I Can't Make You Love Me, but I Can Make You Leave

by Dixie Cash

  If she had felt this insecure when she performed years ago, she couldn’t recall it. Back in those days, a free midnight performance in a West Texas town would have been laughable to her, but now, even a rehearsal was pressing on every hot spot in her body. It’s just pre-performance jitters, she told herself, but the fact that she had never, ever, not once, been nervous about singing in front of an audience made those emotions difficult to handle.

  They exited the pickup and started toward the large auditorium. Mike trotted ahead of them, pulling his cell phone from his pocket as he went. Valetta Rose ran ahead, too, a cell phone glued to her ear as well. What in the hell was going on? Darla wondered. Couldn’t anyone get along without a cell phone? No matter where you were nowadays, a majority of people were talking, texting or punching in numbers. It was a major nuisance and an invasion of privacy, but Darla had to admit she didn’t know what she would do without a cell phone herself.

  Just then, the musical notes of Jennifer Nettles’s heartfelt plea to “Stay” warbled from someone’s phone. Roxie fished hers from her jeans pocket and veered off at a right angle, distancing herself from everyone else. Seeing her comb through her thick blond hair with her fingers and release it over her shoulder, Darla thought of those shampoo commercials on TV where a woman tossed her glossy, luxurious mane, teasing the viewers with its gleam and softness.

  “That girl gets more phone calls than the Psychic Hotline,” Darla said to Bob. “Do you suppose she’s running a sex-talk service?”

  Bob’s face took on that look again and Darla wished immediately she could take that remark back. His expression showed a mix of puzzlement, embarrassment and anger. All subtle, but there nonetheless. She had never noticed just how obvious it was that Roxie cheated. And that Bob knew it.

  Darla clamped her mouth shut and enviously watched Roxie’s youthful, confident stride, the chin uptilted as if she was ready to take on anything. Darla tried to mimic the younger woman’s walk, hoping the new posture and gait would somehow help her overcome her fears, but she found herself thinking of something she had heard her sassy country grandmother say long ago: You can call piss perfume, darlin’, but it’s still piss.

  A familiar voice, close to her ear, caught her off guard, “Nervous?”

  Bob. Darla looked to her right and gave him her best smile, “When was I ever nervous?”

  He gave a good-natured laugh. “I’m teasing. Never did I ever see you wired like most performers. I never could understand that either. I’d be behind the curtains, for chrissake, sweating bullets and you’d be applying a fresh coat of Rooster Red gloss to your nails. Cool as a cucumber.”

  “How do you think those two gals from Salt Lick are going to work out? I sure have taken to them. I almost wish they could join us permanently.”

  “Don’t be too quick extending offers, Darla. They haven’t shown us anything, yet. But I’m not too worried about it. The hometown folks will love them, good or bad.”

  “Hmm. Maybe having them around will help lighten up some of the tension.”

  Bob gave her a sideways glance and hooked his arm around her shoulder, giving her a brotherly squeeze. “I thought you weren’t nervous.”

  Darla slid her arm around his waist. “Oh, hell, Bobby, you know how it is. If my lips are moving, there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’m lying.”

  Just inside the vast civic auditorium, Roxie rejoined them. Darla stopped to gather her bearings. Immediately she heard her name called. “Miz Denman. Miz Denman. Darla, over here!”

  She looked in the direction of the frantic voice and saw a tall, skinny woman wearing an outrageous straw hat and waving her arms over her head. She recognized Edwina Perkins-Martin.

  Roxie snorted a sound of disgust. “Shit. That John Deere calendar pinup and her Hee Haw buddy give me the creeps. I’m going onstage.”

  As she strode away, Darla called after her, “Don’t forget she and her partner also are giving you a place to lay your head at night and wheels to haul your ass around while we’re stranded.”

  Without turning around, Roxie flipped her middle finger.

  Darla gasped. “Robert Thomas Denman! If that woman makes it back to Nashville with all of her bleached hair it’ll be a miracle. I might list profanity as a second language, but giving someone the finger in a public place is as unladylike as standing up to pee. I wouldn’t dream of doing that.”

  “Let’s go see what Edwina’s excited about,” Bob said.

  Before they could reach the brunette, she had rushed up to them.

  “Y’all, this is just about the coolest thing I’ve ever done,” she gushed. “Do you know they’re treating us like celebrities? They’re bringing us drinks and food, asking if there’s anything they can do for us, taking our picture for the newspaper. Why, I even had someone ask me for an autograph.” She rapidly patted her chest. “Me! The last thing I was asked to sign was a traffic ticket.”

  Darla released a throaty chuckle. “It’s fun, isn’t it? Hard to believe all this attention can eventually become a pain in the ass.”

  “What, this? Never. I love it. I’m thinking of becoming famous at something so I can be treated like this all the time. Do you know that friend of Roxie’s even offered to do my hair and my makeup? Of course nobody touches my hair and makeup but me, but still . . . Lord, listen to me babble on. Of course you know these things. You’re Darla Denman, forchristsake.”

  Just then Debbie Sue walked up. Darla noticed she was wearing red high heels.

  “Mornin’ everyone.” Holding onto Edwina, Debbie Sue lifted a foot. “See? I’ve got ’em on.” She turned to Edwina. “Ed, Tatts by Matt wants us in the audience, then we have to see someone named Valetta Rose in makeup. Roxie will run through her number first, then we’ll do our part, God help us.”

  “Valetta Rose is with us,” Darla said. “She was in the café yesterday, but you probably didn’t get a chance to meet her during the food fight.” Glancing down at Debbie Sue’s feet, Darla laughed. “How are you getting along with the high heels?”

  “This is a rehearsal, right?” Debbie Sue said. “If there’s anything I need to rehearse, it’s wearing these shoes.”

  Darla laughed. She liked these two women so much. Hooking an arm around the crook of each of their elbows, she turned them toward the auditorium seating. “Let’s go get a seat and listen to Roxie sing. And while we’re waiting for her to start, you can tell me the story behind, what was it, Tatts by Matt?”

  “Oh, honey, he is your biggest fan,” Edwina confided.

  “Well, my goodness, that’s one thing in his favor already.” Darla winked at Bob, who merely smiled.

  “Ed,” Debbie Sue whispered, “you can get rid of the hat.”

  “Oh, hell, no. My hair would be flat as a fritter. Besides that, I’d rather wear it than carry it.”

  Debbie Sue heaved a sigh.

  “Follow me, ladies,” Bob said. He led the way through the darkened hall. Debbie Sue followed Darla and Edwina, feeling as if she were hobbled. Dimmed stage lights provided the only illumination. Spotting an empty seat was impossible. Everyone stopped, bumping into the person in front.

  “Just find a place anywhere and sit,” Darla whispered.

  As everyone’s eyes became accustomed to the low light, titters broke out. Each of them was sitting in a different row, not even in an arm’s reach or a whisper of each other.

  This struck Debbie Sue as funny, but she worked feverishly to control her laughter. The attempts were contagious as Edwina tried muffling herself, snorting in her failed effort. Even Bob got caught up in the moment and lowered his head below the seat in front of him.

  Roxie was onstage with her back turned. She was saying something to a man wearing a set of headphones around his neck. As the noises from the audience grew, she turned around, shielded her eyes and looked out from the stage, her face clouded with anger.

  The glaring disapproval only heightened Debbie Sue’s amusement. She rose from her seat and as best sh
e could, quickstepped and stumbled up the aisle to the lobby area. She was soon met by Edwina and together they broke into guffaws.

  “I don’t know why that hit me so damn funny,” Debbie Sue said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “I guess I’ve got a case of nerves and it doesn’t take much to jump-start them.”

  “I’m not even nervous,” Edwina said, “but you know you can’t laugh around me without me losing it too.” She dabbed a glisten of moisture from the corner of her eye.

  “Okay,” Debbie Sue said, squaring her shoulders and shaking them to relax herself. “I’m ready to go back in. How about you? You okay?”

  “Roger. Laughing’s all over.” Edwina pointed a crimson nail at her blank face. “See? No laughing.”

  Satisfied they were both past the urge to laugh, Debbie Sue pulled the auditorium door open but stopped just short of opening it wide. A voice like none she’d ever heard singing country music floated, a capella, from the stage. It was strong and pure, spanning octaves, expressing so much gut-wrenching emotion Debbie Sue was genuinely moved. It was like in church, when sometimes a member of the choir, with no musical accompaniment, would transfix the congregation with a simple religious hymn.

  There was no hint of Bible stories in the song Roxie was singing. It told of heartache, of lust and yearning and eventual learning. The kind of tune only a woman who had lost the love of her life could perform with so much feeling.

  “. . . And then those funny, familiar, forgotten feelings started walking all over my mind . . .”

  She glanced over at Edwina, whose eyes were closed. She was swaying slowly, her face reflecting how she had tuned in to the singer’s woes.

  Debbie Sue eased the door shut, abruptly shutting off the music. “Hell, Ed. That’s Roxie singing. I’ve never heard anyone sing like that. Even Simon Cowell wouldn’t find fault with that performance. She’s right. She’s going to be a huge star. Damn it all to hell.”

  “It couldn’t have been her,” Edwina said sharply. “That voice I heard had a heart, and we agreed there’s a dog turd where Roxie’s heart should be. Let’s go back in. I need to see this and hear it for myself.”

  Reentering the auditorium, they took the nearest seats at the back and sat quietly, listening and watching as Roxie, smiling and amicable to everyone onstage, raised the microphone to her lips again and sang, “Last night, quietly, you walked through my mind . . .”

  Everyone in the hall gave rapt attention. No one even appeared to breathe. When the last note lingered and died, the only sound left was the soft whoosh of the air-conditioning system kicking in. Clapping erupted from places throughout the auditorium. Only twenty or so people were present, but they all made their appreciation of the singer’s talent known.

  Debbie Sue sat slack-jawed.

  “Shit,” Edwina griped. “Why in the hell did God give that much talent to such a shit? On top of that, she’s good-looking.”

  “I suppose He had to give her something,” Debbie Sue said.

  “Oh, so the body of a ballroom dancer, tits that shade her toes and a face that would melt chocolate isn’t enough?”

  “You do have a way with words, don’t you, Ed?”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “Ed, I like to think there’s something salvageable in everyone, no matter how big an SOB they might be. She could have been nervous and had the jitters all this time, same as me, and being mean was how she reacted to that.”

  An arch look came from Edwina. “Oh, yeah?”

  “I can’t help it if that’s how I feel, Ed. Look, she’s motioning that she’s finished. Maybe she’s feeling friendlier after singing. Let’s go tell her how good we think she is.”

  “If you say so,” Edwina grumbled.

  Debbie Sue hobbled toward the stage with Edwina in tow. Looking up she said, “Roxie, that was wonderful. You almost—”

  “Freddie Lou,” Roxie said, studying her manicure.

  Debbie Sue looked around, to assure herself Roxie wasn’t speaking to someone else. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked. “My name’s Debbie Sue.”

  “Whatever.” Roxie dismissed her, clarifying her name with a flip of her hand, and immediately Debbie Sue’s temper began to rise. “Is there anything you can do about the mattress at your house?” Roxie asked. “I suppose it’s the one in the master bedroom, if you can actually say that about a room that small. I’d appreciate it if you could take care of it today. I hate the thought of another night on that pile of rocks.”

  Without waiting for a comment, Roxie turned and walked back to the group of people who milled in a corner of the stage.

  Stunned, Debbie Sue looked at Edwina, who was displaying an I-told-you-so grin. “Say there, Freddie Lou,” Edwina said. “You think there’s still something salvageable in that asshole girl?”

  “Yeah,” Debbie Sue growled. “Her gold fillings. After I knock her teeth out.”

  Chapter Ten

  Darla sat beside her ex-husband, listening to Roxie’s performance. The girl had the voice of an angel, the face of a heavenly soul and the body of a temptress, making her appearance on stage almost ethereal. This must be why Bob had fallen in love with her.

  Indeed Roxie had the voice Darla had always dreamed of standing before an audience and delivering. Darla’s own voice was fine and it had made her a fortune, but it was country—a sweet voice that had a combination of sass and heartbreak, a necessary quality to sing “Every Beat of My Heart Breaks a Little Piece Off.” Roxie, on the other hand, had that arcane combination of talent and stage presence. Charisma, even. Oh, yeah, she could crash the barriers between country and pop.

  Darla stole a glance at her ex’s profile. He was busily working on columns of figures in his checkbook, completely unaffected by the sound that had everyone mesmerized. Roxie might have it all, Darla thought, but at this moment she did not have Bob Denman’s undivided attention.

  But she was still his wife, dammit.

  And that reminder took Darla to darker thoughts. She suspected Roxie would drop Bob the second she hit it big. She had seen it happen a dozen times in the ruthless music business. And seeing the edginess between Roxie and Bob and believing Roxie had other men on the side left no doubt.

  But Darla knew her ex-husband wasn’t totally stupid. He had to know the obvious about his current wife. He was twice Roxie’s age. He might be well thought of and respected in the music community, but even his good reputation meant nothing in the larger circle of the music world. Perhaps he was holding on to a dream too. Perhaps in his private moments with Roxie, she gave him hope to go on.

  After Roxie dumped him, would he return to the past and Darla Denman? With his heart aching, would Darla be who he leaned on, as she had leaned on him for years?

  Darla fought the urge to reach for Bob’s hand. If she were magically given the chance to have a life with him again, would she do things differently? Would she, could she, swallow her pride and not be so damned determined to win every argument? She swore if opportunity ever arose, the next time, she wouldn’t make the same mistakes she had made before. She shook her head, dispelling what she was thinking. Daydreaming didn’t serve purpose to anyone.

  Bob turned his head and looked at her quizzically. “Everything okay? You look funny.”

  “I’m fine,” she said softly. “Everything’s just fine.”

  Debbie Sue jumped as “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” suddenly blasted through the sound system, followed by a thundering clatter that could only be matched by a team of Clydesdales loping across the wooden stage floor. No one, not even Tatts by Matt yelling, “Not now!” into the bullhorn, could override the clamor of the twenty-four-member West Texas High-Stepping Lone Star Cloggers.

  Debbie Sue’s gaze swung to Roxie, who now stood offstage watching the dancers with a scowl, arms crossed over her chest. Without a doubt, the younger singer wasn’t pleased to be upstaged so soon after her stunning vocal performance.

  For the briefest moment, Debbie Sue felt
sorry for Roxie. She had been blessed with eye-popping beauty and an extraordinary voice. She was young enough to enjoy both for years to come, but as far as Debbie Sue could tell, the girl’s heart was black as coal.

  Unable to get the cloggers’ attention with the bullhorn, Tatts by Matt dashed to the front of the stage and began waving his arms and making throat-slashing gestures with one hand. Gradually, the sound of clogging feet waned to a single clack, then halted altogether. “Not now!” Tatts by Matt yelled again through the bullhorn. As one last clack emanated from the stage, Tatts by Matt’s shoulders sagged, his bullhorn hanging by his side.

  “If we can’t rehearse now, when can we?” a voice said from the group.

  “Soon,” Tatts by Matt said. “Soon.”

  Debbie Sue saw Darla with Bob. Darla waved them forward and headed for the stage with Bob accompanying her. Debbie Sue and Edwina walked down the aisle and met them.

  “Edwina,” Darla said, “you aren’t planning on wearing the hat as part of your costume, are you?”

  “Oh, no,” Edwina said. “I’m just wearing it now because my hair would be a mess if I took it off.”

  A look of relief passed over Darla’s face. “Oh. Well, good. Because it would conflict with my signature colors and you and Debbie Sue wouldn’t match.”

  “Oh, I know that.” Edwina gave a thumbs up. “You don’t have to worry, Darla. I got it. Red and black. Black and red.”

  Tatts by Matt came over and gushed all over Darla, going into great detail about how each of her big hits had spoken to him on a personal level. Darla was being a pro, smiling appreciatively. “Matt, darlin’,” she said, “these are my backup singers, Debbie Sue and Edwina. They’re both from Salt Lick. We’re hoping that having them as part of the act will appeal to the local fans.”

  “We’ve already met,” Tatts by Matt said, “but y’all didn’t tell me you were from Salt Lick. How cool is this? A couple of local gals touring with Darla Denman.”

  “Oh, we’re not touring,” Debbie Sue was quick to say. “We’re doing backup for this show only.”