QUEENIE BABY: On Assignment (17 page)

I grabbed my forehead. "Did you have a good trip, Mom?"
 

Distracted from her tirade for a second, she replied, "Yes, but your father threw up for three days straight. Anne was fit to be tied with him."
 

My Dad always threw up on a cruise. Why they kept going on cruises was beyond me. "Sorry to hear that," I said trying to work my way out of the conversation. "I've got a show tonight, Mom. I need to get going."

"Not till I'm done with you," she said. I could picture her straw-colored, over-processed Farrah Faucet hair bouncing around as she tossed her head and pointed her finger at the phone.
 

"How's Uncle Grover?" I asked to change the subject.

"He's fine. Nice try, but I want to talk to you about this Rick situation."

I sighed. "There's no Rick situation."

"You don't call sex in your sister's van a 'situation'?" she asked.

"We didn't have sex," I replied.

"Because you were interrupted," she said.
 

Well, she had me there. "What's your point?"

"I think you should give Rick a chance," she said.

I pulled my ear away from the phone and stared at it. "Are you kidding me?" I asked. "You're the one who encouraged me to break up with him in the first place so I could live my life and have some adventures. Remember?"

"That was when you were eighteen. You're on the wrong side of thirty now, Diana. You've sown your wild oats; it's time to grow-up and start a family before it's too late," she said. My mom looks like your classic trailer park mama—think Erin Brockovich without the lawyer smarts—but she has an amazing way of cutting through all the crap and putting her pink and white acrylic nails spot on the truth.

“Rick’s a great guy, Mom. No question about that. I’m just not sure about getting serious with him again. We have completely different lifestyles, and I don’t think he’d support my music career.” It felt good to get those words out in the open.

“What career?” she said harshly. “Wake up, Diana! You’re a temp who sings a couple of nights a week at bars. And who’s this guy Granddaddy said you were seeing?” Did I mention my mom wasn’t warm and fuzzy?

“Mark is just someone I know from work. Nothing serious. Do you have to be so direct, Mom?” I ground out.

“Obviously I do,” she said. “I don’t want you to miss out on having a real life. A husband. A family. I’m just lookin’ out for you girl.” Her voice cracked a little. I know she was saying this for what she thought was my own good, but geez this was too much!

“I have to go,” I said.

“Just think about what I said,” she replied. “And give Rick a chance. He’s our kind of people. He knows you and your family and he’s still interested.”

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

MCGLYNN'S WAS STILL pretty empty when I rolled in with my gear at eight-fifteen. Woody was making small talk with a couple of old guys sipping beer at the bar. "Lady Di in the house," he announced as I walked over to the bar. He whistled. "Now that's what I call a Queenie Baby," he said.

"Amen," said one of the old guys looking up from his beer.
 

"Please hold your applause until after I actually sing something," I laughed.
 

"Your granddaddy isn't coming by, is he?" Woody asked.

"Not a chance! He's at my sister's until at least Monday. Looks a little slow tonight," I said, glancing around.

"Naw, it'll pick up. Queenie Baby always packs the house," he replied.

I laughed. "Thanks," I said. It was good to be appreciated.

After a couple of trips to the car, I was ready to start setting up the stage. I was particular about the set up. If anything was off, my confidence plummeted. I dug around in my guitar case looking for the ever-elusive pick. Inside the case I noticed my growing line of tic marks.
 

When I first started playing professionally five years ago, I noted each of my performances with a tic mark in the lid of my case. I looked at the long list of marks. I thought about what my mom said as I made a mark for tonight. Was I any closer to realizing my dreams of being a full-time songwriter?
 

Sure, I had a good following locally, but most of what I did was sing covers. I had a few well-received originals; however, I couldn’t make a living off them. Last summer was the closest I had ever came to finding my golden ticket. At the time, I thought I was on my way to the big time. And then nothing. The series didn’t get picked up. The producers stopped returning my calls and emails. Should I have taken that as a sign to get a real job and settle down? I wondered.
 

My mom was right. Rick was definitely the settling down kind of guy. Mark? Who knew? I didn’t know him at all. Rick, on the other hand, I had grown up with; experienced all the firsts with. Maybe I was meant to experience other firsts with him like marriage and kids. I found a pick and then dropped it twice before I finally strummed a few notes on my guitar. I had to snap out of this funk.

I ran a couple of sound checks, and then started my set promptly at nine. People started to filter in and a few songs into it John walked in wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He cupped his hands over his face and yelled in his best police voice, "I'm gonna have to cuff you if you already played Margaritaville."
 

"Not a chance!" I said over the microphone.

"Darn! I was looking forward to the cuffing part," he called back. The audience laughed and there were some catcalls from the bar.

I launched into Margaretville and John brought a Margarita over to me. After the song ended, I raised my glass to him sitting out in the audience and took a sip. It was strong. "I think I may need a police escort after that drink," I mugged into the microphone.

I sang a couple more songs and then plugged in my iPod while I took a break and stopped by to see John. “Hey, thanks for coming out,” I said, sitting down at the table.

“My pleasure,” he said with a big smile. “You’re such a wonderful singer and you look amazing tonight.”

He was a sweetheart. Not my type, but a nice guy. “Thank you,” I said. “Any of your police buddies joining you tonight?”

He shrugged. “A couple said they might stop by,” he said. “But I’m happy sitting here watching you all by myself.” He leaned his chin on his hand and smiled like a love-sick school boy.

Uh-oh. Better put the brakes on this pronto. “John, you should know that . . .” I began.
 

“There you are!” a woman’s voice yelled from the doorway. We looked up. A short, tiny woman in a frumpy, stained pink sweatshirt and black yoga pants came charging at us. “I followed you. I knew you were up to something!” she shrieked. She was pretty with delicate, almost elfin features. “And here you are!” she said triumphantly. “Hooking up with this floozy!” She pointed at me.
 

“Hey,” I cried standing up. “I’m not a floozy. I’m a singer.”

She looked me up and down. “You look like a floozy to me. Husband stealer!” she cried and plucked me in the arm with her short little fingers.

“Ow!” I cried taking a step back and rubbing my arm. “Husband?” I asked looking at John. John was still staring at me with dreamy eyes.

He waved his hand dismissively. “We’re separated,” he said without even glancing at his wife. She squawked and, with lightning speed, plucked him in the head. That seemed to wake him up. “I hate it when you do that, Sheila,” he said rubbing his head.
 

“We’re not separated you idiot. Although why I’ve wasted ten years with you is beyond me,” she huffed.

John looked up at me. “We’re getting separated,” he explained.

She rolled her eyes. “We live in the same house.”

“We don’t sleep together,” John said.

“Because you snore,” she shot back.
 

Time to rescue the situation. “Look, I need to get back to work. But I want you to know that nothing is going on between us,” I said to her calmly.

She turned to John. “Tell your Amazon girlfriend that if she doesn’t shut up I’m going to climb up on this table and bust her upside the head.” John looked over and gave me an uncomfortable smile. This wasn’t going well. She continued. “I hope you and your Amazon will be happy with each other. By the way,” she said addressing me, “we have four kids under ten and they aren’t coming with me.”

I shook my head and started to try to explain one more time. “We’re not seeing each other. This is just,” suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me against a hard tall body. Ode de Mark rushed through my nostrils.

“Hi, Baby,” he purred nuzzling my neck. “Sorry I missed your first set.”
 

I turned and looked gratefully up at him. “As I was saying,” I said to Sheila, “I have a boyfriend. Mark this is John, a fan of mine, and his wife, Sheila.” John looked crestfallen. Sheila looked like she still had her doubts. “John has come to a couple of my shows, but there was never anything going on between us.”

Sheila’s eyes narrowed. “What? My husband’s not good enough for you?” she accused. “You too snooty for a real man? Got to have yourself a Mr. GQ, huh?” She shook her finger up at me and I moved back a little in case she tried to pluck me again.

Mark tried to stifle a laugh. She turned on him. “Oh, Mr. GQ thinks this is funny,” she snarled. “I guess it’s a real hoot to watch a ten-year marriage dissolve right before your eyes.” Knowing what was coming, I inched away from Mark. With laser accuracy, she leapt up and plucked Mark square in the forehead.

“Ow,” he said clutching his forehead. “What’s wrong with you lady?”

The whole bar was watching at this point. Someone yelled cat fight. This seemed to energize Sheila. She jumped up on the table.
 

“Jesus, Sheila, get down,” John said, finally getting to his feet.

 
“What’s wrong with me?” she asked. “I’ll tell you! I’m sick of wiping butts and noses all day. Not to mention chauffeuring kids all over town. And now I’ve got to worry about my idiot husband mooning after some hot to trot singer behind my back. Well, I’m done! You can take this job and shove it!”
 

She paused for a breath and someone hollered, “Tell it sister!”

“I used to be cute,” she said starting to tear up. “Now I’m just crusty.” She looked down at her stained sweatshirt. I felt bad for her. She did look crusty and John was an idiot. “But not anymore,” she cried as she whipped off the sweatshirt revealing a pink spandex cami that showed off an impressive rack. A roar went up. John stared wide-eyed. Like a stripper at the pole, she threw her sweatshirt into the crowd. “Who wants to buy me a shot?” she yelled climbing down from the table. She brushed past Dan on her way to the bar without a word.

I looked over at Mark. “How do you get yourself into these situations?” he asked.

“I did nothing,” I insisted.

We both looked at Dan. “Guess I owe you an apology,” he said sheepishly. “I like you, Diana, but I didn’t mean to start all this. I guess things had just gotten a little routine at home.” He sighed and looked over at the bar where Sheila was now holding court. “Guess I should go reel her in,” he said.
 

I rolled my eyes. “You think? This was completely not cool,” I said.
 

“Sorry again, Diana,” John apologized before he made his way to the bar.

I looked over at Mark, who burst out laughing. “What are you laughing for Mr. GQ? You’ve got a big red elf mark on your forehead.”

“Pretty nice rack for an elf,” he joked looking over at the bar.
 

I gave him an evil look. “Jerk!”

“Hey,” he said, “what did I do? You’re the one with married Officer John following you around.”

“I didn’t know he was married,” I said.

“So I’m assuming he isn’t hickey guy,” he teased.
 

I glared at him. “No, just a fan.”

“Saw some possibility there?” he queried.

“I thought he was a nice guy. That’s it,” I said. “I need to get back on stage. Can you get me a martini, please?” I asked.

“Afraid of going up there yourself?” He looked up at the bar. “She does have a mean pluck,” he said rubbing his forehead.

I glared at him and went back on stage and tuned my guitar. He was back in a few minutes with my drink and an update. “Sheila told John he’d better get going because the babysitter needs to go home in fifteen minutes. John asked her to come with him and she said:
Why? I don’t work there anymore.
” Mark shook his head. “I think she’s going to give him another chance, but right now she’s enjoying torturing him.”

I didn’t care what they did as long as they didn’t interrupt my set. I took a sip of my drink. “Ahhh,” I purred, “just what I needed.” I sighed and looked around the room. It was filling up fast. “Thanks for the save,” I said.

“No problem,” he said putting his hand over mine. “Again—how do you get in these situations?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I have no idea,” I said. “But I appreciate the bailout.”

“I kind of like being referred to as your boyfriend,” he said with a grin.

“No comment,” I said. “I’ve got to get back up there. Thanks for the drink.” I turned around and asked, “Mark, do I look like a floozy?”

“Only in the best possible way,” he replied.

“Impossible,” I muttered as I stomped up on stage. The audience was starting to get antsy. It was time to switch things up. I was feeling the need to let off some steam. I strummed a few unmistakable bars and said into the mike, “Who wants to hear some Lynyrd Skynyrd?”
 

The applause quieted as I began to sing
Simple Man
. I had altered the words a little to make the song work. I looked out over the room and knew I had their attention. There was a certain novelty when a woman sang a traditionally male song. This was one of those songs that made me feel like a rock star. I finished the song to thunderous applause.
 

“Since you seem to like Skynyrd, how about this?” I said and jumped into
Sweet Home Alabama
. Suddenly, the dance floor was full. Even Dan and the elf-like, Sheila, who, by this point, was too drunk to care about Dan’s indiscretion or the babysitter, were cutting a rug. I watched Mark make his way back to the bar and order a beer. He smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I smiled back. Mark was so comfortable and easy going I sometimes forgot how attracted I was to him. Until, of course, I caught a whiff of him and then I was like Max with a visitor’s leg in his line of sight.