Coming Undone (6 page)

Thinking of the other fifty percent reminded him of an event he’d missed at home. Happy to divert thoughts that kept circling like vultures waiting for the corpse, he picked up his cell phone from the seat next to him and punched his sister’s number.

The phone on the other end of the line rang three times before it was picked up. “Hello,” Victoria said and her voice, warm and familiar, was a balm to his raw nerves.

“Hey, Tori.”

“Jared! How are you doing? Have you seen P.J. yet?”

“I’m fine. And yeah, I’ve seen her.”
Several times, in a number of situations.

She laughed. “Dumb question. Of course you have. John told me you were traveling with her—I just forgot for a minute.”

“Ah, caught you at work, did I?”

“Yes. I’m trying out a new design, so my thoughts are a little scattered. It’s a Greek temple. Very different, but fun. Although I’m having a tough time imagining what kind of dolls will feel at home in it.”

“Maybe Goddess Barbie or Toga Ken. Or maybe it’s actually for an adult. Your dollhouses are so amazing I’m guessing they aren’t always ordered for kids.”

“You sweet-talker, you.” Then her voice turned brisk. “But enough about me. Tell me all about P.J.”

“She’s still fast on her feet and a smart mouth. Other than that, not much to tell.”

“Not much to—Jared Hamilton! Don’t tell me you haven’t rekindled your friendship!”

Shit.
This was exactly the conversation he’d hoped to avoid. “I’m here on a job, Victoria.”

“And your point is? That little girl was the closest friend you ever had. You can’t seriously be holding yourself as emotionally distant from her as you do from everyone but me and Rocket and the kids.”

“Christ. What is it with you guys? Like I told John, we were close, but that was a lifetime ago.
She
tossed the friendship away, not me!” But feeling cracks developing in his normally smooth facade, he pulled himself up short. Drawing in a calming breath, he ordered himself to picture the Rocky Mountains. He was a glacier peak, impregnable and remote. He did not lose control.

Calmer, he felt a bite of satisfaction at how composed and patient he sounded when he said, “Look, is Esme around? That’s the reason I called.”

“Aw, sweetie,” she said in a voice so understanding that for a moment it endangered his hard-won composure. “Hang on a second. I’ll see if I can find her.”

The telephone went on hold, and Jared pictured his sister in her attic studio tracking Esme down via the intercom system wired into every room of her and Rocket’s big, rambling Denver home.

Then the line opened up again and his niece’s voice said, “Hullo, Uncle Jared!”

“Hey, pipsqueak. Or should I say college graduate pipsqueak? Congratulations, kid. I’m sorry I missed the ceremony, but a gift is in the mail.”

“Lovely. But as it happens, you didn’t miss a thing.” Traces of her first six years in England colored her voice. “I didn’t graduate.”

“What?” He took his eyes off the road for an instant to give the phone a blank look. “What happened?”

“Turns out my high school French classes don’t count toward my foreign language obligation because I failed the competency test I took for college entry. Only no one bothered to tell me that until just now, which I think is complete and utter bollocks. Regardless, I’m stuck taking a French class summer quarter.”

“Sorry to hear it, Es.” He waited a beat, then said, “Send me back my prez.”

“You wanker!” She laughed. “Just try to get it back. You always give great gifts.”

“So you’re taking one class this summer. That sounds cushy enough. What are you doing the rest of the time, lounging by a pool?”

“I wish. I’m working part time at Daddy’s.”

“He’s letting you muck around at Semper Fi?” He injected the proper horror into his voice. “A girl who couldn’t even graduate college? What are the chances of there being a business to come back to when I’m finished with this job?”

“Pretty decent, considering Gert doesn’t let me do a damn thing without supervision. Shouldn’t she be retired by now? She must be eighty years old.”

“Seventy-four. And retire to do what? Crochet doilies?”

“You sound just like her.” Amusement laced her voice. “And I have to admit, the woman’s a machine. I’m running my arse off just trying to keep up with her.”

“She keeps us all slapped into shape,” he agreed. “Well, listen, kid. I’m running into traffic and it looks like there’s some road construction ahead, so I’d better hang up and pay attention. Keep your nose to the grindstone and I’ll see you when we get to Denver.”

“Mum got us tickets to Priscilla Jayne’s concert. She said I met her once, but I don’t remember. I’ve listened to her new CD, though, and it’s actually good.”

He grinned. “I’ll be sure to pass on your effusive praise.”

“That didn’t come out right. I guess I just thought all country music was twangy, but hers isn’t. I really like her voice and her songs tell great stories. I’m looking forward to hearing her in concert.”

“She puts on a helluva show,” he said, thinking of her energy knocking them dead in honky-tonks across three states. “I’ll see if I can’t get you backstage passes.”

“Sweet.”

When they disconnected a minute later, Jared emptied his mind of everything but the need to concentrate on the sudden backup on a stretch of freeway that moments ago had been nearly empty.

Once traffic opened up again, however, his mind went straight back to the subject it had been worrying since the wee hours of the morning. He was like some damn hamster on a wheel, he thought with disgust, running his ass off to get nowhere. He had to knock it off.

One thing was certain, though. He was glad the tour was finally starting.

Because it was bound to be a whole lot easier getting back on professional footing with a mess of people around to dilute the effect of one-on-one time spent with P.J.

“W
ELL
,
LOOK WHO’S HERE
,” said a familiar voice as P.J. strode onto the stage in the Portland venue later that afternoon. “Hey, little girl. Early as usual, I see.”

She grinned at Hank Hartley, who stood a short distance away tuning his banjo, his fiddle carefully nestled in its open case at his feet. He gazed at her with warm hazel eyes from beneath the brim of his ever-present leather bush hat, a small return grin playing around his lips. “Sound check’s not for another twenty minutes, babe,” he informed her.

“What can I say, H.H.? Promptness is a hard habit to break.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “But I don’t have to tell
you
that. You got here even earlier than me.”

Laughing, he crossed the short distance still separating them and hauled her into his wiry arms. Strong as a bear at forty, he gave her a big hug that left her feet dangling off the floor and the neck of his banjo digging into her spine. She drew in his familiar scent of tobacco, aged leather headgear and wrist straps, and Drakkar Noir cologne. The top of her head bumped the underside of his hat and, reaching up to hold it in place with one hand, he set her gently back on her feet.

“I’m sorry about your mom and all the shit with the press,” he said gently.

“Aw, thanks, Hank.” She touched the little sandy-brown soul patch beneath his bottom lip, the single silky surface in a hundred-miles-of-bad-highway craggy face. “It’s been a…challenging few weeks.”

“I bet.” Gently he hooked one of her curls behind her ear. But several strands snagged on fingertips callused from years of playing stringed instruments and pulled free again. With a whispered curse, he smoothed it back to join the rest. Then, looking beyond her, his eyes narrowed. “Who’s this?”

She knew who she’d see before she turned. But she glanced over her shoulder anyway. Jared stood several feet away, hands in his pockets and his posture relaxed, observing them.

Sighing, she turned back to Hank. “My watchdog,” she admitted and briefly explained Wild Wind’s burning desire to insure their investment.

“The
hell
you say!” Easygoing eyes gone hard, he stepped around her and, pausing only long enough to lay down his banjo, strode toward Jared. “Listen, pal—”

Alarmed, she sprinted after him. While Jared might be a full head taller and didn’t appear particularly worried, she’d once seen Hank flatten a man a good deal beefier than Mister Oh-so-nonchalant Hamilton would be even if he supersized his meals for the next ten years.

Idiot that he was, Jared looked completely unruffled as he faced the irate musician—his only concession to the approaching threat to pull his hands free of his pockets. “You’re taking issue with the wrong man,” he said evenly as Hank rocked to a halt in front of him. “Take it up with Wild Wind. I’m just doing the job they hired me to do.”

“Good for you.” Hank gave Jared a flat stare. “But she’s right where she’s supposed to be, isn’t she? So you can take a hike.”

For a second Jared’s posture lost its easy slouch and a dangerous expression flared in his eyes. Then he shrugged and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the left wing.

P.J. watched him go, telling herself she didn’t feel disappointed. Hell, no—that would be just plain ridiculous. She
saluted
Hank for routing him—she should have thought of that whole I’m-here-so-now-you-can-go-away deal herself. As for the big hollow space in her stomach, she just wished she’d grabbed something to eat was all. The sound check could take quite a while depending on how good the acoustics were and how well the new backup band meshed with her way of playing.

Joining Hank, she slipped her arm through his. “My hero,” she said, batting her lashes at him.

He snorted.

“Have you seen Eddie or Nell yet?”

“Last I saw Eddie, he was romancing the front-office girl. Haven’t spotted Nell.”

“I’m here,” a soft voice said and they both turned. A plump, medium-height woman materialized from the shadows of the right wing, where her medium-brown braid and medium-dark clothing had rendered her invisible.

“Nell!” P.J. dashed across the stage to give her only real female friend a fierce hug. “I’m so glad to see you.” Stepping back, she held Nell at arm’s length. “Now, are you sure you want to do this again this year? I mean, why be tour manager when you can make more money and work less hours as a songwriter?”

“What, and give up all this glamorous travel?” Nell looked around the stage, bare of everything except Hank’s instruments and pieces of the bandstand that the roadies were setting up for the extra musicians Wild Wind had hired for the tour, then out at the empty theater.

Following her gaze, P.J. saw with a jolt that Jared hadn’t left at all. He sat in the front row, one ankle propped on his opposite knee. The only other person out there was the sound man in his booth at the back of the main floor. Having introduced herself to him earlier, she dragged her attention from the last guy she’d expected to see front and center and returned it to her friend. “Is the bus here yet?”

“Yes. I just spoke to the driver and he’s pumped. Apparently he’s a huge country-music fan and is looking forward to driving you. Thinks you’re darn near as good as Patsy Cline.”

“Get out. Nobody’s as good as Patsy.” Then she laughed. “But whataya say we go check out our new ride as soon as we finish the sound check? We’re going to have to make a decision about buying our own bus after this tour, I suppose. I’ll have to run it by Ma—” Renewed pain was a razor in her throat and she cleared the clogged tissues gingerly. “Um, Ben, I mean.”

Nell squeezed her hand. “I’m real sorry, Peej.” She hesitated, then straightened her shoulders. “But I have to say something that I’ve been biting back for years.”

“What’s that?”

“Your mama’s a bitch.”

P.J. choked, stared at her friend for a frozen moment…then laughed like a coyote. Hank howled, too, and she saw that he was closer than she’d realized. They exchanged delighted glances.

It wasn’t the sentiment so much as the sentiment coming from Nell’s mouth. Because she was soft-spoken, eschewed makeup and wore clothes that made her blend into the woodwork, people often assumed she was a mouse. She wasn’t; she had a wicked sense of humor and usually didn’t hesitate to state her opinions.

At the same time she was genuinely nice and a good friend, and P.J. didn’t doubt for a moment that Nell loved her. “So, how long have you been keeping that to yourself?”

“Pretty much forever,” Nell admitted. “I know how much you wanted to have a made-for-TV family relationship with her.”

“Yeah, pretty desperate, huh? On one level I’ve always known the person she is. Damn, she kicked me out of the house when I was thirteen years old. And I have a feeling it took some pretty strong threats on the part of a woman named Gert to get her to take me back again.”

“Is that why you made her your manager? Thinking that if you gave her carte blanche over your career she’d love you the way you deserve? Because, I gotta tell you, I never understood that.”

“No—that would have been halfway understandable at least.” A roadie wheeled past part of the risers that would elevate the backup band at the rear of the stage, and P.J. got out of his path then moved to the front of center stage where she wouldn’t have to keep dodging the crew.

Nell and Hank came right along with her, and she gave them a look. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” Hank reached into his shirt pocket where his smokes resided, then apparently remembered where he was and let his hand drop.

“Not a chance,” Nell agreed. P.J. sighed her defeat. “Okay, then. The real irony here? I never set out to make her my manager at all. She began showing up at some of my shows back in my bar-singing days when I first started to draw crowds. And one night Ron Brubaker stopped by to check me out.”

“Mercer Records Brubaker? That was your first label, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So Jodeen was there the night Brubaker came in,” Nell prompted. “What’d she do?”

“Sashayed straight to him and started talking me up. After the show Ron came over, introduced himself and told me how proud of me my mama was. The next thing I know I’m being offered a contract to play in a much larger venue while—are you ready for it?—I cut my first record.”

“It was your first big break,” Hank said.

“With Ron Brubaker, who’s famous for not tolerating problem clients. What was I gonna do? You know how hard it is to break into this business and I was bending over backward trying to look as professional as possible. Mama had charmed his pants off. So I let the fact that she was written into the contract as my manager slide. And then, of course, I was stuck with her.” She looked at her friends. “And I know what you’re thinking. After I split from Mercer over those widely publicized ‘creative differences,’ I could have dumped her. But—I admit it, okay?—I liked having her like me for the first time in my life. And right up until she started helping herself to my money, she actually did a pretty decent job of representing me.”

Then she raised her chin. She knew she’d been needy and had shown poor judgment, but the last thing she wanted was their pity. “Long story short, I was an idiot. So I guess I’m getting what I deserve.”

“Bullshit,” Hank growled.

“Complete and utter BS,” Nell agreed. Reaching out, she gave P.J.’s arm a comforting rub. But her expression was serious—and perhaps a little bit hurt—as she said, “Why have I never heard about this before today?”

Because she hated, hated,
hated
anyone realizing what a chump she could be when it came to her mother. Hell, she’d just as soon not admit to it now, but Nell was right. They’d been friends longer than P.J. had ever had the opportunity to be with anyone else. And friends deserved the truth.

“It happened before we met,” she said carefully. “And in truth, Nell? I’m not exactly proud of how easily I’ve let Mama manipulate me over the years.”

“Ah, hon, that’s not
your
shame. That rests entirely on your mother’s should—”

“Hey, tiny thang!” a cheerful male voice interrupted. “How’s my best girl?”

“Hey, Eddie,” P.J. replied without turning around. She’d know the voice of her guitarist anywhere—not to mention the dreamy admiration she could see forming on Nell’s face and the exasperation on Hank’s. Then she was swooped up into strong arms and whirled in a fast, tight circle. Slinging an arm around Eddie’s neck, she hung on until he slowed down, then gave his handsome face a friendly pat. Eddie Brashear was charming, talented and not to be trusted farther than you could throw him when it came to the fairer sex. P.J. had helped clean up more of his messes than she cared to remember.
Someone
had to pick up the pieces when his woman of the moment learned that fidelity wasn’t part of his vocabulary, and God knew it was never Eddie.

But he was the perfect diversion from having to chronicle more of her dysfunctional relationship with Jodeen and she was happy he was there.

“You’re late,” Hank snapped as Eddie set P.J. back on her feet.

“Chill out, old man. Some of us have better things to do than show up half an hour early for sound check. Besides, the roadies are just now finishing setting up.” Turning to Nell, he chucked her under the chin. “How are you, sweet thing? Glowing as ever, I see.”

She blushed, Hank snarled and P.J., deciding it was pretty much business as usual, said, “Whataya say we get this show on the road?” She walked over to the musicians who were tuning up their instruments in the bandstand and introduced herself.

“We’re going to be working hand in glove for a lot of shows for the next several weeks,” she told them once she had their names semistraight in her mind. “So let’s get started finding out how we sound together.” The stage lights came on with a series of loud clanks and she shielded her eyes from the glare as she turned to look out into the theater. “Billy, you ready out there?”

“You betcha.”

“Then let’s give this a whirl.” She looked over her shoulder at Eddie, who’d plugged in his electric guitar and was fitting its strap over his head, and at Hank, who had picked up his fiddle, and said, “We’ll start with ‘Let the Party Begin.’”

For the next hour and a half they ran through song after song, making adjustments and finalizing the order of the playlist. When they finished the final number P.J. danced around to face the backup band. “God, I love this business! You guys rocked! Beer’s on me in my dressing room after the show.” She glanced over at Nell, who nodded and wrote on her clipboard. Then, after waiting for the cheer that had greeted her announcement to die down, she said, “Let’s bring ’em to their feet out there tonight.”

Collecting Nell on her way offstage, she decided to forgo checking out the new bus in favor of heading straight to her dressing room for some downtime before she had to get ready for the show. When she caught another glimpse of Jared sitting by himself in the front row, however, her steps slowed.

He looked so…alone. When she stopped to think about it, in fact, he
always
seemed to be alone.

Well, duh. She picked up her pace again, striding offstage toward the corridor that led to her dressing room. What did she expect—for him to behave like the Grand Poo-bah of Party Central? He was here to do a job that he clearly took seriously.

Still…

Not once in any of the bars the two of them had hit this past week had she seen Jared chat up a woman or dance with one or even exchange small talk with a bartender. He’d simply sat off by himself. Even jammed shoulder-to-shoulder on a stool at the bar he’d projected an unapproachable manner that was every bit as effective as a neon No Trespassing sign.

Sounds like a personal problem to me, girlfriend.

Damn tootin’. She began walking so quickly that Nell had to ask her to slow down.

She complied, but her friend’s request barely even registered. It just didn’t sit right to exclude Jared from the after-show party when she’d invited everyone else. She didn’t like the job he was hired to do, or him for taking it. But if anyone knew what it felt like to always be left out of events everyone else in the world seemed to be invited to, it was her.