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

by Dixie Cash

  “Yes, Ed,” Debbie Sue said. “We got it. We didn’t like it, but we got it.”

  Darla heaved a huge sigh. “Show-business people are a little like that.” She sounded almost apologetic. “Our worlds move a little faster than everyone else’s, I suppose.”

  “Not really,” Edwina said. “The way it looks to me, most of them, present company excluded of course, are so wrapped up in themselves, they don’t even know the speed the rest of the world moves. They think the world belongs to them and none of the rest of us are a part of it. Now, me, I’ve always—”

  Debbie Sue cleared her throat, stopping Edwina’s mouth. “Thank you, Obi Wan Kenobi. What say we change the subject before we start saying things we’ll regret.”

  Darla laughed. “I’d say that’s a great idea.”

  One of Roxie’s more pleasant experiences on this ridiculous tour was the return trip to Salt Lick without Darla. Even the crappy food at Hogg’s Drive-In had been half palatable. Now, back at the shack of a house where they were staying, she had put on sweat pants and a tank top to work out, which she did faithfully every night. She was in a Pilates stance, but she was watching her husband closely. He had been sitting on the edge of the bed talking on the phone for ten minutes in an animated, fun-type conversation with a female. Roxie knew he was speaking to a female because men talked differently to women, especially women they had a fondness for.

  Darla. He had to be talking to Darla.

  Roxie smiled to herself. She couldn’t keep from thinking of how good it was going to feel when she walked out on his ass—after telling him his aging body disgusted her, and just in general, he made her want to throw up every time he touched her. Everyone knew why she had married him and it damn sure hadn’t been for his bedroom prowess. She no longer even tried to deny it. She found it comical that he seemed to be the only one ignorant of the facts.

  Her marriage to one of music’s well-known managers had given her a leg up in the music business, for sure. Roxie Denman’s time was so close she could almost feel the adoring eyes of her fans, the crush of the media, the pressure of the paparazzi. She was the next Mariah Carey, Beyoncé and Britney, all rolled into one. She had been told by a few of Nashville’s best that she had the pipes and the style.

  She changed positions, lying flat on her back. As she brought her knee tightly up to her chest, she let her thoughts drift into another one of her fantasies. The first thing she would buy when she made it was a Ferrari California GT with retractable roof. She had been looking at pictures. It would be a hot red number that no one could miss.

  She switched knees. The second thing she intended to do was get rid of the current lover in her life who was starting to be demanding. He was good for a quick ride and getting things done for her in Nashville when Bob wasn’t looking, but he wasn’t good enough to ride in her Ferrari.

  “Okay, well, you girls be careful and don’t get into any mischief,” her husband said into the phone. “Don’t drink so much that you miss tomorrow night.” He paused for the reply, then chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get there. Sleep tight.”

  Flipping the case closed, he turned to Roxie, smiling. “Darla and those crazy Salt Lick girls are spending the night together. I thought she was just riding back to Salt Lick with them, but I guess they decided to make a party out of it.” He shook his head slowly. “That Darla. She’s never met a stranger. I’ve never known anyone who could turn a bad situation into a celebration better than she can.”

  “My, my, just listen to you gush,” Roxie said, feeling the heat of anger climb up her spine. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were still married to her. The blessed Darla. Saint of Lost Souls. Old lost souls.”

  Bob sighed deeply. “There’s no need for that kind of meanness, Roxie. She’s no older than I am. We have a lot of history together. We were just kids—”

  “Oh pu-leez.” Roxie got to her feet and wiped her brow with a towel. “Don’t give me that worn-out speech again. Why don’t you just admit you’re still in love with her? Like I give a shit. You can’t possibly think you’re sparing my feelings by not saying it. In fact, why don’t you go join her little party tonight and leave me the hell alone?”

  “Rox, don’t be that way. Tell you what. When this tour’s over, we’ll take a nice long vacation. Maybe go back to Bora-Bora, where we honeymooned.”

  “Humph. Is that supposed to be your big seduction move, dragging up memories? As foreplay goes, that’s pretty lame.”

  Bob’s face took on a pinkish hue and his back went rigid. “Roxie, listen to yourself,” he said. “If I didn’t know and believe better, I’d think you’re the coldest, meanest woman who ever drew a breath.”

  “Really? Don’t have the guts to just outright say that’s what you really mean, Bobby Boy?”

  She saw a tic in his jaw and malevolence in his eyes. “How’s this for what I really mean, Roxie? I wish I’d never laid eyes on you. How’s this to finish that thought? When this tour’s over, instead of Bora-Bora, how about divorce court? You and I are done.”

  Roxie had expected him to be pissed. In fact, that had been her intention. But she hadn’t expected he would go so far as to threaten an end to their marriage. He had never said anything like that to her. The anger she had first felt turned into fury. How dare he beat her to the punch. She picked up her nightgown and casually tossed it over her shoulder. Then she brushed past him, trailing a finger across his neck as she headed for the bathroom. “Now that’s better, Bobby. Talk dirty to me. That’s my idea of real foreplay.”

  She stopped at the door and looked back at him. On a sardonic laugh, she said, “And if you think it’s done when the tour is over, you’re wrong again. It’s done now, big shot.”

  She slammed the door and locked it. “Bastard,” she said.

  But at least she was rid of him for the night. As for him leaving her, that was a joke. She had always been sure he felt lucky to have her even pay attention to him, much less marry him. He would come crawling back. They always came back.

  Bob heard the click of the bathroom door lock. His first inclination was to kick down the door, but as always, his rational thinking overcame his reflexive thoughts. He was no kid and he wasn’t sure he could kick in a door without injuring himself. And if that happened, what would Darla do for the remainder of the tour?

  He couldn’t say his heart was broken at having Roxie lock the door against him, but something was at work within him. Pride, ego, regret? Probably all of that. He contemplated calling Darla and asking if he could join the all-nighter she and those two women were sure to pull. Sharing drinks with salt-of-the-earth people was enticing. He might have had the shit stomped out of his pride, but it was only bruised, not dead.

  He walked up the hallway to the room where Darla had slept the previous night. He laid his keys and phone on the table beside the bed, pried off his boots and undressed. Stretching out, he yawned and rolled over, grabbed the extra pillow and pulled it to his chest. A fragrance that he knew all too well sneaked into his nose. Joy. God knew he had bought enough of that pricey stuff to know it was Darla’s favorite perfume. The fragrance was one he could never associate with anyone but his ex-wife. A hodgepodge of old memories wandered through his mind like lost children.

  Children. He and Darla should have had kids. A woman with as much heart as she had would have been a great mom. They had loved each other enough, but there had never been time. From the beginning of their marriage, Darla had been on a fast track to stardom. Her career had cost everything, and not just for her. It had cost him everything too. “Shit,” he mumbled.

  He sat up, picked up his phone and opened it, keyed in a number and listened to the burrs. He was about to hang up when Darla’s voice was suddenly on the other end.

  “Hey,” he said. “How would you gals like some extra company for a while?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Debbie Sue listened as Bob Denman repeated the directions she had just given him
to her house. Was he bringing his wife with him? He didn’t sound as if he was. And that took Debbie Sue to wondering what was going on with Roxie and why Bob might want to crash a hen party that included no one but his ex-wife and two strangers.

  But, setting her dithering aside, she said, “That’s it. It’s real easy to get here. From town, it shouldn’t take you fifteen minutes. But if you get lost just holler. We’ll leave the front porch light on.”

  Still unable to precisely figure out a situation where Darla was touring around the country in the close quarters of a bus, accompanied by her ex-husband and his trophy wife, Debbie Sue closed the phone and handed it back to Darla. “Well that’s a surprise, isn’t it?”

  Darla smiled wanly and looked down, avoiding Debbie Sue’s eyes.

  Guilt if she had ever seen it, was Debbie Sue’s first thought. And stunning. She had expected a spirited denial. “Or is it?” she said.

  “It’s more than a surprise,” Darla said. “It’s unheard of altogether. I haven’t known Bob to leave Roxie’s side since they married two years ago. She’s left his side plenty of times, though.”

  “They must’ve had a fight,” Debbie Sue said. “He sounded down in the dumps.”

  “Bet it was over you,” Edwina said to Darla, smacking her gum and measuring a jigger of tequila.

  “Me?” Darla said, pressing a hand against her chest. “Why would it be over me? I haven’t done anything.”

  “She treats you like you’re the other woman,” Edwina said all-knowingly.

  Oh, hell, here we go again. Debbie Sue rolled her eyes. But she had to admit that when it came to men and women and relationships, Edwina was usually right.

  “She treats every woman like the other woman,” Darla said with a false laugh. “She hangs on to Bob like she cares about him and every female is a threat.”

  “But she looks at you different from the way she looks at the others. She has hate written all over her face when she looks at you.”

  “I’ve never done anything to her,” Darla said, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t take crap from her, but I’ve never harmed her.”

  “Darla, I forgot to tell you,” Debbie Sue put in, “that we call Ed here the ‘Dahlia Lama’ of Love and the Pope of Passion. She has a patent pending on the ingredients that make up that elusive thing called chemistry between males and females. She even writes an ‘Advice to the Lovelorn’ column in Salt Lick’s newspaper.”

  “Oh, hell, Debbie Sue,” Edwina said. “I don’t know the Dalai Lama from Tony Lama or the Pope from soap on a rope. But I do know what I’m talking about when it comes to the opposite sex.” Edwina drowned out further conversation by turning on the blender.

  “Just go ahead and laugh at me,” she said after she had quieted the blender. “But I know what I’m talking about. Bob still loves you, Darla, but he doesn’t know it. All the feelings he has for you he dismisses as nostalgia and marks them up to friendship. Every time those feelings come creeping in he’s sure to say”—Edwina lowered her voice to mimic a man’s voice—“ ‘We have history together.’ ”

  “Well we do have history together,” Darla said defensively. “We got married as kids. Lord, we practically raised each other, but you can’t call that love.”

  Edwina skillfully ran a lime wedge around the rim of a mason jar, then turned it upside down in a little pile of coarse salt. Then she carefully filled the jar half full from the blender. “Oh, okay. Then what’s the word you’d use?”

  “I’d use . . . ummm . . . I’d have to say it’s . . . oh, hell, I don’t know what it means. My God, I’ve been married four times. Does that sound like I’m an expert?” She sipped from the jar Edwina handed her, then licked her lips. “Hey, this is good.”

  “Come on now. What was the word you were trying to think of?”

  “Ed, leave her alone,” Debbie Sue said. “Can’t you see she doesn’t want to talk about it? Besides, what difference does it make? Bob’s got a wife.”

  Darla sipped again and held up her right hand. “That’s okay, Debbie Sue, I don’t mind.” She turned her attention to Edwina. “You want to hear a word, oh Pope of Passion? I’ll give you one. And the word is love. You can’t endure all that Bob Denman and I have gone through together without a little love. By God, I do love Bob. I always have and I always will, whether he’s married or not. There. I said it.”

  Edwina let out a whoop and pumped the air with her fist. “I’m right again. I knew you were still in love with him. I knew from the very start.”

  “Oh, hell,” Debbie Sue said. “You’d better stop drinking those margaritas, Darla. I think Ed forgot to mention she laces them with Everclear. They’re sure to bring out confessions better left as secrets. That’s why I only drink one. Or two at the most.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Debbie Sue,” Darla said. “Even if I hadn’t screwed up royally all those years ago, you’re right. He’s taken. And as far as I know, he’s happy.”

  Roxie walked out of the bedroom and checked both of the other bedrooms. Not finding anyone, she moved on into the living room, where Mike, Eddie and Valetta Rose were sprawled all over the furniture watching TV. “Where’s Bob?” she asked.

  Everyone looked at her, but no one answered.

  “Are all of you deaf? Turn down the damn TV. I’m talking.”

  Valetta Rose picked up the remote and reduced the volume to a barely audible level.

  Roxie could always count on Valetta Rose to do what she was told. “That’s better,” she snapped. “Now. I asked where Bob is.”

  “He left,” Eddie replied.

  She strode to the front door and looked out, didn’t see the black pickup truck. She turned back to the group. “Did he leave in the pickup?”

  “Sure did,” Mike said. “Didn’t say where he was going.”

  She gasped. “That ass. Just who in the hell does he think he is, leaving me stranded here? Leaving all of us stranded.”

  “Where’ve we got to go?” Eddie asked.

  “Or maybe he should’ve asked where’ve you got to go?” Mike said.

  “Don’t get smart with me, Mike. I know enough on you to make Bob send your skinny ass back to Nashville. He won’t stand for drugs and you know it.”

  “Roxie, don’t,” Valetta Rose said.

  “Shut up, Valetta Rose. I could tell your secrets too. Then where would you be? Back in a damn funeral home slapping pancake shit on dead people, that’s where.”

  “A little weed ain’t drugs,” Mike said, laughing. The others joined in.

  Roxie fixed them all with a heated glare. How dare they laugh at her expense. She walked out onto the patio where night noises that weren’t city noises surrounded her. She hated this damn town. Why any sane human being would want to live in a shithole like this she didn’t know. She strode back into the house and began to pace.

  “Is there anything we can do for you, Roxie?” Eddie asked.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. You’re just so uptight. There’s beer in the fridge.”

  “Who bought beer? I thought you were all broke.”

  “What difference does it make? If you want one, help yourself.”

  “You don’t have anything stronger?” She knew Eddie had a long history of drug use. Everyone said he had tried everything. He might no longer be on the hard stuff, but she suspected he always had something.

  “You just said Bob didn’t cotton to drugs,” Mike said. “I think he’d consider anything stronger than beer a drug, What do you say, Eddie?”

  “I say there’s beer in the fridge. And I don’t want to get in the middle of this.”

  “Shut up!” Roxie yelled. Jesus Christ, they were driving her crazy. “All of you! Just shut the fuck up!” She stamped to the refrigerator and pulled out a cold beer.

  Just where the hell had Bob gone? He was beginning to show some balls and she didn’t like it one bit. She didn’t care if he was fed up, but now wasn’t the time. Before she left the roo
m, Eddie’s voice stopped her.

  “You know, Roxie, you’re so beautiful, I can’t help but think if you just smiled more or tried to be nicer to people, things would be easier for you. You can tell Bob to fire me, but I think somebody needs to tell you what a negative, mean person you are. I thought it was because Darla sings better than you, but—”

  “Shut your mouth!” she screeched, barely restraining herself from hurling the full can of beer at that damned old dope addict’s head. “She does not sing better than me. She doesn’t do anything better than me.”

  The room sat in silence. Finally, she regained control of her temper. “After Sunday, you’re all finished,” she said icily. “I’m telling Bob how things got out of hand while he left me here with a bunch of drugged-out perverts. I’m telling him how I came out to get a beer and disrupted your drug fest. Knowing our keyboard expert’s past, Bob won’t even give any of you a chance to defend yourself.”

  “Bullshit. He won’t believe you,” Mike said.

  “Maybe not at first, but trust me, Mike. I can make his life a living hell until he does. I know how to handle Bob Denman, and don’t ever think I don’t.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Roxie,” Mike said, and she thought she heard fear in his voice. “The tour can’t go on without music.”

  “Get hold of yourself, fool. I can get on the phone and have new musicians here tomorrow night and you know I can. You might as well face it. You’re all finished.”

  “That doesn’t include me, does it, Roxie?” Valetta Rose asked meekly. “I mean, I didn’t do or say anything.”

  “I’m done with all of you.” She turned and gave them a condescending smile over her shoulder. “I’m going to bed. Keep the TV down so I can get my beauty sleep.”

  “Bitch,” she heard Mike mutter under his breath.

  She whirled and stamped back into the room. “Fuck with me, Mike, and I’ll tell Bob you tried to rape me.”

  “That’s uncalled for, Roxie,” Eddie said, shaking his head.

  “Really? Well if you think I can sing, you old doper, wait until you see me act.”