
"I’m just helping out a friend of Mike’s. She’s singing and we’re playing backup."
"Did you have anyone look at the contract before you signed it?" she questions.
I scratch my head. "Uh, I don’t know if there even is a contract. I mean, Mike asked me to come along so I did."
"Jesus, Walsh. You’re a multimillion-dollar rock drummer. You don’t just show up at some dinky bar out in The Middle of Nowhere, Texas, and play for free."
I don’t want to talk business with Tammy. Playing those drums told me that I need this for me, not simply as a favor for Mike. I’m sure I’ll regret it later, but I don’t care if I get paid right now.
"Look, I imagine Mike’s giving all the fee to Jenny—the girl who’s singing. It’s not like he needs the money, you know?"
"You shouldn’t either," she says quietly.
"You don’t need to worry about my financial situation, Tammy. I can take care of myself."
"Not if you keep giving your money to everyone around you," she states matter-of-factly.
I decide that it’s time to change tack. "What are you doing here anyway?" I ask.
"I’m having a girls’ night out with Leanne." She lifts her chin as if preparing for me to fight her on this.
"Cool. I mean, Leanne’s great, and I know you’ve been working a lot." I scratch my head, not sure where to go from here. It was a hell of a lot easier to apologize for the parking lot event by text. "About the other day…"
Her eyes go dark, her body tenses, and although she’s got her shields up, I can see the hurt on her face. It makes my chest ache.
"I’m so sorry, Tammy. This is hard, and I don’t have it all figured out yet—not by a long shot. I used booze all those years to keep myself from feeling this shit, and now I don’t know how to control it. But I’m going to get better at it, and I promise I’ll never take it out on you again. I swear."
She swallows, pulling into herself. I suspect that, if she could, she’d curl up on a bed in the fetal position. I’m such a fucking bastard.
"Okay," she nods. Finally, she looks up at me, her eyes shiny and so incredibly beautiful. "I’m really not trying to make you unhappy, Walsh. Things feel so unresolved though. I can’t go home yet. I
’m trying to figure stuff out too, but all I’ve ever known is to be near you. It’s not something I can just turn off."
"Okay." I take a deep breath, trying to feel like I’m stable and solid instead of like I’m made up of all these fragments that could blow apart at any moment. "I understand. But I can’t say what’s going to happen from here. I don’t want you to waste your time waiting for me to come back, because I don’t know if I can do that, Tammy."
"All right," she says very quietly.
"But after the other day, I realized you’re right—well, Ronny pointed out to me that you’re right—we’ve got unresolved shit here, and it’s not going to go away because I ignore it, or wish it, or rage at it."
"What do we do then?" she asks. "What now?"
I want to be that man for her—the one who can tell her what we do next, who knows exactly what I feel and how to handle it. A guy like Joss, who walks into a room, assesses the situation, and takes charge. But I can’t, because my head and my heart are murky, muddled holes, and every time I look too deep, I feel myself being pulled under again.
"I don’t know." It’s honest, and if being an alcoholic has taught me anything, it’s that honesty matters. "I guess we keep on living and see what happens. You’re here. I’m here. Maybe we both need to think more, talk more, try to keep from exploding all over each other."
She laughs softly, and her hair falls around her face as she looks down at the floor for a moment. My hands are shaking with the urge to reach out and touch the inky strands, but I lost that right a long time ago, and after what happened in the parking lot at the Double A, I won’t risk the contact.
"Tammy?" Leanne appears from behind the curtain that encloses the little world we’re in. "Are you okay?" She glares at me.
Tammy turns and gives her a forced smile. "Yeah, it’s all good. We’re done, aren’t we, Walsh?"
My stomach churns at the deeper meaning behind the words. Are we? Can we ever be? I wish to hell I knew.
"I’m not sure," I answer honestly again, "but I’ve got to get ready to go on, and you two should make sure you get good seats. I hear this girl can sing like an angel."
Leanne takes Tammy’s hand. "Come on, hon. Let’s go enjoy ourselves."
Tammy nods and throws me a little wave as Leanne leads her away. I sigh, give myself a mental shake, and head to the back of the building to get Mike. It’s time to pound some percussion.
Tammy
I CAN’T believe that, the one and only night I decide to go somewhere in this tiny burg, I end up at the bar where Walsh is playing. What are the odds? Although since there’s no other bar in town, I guess the odds are pretty good. I didn’t know he came to The Bronco, but given how well the bitchy red-haired banshee serving drinks knows him, I guess he comes here quite a bit. It makes me wonder if his reluctance to give us another chance is based on stuff I didn’t know about—like maybe he’s been sleeping around.
The thought of Walsh with anyone else makes me sick to my stomach. If he’d still been with Lush, out on the road touring or whatever, I would have been really worried about it. I know how the groupies are, and a rock star with a broken heart is like dangling raw meat in front of a pack of starving hyenas. But since he was holed up at a ranch for recovering alcoholics, licking his wounds, I figured he was safe from the claws of other women. Now, I’m not so sure.
These thoughts spin through my brain as Leanne and I find a table next to the dance floor and sit. I watch the redhead as she makes the rounds between tables, bringing cowboys huge pitchers of cheap beer. She’s short and chesty, and she looks older than Walsh and I are by a couple of years. I can’t believe he’d seriously hook up with her. I mean, yeah, her hair’s sort of striking and she’s got a rack most guys would like, but her eyes are too close together, her lips are thin, and she’s got short legs. Plus, she’s a bitch.
"Who are you blasting into the next town with your laser eyes?" Leanne asks as she leans over to look around me.
I stop my evil-eye campaign and take a sip of the rum and Coke Leanne grabbed for me while I was talking to Walsh.
"Who’s the redhead?" I ask, tossing aside any pretense of being casual.
"You mean Marsha? The waitress?"
"Yeah. She seems to know Walsh pretty well, and she did not want to let me anywhere near him."
"Oh, you can’t take Marsha too seriously. She comes off mouthy and tough, but she’s really a good person. She moved to town her last year in high school, and she’s always been a favorite here at The Bronco."
"She single?"
Leanne looks at me, and I see the corner of her mouth turn up. "Ohhh, so that’s what’s got your knickers in a twist." She laughs, and I pout in response. "Just relax, hon. Marsha’s got a little six-year-old, and I’m pretty sure he’s the only man in her life these days. Her ex got sent to prison for armed robbery, and she’s sworn off men since then."
I lean forward in my chair, closer to Leanne. "Seriously? Like ski-mask, shoot-up-the-7-11 stuff?"
"Something like that. In any case, I can assure you she hasn’t been playing around with your boyfriend, hon."
"All right, all right. It’s just the thought of him with anyone else makes me stabby."
Leanne takes a sip of her Bud Light Lime and eyes me over the rim of the glass. "Even after what happened the other day?"
I sigh. "He was an ass the other day, but he’s not like that normally."
"Sweetheart, I don’t think his normal is normal anymore, you know? You showing up here has sent him to a bad place, and until he fights his way out, you’re just going to have to give him some space."
I nod, but before I can answer her, a picture-perfect blonde walks onstage and taps the mic. She’s got big blue eyes and long hair that looks like one of those Pantene ads. She’s wearing a straw cowboy hat, a plaid shirt tied up at her waist, a denim miniskirt, and cowboy boots. She’s almost too cute for words. Like Miss America cute. As if Marsha the waitress weren’t enough to worry about, now I see that Walsh is playing backup for a serious Southern beauty queen. I can’t believe it.
"Hi, everyone," the girl says tentatively in the cutest little accent you’ve ever heard. Gag me. "I’m really glad y’all could make it out tonight. I had such a nice time a few weeks ago when Jimmy let me perform that I thought I’d like to try it again. But tonight, I brought along a couple of friends. Michael and Walsh work out at the Double A and they happen to know how to play a little too." She smiles as Mike and Walsh walk out and wave to the room.
I see the expression on Mike’s face when he looks at her and my worries fly away in an instant. Holy shit. Mike’s finally fallen for someone. It’s like he’s got a huge neon sign flashing "stupid in love" over his head. And did she just call him Michael? I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone.
"Michael picked out some songs for me to sing tonight. I hope you like them."
Mike swings his guitar on, and Walsh gives a lead in count with his sticks as they launch into Patsy Cline’s Walking After Midnight. I can tell right away that Mike’s rearranged the song though. It’s amped up, modern, and it showcases her voice beautifully. The girl’s got pipes and a range to rival Beyoncé or Mariah Carey—two or three octaves. Mike’s playing an acoustic guitar so he won’t overshadow her. I’ve forgotten how amazing it is to listen to him play. He’s magic with the damn thing.
"Wow," says Leanne as she leans over so I can hear her.
"No kidding," I answer, my eyes glued to the stage.
Right away, I know I want to talk to this girl. She needs to be playing in clubs in Dallas and Austin. Opening for acts like the Dixie Chicks. She belts out several more covers that Mike has obviously had a hand in. Walsh is bouncing around in the back, having a great time, not even working up a sweat like he would at one of Lush’s shows since the drums are so subdued here.
Then Jenny launches into a rocked-up version of Pam Tillis’s Maybe It Was Memphis, and it’s a showstopper. Mike goes all out and gives a two-minu
te-long solo that rocks the house, and Jenny proves that she can do it fast or slow equally well. The chemistry between the two of them is palpable, and everyone in the place is sold. It’s a special moment when you can look around and see that an audience is absolutely in sync with a performance. It doesn’t happen very often, even for the best of bands, but Jenny and Mike have it here tonight. I can see a future for that girl, and I want to be a part of it.
It’s sudden, but I realize that though the noise in my head all these months has been about getting Walsh back, there’s a niggling little voice way back in there that whispers about my career. About the passion I had for managing musicians for the last seven years, about the fact that, Walsh or no Walsh, I loved what I did when I managed Lush, and I was damn good at it. I need to do that again.
As they segue into their last song of the night, I turn to Leanne. "Okay, quick. Who is she? How old? Single? Does she have a job?"
Leanne looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. "Who? Jenny?"
I’m impatient because they’re about to finish and I want to get back there before someone else gets to her first. I’ve had the best inspiration that’s hit me since Walsh walked out nearly seven months ago, and I’m not about to lose my shot.
"Yes, yes, Jenny," I snap.
"Tammy, it’s so obvious that her and Mike have something going on. You really don’t need to worry about—"
"I’m not." I cut her off. "I just need to know—fast."
Leanne raises one eyebrow for a minute. "Okay, okay. She’s twenty-three or twenty-four, single—unless there’s more going on with Mike than I know. She’s a schoolteacher at the local elementary. Grew up here. Her father’s the pastor at the Baptist church where most people in town go."
"Great. Christian radio’s a huge audience, and no husband to tell her she can’t leave town," I mumble as I reach down to grab my purse. "Listen, I have to go talk to her right away, but just wait and I’ll be back," I say as I start to move.
Unfortunately, I’m in a rush, and I’m looking at Leanne as I stand, so I crash right into a big country boy who’s next to our table. He promptly spills all of his beer down my sleeve and his front and bellows out, "What the fuck, lady?"
For the Love of a Lush (Lush No. 2) Page 10
