Beauty and the Mustache (23 page)

The building was
definitely an old school, though it looked very small from the
outside. The red brick and old white trim looked as if it had
recently been restored. I quickly surmised that the inside
consisted of one large room—the cafeteria—and two hallways. The
first, the longer of the two, looked like it contained classrooms;
the other looked like it held two or three offices.

Billy led the way, placing thirty dollars in
a donations bucket at the entrance. Two older men sat at the table
and stood when Billy walked in.

“
Mr. Winston. Good to see
you, sir.”

Billy shook their hands
with deference. “Mr. McClure, Mr. Payton, you know my brothers. I
don’t know if you remember my sister Ashley.”

Their eyes moved to me and
warm smiles lit their faces. Mr. McClure offered his hand to me
first. I recognized him as the fire chief; he’d visited my
elementary school when I was eight.

“
My goodness, you grew up
to be right pretty,” he said, whistling and giving me a
wink.

I glanced down at my
dress, the first dress I’d worn since I’d been in Tennessee, and
smoothed my hand over the light blue woven cotton. I liked the
simple eyelet pattern, the square neck and the capped sleeves as
well as the fit through the waist. It ended with a flared skirt
that reached just below my knees.

It was by no means
immodest. Therefore, I felt the whistling was a bit
forward.

Mr. Payton, who must’ve
been no less than eighty, had an exceptionally cheeky grin as he
said, “Where have they been hiding you?”

“
In Chicago,” Billy said
flatly.

Cletus stepped forward,
and I was thankful for his interruption. “Mr. Payton, I must ask,
how is your Ford?”

“
Oh, she’s running like
new. You did a fine job.”

Cletus gave him a little
head nod, a pleased smile on his face.

“
Speaking of cars, Duane,
while you’re here, would you mind taking a look at my air
conditioner? It just aint cool enough, and I checked the fluid.”
Mr. McClure stood and motioned for Duane to follow, which he did
readily.

“
Save me some coleslaw,”
he called over his shoulder, giving us a cheerful wave. “This might
take a while.”

***

Duane actually
returned
within fifteen minutes, though his
hands were dirty with grease. He’d identified the issue for Mr.
McClure and arranged for the older man to bring his car by the
shop.

Cletus chose a room
playing bluegrass and stunned me speechless when, during the first
song, he launched into an aggressive and impressive banjo solo. The
group played a cover of Mumford and Son’s “Beneath My Feet,” and it
was completely awesome.

The four of us stayed
together for the first hour or so, listening to Cletus play his
banjo. For my part, it was a wholly surreal experience to sit among
my brothers, chitchatting at intervals, and just enjoying their
company.

Billy excused himself
after the first hour to go grab some food, and Duane went with him.
Cletus’s group was about to take a short break. I heard music
filtering in from one of the other classrooms, and I turned toward
the hallway, straining to hear what kind of songs the other groups
were playing.

“
Go on. Go check out some
of the other rooms.” Beau nudged me with his elbow. “We’ll come
find you when Cletus is finished, or just meet us back
here.”

I gave my brother a small
smile, which he returned, and I felt an odd sense of wonder and
gratefulness that I was lucky enough to be related to these
genuinely remarkable, adorable men.

I slipped out of my seat
as quietly as I could and walked to the hall, deciding I would just
poke my head into each of the rooms for a song or two then head
back to Cletus’s group. This plan worked out perfectly for the
first three rooms; they played blues, folk, and country
respectively.

However, when I reached the fourth room, the
final room, all thoughts of staying for just one song fled my
mind.

Drew was there.

He was positioned toward
the front of the group, sitting in profile, but all the way against
the left wall. He was strumming an acoustic guitar, playing the
chord progression along with two other guitars, a bass fiddle, and
a violin as two banjos dueled for dominance.

I quickly searched for and
found a seat at the back of the room, at the very end, closest to
the door. The piece was entirely instrumental, but they played
together as though they’d been practicing for years. Three of the
musicians looked to be in their seventies or eighties, two men and
one woman. One of the banjo players was no more than sixteen, but
he was downright incredible. The other two musicians looked to be
Drew’s age or a little older.

The song came to a close
and the audience clapped and cheered, showing their appreciation
for the excellent music. I smiled as I watched Drew because he
didn’t seem to notice the audience at all. He looked like he’d be
happy to play all day regardless of whether anyone—other than the
musicians—was there to listen.

The bass fiddle called out
a key—F major, I think—and played the chord progression, leading
the others into the theme. Once again, they were off. This time I
recognized it as “I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow,” a song made
popular by the Coen Brothers’ film
O
Brother, Where Art Thou?

My delight was only
increased further when Drew and the kid on the banjo began to sing
the lyrics in perfect harmony. Then, I nearly fainted when Drew’s
face broke out in a huge grin, and he and the banjo prodigy
exchanged a meaningful glance like they were sharing a private
joke.

He was so relaxed and
completely at ease singing about constant sorrow with a giant smile
on his face. I wanted to laugh, not because the scene was funny,
but because I was so pleasantly surprised. He appeared to be so
happy, and his happiness was infectious. Also, he had a truly
remarkable singing voice; a clear, velvety baritone that I felt in
my bones.

I watched and listened,
wholly entranced. After he sang of meeting us on God’s golden
shore, the song was over. I was bereft amidst the applause. This
perfect moment, listening to Drew sing and play with such talent
and obvious enjoyment, felt like a sudden and miraculous
gift.

And then it was
over.

The group moved on, and I
was stuck. The other banjo player called out the key of G, playing
the tonic. Drew fell into the accompaniment with both banjos, the
other two guitars, and the violin, providing the chord progression
while the bass fiddle lead with the melody of “The
Highwaymen.”

I stared at him for a
stretch, still hearing the echoes of his previous performance and
feeling melancholy that it was over.

“
That Drew Runous has a
nice voice,” a woman in the row just in front of mine whispered
loudly to her friend, snaring my attention. The two women appeared
to be about Momma’s age or a little older. Both ladies looked
vaguely familiar—like hometown folks that I’d forgotten about—and I
couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“
Yes he does, and he’s a
might good looking, too,” the other woman said, an indulgent smile
on her face. “My Jennifer is sweet on him since he helped with her
car troubles when she was stalled on Moth Run, down by the Winston
place.”

“
I didn’t know they were
an item.”

“
Oh, no, they’re not, but
Jennifer wishes they were. She can’t get him to talk; only ever got
one-word answers, though she’s been up to the ranger station any
number of times with muffins and the like. And you know he’s never
in town—well, hardly ever. I can’t get more than three words out of
him myself. She finally gave up.” Jennifer’s mother
sighed.

“
He is shy, that’s true.
Maybe she should be more up front about her interest. She’s a
beauty.”

“
Oh, she did that.” The
second woman chuckled a little and leaned closer to her friend like
she was going to tell a scandalous story. I also leaned forward,
irrationally invested in what was about to be spoken. I even went
so far as to fiddle with my shoe to disguise my intent.

“
Jennifer went down to the
Cades Cove station knowing he’d be there. She brought her banana
cake—you know, the one she won second prize for at the fair? Well,
she wore that yellow dress that her daddy doesn’t like, and what do
you think she did? She sidled right up to Drew, wrapped her arms
around his neck, and kissed him.”

The first woman pulled
away, her expression shocked with disbelief. “Oh, my dear Lord,”
she loud whispered. “What did he do?”

The mother sighed. “He let
her down gently, but he was a real gentleman about it.”

“
When was
this?”

“
Oh, I don’t know. At the
beginning of the summer, I guess. But you know he’s been in town
for years and aint never been attached to any girl that I’m aware
of.”

The two women shared a
knowing look, as though Drew not being attached to a woman for
several years automatically meant he was either suffering from some
fatal illness, or he was gay.

I straightened in my seat
and affixed my eyes to the front of the room when one of the ladies
glanced over her shoulder. Fighting a guilty blush, I made the
mistake of looking at Drew just as he turned his head, sweeping the
crowd.

Our eyes met, and he did a
double take. His mouth parted slightly, his eyes widened just a
hint. Then he smiled.

Despite my red cheeks, I
smiled back and gave him a little wave. I kept my eyes glued to the
front of the room even when I felt the two ladies turn and peer at
me.

I sat as still as a
statue, and thought about making a quick escape, but Drew kept
glancing my way through the remainder of the melody, a hint of a
smile on his face, his eyes anchoring me to my chair.

When the song came to its
conclusion and the bass fiddle announced that they would be taking
a half hour break, I knew I couldn’t cut and run, because I didn’t
want to leave.

He set his guitar down
behind him, resting it against the wall of the musicians’ space.
The crowd filtered out of the room. In order to avoid being caught
in the swell by the door, I moved further in, walking to the far
wall so Drew would have a clearer path if he chose to come talk to
me.

His eyes never leaving my
face, Drew navigated the theater seats, wooden chairs, pews, and
stools, making his way to me.

I noted that several
people moved to talk to him, but he put them off, gently saying,
“Excuse me,” or “I’ll be right back.” My heart rate increased as he
neared, as did the size of his smile, and I felt a tad bit out of
breath.

I didn’t realize I was
smiling until I spoke. “Hi, Drew.”

Not breaking stride, Drew
backed me up against the wall, his hands gripping my waist, his
mouth unexpectedly meeting mine for a soft, sweet, caressing
kiss.

I’m not going to lie. I
kissed him back. But it was a confusing kiss for several
reasons.

First, it gave me zings in
my things, as Sandra would say. Maybe it was the beard; more
likely, it was the man attached to the beard.

Second, it didn’t feel
like a friend kiss despite the fact that it was over in less than
five seconds. But it didn’t exactly feel like it was planned to be
something more. In fact, I don’t think he’d planned to kiss me at
all. It was a truly spontaneous kiss.

Third, his kiss made me
feel like I’d been filled up with a bolt of lightning; my restless
energy increased tenfold the moment our lips touched.

I felt distinctly dazed as
I gazed up at him.

“
Hi, Ash.” His eyes danced
over my face. He looked happy, at least happier than I’d ever seen
him. “It’s great to see you.”

I smiled up at him. “You
saw me this morning.”

“
But you weren’t wearing
this dress.”

Still dazed and finding no
response for his statement, I said dumbly, “Cletus plays the
banjo.”

“
Yes, sugar. I know that.”
His grin intensified as he removed his hands from my body and
stepped back two steps. I almost followed him to stay in his orbit,
but I managed to put a mental leash on my instinctual desire to do
so.

“
Did you enjoy the music?”
His eyes were cheerful.

“
Oh yes…you all were just
great. You especially were fantastic. I loved watching your fingers
move—you have great fingers. They’re very long and really know how
to move.”

A small, amused frown
creased his brow, and as the words spilled out of my mouth, his
grin became massive. He glanced at the floor, stuffed his hands in
his pockets, and lifted his blue-gray eyes to mine. “Well…thank
you, Ash. I’ll keep your admiration for my fingers in mind for
future reference.”

My neck started to itch as
we stared at each other, likely because my brain slowly caught up
with the conversation. It rewound what had just emerged from my
mouth, and heated embarrassment swirled upward from my chest to my
cheeks.