Humidity smothered me the second I walked out of the bar. I was still damp from my performance under the stage lights, and I could almost feel my hair frizzing. I saw Randy standing by the corner of the building, and he waited for me to approach. I followed him as he walked along the side of the building, toward the back of the bar.
A shiver crept up my spine, despite the summer heat. What the hell is this dude up to? I stopped walking.
“Hey, man. Why are we out here? Can’t we do this inside?”
He stopped a few feet away. “Yeah, we will. Gonna use the back entrance. For security reasons.”
That seemed reasonable, if a little weird. I followed him around the corner, past some trash dumpsters to a door. He opened it by punching a code in the electronic lock and held open the door for me. I stepped inside, careful not to brush up against him as I entered.
A clanging sound and the murmur of voices told me the kitchen was near, as did the scent of grease in the air. Randy passed me, opened the door to a tiny office, and then gestured for me to enter.
There was barely room for the desk, a file cabinet and two chairs that occupied the place. Papers and boxes were piled everywhere, along with several half-empty bottles of liquor. Randy shut the door, pulled a key from his pocket, and then unlocked a drawer of the desk. He looked at me with narrowed eyes and leaned forward, his face suddenly inches from mine.
“You looked like a goddess on that stage, and you sang like one too.”
I stepped back but not much. Boxes and clutter were at my back. I regretted not insisting he keep the door open, but until that second, I hadn’t felt threatened. It was time to get to business before this escalated into something I didn’t want to deal with.
“Thanks. My band really gave it their all. I hope you’ll consider us for your house band. We have a following, and I think we’ll be able to pull in some business for you.”
He took an envelope out of the drawer and laid it on the table. It was fat with cash, and he left one hand on it, while reaching out to me with the other. I pulled away, an involuntary reaction. I didn’t want anyone touching me without my consent, though it happened more often than I liked. Overzealous fans wanted to show their affection sometimes and that I could overlook. But not some middle-aged married man who thought hiring my band gave him the right to grope me.
Randy’s moustache twitched over a smile, which came off more like a leer.
“Don’t be like that, sweetheart. If I hire your band, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I’d just like to be friends.”
He emphasized the last word in a way that made his intentions clear. Randy had more in mind than a platonic business relationship. My stomach curdled as my cheeks heated with anger. Now I realized why he’d led me in through the back door—to avoid his wife seeing us. I was about to tell him where to shove his fat envelope when someone banged on the door.
“Melanie? Are you in there?”
I didn’t wait for Randy’s response but opened the door myself. Spencer Colebank stood there, his fist poised as though he was about to bust the door open.
“Spencer! What the hell?”
Randy moved quickly for a man of his size and shoved Spencer’s chest to remove him from the doorway. Spencer stumbled but only for a second. Then he shoved the taller man back, causing Randy to curse as he fell against the desk.
“Son of a bitch! What the fuck are you doing here?”
Three employees from the kitchen had gathered outside the office, their eyes wide. Spencer glanced at them and then at me. He ignored Randy’s question but asked me, “Are you all right? I didn’t like the way this guy was watching you. I had to make sure you were okay.”
A tumble of emotions shot through me. Part of me liked the idea that he cared enough that I might be in danger to come to my aid. But I had no problem handling guys like Randy on my own. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time I’d had to deal with unwanted attention, and I didn’t want anyone to think I couldn’t handle it myself. Plus, I was just plain pissed off that this wasn’t going the way I’d planned. I wanted to get paid, get the house gig locked down, and get the hell out of there.
But Randy’s behavior had put me off. I hated to take the risk, but there was no way I going to play his game.
“I’m fine. Just trying to get my band’s pay so we can get out of here.”
A short, red-haired woman pushed through the crowd of employees and gave Spencer a look that had him stepping back. She stopped in the doorway, her hands on her hips.
“Randy, what the hell is going on?”
He fumbled with the envelope. “I’m just paying the band.”
Her face was contorted with disgust. She looked me over like I had crawled out of one the dumpsters.
“Don’t think of coming back. We don’t need this kind of trouble.”
Words failed me. I looked at Randy, who was counting out cash, not looking at anyone. As cocky as he’d been a few minutes ago, he was cowed now under the stern gaze of his spouse. It was clear it was she who was really in charge, and though this situation wasn’t fair to me, I felt sorry for her. Who knew how many “special friends” her husband had? I’m sure I wasn’t the first girl he snuck in the back door with.
Randy handed me the money. I counted it out and then purposefully made a show of tucking it into my bustier. Randy’s wife’s eyes narrowed, her lips drawn even tighter than before. Randy’s sallow face was a dusky shade of red, and Spencer was smiling.
I exited through the kitchen with Spencer right behind me. The satisfaction I felt for walking out with my head held high was only slightly dampened by the realization that this might have been my last gig.
* * *
Spencer
Adrenaline still coursed through me from my encounter with the bar owner. My fist twitched, the urge to punch someone still lingering. It had been years since I’d been in a fight, and if I was honest with myself, it had felt pretty good. I was sure Melanie was flattered by my timely appearance. Who knew what would have happened to her if I hadn’t arrived?
I followed her out of the kitchen and into the bar. Her stride was purposeful, her shoulders stiff. She must still be pissed at what that douchebag had tried to pull. A mental image of me comforting her, holding her in the back seat of my car while my driver took us to my condo, made me smile.
We exited the building and she stopped. When she turned to look at me, the expression on her face was not the gratitude I was expecting.
“Who do you think you are, my freakin’ guardian? Were you following me?”
Stunned for a moment, I hesitated. I never dreamed she’d be upset about this.
“Well, yeah. That guy had been watching you on stage but in a weird way. Then I overheard him tell the bartender to keep his wife occupied after the show. When he took you around the back of the building, I thought something was up, and you might need help.”
Her hands were balled into fists, her stance confrontational. I was at a loss to understand her reaction.
“That’s all speculation on your part. I can handle myself. I see guys like him all the time. It goes with the territory.”
The bitter tinge to her voice made wonder if there was a bigger story behind her words. In any case, it didn’t change my opinion on the matter.
“Melanie, I’m sure guys are hitting on you all the time. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk away if I think someone means to do you harm or pressure you into something you don’t want to do.”
Her dark eyes glittered in the half-light from the bar’s neon sign. She stared at me for a moment and then looked away, putting her hands in the pockets of her biker jacket.
“I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need anyone’s help. I can take care of myself, thanks.”
This was not how I’d wanted the evening to end. As I was searching for the perfect words to make things right with her, one of her band mates, the drummer, pulled up to the curb in a white utility van. He honked the
horn, and Melanie moved to leave. I reached out to touch her but let my hand fall.
“Look, I’m sorry. I only meant to help.”
She looked back at me before entering the vehicle. The hard edge was gone from her mouth, but her eyes still held none of the warmth I’d seen earlier. I wondered at her reaction to what I’d thought was good, old-fashioned chivalry.
Wrong again, Spencer.
“I know. See you around, Spencer Colebank.”
Then she climbed into the van. I stood on the sidewalk until the vehicle was out of sight. I texted my driver and leaned against the building. One thought kept running through my mind, all tangled up in my growing feelings for Melanie Parker.
How can something so wrong feel so right?
Chapter Five
Melanie
The diner was packed. It was our usual place, and we managed to get a big booth at the back. Which was great, because I had a feeling we’d be here awhile.
Once we were seated and the coffee was poured, I pulled the money out of my bustier and started passing out bills. We split the take evenly, and unfortunately, it didn’t amount to a hell of a lot.
“Sorry, guys. We didn’t get the gig. They don’t want us back. Ever.”
Donna frowned, Reb rolled his eyes, and Mackie stared into his coffee cup. He took a sip then fixed me with an impatient look.
“What was the reason this time? Too much country? Not enough? The crowd seemed to be into us, big time.”
I took a sip from my own cup for fortification. I couldn’t tell them the real reason, could I? That the owner was a douchebag who wanted more than I was willing to give?
I didn’t want to go there.
“Who knows? It wasn’t even a vague, ‘we’ll call you.’ The guy’s wife just told me the answer was no.”
We made small talk the rest of the meal, but I was only half-listening. My pecan waffles sat on the plate, and I moved them around with my fork. I was hungry, but the lump in my throat at the thought of quitting the band prevented me from eating. I had to tell them, sooner or later. Would it be any easier tomorrow? Knowing it wouldn’t, I cleared my throat and went for it.
“Um, guys… I hate to make a bad evening worse, but there’s something I need to tell you.”
Three pairs of bleary eyes stared back at me. Their expressions were identical, with “now what?” on their faces. I blurted out my confession, unable to take it any longer.
“I’m moving back to Florida. My family needs help, and they can’t wait any longer. I’d hoped we’d get things going here so I wouldn’t have to go, but it’s just not happening. I’m sorry.”
I’d warned them a few weeks ago that I might have to leave, eventually. But now the finality of my decision was much harder to face. I thought I could handle their responses; I’d rehearsed this moment in my mind on many a sleepless night. But I hadn’t counted on their silence.
Seconds ticked by and then a full minute. They looked at each other and back at me. Finally, Mackie shrugged his shoulders.
“I get it. Family comes first. I just wish it hadn’t come to this.”
The others nodded. My heart sank. Quitting hadn’t even seemed like a real possibility until I knew I had no other options.
“I’m so sorry. I kept hoping I could get out of going back. I want to stay here. I’d love for Sparker to finally take off. But life won’t wait.”
We paid the check and left the diner. The ride back to Mackie’s place was quiet. We were exhausted. There was so much more I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. I’d let my bandmates down. I couldn’t escape the feeling that our failure was my fault. I just couldn’t figure out how to make things right.
I’d lived for the moments on stage with them. It was where we all came together so well. How could something so right, turn out so wrong?
* * *
I felt even worse the next day. I’d slept but it was a fitful, restless slumber. I finally dragged myself out of bed around two in the afternoon, and that was due to my sister’s third attempt at calling me.
I turned the phone on speaker and stumbled to my coffee maker. “What’s going on? I was dead asleep.”
Cissy’s voice was low, as though she didn’t want someone to hear.
“I can’t take much more, Melly. I pulled a double shift this week, and then the babysitter quit. She said watching the kids was bad enough, but Mamma just ’bout drove her crazy. Well, she also found out she’s pregnant, so there’s that…”
I poured water into the coffeemaker, desperately wishing it was brewed already. My head was pounding and my stomach was roiling. It’d be easier to muster some sympathetic words once I had some brew and food.
“Isn’t your babysitter, like, fourteen? The girl who we used to babysit?”
“You are correct, unfortunately. Not unusual around here, though.”
“No, it’s not.”
One of my nephews screeched in the background, and Cissy had to intervene. It bought me a few moments to grab an aspirin and down a glass of water. When she returned to the phone, she got down to the reason for her call.
“So, have you decided when you’re coming home? I sure could use a hand, like, right now. Or yesterday.”
My heart went out to her, but much of my sister’s misfortune lie squarely on her own shoulders. She’d had her first child just after her seventeenth birthday, and by age twenty-three, had two more. I loved my niece and nephews, but none of their daddies were around, and the burden on my mom and sister was tremendous. Cissy and I had many discussions over the years about her poor choices in life, and she always agreed with me and promised to do better. But somehow, she just kept getting further and further behind. Our mother’s depression and recent signs of early onset dementia added an additional challenge, and one that neither one of us had been prepared for.
“I’m working on it. I talked to my band last night. We have to work some things out, but I should be able to wrap up here in a week or two.”
“Oh, Melly, I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”
The sigh of relief on the line was genuine. I knew my sister meant well, but it didn’t ease my profound disappointment. In my heart, I didn’t want to give up on my singing career. But there comes a time when enough is enough. It was never going to happen, so I may as well go where I could do some good for someone else.
My family needed me more than I needed success. Perhaps I could give it another try someday, but for now, it was time to let go of my dream.
* * *
Spencer
I spent Saturday on the golf course. Not by choice but because it was expected. My uncle had taught me to play shortly after I moved into his household. I was seventeen, and he was delighted to have someone take an interest in his golf habit. His son, Gibson, didn’t enjoy it, so golf became our pastime. I never had the nerve to tell Uncle John I didn’t enjoy it, either. But spending time with him on the course made me feel special—it was a bond we shared with no one else. Plus, I got quite an education from witnessing John G. Colebank II in action. More deals and relationships were forged on the links than in our conference room at the office.
It was just the two of us today, though. I found my mind wandering, and my sharp uncle noticed.
“If you weren’t up for a round, you should have stayed home. Your lame performance today wasn’t much of a challenge for me, you know.”
He was only half-joking. My performance had been off. I couldn’t get my brain to focus. Images of a dark-haired, bustier-wearing singer filled my head. One of the songs she sang last night was on an endless loop in my inner ear. Plus, I was still a bit pissed off at how she gave me the brush-off after I came to her aid.
“Sorry, Uncle. I had a rough night, that’s all.”
We were in front of the country club entrance, awaiting the valet with our cars. John put a hand on my shoulder and then let it fall.
“Girl trouble, eh? That’s the only time you seem to lose your edge,
Spence. You have to learn to manage no matter what’s going on in your love life.”
It was easy for him to say that. He’d been married for frickin’ ever. I knew he had a point, but I wasn’t about to admit it.
“Nah, nothing like that. You’re exaggerating. I can handle myself just fine.”
“I hope so. We have several deals close to closing, and I need you to be on your game.”
I didn’t respond. His condescending tone had increased my overall sense of annoyance, and the valet had pulled up with my yellow Corvette. Once I was in the vehicle, I finally looked at John. My jaw unclenched just enough for me to answer him in a calm, even tone.
“One of these days, you’re going to learn to trust me, Uncle John.”
I hit the gas, the tires making a small squeal as I pulled away.
* * *
Later, I was glad I’d chosen the ‘Vette that morning. There was nothing like a long drive in a fast car, particularly an all-American muscle car, to lift your spirits. My unease melted away as the miles sped by. I’d made a loop, and as I pulled up to the garage of my condo, I knew what I had to do.
I changed into some sweats, poured myself a scotch, and downed it. Then I sat in my most comfortable chair and picked up my phone. I hit the button for the number I wanted and held my breath.
“Hello?”
Just one word, but her smoky voice brought so much unspoken emotion with it. I heard irritation, but with an underlying sense of hope.
“Hey, Melanie. It’s Spencer. Just wanted to check on you, since we didn’t have much time to talk last night.”
Again, I held my breath. Too pushy? Not assertive enough? I’d never worried about a woman’s reaction so much. What the hell was wrong with me?
“Well, like I said last night, I’m fine.”
Not So Wrong: Love Grows series, Book Two Page 5
