Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues (2 page)

I too grew up being all knees and elbows, hating my long legs that made me tower over boys like the Jolly Green Giant. But now those same boys are men and tend to give me the once-over every time they come in for the blue plate special.
Jackasses
. Where were they on prom night? But I digress. Right now all I want to know is why Jesse looks so damned guilty. “There’s more to this story, isn’t there?”

Jesse puts his palms up in a
whoa there
position and gives me a level look. “Now, just keep your cool and hear me out.”

Of course that’s the kind of statement that makes a woman immediately
lose
her cool but I take a deep breath and say as calmly as possible, which is not calm at all, “Tell me what the hell’s goin’ on here!”

“Well, after Comedy Corner showed interest in my essay, they e-mailed me this form that asked for names of potential contestants.”

“Go on.”

“See, they wanted six men and six women representing . . .
ah
, various walks of small-town life. I had to provide names of these certain individuals to help them narrow the field since they want to get this show on the air right away. For instance, they wanted a farmer and I suggested Travis Tucker.”

“To ballroom dance?” I squeak. “No . . .”

Jesse nods. “And they wanted a truck driver. Mac Murphy came to mind.”

I’m trying to picture three-hundred-pound Mac Murphy doing the tango and I have to chuckle. My mirth encourages Jesse and he smiles. “See, you’re catching on to the concept. It’ll be a riot. They wanted a high school lunch lady and I suggested Betty Cook.”

“Olive Oyl?” We call her that because she looks just like the cartoon character. I try not to snicker. “Who else?”

He hesitates but then says, “Julia Mayer.”

“Why
her
?” My good humor evaporates like rain on a summer sidewalk. Julia Mayer is one of the few people in Misty Creek that I don’t like. She was Miss Popularity back in high school, homecoming queen and all that, and never gave me the time of day. Although . . . the thought of her being ridiculed by some snarky judge in front of millions of people does have a certain appeal. “Well?”

Jesse shrugs. “They needed a hairdresser. She may actually be kind of good.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Fat chance.”

“Why do you hate her so much?”

I angle my head and tell him firmly, “I don’t
hate
her. Although she did steal my boyfriend in high school.”

“I don’t remember you having a boyfriend.”

Details, details. I feel heat creep into my cheeks. “Okay,
potential
boyfriend. I was making huge strides with Danny Becker when Julia up and snatched him away from me.”

Jesse swallows and gives me a look that I don’t like. “You mean Danny Becker the mechanic?”

I roll my eyes. “How many other Danny Beckers are there in Misty Creek? Of course I mean him.
Ohmigod
, is he part of the competition?”

When Jesse nods I have to snicker once more. Seeing Danny taken down a peg or two would suit me just fine, too. My major crush on him in high school went unnoticed because his sights were set on petite and perky Julia Mayer instead of tall and dorky me. Of course just last week I gave him a little bit of payback for snubbing me when I was a teenager. I had my Ford Ranger in at Becker’s Garage for a lube job and when Danny was coming on to me like gangbusters I ignored his flirtatious comments even though I secretly wanted to flirt back. My mama tells me that I have a bad habit of cutting off my nose to spite my face. While I know that she’s right it’s hard to get over my hellacious high school years.

“ ‘Dancing with the Rednecks’ might be fun after all,” I admit and chuckle again. I expect Jesse to laugh with me since I’m coming over to his way of thinking, but he blinks for a second like he’s trying to think of how to word something so that I won’t freak. “You’re fixin’ to tell me something that I won’t like, aren’t you? Ohmigod, did you enter
Mama
into this farce?”

“No . . .” he says slowly but then clears his throat, which is a telltale sign for Jesse. He’s chock-full of telltale signs, which is why I always beat him at poker.

“What, then?” I prod, but then it hits me like a ton of bricks. While shaking my head I point at Jesse. “No . . .
No
. Tell me you did
not
give them my name!”

“They needed a waitress, Abby!”

“I won’t agree to do it! I refuse to humiliate myself on national television!
Do you hear me?
” I’m on the balls of my feet shouting, so he doesn’t have to answer that particular question. “No way! I won’t, I won’t, I
won’t
. My God, you know I have two left feet. I would suck . . .
suck
! There’s nothin’ you could say to make me do this. Not one thing!”

“How about a fifty-thousand-dollar first prize?”

“Whoowee, shut my mouth!” I blink at him. “Except for maybe that.” I continue to blink dollar signs at him while cha-chinging is ringing in my head. “Fifty.
Thousand
. Dollars?”

With raised eyebrows, Jesse nods. “Yeah.”

“Wow.” I’m still cha-chinging.

“I know.” He’s still nodding. “Think of what we could do with that kind of money.”

“Yeah . . .” I respond breathlessly, placing my palms on the cool countertop. But then reality slaps me right upside the head. “I’m a horrible dancer, Jesse. There’s no way I could win a ballroom dancing competition no matter how good my instructor might be.”

“Come on, did you hear some of the names I threw out there? Besides, you’re a hard worker and a quick learner, Abby. You can do this.”

“Ah, so you think that I could be the best of the worst?” My voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“Something like that,” he responds with a grin.

I’m not so sure but I don’t want to burst his bubble. “Are these people really going to compete? Has Comedy Corner decided that Misty Creek will be the location? Where would all of the people stay? All we have are bed-and-breakfasts—”

Jesse puts up his hands again. “Whoa there, motor mouth. One question at a time.”

“Okay, first tell me, is this a sure thing?”

“Not definitively until today.”

Now, what teenager uses words like
definitively
? Jesse has been using fifty-cent words since he was a little kid. It occurs to me that winning this money could send him to a fine college that he deserves. “Why today?”

“Well . . .” He starts wiping down the already clean counter so as to avoid looking directly at me. Not a good sign . . .

“Jesse . . .” I say his name in a low-octave voice of warning that used to get his immediate attention. It has little to no effect now but I’m desperate.

“Well, I’ve sort of been showing a couple of big-shot producers from Comedy Corner around Misty Creek for the past week.”

“What?” I squeak two octaves higher and a lot louder. “Why didn’t you tell me about all of this?”

He shrugs. “I guess I didn’t think it was really going to happen so I didn’t want to get you all wound up for nothin’. Comedy Corner had to go through some red tape to get city permits to do the filming and take care of some other legal stuff.”

“But it’s a done deal?”

He nods. “Yep. They’ve rented out Rabbit Run Hunting Lodge. The whole doggone thing. Nothing is in season right now so it was just sitting there empty and there’s plenty of room. The actual dance competition will be filmed live every Saturday night at the Bluegrass Dance Hall.”

“Have all of your suggested contestants signed on to do the show?”

“Except for you. I asked them to wait to approach you since I thought it might take a bit of convincing. Are you willing, Abby?”

I look around the diner that could use some serious updating. I think of my mama, who has worked her fingers to the bone providing for us after my daddy died in a tragic farm-related accident twelve years ago. Without asking for a lick of help she sold the farm to get us out of debt and bought this diner. Yeah, I could send her to a fancy spa for some much-deserved pampering. I think of my old truck that coughs and sputters . . . man, how nice would it be to get a brand-spanking-new pickup with all the trimmings? But most of all I think of my little brother, who deserves the best education that money can buy and who has never asked for a damned thing.

“I’ll do it.”

“Woohoo!” He gives me a very un-Jesse-like whoop and a double knuckle-bump that nearly knocks me over. It’s great to see my laid-back brother so revved up and I’m feeling pretty excited too; but in the back of my head I’m wondering what the hell I just got myself into. While my brain is still trying to wrap itself around this whole thing Jesse is already dialing up someone on his cell phone.

“Well?” I ask when he finally finishes his conversation and hangs up.

“Mitchell Banks, the head producer, wants to meet with you at nine o’clock tomorrow.”

“That’s during the breakfast shift, Jesse!”

“Yes, and he’ll eat breakfast here,” Jesse says patiently. “He just wants to meet you and probably have you sign some paperwork. No big deal, Abby. You can sit a spell with him. Mama won’t mind.”

All of a sudden another thought occurs to me. “What will happen when the show starts? Who will help Mama out?”

Jesse takes a step toward me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Norma can come in early and I’ll work extra hours.”

“No! Not with your class schedule! School comes first, Jesse.”

“I’ve got school under control,” he assures me with a gentle squeeze. “My classes are easy. And if business picks up we’ll hire another waitress. Don’t worry, I won’t let Mama overdo it in your absence.”

I inhale a shaky breath but nod. “Okay. This is just all so unexpected, ya know?”

Jesse grins. “Yeah. It’s about time we had some excitement here in Misty Creek. Things have been rather mundane lately.”

I
think
mundane means ordinary, so I nod. “When are you gonna tell Mama? Tonight when you get home?”

He takes a step back. “I already have.”

“And she was okay with it? I mean, what if—”

“Abby, stop!”

I’m so surprised by his outburst that I actually quit talking.

Jesse closes his eyes briefly and swallows before saying, “Listen, Mama and I both appreciate all of the time that you’ve put in here at the diner.”

“Well,
yeah
, it’s our livelihood.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this but it’s making me feel uncomfortable. “Almost sounds like you’re firing me,” I tell him with a laugh.

“Well, you could certainly use a sabbatical.”

This makes me frown at him.

“A break, Abby.”

“I
know
what sabbatical means,” I hotly assure him with a little head bop . . . and I
do,
in theory anyway. “So, you and Mama have been discussing the state of my
mundane
existence?” I cross my arms over my chest and tap my rubber-soled shoe on the floor.

“Ironically, yes, even before this competition was a reality. Let’s face it, Abby. You’ve been in a rut. It’s high time you shook things up a bit and this ballroom competition is the perfect solution.”

“Tell me how you really feel, Jesse. Don’t hold back.” I say this in a joking manner but he doesn’t laugh.

“You deserve a break.”

“We all work hard.”

He nods. “Yeah, but, Abby, you work too damned much. Listen, as much as I want you to win the money, promise me that you’ll have fun with this. If you win, then
sweet
, but use this as an opportunity to chill . . . have a few laughs, okay? Don’t obsess over winning.”

“Right. . . .” I draw out the word with a shake of my head. “With fifty
thousand
dollars on the line I’ll just kick back and chill.”

He grins and gives my shoulder a gentle shove. “Okay, you can obsess a little.”

I shove him right back and then tell him, “Go on home. I’ll finish up here.”

Jesse’s grin fades and he gives me one of his usual serious expressions. “Do you have any idea how many times you’ve said that to me?”

My throat sort of closes up but I give him a casual shrug. “Go on . . . get outta here,” I gruffly tell him and give him another shove. I watch him walk out the door all big and grown-up but still my baby brother. I would do anything for him, I think to myself as I grab the broom and begin sweeping, but then I stop in my tracks and lean against the handle. “Me, ballroom dancing on national television? Oh, Lord have mercy.”

All Shook Up

0I wake up the next morning in my little apartment above the diner at five thirty on the dot just like I normally do. After I pad across the cool hardwood floor to my bathroom, I attempt to wake myself up with a hot shower and strawberry-scented shampoo. I’m humming a Dierks Bentley tune and squishing my fingers through the warm suds in my hair when I suddenly remember that this
isn’t
a normal day. My eyes and mouth pop open at the thought, causing some major blinking and sputtering . . . strawberry shampoo does
not
taste as good as it smells. Good God Almighty, in just a few hours the Comedy Corner guy is going to sign me up for the ballroom dancing show! I decide that I had better shave my legs and armpits even though they don’t really need it and I manage to cut myself twice since my mind is preoccupied with nervous excitement.

Usually, I pull my hair back into a ponytail and apply a minimal amount of makeup for work but today I take some serious pains with my appearance. I go the whole nine yards with eyeliner and three shades of brown eye shadow. I even use the eyelash curler even though that contraption sort of scares me . . . always think I might squeeze too hard and chop off my eyelashes. Although I really want to do something nice with my hair I decide to go with the ponytail because of my waitress duties. People don’t take too kindly to having hair in their food.