His Melody

Copyright June 2012

Cover Art Designed by: Miss Mae

http://themissmaesite.blogspot.com/

Chapter One

Melody could have really used a break, but the lemon that insisted on masquerading as a car she drove didn’t seem to understand that. Her best friend, Jen, had told her not to try to make it all the way down to Miami by Monday—and taking the back roads to avoid traffic—from Atlanta in the clunker.

“If you have to drive, which I think is ridiculous to start with,” Jen had said, “Please, Melody, I’m begging you, rent a car.”

But the same stubbornness that had prevented Melody from buying a plane ticket had prevented her from taking her friend’s advice. She’d been so sure that old Aretha could make the trip—especially since she’d just gotten a tune-up a few weeks earlier in anticipation of the trip. A year ago when she’d bought the thing, she’d been convinced giving the car her favorite singer’s name would bring her good luck. But obviously, she’d been wrong.

Buying a new car was not in her budget at the moment. She didn’t make tons of money at New Face Records—a struggling independent label—and she had better uses for money than buying a depreciating, shiny, new piece of metal and fiberglass. That would also mean a higher car insurance premium. Another cost. She’d never save up enough money to go into business for herself as a music manager if she kept increases her expenses.

The new-to-town Used Car Shopping Mall, as it was known on the commercials that flashed across local television stations back home in Midtown, had lured her in with its promises of low prices and CARFAX background checks. When she’d realized the used car industry had crapped on her, The Used Car Shopping Mall had refused to take their jalopy back, and they’d canceled her warranty on a technicality. She’d heard that pursuing Georgia’s lemon laws was a useless fight. Besides, a lawyer would be yet another expense. And for a case she probably wouldn’t win. She didn’t have the energy or money to fight yet another losing battle. She’d had her fill of courtrooms during the divorce.

“Crap, crap, crap,” she muttered to herself, glaring at the check engine light. Her nemesis. The thing came on at least three times a week, and usually she ignored it because it didn’t necessarily mean anything was wrong with the car. But that day, it meant horrible things. The rattling sounds coming from the engine were a bad sign. Smoke started smoke billow up from the hood. She eased the car over to the side of the road. Just when she got all four tires off the road, the engine spluttered and died.

Making a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a wail, she banged her head against the steering wheel. This was no good.
At all.
Saeed was going to kill her. With all the cutbacks her company had been making lately, now was not a good time to piss off the new boss. His real name was Saeed Zahedi, but he was known as The Cleaner. He’d been brought in specifically to clean house at New Face Records. He was known for his efficiency.
And his ruthlessness.

Saeed had made it clear he thought going to Miami to check out this R&B group was a waste of time. He called them Boyz II Men wannabes who were lacking in freshness and originality even though he’d never heard them sing. He had let her know quite clearly the company wouldn’t be covering her traveling expenses.

Driving had not been smart at all. Especially taking the back roads. But Melody had always loved road trips, and she needed time to clear her head. Things had been crazy around the office since Saeed arrived. She needed time to herself to plan her next move. So the road trip to Miami—at her expense, using her own seldom-used vacation time—had seemed like a good idea.

A last-minute plane ticket to Miami would have been exorbitantly expensive, and renting a car would have used up money she could have put in savings toward quitting her going-nowhere job and starting her dream job. She wanted to be a music manager. Finally, she’d be able to foster creativity instead of stifling it in the name of profits and bottom lines. She would still be working in the music industry, but she would be her own boss.

Melody reached into the backseat for her purse. She always kept it there out of a habit she’d formed long ago because most of the time, she had a passenger in her front seat. She pulled it into her lap and groped around inside for her wallet. When her fingers closed over everything but her square brown wallet, her heart dropped. No. She hadn’t. Staring down into her purse, she realized she had. There was no wallet in there.

“What is wrong with me lately?” she asked herself, banging a fist against her purse. Sure, she’d been distracted that day, thinking about her last conversation with her boss and about the group in Miami. Things weren’t going well at all with her surly, curmudgeonly boss, but that didn’t make her any less angry
at
herself for being so scatterbrained.

She searched the car even though she was almost certain her wallet was back at the little diner where she’d had lunch over an hour ago. She probably looked like a maniac standing out in the sweltering Georgia sun, darting in and out of all of her car doors like a whirling dervish, throwing around maps, reusable shopping bags, her toiletry kit and whatever else she found in the back and under the front seat.

She went to the trunk, poking around and under her yoga mat, the carry-on sized suitcase she’d packed for what should have been no more than a weeklong trip at most, her emergency roadside kit, and other things. Then she sank down behind her car, propped her back against the hot fiberglass, and buried her face in her hands.

She looked up.
Her cell phone.
She’d stuck it in the center console after talking to Jen before she’d gotten to the diner. She hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone else right then. She’d had another fight with Saeed before talking to Jen, and she wanted to eat at least one meal in peace. She’d forgotten to take it out when she got back in the car after leaving the diner. She jumped up and ran to the driver’s side door. She could call AAA.

Putting a knee in the driver’s seat, she leaned over to the center console and popped the latch on the area where she stored her CDs. There was her smart phone. With a cry of triumph, she grabbed it and held it up. Oh no.

She punched numbers. Held the power switch down until her thumb hurt. Then, she banged it against her thigh. Nothing. It was dead. Maybe the heat had killed off the part of the battery she hadn’t used while gabbing to Jen. Her car charger was useless at the moment, and so was her wall charger for obvious reasons.
 

Walking up to the wheel well, she kicked the front driver’s side tire out of frustration. “I used to drive a Range Rover!” she shouted at it like it would care. She’d had to sell her truck—and a lot of other things it’d been very difficult to part with—after the divorce. She’d needed the money to leave California and come back to Georgia to start over.

She was sunk. Out by the side of the road with only a cow pasture to keep her company. Those cows looked kind of wily. She didn’t like animals bigger than she was no matter how docile they supposedly were.

She didn’t even have a white shirt or anything to stick in the window. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when your car broke down? She’d seen cars on the side of the road before with a white cloth stuck in the window. She didn’t know why it was the standard, but she thought she should have one for her window anyway.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, puffed her cheeks up with air, and then blew it out. She was burning up even though she wore only a thin cotton tank top and khaki capri pants, and the sun didn’t care one bit. She’d had her hairdresser cut her hair into a bob when she moved to Georgia a year ago, but short hair wasn’t helping keep her cool under that hot sun by the side of the road, too close to the baking asphalt.

As car after car passed by without even slowing, she watched, wondering what in the world to do next. She could walk, but in which direction? She hadn’t passed so much as a gas station in miles. Did she make the backward trek or take her chances walking forward into the unknown? Maybe there was a closer gas station that way.

The cows started lowing and moving closer to the fence. She glared at them. “Aw, shut up. I don’t like me being here any more than you do.”

Just as she was about to take her chances walking south into the unknown as opposed to north where she’d come from, a green-and-rust pick-up truck slowed in the road. There being no traffic to be seen on the long, straight stretch of asphalt, the driver must have thought it okay to just back up in the road. The truck eased backwards a few yards until the driver’s side door was parallel with Melody.

The driver, a redhead wearing an honest-to-god straw western hat leaned across the seat and smiled at her. She said through the open window, “Car trouble?”

Melody nodded, feeling the uncomfortable stickiness of the sweat pooled at the base of her neck. “The thing just crapped out on me. It’s been threatening to all day, and I guess it decided to show me that I wasn’t taking its threats seriously enough.”

The woman laughed. “I like you. Anybody who can keep a sense of humor on a day like this while stuck on the side of the road’s okay with me. If you
wanna
hop in, I’ll give you a ride to town. We can get Austin or one of the other folks down at the shop to tow this thing in for ya.”

Melody smiled.
Her first lucky break that day.
“Thanks. Let me just get some things out of my car and lock it up really quickly.” Melody ran back to her car, grabbed her shoulder bag, which constantly held a new batch of demos, and slung it over her shoulder with her purse. After locking her car doors, she went back to the truck. She opened the door and hopped into the cab.

“The name’s Regan.” The woman held out a calloused hand.

“Melody,” she said, shaking the woman’s hand.

“So what are you doing way out here, Miz Melody? Passing through I reckon? We don’t get many strangers in Sweet Neck. And you’re not from ‘round here. I know everyone from ‘round here.”

“Yeah. Passing through. I’m from Atlanta, and I was on my way to Miami.”
Was. Back when I had a future. Before my car broke down
, she thought glumly.

“Miami? What in the world are you doing way out here then?”

“I called myself taking the scenic route,” Melody said with a sigh.
Yet another poor decision on her part.
One in a long line of them.
“Thought I’d get away from the traffic for a while, and the drive would be prettier.”

“Well.
That you were.
That you definitely were.
Miami is far. By car, too?”

“Yeah. I was
gonna
use back roads to cut over to I-16 down by Metter. Then take that over to I-95. Where am I now anyway?” Her GPS was on her currently useless smart phone. She glared at the dead screen.

“You’re about halfway between Sparta and Sandersville. Nowhere near I-95. You still had a good ways to go to get there. I-16’s still a good ways off, too. You’re a good ways from any interstate a’tall right now.”

Yeap. That she knew. And that wasn’t the worst of her worries. “You mentioned a tow truck. I don’t have any money on me. I left my wallet back up the road at a diner near Covington. I’m convinced of it now,” Melody said, looking down at her useless purse. It’d all come back to her. She’d left the wallet right on the red, vinyl booth seat. Picked up her purse and left without it. She’d been looking through her purse for the phone she’d forgotten she’d left in her car earlier. After taking out the money for the server, she laid her wallet on the booth seat next to her while she continued to paw around in her purse.