Nashville 1 - Ready to Reach (8 page)

“Neither one of them would make walking too easy,” I say.

They both look at me then, and laugh, abruptly, as if I’ve surprised them. I rub Hank Junior’s head and look down, a smile on my mouth. Something warm unfurls within me, soft and fluttery as a butterfly. I like the feeling and realize it’s something I haven’t felt since high school, and even then, never like this.

Friendship.

Based on my research, there are five restaurants in Nashville where I’d like to bartend. I came up with those by looking at potential nightly take, whether they’re known for attracting the music business crowd, and their proximity to other clubs and bars in the city.

The first two are a total bust. The managers are tight-asses who start laying down the do’s, the don’ts, and the musts like they’re the last stop on Planet Great Job. I don’t even let CeCe finish filling out the application. In both places, we leave them on the bar and head for the truck.

Thomas looks up from the nap he’d been trying to take and gives me a look I’ve seen before. “I assume they didn’t pass your personality test?”

“Whatever hours I have to give away to support this gig, I’m not giving to either of them.”

“They seemed nice enough,” CeCe says, and I can tell she thinks I might be a little nuts.

We’re on 40, heading for downtown when I look at her and say, “How many jobs have you had?”

She’s quiet for a few moments. “If you count the three day stint at McDonald’s, two.”

My eyes go wide. I can’t help it. “Where was the other one?”

“Beckner’s Veterinary Clinic.”

I consider this and then say, “Seriously? So you have no actual waitressing experience?”

“No,” she admits. “But I’ve watched a lot of them during shows.”

“How are you planning to write that up on the app? Conducted observations of working waitresses in real-life settings? Or served breakfast, lunch, and dinner to canine and feline guests at Chez Beckner?”

Thomas lets loose a bark of a laugh, as if it surprises him. He apologizes for it, looking at CeCe and saying, “Sorry. He’s an ass. But a sometimes funny ass.”

CeCe doesn’t seem to think so. “I’ll be a great waitress,” she says, folding her arms across her chest.

“Places like these usually don’t want to just take your word for it.”

Thomas wheels the truck into the third place on my list, backing into a shady spot at one end of the parking lot. “Can you two finish your argument on the way in so I can catch some shut-eye, please?”

I get out, pissed enough at CeCe that I start across the pavement without waiting up for her until I get to the front door.

“I don’t have to apply at the same places as you,” she says, stopping in front of me, an expression of stubborn pride on her face.

“I don’t care if you apply here or anywhere else,” I say. “I was just pointing out that you usually need some experience for places like this.”

“I get that.”

“Okay then,” I say while we glare at each other.

I look away first, start to open the restaurant door, and then on impulse, turn back to her. “About last night--”

“Wasn’t that a movie?” she quips.

“Look,” I begin again awkwardly.

She holds up a hand to stop me. “You really don’t need to go there. You have a girlfriend. Moment of weakness. No explanation needed.”

Her straightforwardness surprises me. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“So we’re past it,” she says. “Moving on?”

I’m not sure what I was expecting. It wasn’t this. The girls I’ve known are way more persistent. Or maybe it’s just my ego that’s feeling the air leak.

I open the door and leave her to walk in behind me, just on principle.

The restaurant’s foyer is low lit, and I blink a couple of times to adjust to the dimness. The dining room is big and circular, the walls a deep red, the tablecloths on each of the tables a rich gold. The bar is at the back. It’s enormous, carved walnut, I think, and it looks like the kind of place where major movers and shakers would want to hang out.

“Wow,” CeCe says in a low, breathy voice.

“Yeah. Wow,” I agree. There’s no one in sight, and so I call out a, “Hello?”

When there’s no answer, CeCe says, “It doesn’t look like anyone is here.”

Still ticked at her, I ignore her and walk toward the bar. I call hello again, but still no one comes.

I look around the corner of the bar. There’s a long hallway that looks like it has two or three offices on either side.

“Maybe we should come back,” CeCe says behind me, sounding worried.

I’m anxious to get a job nailed down, and this looks like the place I was hoping for. I head down the hall, raising my voice again, “Hello?”

I hear something and stick my head inside the next office doorway. CeCe bumps into me, jostling me forward just as I realize what I am staring at.

A man on top of a woman on top of a desk, naked as Adam and Eve before the apple thing.

I catch myself just before my forehead hits the opposite end of the doorjamb, CeCe grabbing my shirt to keep from falling.

“Oh, my gosh!” she says, spotting what I’ve just spotted.

Both the man and the woman look at us then, and amazingly enough, neither of them jumps up in alarm or embarrassment or anything resembling either one.

My gaze snags first on her, fortyish, blonde, gorgeous, and then on the man, whose face is instantly recognizable. Case Phillips. Case-frigging-Phillips!

I jerk upright and turn my back to face the hallway. CeCe does the same, and I guess we must look like two soldiers snapping to attention after a reprimand.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “We were looking for the manager or--”

“Owner?” the woman asks.

“Owner,” I agree, still not looking.

“That would be me. And I’m a little--”

“Occupied. You’re occupied. We can come back.”

She laughs. “Why don’t you do that?”

“Ah, are you looking for any bartending help?”

A couple beats of silence pass. “I think I just might be.”

“Good. How about waitressing? Need any?”

“That depends on the waitress.”

“That would be me,” CeCe pipes up, raising a hand and waving it in the air. She starts to glance over her shoulder, but I throw my arm around her and tuck her into my side, so she can’t.

“Why don’t you two come see me later this afternoon when I’m not--”

“Indisposed,” the man on top of her says with a chuckle. And in the notes of his laugh, I hear the voice I’ve heard on the radio a thousand times. Again, shit!

“Indisposed,” the woman agrees, laughing.

I hear feet hit the floor, just before the door behind us slams shut. And then Case Phillips: “Shoulda shut the damn thing to start with.”

“Come here and let me make it up to you,” she says.

Only then do I let myself look down at CeCe. She’s pressing her lips together, like laughter is about to explode out of her. I grab her arm and haul her down the hallway before she wrecks whatever opportunity we might have.

By the time we reach the dining room, we’re both running full out, through the foyer, the front door, all the way to Thomas’s truck before we collapse against the passenger side door and can’t hold it back a second longer.

We laugh until my eyes are watering, and we’ve woken up Thomas. He slides out and walks around to look down at us like we’re both insane.

“What the heck?” he asks.

I start to tell him, but I still can’t talk.

“We just saw Case Phillips naked as a jaybird in there on top of the woman who owns this place.” She tries to stop, then starts up laughing again.

“Was she naked, too?” Thomas asks, straight-faced.

“Oh, yeah,” I say.

“Well, all right then,” Thomas says.

CeCe is giggling so hard now she can barely breathe.

I glance across the parking lot and spot the black Ferrari tucked into a corner space. The license plate says JSTNCASE.

I point at it, and Thomas lets out a low whistle. “That’s the life I want. The car and the girl.”

“I hope I’m not the one that finds your bare linebacker ass on top of some hot babe,” I say, wiping my eyes.

CeCe giggles a fresh giggle. “Don’t need that visual.”

Thomas laughs. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

I get to my feet then, offering CeCe a hand up. She stands and for a second tips into my chest, her breasts soft and full against me. I feel the shock as if someone just stuck a hot wire to my back. Our gazes lock for a snap of a second, and I see the same awareness in her eyes.

I step away, too quickly, and hang my running shoe on Thomas’s enormous cowboy boot. I catch myself before hitting the pavement, and grab onto the bed of the truck.

“Good day, man,” Thomas says, “you are in such a world of trouble.”

“Shut up, Thomas,” I say, climbing in. “All I pay you to do is drive.”

Chuckling, Thomas shakes his head and pulls CeCe around to his side, waiting while she slides into the middle of the seat.

I lower my window, keeping as close to the door as I can.

So it’s decided once we get to the apartment that I will buy in as a roommate. Both Thomas and Holden say they don’t mind rooming together.

“I already know how bad his boots can stink,” Holden had graciously said.

“And I already know what kind of rattlesnake he is at six a.m.,” Thomas throws back, matching the dig.

What it adds up to is the two of them throwing me a lifeline. Since I am now starting out in Nashville from negative ground zero thanks to the explosion of Granny’s car, I don’t have any choice but to take it.

And I am grateful. I tell them both as much, promising to pay them every penny I owe them.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Thomas says once we’re at the apartment, and I am again scouring the classifieds, Hank Junior asleep with his head on my lap. Holden had borrowed Thomas’s truck to go open up a banking account. I’m not holding out hope for the Case Phillips joint, considering that I’ve now seen the owner naked. Seems like a significant conflict of interest to me.

“I will worry about it,” I say. “I like to pay my debts.”

“In other words, you don’t like letting others do something for you.”

“Only a fool rejects a helping hand when it’s needed, but I believe in keeping the slate clean, too.”

“You and pecker head are more alike than you know.”

I glance up from the paper, raise an eyebrow.

“Holden,” he says, like who else would he be talking about.

I refuse to acknowledge the comparison, and say, “They’ve got openings at the Olive Garden.”

“Love the food, but how’s that going to help your music?”

“By helping me pay my way around here, feed myself and Hank Junior.”

“Holden’s right about putting yourself in a place where music stuff is happening.”

“In Nashville, that could be at McDonald’s.”

“True. But the odds are greater over there where Case Phillips is getting some.”

“Girl here. You and Holden are going to have to remember this isn’t a locker room.”

Thomas grins. “Spunk. I like it.”

Just then the apartment door swings open, and Holden bursts through, his big white smile the first thing I see.

“You’re not going to believe who I just saw in Whole Foods!”

Thomas and I both stare at him, waiting.

“Taylor Swift.”

“Seriously?” Thomas throws out.

“Picking out apples in the produce department.”

“You suck,” Thomas says. “Did you ask for her autograph?”

Holden tosses him a look. “Right after I taped that sign to my forehead that says ‘New to Nashville and gawking at every star’.”

“Well, you’ve seen two already today. You might want to let someone else borrow your sign,” Thomas argues, sounding irked.

I laugh. I can’t help it. The two of them are pretty ridiculous. “Y’all are like two old ladies at a bachelor auction,” I say.

“I’ve got a lyric I want to work on,” Holden says, ignoring me and grabbing a Coke from the refrigerator before heading for the back of the apartment.

“To give you a heads up on the vernacular,” Thomas says, looking at me, “that means don’t come anywhere near him until he comes out and gives the okay.”