2 Queenie Baby - Out of Office (15 page)

"The Rum Song" ended the first set, and chants of "more, more!" flooded my ears. As I changed into my casual outfit for my next original, "Simply Me," the second set began. Carlos launched into one of his love songs, and the audience screamed. And then I heard it… "Diana, Diana!"

I walked up to the stage entrance where Roger and Phil were waiting. "Looks like you've got yourself a tour," Roger said with a grin.

Phil cast his eyes heavenward and made the sign of the cross.

"I didn't know you were a religious man," I said wryly.

"I feel a calling," Phil replied.

I rolled my eyes and stepped on stage.

The crowd roared.

Much later that evening, back at Carlos' villa, all twenty or so of us toasted our success with shots of Patron. Roger and Phil had three dates set on the East Coast—Baltimore, Philadelphia, and DC—beginning in June. That only gave us the month of May to build Carlos' name recognition in the area. The plan was to play smaller venues around the main areas. They were looking for me to help with the Baltimore/Washington region.

I already had dates booked for me and my regular band throughout the summer. During the winter I played mostly solo gigs, but summers were another story. I wasn't going to screw my summer band out of the gigs, so it looked like I'd need to find them a replacement for me and start booking new gigs.
If
I was able to book Carlos and I new gigs on such short notice, which would be no easy task.

Mark was still trying to make nice with me. And I was accepting his attentions, up to a point. I had let him know that our relationship was on hold until he came up with some answers. He hadn't been happy but had promised me a full debriefing—pun intended—once he had returned from Atlanta. He had explained that the call from his former partner, Marsha (ugh!), had been about his return. We were flying back to Baltimore together on Sunday, and he would leave Monday for Atlanta. He hoped to be back by the following weekend in time for the Renaissance Fair.

Mark was running his hand along my thigh, and I was feeling pretty flushed with tequila and victory. I was teetering on giving up my lonely bed and returning to our suite for the evening. I glanced around the room to see if anyone was watching. My eye fell on David kissing Margarite's hand as she murmured Spanish love words to him. Double ugh!

I put my hand on Mark's to stop its roving.

"So how long were you and Marsha partners?" I asked.

Mark sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "Do we have to do this now?"

"We do if you want your hand to continue along its current path," I replied, watching David head our way to pour himself and Margarite another glass of champagne.

"I've already told you everything I can for now," he deflected.

I shook my head. "No, I'm not asking for operational details. I want to know about Marsha. What's she like? Is she pretty? Is she married?"

"I can answer that," said David as he walked by with the champagne. "Hot, yes, and not as of last Christmas." He grinned.

I stared at David and then at Mark. "You took her home for Christmas?" I asked.

Mark glared at David. "It's not what you think. We were in the middle of a case. It was work."

David shrugged. "One room, one bed, a hot woman. Gotta get me a job like that."

"Shut up, David!" Mark barked.

I just stared at Mark. "Unbelievable. Yet another detail you failed to include in your fractured tale. If you and Marsha were an item, then you should've just said so."

"Diana, it's not what it seems," he said with a sigh.

"I'm sure you will come up with some very convincing version of the truth. But right now I'm too tired to listen to it." I stood up and said good night to Carlos and the band.

*  *  *

It was eight-thirty in the morning when we arrived at the airport. What a difference a few days made. Showing up at the airport in a limo with a famous singer was definitely the way to go, I decided as I climbed out of the car. Andre handed over our baggage to a skycap, and we waved goodbye to Phil and Roger who were headed to Aguadilla where their plane was waiting.

There was a platoon of officers, most of whom had attended the concert, to expedite our way through airport security. Harried travelers stopped and stared as we walked by. "Carlos," they murmured. I thought I heard a few say "Diana" as well, but it may have just been Mark trying to catch up to me so we could "talk."

I wasn't in the mood to talk. And I'd told him so when we were wedged in next to each other in the limo. I glanced back at him as he gathered his things off of the security conveyer belt. He didn't have much pep in his step. I felt a little guilty about that. I had to keep reminding myself that it was for the best. He needed to realize I wasn't going to put up with lies and half-truths in our relationship. And he needed to realize it now. I didn't want to be knee-deep in kids with him and find out he'd been hiding another wife somewhere.

There I went again. Jumping ahead. He hadn't even said he loved me yet. Not that I was ready to say it back, but a girl liked to have the option.

He tried again after we had checked in at the ticket counter. Carlos wanted to upgrade us all to first class. Andre was working out the details. Mark sat down next to me and handed me a cup of coffee. It was exactly the way I like it.

My phone rang before he could speak. It was Ashley.

"OH MY GOD!" she yelled before I could say anything. "You're on TV!"

I held the phone away from my ear. "Calm down. What are they saying?" I asked.

"It was one of those Sunday morning news shows. National! They were profiling some singer called Carlos Rodriguez and showed him introducing you as the writer of  'The Rum Song,'" she said excitedly. She was talking so fast, she was nearly hyperventilating.

"Wow." I looked over at Mark. "I'm surprised it made it to TV so fast."

"The footage is on YouTube," she replied. "I just pulled it up on the computer. What's with the Stevie Nick's look?"

"Not my idea," I said. My phone beeped. "I've got another call."

"It's probably Mom and The Grands," she said. "They were having breakfast together when I called to tell them to turn on the TV."

I promised to be over later in the afternoon to pick up Max and said goodbye to Ashley. I clicked over to my mom.

"OH MY GOD, Diana! You're on the news," she said. "And not just the local news either."

"I know. Ashley just called."

There was a rustling sound. "I just put you on speaker. The Grands want to talk to you."

Oh, boy.

Aunt Pearl called, "You datin' a Mexican boy now?"

Oh, good grief. "No, Aunt Pearl, he's from Puerto Rico, and we're not dating."

"That's too bad. They make good lovers, you know," she said.

"Stop all that dad-burned lover talk. I wanna know if you picked me up some of that special rum?" Granddaddy asked.

I heard my mom tell him no.

"Hi, Granddaddy. We're already at the airport, so I'll have to get it for you next time," I said.

"Congratulations, dear," said Mammaw softly. "You looked so lovely on the stage."

"Yes, Diana," said Uncle Grover in his stilted voice, "you were stunning. I loved the gown. Who designed it?"

"I'm not sure Uncle Grover," I said, stifling a laugh, as I heard Granddaddy call him a pansy.

"They're getting excited about coming over for the Renaissance Fair," my mom said. "This isn't going to change your plans, is it?"

I hadn't thought of that. I was scheduled to play at the Renaissance Fair next weekend. "I don't think so. We don't have anything booked yet."

"Just wondering with your new fame an' all," my mom said with a laugh.

"Now don' you go gettin' too big fer yer britches," Granddaddy hollered.

My mom shushed him. "Are you stopping by for a visit after you pick up Max? You can bring your new man around," she added.

I knew this was coming. "I'm really tired," I replied. "It's a long flight, and I just want to grab Max and go. I'm sure Mark feels the same way."

Don't let the frosted hair fool you, my mom was sharp. "Put him on the phone," she said. "I'll give him a personal invitation."

Mark was staring off in the distance. Probably thinking about all his secrets. Maybe he could use a wake up call from my mom.

"Why not?" I said and handed Mark my phone.

He stared at me a second before saying, "Hello."

My mom launched into a pitch to get him to drive over to Delaware with me.

"Sure," he said, "that would be fine. We'll come straight from the airport so we'll be there around two."

I could hear my mom gushing on the other end of the phone.

"A barbecue sounds great. We'll see you then." He hung up and handed me back the phone. Then he raised an eyebrow. "Taking me home to meet the parents?"

"Think of this more as a relationship-readiness test," I said. "I hope you brought your A game."

He chuckled. "I'm ex-CIA. I always bring my A game."

"Good. 'Cause you're gonna need it," I replied. His reference to the CIA got my fur up. He might think everything was hunky-dory, but I was still feeling like a patsy. And not a Patsy Cline.

Carlos interrupted us. "Okay, mates, we've got us a little problem. They only have one seat left in first class."

"Dibs!" I called, without even a look at Mark. I threw my bag on my shoulder and headed for the ticket counter.

Carlos' cackled, and, "She got you, Bucko!" rang out behind me.

I didn't hear Mark's response. Maybe some time in coach would do him good. I was tired of feeling like the one on the outside looking in. This would give him a chance to experience it up close and personal.

I approached the ticket counter and stood behind a blustering business traveler harassing the rep to upgrade him to first class.

"Look, Senorita," he said, shaking his meaty finger at her, "I fly down here every month. I should get some kind of consideration from this airline."

"I am sorry, sir," she replied without a trace of an accent. "First class is full. I cannot upgrade you. I can, however, give you advanced boarding after first class."

He snorted and then nodded. There was something about his profile that caught my eye. He glanced over at me.

"You again," Sir-Talks-A-Lot said with disdain. "Great, I'm going to be stuck next to a delusional drunk the whole way back."

I smiled sweetly and gave my name to the attendant. She handed me back my boarding pass. "Don't count on it," I said, waving my ticket at him. "First class."

He blustered and sputtered, sending another torrent of scathing words at the attendant.

A voice over the intercom announced first class boarding. I hugged the ticket to my chest. It was good to be a rock star.

Funny how my seat was next to Andre's, I thought, as I boarded the plane. He gave me a smile and helped me stow my guitar and carry-on bag. Carlos was across the aisle on my left. There had been reverent whisperings of, "Carlos," by the flight staff as we boarded. With the exception of a well-preserved older couple, the whole cabin was taken up with Carlos' entourage.

"You in charge of tickets?" I asked Andre.

"What makes you think that?" he asked, his mouth twitching slightly.

"Oh, I don't know." I looked up and saw Mark boarding the plane.

Mark's eyes narrowed at the sight of Andre tucked in all cozy next to me. I could almost hear him telling himself "it's only a plane ride" and counting to ten.

Mark nodded at Andre. "That's two I owe you."

Andre shrugged.

I made a face at Mark. "Keep it movin', Mr. CIA. If that's your real name," I added.

Mark's dark frown turned into a smile, and he shook his head. "You are such a goof," he said, ruffling my hair. "I can't wait to tell your family all about our adventures in Puerto Rico."

I gasped. "You wouldn't dare!"

He continued down the aisle, calling back, "Oh, you can bet on it, Queenie Baby!"

I sat back in my seat with a huff.

"You two are sickening," complained Andre. "All unrequited love and yearning. Throw in some sexual hijinks, and you've got yourself a spot on a reality TV show. Except, of course, you're a decade too old."

"Not nice!" I snapped. "You can just keep your opinions to yourself."

I looked towards the front of the plane at the seemingly never-ending line of passengers boarding. I spied my old friend Sir-Talks-A-Lot huffing and puffing his way on board.

I tapped Carlos. "Hey, play along."

He raised his brows. "At your service, m'lady," he said, sitting up straighter.

"So, Carlos Rodriguez, when are we going to be singing 'The Rum Song' again?" I said loudly.

Before Carlos could reply, Sir-Talks-A-Lot said, "Oh, here she goes again! Sittin' in first class bugging the real celebrities. If I were you," he said turning to Carlos, "I'd let the Air Marshall know she's bothering you. In fact, she can have my seat, and I'll sit here so she doesn't bother you the way she did me on the trip here. She thinks she wrote your song and has been telling everyone who will listen."

I gasped. "You shut up," I cried. "I did write the song, and we just sang it together on stage last night."

"Diana is correct," Carlos replied patiently in his lightly accented voice. "She is the writer of 'The Rum Song,' and we are going on tour together."

Sir-Talks-A-Lot turned his back to me and gave what I assumed was a knowing wink to Carlos. "Gotcha, buddy," he said and patted Carlos on the back. "Good way to play it. It's a long plane ride to be cooped up next to a nut. Believe me," he added, hooking a finger at me, "been there, done that."