Whirlwind Love: Libby's Journey (3 page)

Jackson, Mississippi, Day 1 - Tuesday - continued

“So, first time in Jackson?” The owner processed her credit card in his pajamas and robe.

Libby smiled at the sight of him, “Actually, yes. Not my first RV experience...but first time here. I’m very happy to be here!”

“Well, if there’s anythin’ I can do, you jus’ let me know. You need some help gettin’ setup?”

“Nah, thanks. I wouldn’t want to bother you…I’m sure it’s like ridin’ a bike,” Libby smiled as she shook her head.

“Nothin’ to it!” he interrupted her. “Let me get my shoes on, and I’ll be right out. Won’t take us long, together. By the way, folks ‘round here call me ‘Buddy,’ so you jus’ remember that…if’n you need somethin’,” Libby stifled a giggle as the image of TV’s Gomer Pyle flashed in her mind.

Libby parked her RV and stepped outside to begin the setup. Buddy met her at her door. “Buddy, thanks so much. I really appreciate the assist,” Libby smiled as she stretched the kinks from her body. She hadn’t realized how tired she was—but it was such a good day.

“Well, now, this ’uns an oldie and a goodie,” Buddy slapped the rear of the RV. “Baitsmobile, eh? You fish?”

Libby unlocked the rear panel and pulled out the wheel chocks. Buddy took them with a nod and shoved them under the rear wheels. “Used to. My folks took my brother and me RV’n when we were kids. The Baitsmobile was Daddy’s pride and joy-toy. I recently had it overhauled…new floor, wiring, everything,” Libby excitedly rattled on as the older man engaged her stabilizer jacks. She pulled the electrical cable and plugged it in.

“I’m headin’ out west and I can’t believe how easy today was. I sure hope the rest of the trip is…I’m sorry, I’m rambling! I guess I’m excited for the human contact,” she laughed.

Buddy smiled, “I completely understand, Ms. Morgan. We’re glad you chose to stay with us. If you have any questions while you’re here, you just give me a holler,” Buddy checked the wattage on the RV plaque, then switched on the electricity.

“I used to help Dad when I was a kid, but this is actually my first solo hookup,” she replied, watching him intently. She then pulled out the white water hose and screwed it into her RV.

“You want to be sure you pick the right wattage, now, Ms. Morgan, when you go to other sites on your trip. So, where’d ‘ya say you’re headin’?” he said, hand on his hip, the other scratching his head.

“Please, call me Libby. Thanks for the tip,” she smiled politely. “I’m visiting a friend in New Mexico, then driving up to the Grand Canyon.” He appeared beside her and took the other end of the hose, connecting it to the water line.

Finally, Buddy reached into a small handmade toolbox for his gloves. Libby took his cue and opened the panel for the waste. Without a word, the kindly man connected her waste tank to the sewage connector.

Awkwardly, Libby spoke up, “I’ve been dreaming of this trip for so long! Hey, who knows where I’ll end up! Ah, Buddy, thanks so much for the help!”

“Enjoy your stay at Forest Bluff, Miss Libby,” Buddy smiled back at her as he began walking back to his office. “Ya know where to find me if you need anythin’,” he called over his shoulder as he waved a wrinkled hand in the air.

Libby briefly considered dinner as she climbed the RV steps and locked the door behind her. She wandered to the bedroom with the idea of changing into her pajamas before dinner. “Ah...food’ll wait,” she said aloud as she collapsed onto the bed in her shorts and tee-shirt. Her head had been spinning with both excitement and exhaustion for a while now. Being still and quiet for only a few minutes, she quickly fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

Park noises started early as a few RV’ers prepared for departure. Libby awoke from a deep sleep, briefly unsure about the surroundings. Recognizing her RV, she smiled. She lay in the bed listening to the park come to life for a couple of minutes.

Libby jumped out of bed, took a quick shower, and prepared a quick cereal breakfast. While she ate, she brought up the map on the widescreen and plotted her route. In between bites, she reached over and flipped on the radio, pressing the scan button until music began to play.

A man with the sexiest voice she’d ever heard sang a catchy song about rules for his heart. Libby listened intently: before the end of the song, she was hooked. She waited, curious to hear the name that belonged to the voice.

“You’re listening to MISS 102 and you just heard ‘Heart Code’-- by The Brothers King. That Joe can sure get the job done, can’t he?” the announcer laughed. “Hey, you know, I hear TBK is doing some small-venue acoustic concerts, and a little bird told me they’ll be in Lubbock at a place called Jake’s Music Hall on Thursday night. Catch ‘em if you can!”

Libby launched an Internet search screen on the RV’s widescreen and entered the website, filling the RV’s speaker system with a high-energy southern-rock song that had a distinctive country twist. She listened to the sampled music and flipped through the web pages, mostly concert shots from a distance. There were a few artistic shots, with blurred actions and a large blue eye imposed over a concert shot. Libby thought it was odd that there were no face shots anywhere in the web pages. She checked the
appearances
page, but no mention of Lubbock or tomorrow was displayed. A search for Jake’s produced a banner announcing KTRY 103.1 and Jake’s were sponsoring TBK. So Libby decided to rearrange her travel plans to pass through Lubbock, Texas on Thursday to catch their show. She could still make Las Cruces by Friday to see Laura and Jimmy.

Libby finished breakfast, completed the RV chores, and got behind the wheel. She programmed a button on her console radio for KTRY 103.1. After a stop at the office and a quick goodbye to Buddy, she was once again on the road.

Be
tween Ft. Worth-Dallas, Texas, Day 2 - Wednesday

Libby had been on the road for about seven hours. She drove straight through Dallas, then decided to stop at a mall off the Interstate for something to eat. Before she went to the restaurant, she took out her camera and shot a couple of pictures of the Dallas skyline behind her. After downloading her pictures to the computer, she sent an e-mail to Megan and included one of the pictures.

Wish you were here! The days are already moving too fast! I’m in Dallas, and I sure miss you! This place is so big! I hope school is going well, and I can’t wait to get an e-mail from you. Let me know how things are going! Love ya!

Libby then sent an e-mail to Laura.

Gonna be later than I’d planned, but expect me Friday for sure. Put on a full pot, and I better see your famous blueberry pancakes for brunch!

Enjoying her leisurely meal, Libby listened to the disc-jockey on the local radio station playing
weekend-wishin’ Wednesday
songs in the diner as she watched the few late-lunch stragglers.

“These boys will be playin’ in Lubbock tomorrow night...rumor has it that if you can catch the show, it might be the last ones ‘round these parts for a while...or so a little bird told me. Here’s a former number one by those King brothers,
The Heart Code!
”

Libby listened to the song, even when she had finished her meal.

“One more, just ‘cause I can! Here’s
Home
by TBK! Did ya get y
er
tickets yet?” he laughed a silly laugh as the song began.

When the song was over, Libby paid the cashier and walked through the mall. She picked up a few souvenirs and gifts for Megan.

It was still early afternoon so she decided to drive a little further. Before she got behind the wheel, Libby launched The Internet and searched for RV Parks. She settled on Trailertropics in Snyder, Texas and called for a reservation for the night. She drove three more hours, found the park and set up for the evening. In spite of her excitement, she turned in early to get an early start the next morning.

* * *

Libby awoke feeling tired and stiff. She glanced at her reflection in the bathroom mirror that was lined in the lower left corner with faded cabbage patch baby stickers—because Libby could barely reach this spot on her tippy-toes when she decorated it; a Class of 2003 sticker was in the top right corner, while the top left sported a Class of 1989 sticker. During the renovation, Libby was certain to instruct the carpenters to leave them alone. A photograph of Tom, Maggie, eighteen-year-old Tommy and five-year-old Libby standing in front of the Baitsmobile on a camping trip at Lake Jocassee was framed on the wall space behind the toilet.

A hot shower pepped her up a little, and as she was applying her favorite suntan oil, Driftwood Cove’s yellow-jasmine, she began to consider how she wanted to spend her day. Sliding into her white shorts and picking a white scooped-necked tee, her tanned body from the Carolina beaches looked fabulous. She gathered her copious dark auburn curls into a bun and moved into the kitchen.

With her grits cooking on the stove, coffee in the pot and bacon waiting in the microwave, Libby took her red pen to the calendar hanging near the door and marked off Tuesday and Wednesday. A heart circled the following Sunday, with a hot-air balloon sticker centered in the day. After a leisurely breakfast, she took her camera for a walk around the RV Park. She snapped random photos and chatted with a few of her fellow RVers, who were also enjoying the sunshine or doing chores along her way.

“Good mornin’,” Libby called to the family setting up for brunch outside their RV as she walked by. They all stopped to smile and wave.

“Join us?” the lady with a floppy pink hat called out.

“Smells great! But, I’ve already eaten! Enjoy!” Libby called back as she kept her pace.

An elderly gentleman sat in his canvas chair with his feet propped on a plastic bin reading a newspaper while smoking his cigar. Libby called out, “Good mornin’!” The man slightly lowered his paper to peer across the top of his reading glasses. He slightly nodded to her, then returned to his ritual.

After her jaunt through the park, Libby cleared the RV connections and crawled behind the wheel. Her GPS showed only an hour-and-a-half drive to Lubbock, so she took her time and enjoyed the view along the roads. Smiling at the thought of her leisurely morning, “I need to stop and smell the roses more often!”

L
ubbock, Texas, Day 3 - Thursday

The lunch crowd had dwindled when Libby pulled into Jake’s Sports Cafe and Music Hall. A re-purposed shopping mall, Jake’s offered plenty of parking spaces for the rambling RV. Surveying the lot, Libby backed into a space behind the access road to the rear of the building and out of the way. As she slipped out of the driver’s seat, she noticed an SUV with a small trailer hitched to it parked near a nondescript entrance at the back of the music hall.

A tall man with beautiful, long, straight, blond hair appeared next to the doorway with equipment from the trailer. His faded jeans with blown-out knees and fitted dark-blue tee accentuated all of his many assets. Libby watched the man for a few minutes, wondering if he was one of the King Brothers or a roadie. She smirked at his shirt that read
Heart Breaker
.

“I’m sure,” she laughed.

As the man returned for another load, his carefree swagger was slow and confident. His erect stance and slow pace insisted he should be noticed...were anyone watching. Libby smiled at his confidence.

Another man, dressed in dark jeans and a red tee, appeared from behind the SUV. He was talking on his cell phone as he paced in front of the vehicle and was quite animated and angry. His face was hidden by a baseball cap, and his fit frame was mostly hunched with moments of bristling and stomping. Libby watched his dance of rage with intrigue, comparing him to the swagger of the other man; she thought he looked much older from a distance. He grabbed the bill of his hat, snatched it off and threw it across the parking lot as he stomped his foot to punctuate a remark. His shoulder-length, wavy dirty-blond hair escaped the bondage of the hat and bounced with each animated gesture. His arm flailed wildly, and he held the phone away from his face, glaring at it from time-to-time. Libby wondered if he might send it crashing to the asphalt due to his apparent rage with the call. His tirade continued.

Fascinated by the contrast of the two, Libby watched for a few minutes before pulling herself away from the drama to freshen up. Libby splashed water on her face, dried off with the hand-towel, then applied blush, mascara and lip gloss to brighten her pretty face. She re-wrapped her long, dark red hair into a tight bun to recapture the unruly wisps that escaped during the morning. She changed into her dark blue skinny jeans and a scooped-necked, white South Carolina tee-shirt and sneakers. She shoved cash and her cellphone into her pockets. She checked her camera for batteries and a flashcard, then stuck an extra card in her pocket. Locking the door behind her, she set out across the parking lot, shoving the keys into her pocket as she walked.

By this time the angry man’s face was blood-red. “You
sold our
damn bus! And you’re so cheap, you
blew off
my band for this crappy opening-act tour!
You’re
the one who booked us in all these stupid state fairs--how did you expect us to get around anyway?
You’re
the one who’s paid to take care of this shit!

“...but that’s got
nothing
to do with you! This is favors...”

As he turned to continue his dramatic paces, the words were muffled intermittently. “Besides...if
you
were looking out for
us
, we wouldn’t
have
to resort to friends keepin’ us...

“Maybe
you
need to get off
your ass
and...

“What’s it matter anyway! Won’t we
both
be thrilled when we don’t have to...

“...not like you ever gave a...like I don’t know it’s all about YOUR bottom line!”

Libby quickened her pace across the access road.

“Damn cheap motels that aren’t fit for cockroaches--why
would
we want to...

“You’ve had it way too easy at our expense! None of it matters anymore!

“We’ve heard about that for years now…
never
seen it happen and
not
expectin’ to--so why should we...

“Man, we’ve heard all this shit before... YOU think
WE
OWE
YOU
!!! OH! That’s rich! NO! NO! That’s all on YOU, man!” As he spoke, he glared at his phone, an arm’s length from his face.

Libby again expected to see the phone fly. It didn’t.

Rounding the corner behind the SUV, Libby met the man who was unloading the vehicle. She could understand his confidence as his handsome face turned to her. She smiled at him and nodded as she shifted her camera out of his pathway. He barely took note of her.

“Would it be okay if I took pictures while the band sets up?”

He stopped short, mildly irritated. Cutting back to her, he studied her face contemplatively.

“Sure. Just don’t get my bad side.”

She laughed, “
You
have a bad side?”

Without hesitation or smile, he directed her gaze with his thumb…to the man ranting in the parking lot. His eyes never left hers as he waited for her reaction.

Her wide-grinned response seemed to change his attitude. When she looked back at him, he was smiling…an evil glint in his hazel eyes. His face was clean-shaved, teeth were perfect and white, and the sunlight glimmered across every blond strand.

Amused, she nodded and entered the concert hall, but the smile quickly faded as she pondered the obvious dynamic of the two men. The room was cool, dark and empty, so she walked to the front of the building and ordered a soda from the bartender.

Libby paid for her drink and returned to the concert hall. She waited near the back, while the man set up the equipment. Libby turned on her camera, focused on the stage, and snapped a couple of test shots of the man tuning a well-used, acoustic guitar from a battered case. She walked closer to the stage, widened the focal length and snapped a profile shot. Zooming in on the camera’s review window, she could easily see the details of the man’s face, lit only by the dim house lights. She smiled to herself, pleased with her camera and its new lens.

After a short time, the man tuned a different acoustic guitar, then yet another. The last one was clearly the newest, shiny and black with mother-of-pearl inlay on the neck. As he fingered the guitar, his expression seemed distant, yet his attention was clearly focused on his guitar.

The roadie-turned-guitarist is pretty cocky
, thought Libby.
But what stage presence; he’s pretty handsome, probably attracts women like flies on..
.

He interrupted Libby’s thought as he began to pick a tune on the beautiful black guitar, Libby became mesmerized at the detailed licks and speed of his agile fingers. After a bit of tweaking, the man began ripping through notes, creating something magical. The expression on his face was almost virtuous as he delved into the depths of a melody.

Recovering from the awe of his distinction, Libby raised her camera and fired. With each click, she zoomed through a series: from full body, three-quarter, and finally headshot. As she zoomed to his face, she lowered the camera slightly. The aura around his face was breathtaking as he moved deeper into the melody, oblivious to her presence. The room disappeared into the notes as the beautiful melody enveloped her. Libby was equally caught up in the sight and sounds.

Her mind drifted back to a typical Sunday afternoon on her parents’ front porch: Mom played her guitar while the rest of the family listened or sang. Mom, a virtuoso on the guitar, would often go into a classical piece that brought tears to Libby, the notes were so beautiful. She always loved watching her Mom play, especially when Maggie became engrossed. Libby remembered her angelic expression and smiled at the thought. As she watched the man play, Maggie’s voice filled her mind.

* * *

“I wanna hear Libby’s song!” Maggie cried out, plucking the strings of her guitar softly. She began the intro to the Rainbow Song.

“You know…you couldn’t have been more than three or four when we watched that old movie on TV. Days later, I heard you, playing with your dolls on the front porch, singing that song—almost word for word. I never would’ve even guessed that you’d paid attention to it. I’ll never forget hearing that sweet little voice on the porch. Come on baby, sing it for me.”

“Mom, you always ask me to sing that song!” Eight-year-old Libby laughed as her dark red curls bounced across her shoulders with every movement. In the porch swing beside her was her best friend, Laura, giggling as she set aside a tic-tac-toe scribbled notebook. Maggie began playing the intro and right on cue Libby began the song. She picked up the notebook to draw another grid as she sang. Maggie beamed at her daughter.

* * *

The camera slipped a few inches, snapping Libby’s thoughts back into reality. Ignoring the pang of the memories, she noticed the guitarist’s expression had faded from mystical to present as he began the conclusion of his song. Libby aimed the camera and fired a few more shots before his music-induced dream faded.

Libby hadn’t noticed the two waitresses standing quietly beside her, until their conversation began.

“Is that him?”

“Chuck King? Yeah...”

“Wow, he’s pretty!”

“Yeah...”

“And you said your cousin knew him?”

“Oh, yeah...in
every
sense of the word.”

“Oh, really? What’s he like?” her eyes widened with eagerness and hope for a juicy response.

“Well, let me put it this way...you see how he plays that guitar?”

“Yeah...he’s amazing!”

“Well, the way she put it...he played her
better
!” her knowing look and big grin punctuated the sentence.

The waitress with the answers turned back to her duties in the bar, leaving the other to stare in awe at the handsome guitarist...lost in her imagination. Her gleaming eyes and wicked smile enjoyed every pluck and slide of his hands.

The angry man entered, his face still red. His shoulders seemed to droop even further, as if he, alone, carried the weight of the world. Through the zoomed lens, Libby could see the tension in his unshaven face. His eyes flashed with anger. He began ranting loudly, “I can’t believe that jackass! He...where the hell’s pappy? Did you bring ‘im?”

The man with the guitar spoke in a barely audible voice, “Joe, calm down! People!”

The angry man picked up the haggard guitar and strapped it on with emphatic gestures, speaking harshly through his teeth, occasionally propelling his hand in the air in angry gestures. The rest was inaudible to Libby.

She decided to make herself scarce, slipping out a side door near the exit to the café in the front of the building and far away from the stage. Once in the sunshine, she opened her cellphone and dialed Megan.

No answer.

“Hey, Muggs…just checkin’ in. Call me when you can.”

No sooner had Libby left her message, the two men stepped out the door she had entered earlier behind the SUV. She overheard the angry man saying, “...been a part of the “machine” for so long. For too many years I’ve gone with it...even if I didn’t like it, but man I’m just damned tired! He’s got no respect...and I’m sick of jumping through hoops that get us nowhere! I’m tired of being treated like damned, dissed, dirty puppets!”

The guitar guy nodded. He spoke in a low tone, clearly trying to calm the angry man, but looked around the parking lot the entire time he spoke.

It occurred to Libby this was probably a bad time to bother them about photos, and maybe she should just leave. To go back to the RV meant passing by them...so she waited until they walked away and were no longer in sight before she set across the parking lot, retracing her route from the back door.

“Hey, sweetheart” a voice called out. “Where’s my ph’tographer goin’? You can’t end our love story on that note!”

Libby stopped in her tracks in the middle of the access road, blushing at having been caught. She muttered, “Flarfle,” under her breath. She slowly turned and walked toward the two men, a little embarrassed. The angry man was rummaging through the SUV’s back seat, while the guitar-god was shamelessly checking her out.

“I don’t want to interrupt you. You seemed to be...involved.”

“So, you’re a ph’tographer? You work for a newspaper or somethin’?” the guitar guy asked looking at the camera. With blatant intent, he visually followed the line of her body up to her face, smiling as if he approved.

She kept her distance, offering a clenched smile. She was put-off with the way he seemed to be stripping away her clothes. When his gaze finally found her face, she lifted her camera. “Sure looks that way, doesn’t it? But…”

The angry man stepped out of the SUV with a weathered carry-on bag in hand. He turned to face her, shifting his bag to extend his hand to her. She was stricken by how stunningly handsome he was, in spite of the scruffy stubble on his face. The baseball cap shaded his blue eyes.
Ocean blue-like the tropical calendar shots
, Libby thought. She felt as if a bolt of lightning hit her in the head and stepped back unconsciously.

He smiled at her reaction and offered his hand again, “Hi, I’m Joe, and you seem to know my brother, Chuck. You here for the show tonight?”

The smooth southern drawl made her tingle, or maybe his touch as she took his hand, Libby couldn’t be certain. He sounded very different from the angry, authoritative tone she’d heard previously. The combination of his blue eyes, his hand on hers, and his voice that oozed sex-appeal, caused a shiver to run up Libby’s spine. Her breath and heartbeat quickened as she blushed.

He seemed to be laughing at her, which unnerved her even more. “Sorry for all my drama.”

Trying desperately to compose her voice, she replied, “Daddy would say: ‘
Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.’
I’ve been driving across the Midwest and hearing about you guys for the last couple of states. I’m from South Carolina, heading to Arizona, eventually,” she laughed. “I thought I’d come hear you in person while passing through, take a few pictures, if you’d let me,” she laughed nervously as she realized he was still holding her hand…tightly.