by Luanne Jones
He looked at the lounge door, his brow creased.
The music pounded around them as someone muddled his way through an old Hank Williams cheating song.
“How long before you go on again?”
“It’s just for fun.” She shook her head. “If I miss my turn, they’ll work me in someplace else. If I don’t go back in at all, no one would notice.”
“I find that impossible to believe.”
“I have a room upstairs.”
“I have a house across town.”
“Mine’s closer.”
“Tempting.” Will studied the way her fingers entwined with his and could all but picture their bodies fitting together just as easily, skin to skin, pulse to pulse, naked and intimate. “Very tempting.”
She dipped her head so she could meet his gaze. “But?”
“Yeah, there is a ‘but.’”
“I guess I should have known.” She pulled her hand away.
“The thing is, Rita, I think we need to talk.”
“That can’t be good, can it?”
“Hmm?”
“Man’s offered no-strings-attached sex, and he prefers to talk.”
“I’m beginning to think that’s a myth.”
“That men don’t like to talk?”
“That there is such a thing as no-strings-attached sex.”
“I thought we were living proof that it exists, thrives even.”
“Rita, look me in the eye and tell me that our making love didn’t tangle up your heartstrings just a little.”
She looked into her open hand, the one he had been holding only seconds ago, and brushed her fingers over her palm.
“At the very least tug at your conscience some?”
He only knew that she nodded her agreement when the loose curls of her new hairdo bobbed.
“Then don’t you think we should talk instead of jumping into bed again?”
She settled her back against the wall, looking all wise and wistful, and sexier than the law should allow. “You’re not wild at all, really, are you?”
“You mean outside the bedroom?”
“Yeah.” She wet her lips. Her very-un-Rita-like high heels rasped over the patterned carpet. “You’re not really wild at all, outside of the bedroom or outside the narrow box that people in Hellon have put you in.”
“No,” he whispered. “I’m not wild. Not when it comes to things that really matter.”
He could tell that she wanted to ask him if she was one of those things that really mattered.
“I noticed a couple chairs in the corner of the lobby,” he said, before she could ask him a damned thing. “Shall we go over there to talk?”
“Is that why you came all this way tonight?” She walked with him to a pair of blue-green chairs, which sat at angled toward each other. “To talk?”
Why had he come tonight? Now that the initial fire of his mother’s influence had died down, he could not say with unerring certainty. He waited for her to take a seat, then settled into the other chair. “I can’t rightly say why I came, Rita.”
“Well, it’s not like you were in the neighborhood.”
“No. But being back in the neighborhood—being in Memphis again—it does put things in a different perspective for me.”
“Things do tend to lose their rosy glow when you strip away the magical spell of the Pig Rib Palace, don’t they?”
He chuckled, but it did not lighten his mood to do so. “You’re not making this easy on me, Rita.”
“I tried making it easy, Will. In fact I think I went out of my way to make things as easy on you as possible.”
He rubbed his forehead. “And that’s only made things more difficult.”
“You’re scaring me, Will.”
“Scaring you? How?”
“Because you’re building up to something. I can feel it stirring and twitching under the surface.”
“Twitching, huh?” He scratched at his scalp. “Maybe I should see if there’s an ointment for that.”
“You know exactly what I mean.” She aimed a no-nonsense Southern woman of substance glare at him. “There’s something you’ve been trying to contain inside you for a long time.”
The longest time. He folded his hands and kept his thoughts to himself.
“And right now you’re this close to letting it loose on me.”
“That’s what I want to avoid, Rita.” The power of this one truth made his voice go low, hoarse with emotion. His secrets were not so deep nor his sins so desperate that he dared not share them with anyone. Quite the contrary, he’d had a charmed life—a damned charmed life. Unloading his petty grievances on anyone, especially Rita, was not an option. “I’m not going to dump a lifetime’s worth of pain at your doorstep. You don’t have to be scared of that happening.”
“You’ve got it wrong.”
“How so?
“I’m scared you won’t do it.”
“What?”
“Because you don’t respect me enough or revere my opinion enough to trust me with your pain, Will. To trust me to help you the way you have helped me—to move beyond the past.”
“I don’t want to do that to you, Rita.”
“You can.”
“I can. Of course I can. And be like everyone else that gravitates into your life and expects you to help them hold their worlds together.”
“Will, haven’t you been paying attention? There is no everybody else.”
“What?”
“Jillie was the last one left. Pernel has moved on with his life, Lacey Marie has grown up, Cozie has up and created a whole alternative universe of activity that doesn’t involve me in the least.”
“And Jillie finally decided to throw out the poor-pitiful-rich-girl routine and take responsibility for her own actions.”
“That just leaves me.” She held her hands out.
“What are you looking for? A project?” He smiled as he said it, but the words drove deep. Is that what he feared? Becoming Rita’s pet project? It would be so easy to let himself slide into that role. But that wouldn’t be moving on really, would it?
“What I’m looking for is a little honesty, Will.”
“You want honesty? From me? About me? You have that, Rita. You had it six years ago when you had me pegged. I am a selfish bastard. One who never deserved any other name ever given him, nor any other honor—from town hero to having that precious baby boy christened as my son.”
“Will, is that what’s troubling you?”
“You said it once before when you said you knew what I wanted, what everybody wants. Remember?”
“I said you wanted your life to have meaning?”
“Yes.”
“And that you wanted someone to miss you and mourn for you.”
“And to be really good at something, to hear praise for my work and know it’s earned.”
“And you don’t think you’ve earned the high opinions that people have of you?”
“I haven’t.”
“You’ve earned mine.”
He shook his head. “That from a woman who told me to my face that if I were a changed man, my life would be different.”
“I was hasty and unfair.”
“You were right.”
“Maybe then, but not now.”
“Nothing has changed since then.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
He sat back in the chair, his hands curved over its overstuffed arms.
She sighed. “For a man who came to talk, you’re sure not saying too much.”
“Rita? You out there, honey?” From around the corner and down the corridor a woman’s voice called out. “Skippy and Daphne are winding it up. Come back in if you’re going to sing.”
“Go on.” He got up from the chair and offered his hand.
“Are you going to stay and listen?”
“I’d love to see you on that stage.” One hand on her back, he guided her inside the lounge without making any
promises.
They slipped inside the door just as a pair of women wearing sequin-spangled jeans and satin tops waved and headed off the stage.
“Are they just darling or what?” A woman in a waitress uniform delicately clapped her fingers against her wrist while holding the microphone. “You did good, girls.”
The women took another bow from their seats.
The applause swelled again.
Rita tried to say something to him, but he motioned like he couldn’t hear it. It was a jerky thing to do, but then he’d warned her more than once not to expect better of him.
“I swear, y’all have more energy than a weekend crowd!”
Rita pointed to the front of the room.
He gave her a push in that direction.
“There are plenty of seats,” she said.
“I’ll stand.”
She looked at him. In the darkness of the room she found his eyes and let her gaze sink in.
“Okay, we’re geared up tighter than an eight-day clock in here tonight so let’s not waste no more time.” The waitress looked at a slip of paper in her hand as she worked with the karaoke machine. “Let’s welcome our next singer up here—again!”
For one moment he thought Rita would say something more to him, then it passed. She sighed, nodded, and made her way toward the stage.
He watched her go, unsure of how he felt. Stirring and twitching just below the surface—Rita’s simple interpretation had been so apt.
His mother had spoken of love. But Rita had spoken of trust, of letting him lean on her. He had come to Memphis because he missed Rita. But despite her kind words and sweet flirtations tonight, she had come to make a break from him.
“Rita’s picked a hard one this time,” the woman working the machine said. “She’s going to need all the support y’all can conjure up.”
Even if he did love her, which he just could not make himself admit, if she did not return the feeling, what would his coming here accomplish? And if she did love him?
He held his hand up to signal a passing waitress so he could order a drink.
“What can I get you?” The redhead held her tray on her hip between them and turned so he could speak into her ear.
“Just a beer.”
The small but exuberant crowd let up a cheer.
“You going to sit?” The woman blocking his view of the stage flung her arm out toward the many empty tables.
“Rather stand, thanks. Not sure if I’m staying.”
She looked him up and down once, probably trying to decide if he just needed to get his nerve up before hopping on that stage and cutting loose with a song.
He stuffed his hand in his pocket and did his damnedest to look like the anti-Elvis. “My beer?”
“Back in a jiff.”
“Welcome Rita back on our stage tonight!”
“This is going to be my last song this evening.”
The redhead pivoted and joined the rest of the room in a collective protest.
Will pressed his back to the wall and waited. His pulse hammered out the seconds before the waitress moved on and Rita came into full view.
“You’ve all been so kind and so patient.”
Rita—in red. Patience was not the attribute the sight inspired in him.
“Well, not all of you.” Rita pointed out into the room.
How could she have seen him all the way back here? How could she have known…
A whole table of women jabbed and pointed at the lanky fellow who sat right in Rita’s line of vision.
Even from where Will stood he could see the man blush straight to his hairline—which ended just above the back of his neck.
Everything isn’t always about you. Hadn’t his mother just reminded him of that?
“This has been such a positive experience for me,” Rita said into the microphone, looking like an old pro at handling the spotlight.
It had been positive. Will could see that. Her eyes sparkled, her skin glowed. He wasn’t crazy about the new hairstyle and sensed Jillie’s hand in that. Still, the overall effect of that red dress caressing Rita’s breasts, clinging to her hips had its own positive effect—positively uplifting, in fact. He managed a tight grin at that and flexed his hands at his sides.
Rita pulled her shoulders straight. “I came here tonight to see if I could even do this.”
“You can do it all right, Rita, honey.” The man in a tan-and-black coat waved his arm. “If you’d just stop yakking an’ get around to it!”
“Oh, Clive!” Rita laughed.
Was it Will’s imagination, or was there a certain sadness beneath her smile? If he had ever done anything to cause her sadness…
The ladies at Clive’s table crossed their arms and aimed an angry wave of killer looks in the man’s direction.
Clive half rose from his seat in a bow toward the stage as he said, “I know. Shut up, you old poop.”
Everyone laughed.
Even walking in so late and standing in the very back, he could feel Rita’s influence on the mood of the crowd.
The waitress brought his beer, and he paid for it.
“The point is that y’all may not know it, but I learned so much on this stage tonight. Everything from the real words to ‘Mack the Knife’ to the truth about myself and the relationships that are important to me.”
Will lowered his drink without taking a sip.
“After this I can go back to my hometown and do what I have to do.”
“Like what?” Will asked himself quietly.
“Starting with putting a karaoke stage in my restaurant.”
While his brain immediately set about calculating how to make that a reality, his heart sank at her intentions. He might act a fool sometimes, but he did have his flashes of insight. Renovating the restaurant to the basic standards was his idea of a smart move. Anything less, and it would trap Rita there, unable to sell or to increase revenue enough to free her from worrying over every nickel and dime. Anything more and she’d have to hang on to it longer to repay incurred debt and start showing a profit. Add in promoting even an amateur floor show—she’d never leave.
Not that she had to leave Hellon to be happy. That much he could admit. It was not the hell on earth he had remembered it being. It had grown and changed, letting much of the old ways that held it back fall by the wayside. Could he say the same of himself? Who was he to judge a whole town, then?
“And not stopping until I put my heart and all I’ve got into…all that I go after.” She looked to the back of the room.
If she saw him there, he did not know. He did nothing to draw her attention or reassure her that he was there and he had heard her plans.
“And so if you’ll indulge me one last time.”
“If only I could.” He set his untouched beer on the nearest unoccupied table. He had not come there to talk. Or to find out if Rita loved him or if he loved her. Those were pointless endeavors. He had come to say good-bye.
What else could he do? He could profess his love for her, but to what end? Who would that benefit but himself? He would find in Rita a loyal, loving, unquestioning woman with yet another weight on her shoulders, another person depending on her to be his anchor.
“I want to do now the song I came here tonight all the way from Hellon, Tennessee, to sing.”
The familiar opening of Patsy Cline’s classic “Crazy” swelled from the machine by the stage.
Rita bowed her head.
Will gritted his teeth, trying not to swear. He blindly made his way to the door. He had to get out. If he heard her sing, he knew he would never leave. And he had to leave for Rita’s sake.
He pushed into the lighted hallway outside the lounge just as Rita began the heart-wrenching song about being loved and cast aside. He rubbed his eyes as her voice sank deeper and deeper into his soul.
Tomorrow he would make a few last calls. He’d set her up with the best people in the business to finish the job at the Palace—and put in that
stage or anything else she wanted.
What Rita wanted was the thing. Letting Rita move on and rebuild a life without him weighing her down was the first totally unselfish act he’d done in a very long time and his last hope at finding the redemption he’d needed for so long.
He would not stay now and fail her.
Chapter 19
EVERY DIXIE BELLE WHO’S HAD ENOUGH FINDS OUT:
A girl’s best footwear might just be her walking shoes.
She knew he wouldn’t stay. Why would he stay?
Rita stepped into the elevator, pushed the button, and slipped out of her shoes. The elevator lurched upward, and the sway of her red dress drew her eyes to her distorted reflection in the polished chrome doors. Poor, pitiful, plain Rita. The girl who thought putting a karaoke machine and a few new booths in Pernel’s Pig Rib Palace would change everything.
No wonder Will didn’t stick around. He probably had to leave to keep from laughing out loud at her.
Safe, sane, and secure outcomes, that’s what she wanted for her life. Those, she had thought, promised the key to stability. They were her plan for self-sufficiency, her protection against loneliness, and her path to happiness.
Ding. The elevator stopped two floors below hers.
She had clung to her standpoints with a single-mindedness that had pushed aside all other options. And look at what it had gotten her. Did she feel powerful? Had she staved off loneliness? Was she happy?
“No, no, and no,” she whispered, as the door slid open.
The woman waiting to get on waved her not to hold the doors as she retreated from the elevator’s threshold.
Manners dictated that Rita explain she wasn’t shooing the woman off with her stream of negatives. Good manners before bad temper. Well, to hell with that. She jabbed the CLOSE DOOR button, and the elevator pitched upward again.
Moving on. How many people had tried to tell her that was the key? She eyed her blurred image again. “Work with Wild Billy. Go to college. Sell the Palace. Do something with your hair.”
She leaned in closer. That last one she could have done without.
Ding. The doors whooshed apart again.
Ignoring the startled faces of the people waiting, who found her bending forward with her nose just inches from the opening, Rita stood up. Taking a shoe in each hand, she held one up like a royal wave and strode off toward her room.
