Southern Rocker Boy (Southern Rockers Book 1) (9 page)

Lacy had still not joined us on stage by four o’clock that afternoon. Gay decided to kidnap me to head to the local mall, where she could dress me according to her great master plan to turn us into the next headliners for Southern Nights. “She’s not taking it very well, I take it,” Gay chuckled as she navigated her luxury SUV into the parking lot.

“It’s like you’re psychic,” I said with a wry grin.

“She’ll come around. She needs this gig as much as you do.”

I turned to look at her. “What’s her story, anyway?”

Gay shrugged. “Your typical starving artist story. Family obligations, like you. Would rather get paid to perform a handful of hours a week than work forty hours for bupkis. Like you. Hardheaded as a mule,” she slid her eyes my direction. “Like you.”

I laughed. “If that’s true, then how come you’ve managed to talk me into every single thing I said I wouldn’t do?”

She chuckled. “Because you can’t resist me. Few men can,” she winked. “Plus you’re practical. You’re smart enough to know how to make things happen.”

“She’s smart, too,” I assured. “No one knows music like she does.”

Gaynell conceded with a small nod. “She knows about music. But she has zero interest in the music business. That’s why she’s still opening for everyone else. You could change that, Jonah. You can help her get to where she needs to be. She’ll listen to you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“It’s true. She’s softened since you came around. I was on the brink of canning her ass, to be honest with you. But you have a way with her. You have a pretty strong sexual magnetism, hon. You could have your way with a lot of ladies, myself excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” I said, thinking of Ty and all the photos of him posing with prize game and his big, shiny gun. “But that stuff won’t work on Lacy. She’s not interested.”

Gay laughed as she put the car in park. “You really don’t think that, do you?”

I shrugged. It didn’t matter what I thought. It only mattered what she said. And I wasn’t about to force myself on anyone. That afternoon’s kiss had been questionable enough.

I got out of the car and followed Gay into a designer boutique that specialized in southern wear. She stocked me up in jeans that she selected one size too small. I stared at myself in the mirror as she fussed behind me. “Can we get a pair that actually fit?” I asked as I stared at my pronounced package. “I’d like to have children one day.”

“Children, pssh,” she dismissed. “Rock stars don’t have kids. They have careers. It’s bad enough that…,” she trailed off, as if she had said something she shouldn’t. I pounced anyway.

“Bad enough, what?”

She waved her hand before handing me another stack of clothes to try on. I carried all six bags of clothes she had purchased back to the club, where Lacy had been rehearsing without me. She had chosen the Pink song she sang the first night I saw her perform, which basically let me know she wasn’t available – at all.

Oddly, Gay didn’t say anything about the set, which as much a “Fuck You,” as anything she had ever performed. All the songs were female power anthems, with very little spotlight for the lead guitar.

That was fine by me. It made it easier to get up to speed while she figured out what she was going to wear.

She opted again for leather and a slinky halter top. Not only did it keep Gaynell off her back, but it showed every single guy in attendance, myself included, what we were going to miss out on.

She steered clear of the dressing room until I had vacated it. When we took the stage, she had no trouble directing a lot of her raw sexual power towards me rather than the drooling men in the front row. It was clear she was pissed, and even clearer to me she was sending a specific message, but to the audience it was just a great show full of heat and intensity.

Gaynell was pleased as we headed upstairs for our weekly pay. There were no bonuses yet. That money went for the headliners who drew in the crowds. But she made sure that we saw what we could be making by leaving those checks at the top of the pile, likely as incentive to make us work even harder.

I headed straight for the hospital, where Mama was still staying with Leah. If all went well, she’d be home within a few days, and Mama had already taken care of things with Mr. Bivens so that I could be at home to take care of my sister during the week.

It was summer now. Leah had some time to get healthy enough to enroll in public school by fall. It was something she had always wanted to, rather than be homeschooled in the country by our mom. We still didn’t know if she would be healthy enough to attend regular classes, but she wanted it so badly, we didn’t have the heart to derail her dream.

I supposed everyone needed a dream… myself included.

I cut my visitation short since I planned to stop at the factory myself the next morning, to thank Mr. Bivens for giving me a job and give my resignation in person.

I had just exited the double doors of the emergency room when I almost ran face first into Lacy, who was rushing inside.

“Oh my God! Are you following me?” she demanded.

Before I could even try to come up with some clever comeback, I instantly recognized the look of worry on her face. “No. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said as she pushed past me and into the building. After only a few seconds of second-guessing, I followed her.

I stayed back as she asked the triage nurse about a patient named Cody Abernathy. I could only guess this was her significant other.

That they shared the same name only sank my hopes even further.

Before I could ask her anything, she was whisked away into the back. I sighed and turned toward my truck.

I spent that Monday cleaning up the apartment for Leah’s return. With my newfound wealth, I bought her a cheerful balloon bouquet to greet her when she got home. When I wasn’t cleaning and prepping, I was studying the songbook that Gaynell had sent home with me. From Bob Seger to the Who, I was practicing all those old songs until I could play them in my sleep, starting with the hardest, least familiar tunes first. I had no idea what Lacy would throw at me that Thursday, but I wanted to be prepared to blow her socks off either way.

I wasn’t using her as some kind of stepping stone to fame. I was there to support her, to back her up, to make her look and sound the best she could. I was more than some poser in skin-tight pants. I had something to prove to her about who I was as a man. And I knew my work ethic was second to none.

It was still hard to wrap my head around the idea that what I was doing was work. I enjoyed playing the guitar since I had picked my first one up when I was three. Daddy knew how to play, so he taught me how to play his old favorites. In school I learned how to read sheet music, so as a teen if I heard any song I wanted to unlock like a puzzle, I’d find the sheet music and study it until I could play it by heart.

But what had once taken weeks and months was now condensed into a few days. Fortunately for me, I was familiar with most of the songs in the book. What songs I didn’t know, I looked up online and learned as best as I could.

There were more than a few, so all I could do was pray she wouldn’t pick the twenty or so I couldn’t get to by week’s end.

No one was more excited about my new ‘career’ as my #1 fan, Leah. She barely got settled back in the apartment when she begged me to tell her all about it. “Did you get any groupies?” she asked and I laughed.

“Only one I care about,” I said as I reached over and kissed her on the nose. She wrinkled it at me and begged that I perform one of the songs from the book for her. Since it doubled as rehearsal, I didn’t begrudge her… not that I would have anyway.

Wednesday I played for her almost exclusively as Mama went off to work at the factory. She looked tired as she left us that morning. It made me even more determined to make this thing with Southern Nights work. The quicker we got to headline, the quicker she could stay at home with Leah where she wanted to be. That was my main focus.

Languishing somewhere under that was seeing Lacy get the true recognition she deserved. Unlike Gaynell, I knew that she had what it took to successfully build the career of her own design. It might take a little longer, since she wasn’t willing to bend to convention and prostitute her image just to sell a few records or a few tickets to a show. Personally I thought that spoke to her inherent integrity. I had no plans to step on her toes or get in her way.

I considered apologizing for manhandling her in the dressing room, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wasn’t sorry that I finally held her in my arms or tasted the wine of her kiss. I was just sorry that was all it could ever be.

If her man truly was sick or injured, as evidenced by her frantic trip to the emergency room, then what kind of asshole would I be to rehash my impossible infatuation? I would simply let that sleeping dog lie.

But the closer I got to seeing her again, the more my resolution seemed to crack. I was as raw as an exposed nerve the minute I parked my truck in the lot right next to her junker of a car. The minute I entered the double doors at the entrance, however, I was whisked immediately upstairs to see Gay.

“Anything wrong?” I asked as I sat in the chair opposite the desk.

She wore a shit-eating smile. “Not at all. In fact, everything is just right.” She spun her computer monitor around so I could read the email from Jasper Carrington. “Ariel Acardi wants to film her next video right here at Southern Nights. And she wants you in the video.”

“Me?” I said, taken aback. “Why?”

Gay gave me a side-eye glare over her half-moon reading glasses secured around her neck with a shiny silver chain studded with turquoise. She minimized the window on her screen to show the background on her computer screen. It was a screen shot of the house band, with Lacy, from last Sunday.

I had never seen myself perform before. It was a little disconcerting to see the sexy grimace I had screwed my face into while I played. That, added with Gay’s enticing wardrobe choices, answered the question.

“She’ll be here this weekend, watching the show from my office. I suggest that you pepper some songs in there with you as lead vocal.”

I immediately shook my head. “I can’t do that to Lacy.”

“You’re not doing anything
to
Lacy. You’re doing it
for
Lacy.”

“I’m not so sure she’ll see it that way.”

Gay chuckled. “Of course not. Her world view stops at the tip of her nose. This is a game, hon. And the only people who win are the ones who learn how to use the rules to their advantage.” She indicated back to the photo. “She’s got it in her. We saw it on Sunday. So what if she’s pissed? She’s finally playing smart. In the end, you both win.” I was still undecided before she maximized the email, detailing what I could expect to be paid for my cameo. My jaw dropped.

She reached for her own copy of the songbook, which she had opened to a Bob Seger classic from 1976. “Know it?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I know it.”

“Good. It’s on the set list for Saturday.”

My eyebrow arched. “Does she know that?”

Gaynell smiled. “As soon as you tell her.”

I sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

I stopped at the bar on my way backstage. Jacinda was already behind the counter, washing the glasses and stocking her liquor for the night ahead. “Any chance of getting that beer now?” I asked.

She grinned when she spotted me. “Sure thing, cowboy,” she said. She uncapped a bottle and handed it to me. “So what’s it feel like to be part of the talent?”

I took a long, grateful sip of the bubbly, cold liquid. “More nerve-wracking,” I said. “But at least I can drink.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t let Gay see you do it, though.”

“So you’re a bad influence,” I said as I leaned on the bar. She leaned in to meet me.

“You have no idea, honey.”

I laughed. She was gunning hard. I slid the half-empty beer back at her. “In that case, I should probably decline.”

She shrugged. “Your choice. But it can feel awfully good to be bad sometimes.”

“I bet,” I said, giving her that at least.

“Besides, you’ll need every drop of alcohol in this place to deal with Miss Thing.”

That had my attention. “What does that mean?”

She pointed at Lacy, who had taken her place on stage to start rehearsal. Though she acted as though she couldn’t care less, I knew she was paying close attention to what was happening at the bar. “Cold with a capital C,” she said. “Won’t say anything to anyone she doesn’t have to. You’re never going to crack that ice princess.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to?”

She chuckled. “Please. Don’t play a player, cowboy.”

“I’m just here to play guitar,” I assured. But I ordered two bottles of water, which I took to the stage. I handed one to Lacy, but she just stood and stared at me rather than take it from my hand. She turned to her sheet music and I sent a shrug to Jacinda at the bar across the room. Her “told-you-so” look said it all.