David adjusted his lanky frame to a sitting position. “Are you from here, Jenny Madison?”
“No, Texas.” She met his eyes briefly.
“Me, too. Where in Texas?”
“Wayward. You know it?” She glanced again.
“I’ve been through it once or twice. Near Austin, isn’t it?” She nodded. He laughed. Not a loud boisterous laugh — just a lyrical expression of humor.
“What?”
“I just wondered what the parents of the small town girl with two first names … and bite me on her ass, felt about her being this far from home.”
“They always told me that Wayward fit me great but I didn’t necessarily fit it.”
“That sounds like a riddle. What the hell is it supposed to mean?”
She laughed this time. It startled her to hear it. “I think that’s a very polite way of calling me a misfit.” She turned off the engine in front of the house. “Do you need help in the door?”
“Is that part of the service?” His eyes widened as he spoke.
“Don’t start getting ideas, Band Boy. We just make sure you get inside, we don’t go in.”
“I didn’t mean … No, I’m good. Thanks!” He got out. With hands in his pockets, he strolled slowly up the drive and into the house. Jenny went home and looked up Blind Optimism on the Internet. She downloaded and listened to the videos. Not bad. A little too cheerful for her, but they had talent. Or at least he did.
• • •
Two months later her business had grown to seventy members. Out of boredom Katy agreed to help part-time. David was now officially a regular. He called every two weeks, mostly from the cliffs. Once, she was summoned from the bar where she met him. Each time, he was alone when she arrived. He never really seemed like he needed a ride home.
She wondered if it would be rude to start giving clients sobriety tests. It would kill her to admit it but she looked forward to his calls. He was nice to talk to. At the cliffs, she had listened to him for hours. She had even bared her soul a little too.
Now that Katy was helping, she decided to take her first night off in three months. It was Sunday and Katy had mocked her. They rarely got more than one call on a Sunday anyway so it almost didn’t count as a day off.
The doorbell to her apartment chimed. She peeked through the small hole. A delivery. Why would anyone deliver on Sunday?
“Ms. Madison?”
“That’s me.”
“I have your tickets here. Can you please sign right on that line there?” The man pointed to a dotted line.
“I didn’t order tickets.”
“There’s a note.” He handed her an envelope. “Have a good time,” he said as he turned to leave. She opened the envelope. One ticket to Rock Fest in the Canyon. The note read:
Jenny,
You were never meant to fit in.
In Wayward or anywhere else.
You were born to stand out.
David Keith
A man with two first names sent her concert tickets? No. She looked at the lone paper addressed to her business, which was also her home address. Correction. Concert ticket. Singular. The list of bands on the ticket included his. The time was — today. He wanted her there.
• • •
It took her two hours to talk herself into going. She hated going solo to public places. It was so awkward to be alone in a crowd of people. She voiced her concerns outwardly, as she shoved her way through the crowd to her seat. Blind Optimism was the opening act. Jenny practiced a response should his earlier evaluation of their talent be accurate. Listening to him berate his group was one thing, but if he gave her the ticket in order to see a supportive face in the crowd — well, she hoped she didn’t have to lie. She prayed her own evaluation was more accurate than his.
He waved when he walked on stage. He looked right at her when he sang … and the other ten thousand people in the park, of course. With all the lights, she doubted he received more than a glimpse of her. Yet, she imagined otherwise. The idea that he harmonized only for her breezed cheerfully through her head along with the tune they performed. She was rewarded between songs. He sent her drinks with a note.
I am the designated driver today
. Charming. She raised a glass to him in thanks. The drinks waited on the floor as she rose with the rest of the crowd and danced to the music. His voice could charm the chrome off a car. The glare of the lights enhanced the sparkling color in his blue eyes as he serenaded her and the thousands of people around her. She thrilled at his success and could see he mirrored the feeling.
“What do you think of them?” the man sitting next to her asked. She turned to a middle-aged, friendly faced black man with a bit too much fashion sense.
“I like them! They were pretty upbeat, don’t you think?”
“I guess,” he answered.
“You didn’t like them?”
“The bigger question is … would you buy their music?” Strange question from a random stranger. Jenny looked past him to see a man with dark waves talking to someone on his other side.
“Of course I would! The guy’s got a great voice, a happy smile, the kind that makes you want to … ”
“Yes! That’s the answer I wanted.” The guy gave her a quick smile. He patted Jenny’s arm and turned back to his company. “Let’s go.” The man and the two sitting with him rose and left, without even seeing the headliner.
Fifteen minutes after David’s band cleared the stage, a man plopped into the empty seat next to Jenny. Apparently, this guy only cared about the main act. She mused that he missed a pretty good show by arriving late. She watched the band warming up onstage. The man’s leg rubbed hers. Jenny edged away and frowned. The nerve! His fingers tickled her side. Now, that was too much.
“Hey buster!” she spat, knotting her fingers into a fist. Then she turned. Her mouth dropped. It seemed laughter and blue eyes were a very sexy mix.
“Hi, Jenny Madison.” David’s voice was melodic, even when saying her name. “What did you think?”
He had changed shirts and wore a hat to cover his hair. He smelled good. Spicy. He had showered. She stared for a second, and then cleared her throat. “Your drummer gets too loud, and your backup singer was off key on the second song for a short while.
He laughed and touched his lips lightly with hers. She didn’t hit him but thought about it.
“And I see you’re happy to be here,” he responded.
“Some guy has been plying me with alcohol,” she quipped. “Here, have one. I have three.” She waved a hand over three glasses, one empty, and two full.
“What a creep.” A slow grin crossed his face. “I’ll pass.”
“Since when?”
“Since two months ago.”
“But I’ve driven you home four times.”
“Yeah. I wanted to make sure I got my money’s worth, even if I didn’t need it anymore. Besides, how else was I going to see you?” His lips turned up again. “Devious, aren’t I?”
“Absolutely sinful.” She tried to keep her mouth straight but couldn’t. The corners lifted and she let her teeth show.
“Did that hurt?”
“What?”
“The smile. I haven’t seen it much since you dropped your business card on our table.” He laced his fingers into hers. “It looks good on you.”
“Well, don’t get used to it.”
“I’d like to.” He turned to face her. “Isn’t this fantastic?” Excitement in those blue eyes was even sexier. He continued, “I mean — look at us — I’m opening for a major band. Your business is soaring.” He fell back into his seat. The look of pure pleasure on his face was refreshing.
“Yeah, I guess it is fantastic.” She would have never believed it herself four months earlier.
“Jenny Madison from Wayward?”
“Hmmm?”
“I think you’re my good luck charm, can I be your designated driver tonight?”
She thought for a minute. “Okay, but only because the service I use is short-staffed.” She giggled.
“This is going to sound cliché but … I like you, Jenny. You make me laugh, and it really jazzes me when you laugh.”
“Well, don’t get used to that, either.”
“What? Liking you?”
“No. Me laughing,” she stated. “I don’t do it much.”
“We’ll have to work on that.”
• • •
Grant Tucker had noticed the girl in the seat next to Hodge when she sat down. Brown waves, big chocolate-colored eyes, long legs, and a smile that filled her face. She was entranced by the music and alone. A groupie for this little unknown band? Surely not. They’re not that good. Why else would she come alone though? He watched her for a while and found it interesting the way she tried to contain the smile that hinted at dimples. As if she enjoyed the music but wanted not to. Or maybe she just had trouble enjoying herself period?
When Hodge asked her opinion of the band, a thing he always did when checking out new talents, Grant found himself listening to her rather than the band’s current agent sitting next to him. The voice almost didn’t match. It was low, husky, and almost gruff. Incredibly sexy.
Upon Hodge’s signal to leave, he escorted his boss and one of their clients from the concert. They weren’t interested in the main show. Since the band was already a client, they’d seen this performance more times than could be counted. As they slipped behind the curtain and headed for the back gate, he glanced back to see if she was still there. She was, but the seat next to her was no longer empty. He shrugged. No matter. He had no desire to strike up a conversation with a fame-seeking fan anyway. Been there. Done that. Had the bruised wallet and empty apartment to prove it.
Stupid Rain. Jenny peered from under her umbrella in search of Lauren, her current client. Hopeless. All that could be seen was a colorful mix of vertical paintbrush strokes — an abstract that started out as a city view blurred by the drizzle around her. The downpour had completely obliterated visibility. It was cold as well, penetrating her jacket and jeans even with the umbrella’s protection.
The possibility of identifying anyone exiting the club was gone, washed down the street with the rain. She had to get closer or they’d miss each other. Deftly dodging puddles in her new boots, she worked her way across the lot to the overhang above the entry. A cold ache in her shoulders threatened to work into a case of shivers. She needed hot soup, hot chocolate, hot coffee — hot anything. The achiness was always a predecessor to a fully-fledged cold. She didn’t have time for that now. Her schedule was full. She had clients back-to-back tonight. People waiting on her to arrive. Even Katy was booked solid. She expected more calls later when the spooks had done their ghoulish good and needed to head home. It was Halloween night. One of the few big party nights of the year.
So far this evening, she had picked up a barrage of interesting guests adorned in costumes that included Martha Stewart, Pippi Longstocking (who did that anymore?), The Fruit of the Loom underwear guys, Bonnie and Clyde, and now she was waiting on Lady Gaga, a.k.a. Lauren Follis. Lauren was a new client. She had only picked her up once before and it was her kid that called, not her. That had been a first for Jenny, and sad, too. The child called and asked her to go to a bar on Fifth Street and look for a woman who needed a ride home. The child described Lauren in loving detail, and then said, “She may not think she needs to come home ‘cause she’s talking or something, but we need her here.” There were many firsts in this business, she mused.
“Hey! Sheath the sword, lady,” a masculine voice snapped in front of her. Through the fabric of the umbrella, she saw the darkness of a form. The form pressed against the cloth, sending rivulets of water showering down her hands and arms. The shadow of another arm pushed back.
“Oh. Sorry,” Jenny mumbled.
Isn’t there anywhere else to stand besides right in my way?
“Maybe you could move over just a little.” She pulled the latch and collapsed the umbrella, making sure to stay under the protection of the overhang.
“Thanks. I thought you were going to stab me with that oversized tank of a tent.” A tall, dark, and very wet person glared at her.
“It’s a golf umbrella.” She had purchased it for just this type of occasion.
“For two?”
“No smarty pants. For a person and their clubs.”
“So, where’s the clubs? Inside having a drink?” He smirked. The guy thinks he’s a comedian.
“I just use it for work.” She peered up through wet, sticky hair at the dark face. “I’m picking someone up.”
His mouth clenched. When his eyes wandered down her clothes, she realized the misconception. “No. I’m not
hooking
, you idiot. I’m giving them a ride home so they don’t have to drive. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Thanks for the clarification. Glad you set me straight on that. You didn’t really look the part anyway.” He shrugged and shifted toward the door, dismissing her. Obviously, he didn’t think her attractive enough to pick up anyone at the moment in her rain-soaked hair and clothes. She wished she could say the same for him. “Except maybe the boots. I’m waiting on someone too,” he said.
“Why don’t you go wait inside, Mr. Happy Pants?” As soon as the words came out, she clamped her hand over her mouth. Man, she really needed to work on her self-control. She’d done pretty well with the clients. Her friends were used to the crankiness and tolerated it. David had done a good job of curbing it to a degree. Now, she just needed to stop allowing random strangers to ruin her good mood. She lifted the edges of her mouth briefly, “Oops. I guess that was a little harsh. Sorry. It’s the rain. I think I’m catching a cold and I need to be anywhere but standing out here waiting.”
“I hear you. I’ve got a million other things to do myself.” He glanced up and put his hand over her head to catch the steady drip that hit her shoulder. “Still, a friend’s a friend, right? Maybe you should move in just a bit.” He backed up more to give her space and she pressed toward him. The warmth of his breath reached her. It felt like steam rising off a nice cup of coffee and she quelled the urge to cup her hands toward it. Not to mention he smelled delicious — spicy.
There were several people sheltered under the overhang besides them. Very likely, they were waiting for someone, too — or waiting to get in. Some of them were in full costume. She grinned at the white powder puff on the behind of a very hairy-legged Playboy Bunny. The heels must have been a size fourteen. In profile, the bunny also sported a very thick beard and mustache, along with bright red lipstick. Good thing it was Halloween. A person could get shot dressed like that in this part of town.