A Song to Die For (33 page)

“Exactly.”

“So we can say whatever we want, without pissin' her off. I like it.”

Creed had shrugged his agreement, and they had gone back to parrying rhymes, the song morphing into a story about getting lucky more so than meeting the woman of one's dreams. It was a blues grinder, after all, so the story fit the feel. They created two more verses within thirty minutes.

As a simple three-chord blues shuffle, it was easy for the band to learn. They had played it through all of half a dozen times now, and it already sounded album-ready. Though it felt good, Creed had no delusions about it. It would probably never see airplay on the radio, but it was a respectable album filler, and a solid song. It would help to shape this band into something other than just a classic country comeback combo for Luster Burnett. It tapped into the unwritten Austin, Texas, Freedom-to-Play-Whatever Act. It was a bluesy biker song with an outlaw feel.

Moreover, Luster liked it. He had blues influences in his background and played a solid rhythm guitar to the tune, and even sang harmonies. Creed couldn't believe it. Here he was, on salary, in rehearsal, with the great Luster Burnett singing backup vocals behind him! He felt he was finally back in the business.

As the song ground to a tight, pounding finale, Kathy Music burst into the studio, all smiles, clearly excited about something. Her mere presence took Creed's breath away. He knew he should get over that.

“Wow!” she said. “Cool song!”

“It's our new theme song,” Luster announced. “Our luck
is
gonna change.”

“It sure is!” Kathy sang. “I have news! Band meeting in the dining room!” She clapped her hands and did a couple of cheerleader bounces.

The band members sat and stared at her.

“I brought pizza!”

Metro threw his sticks over his shoulder and led the retreat from the studio, through the living room. Creed brought up the rear, after Luster, who had paused to get both of them a beer from the cooler. By the time Creed stepped into the dining room, he saw that the hungry musicians had already ransacked the pizza boxes. That was fine with him. He waited as Luster carved slices from the smoked wild turkey breast, and set out serving dishes of mashed potatoes and green beans. He and Luster enjoyed their own home cooking while the rest of the band bolted the junk food.

“Turned out good, Boss,” he said to Luster.

Luster shrugged. “I've made better, but it'll eat.” He leaned in closer to Creed, and spoke low. “It'll make a better turd than that gut bomb they're devouring.”

“Like possums eatin' shit out of a hair oil can,” he replied, quoting his grandfather, though he had never seen a hair oil can and never understood how shit might end up in one for a possum to eat.

Luster snickered along with him as they both chewed on the turkey—smoky and flavorful, but rather dry.

“What are you two conspiring about down there?” Kathy said from the other end of the table.

Creed swallowed hard. “Just wondering about your news. Thought you had an announcement.”

“And so I do!” She attempted to compose herself. “Luster Burnett and The Pounders now have a booking agent! Tomahawk Talent Agency, in Austin, Texas! She began clapping her hands to lead the band, grudgingly, into an infectious round of applause.

Creed nodded. It was a respectable agency, booking some good acts, a couple of which toured nationwide.

“But that's not all!” Kathy continued, barely able to contain herself. “We also have a gig! A really good booking! You're gonna love this!” she sang, pausing for affect.

“So…” Lindsay said, her languid delivery the antithesis of Kathy's enthusiasm.

“This Saturday…” Kathy began.

“So soon?” Trusty blurted, sounding nervous.

“Houston, Texas…”

“Spit it out, girl,” Lindsay ordered.

“Jefferson Stadium…”

“Big venue,” Tump offered.

“Four bands. We're the opener. The headliner is Dixie Houston!” Kathy raised her fist triumphantly.

Creed felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.

“Creed's ex?” Metro said. “She's fine!”

“She's not my ex,” Creed growled. “We were never married.”

“You two are still friends, right?” Kathy said.

“Doesn't matter. A gig is a gig.”

“How did you manage that on such short notice?” Luster asked.

“That part was pure luck. There was a cancellation. They were scrambling to fill it when I walked into their office without an appointment.”

“Who canceled?” Tump asked.

“George Jones.”

“Of course.”

“So now it's us, Mickey Gilley, Charlie Daniels, and Dixie Houston. They've sold over twenty thousand tickets!”

“Oh, God,” Trusty Joe groaned, holding his stomach.

“Good money, then?” Luster asked.

Kathy's enthusiasm plunged into uncertainty. “They offered ten grand. I countered with fifteen, and they took it,” she said, more as a question than a statement.

“Holy shit!” Metro cried.

Luster shrugged and nodded. “That'll get us to the next gig. It's a good step. Great job, Music!”

The band burst into excited conversation, but Creed was still grappling with the idea of opening the show for the warm-up act for the lead-in artist for Dixie. Was she ever going rub his nose in that. He had often thought of running into Dixie out on the road again, somewhere, after he got his career back on track. But now it was actually going to happen. The saving grace here was that he was the band leader for a legend. And he truly believed that this band was going to kick some serious ass in that stadium. Provided Lindsay could get her makeup on in time, and Trusty Joe didn't puke on the soundman.

He looked up at Kathy, who was waiting for his reaction. He gave her a grin and a thumbs-up. That seemed to make her day. This Kathy Music was well-nigh the opposite of Dixie Houston. She might be good for him. Creed flinched, and shook the thought off. She was off limits. No relationships within the band. Period.

*   *   *

Later, while Creed was talking about bands and music with Lindsay, Kathy approached the two of them and asked Creed to step outside to the patio.

“Feel free to interrupt,” Lindsay said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She turned and strutted away.

The cutest confused smirk Creed had ever seen shaped Kathy's face.

“Is she mad at me?” Kathy asked.

“Don't worry about her. She woke up on the wrong side of the bus.” Creed feared, however, that Lindsay was a bit jealous. He and Lindsay had shared that one night in his bed, after all—the night he couldn't remember.

Kathy led the way outside and sat on the picnic table. “Tomahawk wants a stage plot for the Houston show.”

“Okay. What format?” Creed replied.

“I don't even know what a stage plot is,” she admitted.

He chuckled. “I'll help you draw one up. It's just an overhead view of where each player stands onstage, so the sound crew onstage will know where to set amps and microphones and monitors.”

“Monitors?”

“The little floor speakers that point back at the band, so we can hear ourselves.”

Kathy sighed. “I have so much to learn.”

“We all do, darlin'.”

She shifted on the table. “You're not upset about playing with Dixie again, are you?”

“I'm not playing with Dixie. I'm playing with L.B. and The Pounders.”

“You know what I mean. Do you miss her?”

“Hell, no. Well, maybe the old days, before she changed.” He felt comfortable talking about this with Kathy for some reason. It was the first time he had talked about Dixie with anybody since Uncle Sam forced their breakup.

“How did she change?”

“The stardom went to her head. She liked the attention too much. And she went overboard on the lifestyle. It started with whiskey before the gig, but it got out of hand real quick. She'd wake up about noon and fire up a joint. She drank all day. Even kept a bottle of vodka under her pillow at night. Hard drugs didn't scare her, either. She was just getting in to all that when I got drafted. Mescaline, mushrooms, acid … I don't know that she ever stuck a needle in her arm, but I wouldn't put it past her.”

“I'm sorry, Creed.”

He looked at her, befuddled. “About what?”

“I'm sorry I booked the gig without checking with you. And I'm just sorry you're hurting.”

He scoffed, forced a grin with one side of his mouth. “I got over Dixie Houston a long time ago.” He knew that was not completely true. “Anyway, this is a great booking for the band, and you'd have been crazy not to jump on it immediately, like you did.”

Kathy sighed, clearly relieved. She looked at her watch. “Oh! I have to go!”

Though disappointed, Creed figured it best that she should leave. He escorted her back into the living room. “Where do you have to go this time of night?”

“A record distributor I talked to on the phone today is going to be at an album release at Threadgill's for one of the artists they handle. They want me to meet them there. They're really excited about Luster's comeback.”

“You mean Luster Burnett and The Pounders.”

“They don't know they're excited about The Pounders yet, but they will be after tonight.”

“Which distributor is it?”

“Clear Water.”

“Wow. They're big.”

“I think they want to distribute Luster's new project.”

“You mean the one we haven't recorded yet?”

A cute little grimace wrinkled her features. “What should I tell them about that?”

“Tell them it'll be a live album of the Houston gig. We arranged that today with Bee Cave Studios.”

“Oh! Far out!”

“Tell them we'll get them two backstage passes.”

“Can we do that?”

“Tomahawk can.”

“Okay. Can you help me with the stage plot in the morning?”

“I'll be right here. We rehearse at ten.”

“I'll meet you at nine.” She smiled. “Bye, Creed.”

As Kathy turned away, Lindsay sauntered out of the kitchen. “Bye, Creed,” she purred, breathily.

“What?”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Lindsay prodded.

“Make you … No! That was all about business.”

“You two aren't fooling anyone. I'm just glad I got to sleep with you first.”

Creed cringed inwardly. “You're not going to tell anybody about that are you?”

“You mean, am I going to tell Miss Music?”

“No, I mean
anybody
. It wouldn't look right.”

“Maybe I should tell her, so I can have you all to myself.”

Creed was really getting nervous now. “Come on, Lindsay … This band is just coming together. Let's not mess it up.”

Lindsay chuckled, a strangely deep chortle for such a dainty woman. “Relax, Creed. I have to confess something to you. Nothing happened that night. You went to bed, leaving the rest of us on the deck. I was going to crash outside, but I got cold, and those guys started snoring. So, I slipped inside and crawled under the covers with you. I didn't even take all my clothes off. And I didn't see you in all your glory.”

He grinned. “You've been yankin' my chain.”

“That's all I yanked. I promise. I thought I'd better tell you, since you're sweet on the bean counter.”

Creed scoffed. “I ain't sweet on her. Please…”

“You are sweet as buttermilk pie on that white girl. Don't lie to Lindsay.”

“What makes you think … Come on…”

“Hey, listen…” Lindsay warned, cupping her hand behind her ear.

Creed strained to hear. At the front door, he could hear the voices of both Tump and Kathy, yet could not make out what they were saying.

“Come on,” Lindsay whispered, urging Creed to get closer so they could eavesdrop.

Creed's curiosity forbade resistance. He and Lindsay stepped closer to the front hallway so they could listen around the corner. He heard Tump's booming voice, booze-amplified:

“So, how are you liking your new job as a band manager?” he slurred.

“I like it fine,” Kathy said. “I'm having fun.”

“What else do you like? What else is fun to you?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Do you like screwin'?”

There was a pause, and Creed held his breath, waiting to see how Kathy would handle this, wondering if at any moment he'd have to beat the crap out of his bass player should Tump push the subject too far. He could already feel his fists clenching.

“As a matter of fact,” Kathy replied, coolly, “I do. And I'm real good at it. Oh, but wait … You didn't mean with you, did you?”

“Very funny. Anyway, why not with me?”

“For starters, you're boorish and slovenly.”

“The hell I am. I'm Irish and Czech. You can ask my parents.”

“I thought you said you were Indian.”

“I am … Some … So, you got a boyfriend?”

“No, just someone I'm interested in, and you're not him. Sober up, Tump. Get a grip on reality.”

Creed could hear her car keys jingling as she stormed away. He heard Tump sigh. The door to the Carmen Ghia slammed and the car started.

Lindsay looked at Creed and smiled. “Looks like she's just as smitten with you as you are with her.”

Creed could not help smiling back. “You ain't shittin' she's smitten.”

 

33

CHAPTER

Franco had no further reason to occupy the lake house, so he packed up, wiped the place free of his fingerprints, and drove to Austin where he checked himself into a nice hotel downtown, an old place called The Driskill. He ordered a steak and a pretty decent bottle of cabernet from room service. He watched television as he ate and slurped his wine. One thing about these Texans, they knew how to cook a steak.