2 Queenie Baby - Out of Office (20 page)

I spent the next three days playing new business owner with Carol. We met with accountants and lawyers, set up bank accounts and credit lines, and navigated the endless maze of federal, state, and local bureaucracies designed to force the most independent entrepreneur back into the ranks of civil servitude. I also checked in daily to make sure things were running smoothly for Mr. Pyres and Tabitha. There were no more cattle calls for dates and, according to Tabitha, Mr. Pyres had met Betty Getty for lunch two days in a row. Nice to know things were working out for someone. I wished I could say the same for my personal life.

In my spare time, I avoided calls from Mark. The few conversations I'd had with him since Greene's were awkward. Call me paranoid, but the longer he was away, the more I wondered about the Marsha factor. My main source of doubt was the lack of sweet nothings from Mark at the end of our conversations. I don't need a lot, but an occasional "I can't wait to see you" or "I miss waking up with you" would've been nice. I had also started getting calls from an Unknown number with no response when I answered the call. I had a life-sized picture of Marsha on the other end as the psycho-ex. My communications with Mark had been reduced to curt texts. Our most recent exchanged involved only a few lines:

Mark:   :)

Me: :(

Mark:
WTF!

Me: -|--

Mark:
??

That was me giving him the bird, but I'm not exactly an emoticon expert. Something was definitely lost in the electronic translation. I had resolved to avoid contact with him until he was back in town. At this point, I had bigger problems on the horizon, namely a visit from The Grands in the next twenty-four hours.

When I wasn't busy sabotaging the best relationship I'd had in years, I practiced with Carlos and the band on his tricked-out pirate ship. I knew we'd knock the open mike at Red Eye's out of the park tonight. I was having a tough time, though, getting other bar owners interested in coming out to see us. Even sending video from Puerto Rico wasn't creating much buzz. Bar owners were pretty myopic as a whole. They were already booked for the season, so why waste time coming out to see some guy they'd never heard of before? Besides, they told me, we don't have Hispanic clientele. I called in a couple favors to get two owners to commit, and then decided to put a call out to my fans via my website and Facebook. Maybe that would drum up some interest.

It was almost five when I returned from walking Sally and Max. I use the term walking loosely because Sally was either cowering at my side or straining at the leash in a desperate attempt to run into oncoming traffic. Max was not happy to have his daily walks disrupted by these antics. For the second time that week he'd lifted his leg on Sally. The only thing more fun than walking Sally was trying to bathe her.

Great.

I didn't have time to wrestle her into the bathtub so I sprayed her fur with dry shampoo and finished with a squirt of my perfume. Sally's tail thumped happily during the process.

"This is all your fault," I scolded Max.

He shot me daggers and skulked away to his bed. My phone rang. It was Mark.

"I'm not talking to you right now," I greeted him.

"Fine, then just listen: Tyrell made it out of Puerto Rico, and he knows the files are corrupted. He found out when he tried to sell it to one of his customers in Miami."

"How do you know things like this?"

Mark sighed. "I have contacts in Miami. They've been keeping an eye out for me. He's out for blood, and I'm worried he might try to get to me through you."

"What about the police? Isn't this their job?" I asked.

"The police are up-to-date, but they don't have my connections," he replied.

"That really doesn't make me feel any better."

"Just keep an eye out for anything suspicious. I'll be back soon. And try to stay out of trouble," he added and then hung up.

No pleasantries at all! Would it have killed him to say "I miss you?" No he calls me to tell me there might be some wacked-out gangbanger after me and then just hangs up.

Men!

*  *  *

By seven I was at Red Eye's Dock Bar, waiting impatiently for Carlos and the band. I'd signed us up for a six song set halfway through the evening. It'd taken a lot of convincing to get a full set during the open mi
ke.

"Come on, Di," DJ Ralphie had said, "you killin' me. I got a dozen performers want to get up on that stage tonight, and you want a full set?" He'd punctuated that with a snort and shake of his head.

DJ Ralphie was actually Ralph Harrison from Farmington, Delaware. He wore short dreads in his blond hair and tried unconvincingly to pull off a Baltimore accent. During the winter, when he was short on gigs, Ralphie could be found most Friday nights DJ-ing at the local American Legion Hall for pre-teens. During the summer, when the tourists turned every music venue into Woodstock, he morphed into DJ Ralphie from "Balt'more."

"This is the real deal," I insisted. "We played to ten thousand in Puerto Rico last weekend."

"This ain't Puerto Rico. Does this look like Puerto Rico to you?" he'd asked.

We were sitting at the open air bar behind rows of tables in front of the large outdoor stage. We had both glanced around. There were a couple of palm trees imported just for the summer, but, no, it definitely didn't look like Puerto Rico.

"What's in it for me?" he had asked with a leer.

"Not that—ew!" See what I mean about being a rock star? Last week I played in an arena to ten thousand people, this week I can't get a set at an open mike without trading favors with the likes of DJ Ralphie.

"You're not sellin' me, babe," he had said, lighting up a cigarette.

I couldn't believe I was offering this. That damn pirate had better be worth it. "I'll do any gig you want during the winter. For free."

Ralphie's eyes lit up. He knew the value of a hot local commodity during the slow winter months. "Done!"

We shook on it.

I'd been sitting at the bar and nursing a beer waiting for Carlos and the gang, when my phone buzzed.

A text from Andre:
B there n 15. C is in full pirate. Major battle here.

Great. I'd promised the moon to Ralphie for a full set, and Carlos was going to get us booed off the stage during the first song.

I did a quick profile of the customers. There were a lot of sun-burned couples, which was good. Might be able to convince them this was all part of the Eastern Shore experience. The thirty or so bikers were another matter. I shook my head. This wasn't going to be pretty.

I was sipping on my beer, weighing the pros and cons of doing a shot for courage, when Carlos' long black limo pulled up. Heads turned; conversations ceased.

So much for sneaking him in and trying to change his mind. I turned to the bartender. "Can I get a lemon drop?"

With his eyes on the limo, he poured the vodka in a shot glass and stuck a lemon on the side. I decided against the sugar in the interest of time. This thing was set to blow any minute. I squeezed the lemon into the glass and downed the shot.

"What the hell—" the bartender began.

I steeled myself and followed his gaze. Andre was standing by the door as Carlos emerged from the car in full-on pirate mode. He paused for a moment to don his hat. His long dark hair was tied in a pony tail, and his lean tan chest shimmered against the gauzy white shirt he wore.

"God damned pirates weren't supposed to be here until tomorrow!" The bartender continued to curse and mutter under his breath as he reached for the phone. He hit a button. "Yeah, we got pirates, man! I know, I know. Whatdya want me to do? How much do we have in storage? Will do."

He hung up and whistled for a giant man wearing a yellow shirt with SECURITY printed across the chest. The man sauntered over.

"Thought the pirates were comin' tomorrow," the guard said.

The bartender pursed his lips and spit on the floor. "Well, they're here now!" he barked. "Get on the phone and call in more security. I've got to go get more rum. Goddamned pirates," the bartender muttered.

"Um, excuse me," I said. "What's all this about pirates?"

He looked at me like I was slow. "Don't you see the pirate?" he asked, pointing to Carlos.

I nodded.

"Well, believe me where there's one, they'll be more," he said with a nod. "Like a bunch of goddamned cockroaches. Drive us all freakin' crazy two weekends a year. I took off this weekend just to avoid the bastards." The bartender spit again and poured himself a healthy shot of tequila.

I watched Carlos and his entourage, which included his sister and David, the band, Phil and Roger, and what looked to be groupies dressed in wench costumes, make their way towards the stage.

"So you're expecting a lot of pirates tonight?" I asked, keeping my eye on Carlos.

"I 'spect we'll get a whole boatload. Looks like their king cuckoo is here." He pointed towards Carlos. "And the Pirate Regalia is in Rock Hall this weekend."

Rock Hall was about thirty minutes north of Red Eye's on the eastern shore of Maryland. "Pirate Regalia?" I repeated.

"Bastards descend upon the town like a plague in the spring and fall. If I hear one more 'Arg', I'll stab myself in the eye with this pick." He held up a rusty ice pick.

But then you'll have to wear an eye patch like a pirate
, I almost said out loud, but stopped myself before the words were out. Instead, I tried a different tactic. "I've heard he's a singer and that he's pretty famous."

The bartender glared at me. "The only thing worse than a pirate is a singing pirate."

Well, I couldn't really argue with that.

"Probably singin' songs about findin' treasures and drinkin' rum!" He slammed his fist on the bar.

Couldn't argue with that either. Oh, boy this wasn't looking good. I quickly thanked the bartender and paid my tab.

I could feel Andre's eyes on me as I approached. Phil and Roger were busy ordering waitresses around and rearranging the seats.

Carlos called, "Diana," and waved me over. Like I could've missed his arrival. "You look bewitching tonight, m'lady," he said, sweeping off his hat and giving me a low bow.

I smiled despite myself. "Don't try to sweet talk me, Carlos. This isn't a good idea," I said, adding in a whisper, "they don't like pirates here."

"Nonsense!" Carlos exclaimed. "We met a group just today at lunch. They're coming out to see us and," he added with a wiggle of his brow, "they're pirates!"

I looked over at Andre. He nodded. "All true," he said with a smile. "They were on their way to Rock Hall for some pirate thing and decided to dock here tonight to see the show. Said they'd be bringing some friends."

"When do we go on?" the drummer called from across the table.

Ralphie was doing a mike test. "In about an hour," I replied. "It wasn't easy getting a full set. And I'm not sure it's a good idea at this point. Maybe I should do a couple of rock numbers, and then we'll do 'The Rum Song' and call it a night."

Phil and Roger were on their feet. "No, we need exposure—pirate or not," said Phil. "I'll lose the three dates we've got if we don't get some publicity."

I turned beseechingly to Andre. "They don't like pirates here, and, according to the bartender, bikers and pirates don't get along."

We both looked out at the sea of motorcycles in the parking lot.

He shrugged. "Hey, at least you can say you tried. And tonight won't be boring."

Ralphie came up behind me. "Uh, Di," he said, "you got a minute?"

Now what?

"Sure."

"Hey, not sayin' nothin' about your friends an' all, but you kinda forgot to tell me they were pirates."

I stared at him for a moment and took a deep breath. "What difference does it make, Ralphie? It's open mike night. You have strippers in here singing karaoke and practicing their routines on stage."

"Yeah, but they ain't pirates," he said with a nod at Carlos.

"You got something against pirates?" I demanded.

Ralphie held up his hands. "Whoa, calm down, Di. No harm, no foul. You know I love all peoples. But some people think there's a time an' a place for pirates an' this ain't the time or the place." He took a long drag on his cigarette and shifted around nervously.

"This is crazy."

Ralphie shrugged. "Things don't go well when pirates show up unexpectedly. Folks know that. Haven't you watched
Pirates of the Caribbean
?"

I glared at Ralphie. "Do you want me for a winter gig or not?"

"Hey, don' shoot the messenger! 'Course I do." He threw his cigarette to the ground. "I'm just sayin' I ain't responsible for any problems."

"Got it," I ground out.

I turned to Andre. "The life of rock star," he said, shaking his head.

I stared out into the audience, squinting a little through the bright lights. It seemed like there was a sea of bikers glaring back. For a second I thought I saw a familiar face in the crowd, a guy with his hat on sideways and a rope of gold around his neck. And then he was gone. Mark's warning about Tyrell was making me jumpy. There was no way he could've tracked me here.

It had been after nine when Ralphie called a break and gave us the okay to set up on stage. The audience had gradually swelled over the past hour, and empty seats were sparse.

I had spent my time nursing my second martini, served in a plastic cup, and dreading getting up on stage. The acts preceding us were predictable. A couple of duos singing "Margaritaville" and "Brown-Eyed Girl." A few children of parents who were sure they were raising the next American Idol. And the typical smattering of angst-ridden, teenage grunge singers taking time out from playing X-box in their parents' basement for a crack at fame.

If I sounded jaded, I was. I'd spent years working myself out of open mike nights to regular bookings with local bars. Now, because of one crackpot pirate, I was back at it again.

We'd decided I'd open up with a rock crowd pleaser and then introduce Carlos. We'd play "The Rum Song" and a couple others from the concert in Puerto Rico, and then I'd close with my new original. Andre called the song my ode to high school drama; Carlos called it magical. I thought it was somewhere in between. Roger and Phil thought it might be marketable to the younger crowd.

I tested the mike and strummed a few notes.

"Welcome to open mike at Red Eye's Dock Bar!" I called with a big smile. The crowd responded politely with few woohoos here and there.

"Bikini Contest ain't 'til Sunday, sweetie! I wanna hear some rock n' roll!" yelled a biker sitting directly in front of me.

The rest of his buddies hooted and cheered. Okay, so at this point I was rethinking the sequined halter top. I had thought it made me look beachy.

"Oh, I thought this was try outs for
American Idol
," I quipped in a baby doll voice. "I don't know nothin' 'bout rock n' roll. That's for bad girls."

There were some chuckles and cheers from the crowd.

I looked back at the band. "Change of plans," I called. "Follow me on this one."

In a low, smokey voice I said, "So let's play some rock n' roll for all those bad girls out there."

My fingers flew down my guitar picking out the rapid fire notes from Jethro Tull's "Locomotive Breath." Dadda-dun, Dadda-dun, Dadda-dun. The beat felt like a train gathering speed.

The bikers' roared to life, recognizing the hard rock classic immediately. The band quickly found their way as the drummer, who seemed to know the song well, pounded out the edgy beat.

I knew I had the crowd when I saw the fifty-something's rocking their heads up and down and raising their fists as I hit the grittiest parts of the song. The biker who had heckled me approached the stage and made a show of prostrating himself at my feet and waving his arms up and down in mock worship.

I gave the band a warning signal indicating I was winding it down. Dadda-dun, Dadda-dun, Dadda-dun. Dunnnnnn. A few seconds of silence followed the abrupt end. The audience broke into applause and cheers.

"So now that we got that out of the way…" I said, flipping my hair over my shoulder. "I don't expect any more lip from you." I pointed at the biker in front of me.

"Shit—I was hopin' to put more on you than my lips," he called back. His buddies high-fived him.

I rolled my eyes. There was always one in every crowd.

And then I saw them. A platoon of boats flying skull and cross bone flags pulled up to the dock next to the bar. Uh-oh. A couple dozen people dressed as wenches and pirates clamored off the boats, heading straight for the bar. The audience followed my gaze. A ripple of tension seemed to spread through the crowd.

I found my voice and plunged ahead with the mission at hand. "My name's Diana Hudson, and some of you may have seen me here before. I've been a local performer 'round these parts for almost five years."

Someone yelled "'Rum Song!'" and I felt vindicated for the first time in weeks.

"Yep," I replied with a smile, "that's me. I've launched a new venture that I think you'll find really entertaining. I've teamed up with the Puerto Rican sensation, Carlos Rodriguez, to take 'The Rum Song' to the next level."

There was some cheering and polite clapping, but clearly they weren't bowled over.

I pushed on. "So we're here tonight to give you a sneak peak at our tour that starts next month. Please welcome my friend and fellow performer, Carlos Rodriguez!"

As Carlos walked onto the stage, a collective gasp escaped the audience. I wasn't sure if it was his pirate garb or if it was just that he made "pirate" look so damn sexy. The pirates in the back cheered.

"What the hell's he doin' dressed as a pirate?" the heckler in front demanded.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pirates jump up from their seats at the bar.

"Same thing your doin' dressed as a biker," I shot back. The audience roared at the put down—especially his fellow bikers.

I could feel the mood lighten. I jumped into 'The Rum Song' without delay. The crowd cheered as locals recognized one of their favorite summertime songs. Carlos gave me a confident smile as he launched into the Spanish verse we had practiced. I smiled back; the guy was truly an amazing performer. I looked out into the audience and saw the bartender shaking his fist at two pirates who had jumped on top of the bar to dance a jig. It was loud, chaotic, and crazy. In other words, it was great.

By the end of the set, I was breathing hard and ready for a break. I finished with my new song, tentatively titled "Once Upon a Time." Carlos accompanied me on the guitar in a beautiful unplugged version, making the stage feel intimate. I sensed the audience relax and fall under the spell of the ballad. It was a song about past loves, what could've been and what would never be. It was a goodbye song to my high school sweetheart, Rick. I'd written it recently, fresh on the heels of our brief reunion.

I thanked the band and Carlos to thunderous applause. Carlos removed his hat and made an elegant bow. Then we began the arduous process of breaking down as quickly as possible so the next group could take the stage. Ralphie plugged in his iPod loaded with hip-hop and gave me a thumbs-up.

"Hey, Di, great job! Never would've thought your pirate friend would be a crowd pleaser, ya know?"

I nodded as I wrapped an electrical cord around my arm. "Thanks, Ralphie."

"You still gonna come play for me this winter if you hit the big time on tour?" he asked.

"I'll be there," I replied. I had a picture in my mind of me going from an interview on E! to the wild game dinner at the Liepsic Fire Hall. Oh, well, if the Vice-President could do it, then so could I.

I headed back to our table and flopped into my seat. I tried to dab delicately with a napkin at the sweat dripping down my face. Carlos and the band headed to the bar, eager to catch up with the other pirates.

Roger and Phil had their heads together over Phil's iPad. They paused long enough to give me a thumbs-up. No greater compliment from those two.

Andre smiled. "Nice job."

"No drink for the hard working rock star?" I asked, looking around for a fresh martini.

He shook his head and pursed his lips.

"What?" I asked, wondering why he was giving me that look.

"Your drink's on its way," he replied cryptically.

Warm hands touched my bare shoulders, and a slightly stubbly face tickled my neck, as Rick kissed me on the cheek and set a double martini in front of me.

"You were amazing!" he said, sitting down next to me.

"Rick! What are you doing here?" I stammered.

Andre shook his head again.

"Stop that!" I snapped at him.

"I saw your post about trying to get some fans out here tonight, so I decided to come and show my support."

"Yeah, Rick was telling me your new song is all about the two of you." Andre raised a brow and wagged his finger back and forth.

Trapped, I replied, "It has some elements from our relationship."

"Quite a
relationship
you've got there," Andre said.

"There's no
current
relationship!" I insisted. "Tell him Rick."

Rick sighed. "Well, I think there would've been if Mark hadn't elbowed his way into the picture."

"He's got a way of doing that, doesn't he?" Andre agreed.

"No he doesn't." I turned to Rick. "I really appreciate you coming out to support me, but I'm not really sure it's appropriate given our recent situation."

"What situation is that?" Andre asked loudly.

Rick leaned around me. "She's talking about me giving her my blessing to go to Puerto Rico with Mark."

I could feel the steam rising. "I didn't need your blessing. I told you it would never work out between us. I picked Mark."

Rick was completely undeterred. "She's right, she's right," he said lifting his hands. "She did say that, but I think what she really meant was that it wouldn't work
right now
."

"No, that's not what I meant to say," I replied firmly.

Andre's interest was piqued. "Why would you think that?" he asked Rick.

"Don't answer that!" I ordered.

Rick ignored me. "Because I've known her since she was a kid. She thinks she wants to have this big, adventurous life, but she's really a country girl at heart. And when she finally settles down to have a family, she's not going to be looking for mystery and mayhem in the big city." He paused and gave me a keen look. "She's going to want security and stability with a big garden out back."

Right to the heart! The garden was an especially hard hit. I did love a big garden. We'd always had one in the backyard when I was growing up. That was the bad part about having people around who knew you "when."

"Not true," I cried, but it sounded flat even to my ears.

Andre looked thoughtful. "And I guess you've got a big garden out back," he said to Rick.

Rick smiled. "Acres."

"So your plan is to just wait Mark out?" he asked.

Rick nodded, adding, "I figure Mark'll fuck things up in no time. He's got that look about him."

Andre smiled. "You're a keen judge of character, Rick. But doesn't it bother you that she's with another guy now?"

Rick shrugged. "Neither one of us is gettin' any younger. I'm not the hothead I used to be. We've both had our share of life experiences. Besides, I'm not staying home takin' cold showers while I'm waiting."

I wanted to kick him.

Andre seemed impressed. "That's some strategy you've got." He glanced back at the bar, saying grimly. "Looks like I'm on pirate duty."

"So what's your stake in this?" Rick asked as Andre stood up. "Do I have to worry about you, too?"

Andre gave me a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nope. I fucked things up long before Mark was on the scene. And I don't have a garden either." The finality of his words hit me like a sledge hammer.

"But I think you're wrong about one thing, Rick," Andre said turning back. "She belongs on the stage, not in the kitchen. I've worked for so-called rock stars for years. She's the real deal." He gave me a smile that reached his eyes this time. "My stake in this is that I'm going to help her get there."

"Looking for a promotion from pirate herder?" Rick asked with an eye on the escalating chaos at the bar.

"Something like that," Andre said with sigh.

I watched him walk away, feeling our old relationship ending and a new one beginning.

I turned to Rick. "You need to go home. Forget about gardens. I'm not interested."

Rick looked a little deflated. Good. I was still surprised he just took it upon himself to trot all the way over here because of a Facebook post.

"Well, maybe this isn't the best time to tell you this," he said with a pause, "but I'm here for the weekend."

"What? Why?" I stared at him dumbfounded.

"For the Renaissance Fair."

"Since when are you interested in the Renaissance Fair?" I demanded.

"Since your mom invited me," he replied a little sheepishly.

Oh, really. "Why on earth would she invite you?"

He shrugged. "She said you needed a knight in shining armor. And I guess she thinks I'm it."