Hillbilly Rockstar (15 page)

"Shame about what happened."

"You need to go. Right. Now. I am not in the mood to put up with your BS."

"Oh, I think you are. See, I don't think you want me going to the media with all this information about your manager girlfriend. What would people think when they hear how she lied to you, lied to her boss. What will that do to your comeback?" Trixie picked at the pink polish on a nail. "Oh, I don't
really
care. I just want a cut of whatever you've made so far. You owe me for putting up with your sorry ass."

Trace laughed, the sound eerily like a man who had been locked in a solitary cell for too long and had slowly gone insane. "Babe, I don't owe you a damn thing. You're the one that spent all my money, then borrowed against the one thing I cared about the most. As far as I'm concerned, you've gotten everything you've deserved."

He crossed the room, towered over her, his gaze boring into hers. Trace could see fear in Trixie's eyes, but he didn't stop. He was past stopping or controlling the anger inside him. He spoke slowly, wanting to be positive she heard and understood everything he said.

"For the two years we were married I made a living. I made a great, wonderful, fantastic living. I succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. But you had to stuff it all up your nose or smoke it to death. Then you stole seventy-thousand against my house. Yeah, you've had all you're going to get from me."

"I supported you. I encouraged your career. You chose to start drinking yourself to ruin. Besides, you left me."

Trace laughed again, then planted a solid punch in the wall next to Trixie's head. He watched her hazel eyes widen, go dark, saw her body sag in fear. "Baby, you have smoked one too many funny cigarettes. Now go. If you need to go spread your story, then go ahead. I don't care anymore. I don't give a damn what anyone says about me."

"You don't mean that." He heard her voice shaking. She was still trying to hold on, trying to say or do something to hurt him. She'd done it before when they were together, but he knew her games as well as she knew his.

"I sure as hell do mean every word. I'll even spread the story myself. Then I'll go live in the mountains, become a hermit. I won't have to deal with any women, especially women like you. Now leave." He pushed Trixie into the hallway, then slammed the door in her face without another word.

###

Trace sat in the bar, halfway watching the ball game on the large plasma screen above his head. He lifted the bottle, gulping the beer. Was it his fourth or fifth? He didn't know and didn't care. He was doing it anyway. He was tired of the entire thing -- the TV show, Lisa, Trixie, the money. He'd be paying off the bank in full this week anyway. If he quit the show, they may ask for some of it back, though. So stay with the show, then after it was over, go back to performing, dancing with pretty girls, maybe play at the bars again. Maybe go on tour. Since the TV show started Patrick had sent him some offers. He could call Patrick right now, tell him to book a tour, maybe in Europe.

Yeah, Europe. That was it. He was taking his life back. Screw Lisa and Trixie and television. He was going to live in fast forward, damn whatever anyone else thought. Life was too short to just sit back and let stuff happen to you. It was time he made stuff happen.

Trace barely registered when someone sat on the barstool next to him.

"Hey, Cowboy," a familiar voice said.

He glanced over and saw Michelle sitting next to him. "Oh, hey."

He went back to his beer and the game he wasn't watching.

"Why are you here, Trace?"

He hated her calm voice. Despite his outer demeanor, he was anything but calm at the moment.  

"I wanted a drink."

The bartender came over. "What'll it be?"

"White wine." Michelle ordered. The bartender brought the glass to her, setting it on a napkin. "Thanks." she said, slipping him a ten. "Keep the change." The man nodded his head, then made his way to the other end of the bar.

"Better watch it. The show police might get you for that." He indicated her drink.

"I'm not worried." She took a sip of the cool liquid.

Trace sighed. May as well get this out of the way. "Why are you here?"

"I heard about Lisa. Leon's checking over your contract to make sure she didn't commit fraud. From what I've heard, though, it's solid."

"So?"

"The money she got when you signed is hers, unless you want to sue her. You don't need a manager, anyway. Just use Patrick. Stay on the show, be my co-host again next season. Everyone's happy with the ratings. Apparently, you're a hit."

Trace sipped his beer. "If Patrick can get me out, I'm not going back."

"Sure you are. You always were stubborn." She laid a hand on his arm, caressing the muscle beneath his shirt. He jumped at her touch.

"Michelle, please don't."

She moved her hand, picked up her wine glass again, but set it down before she drank anything.

"I'm going to tell you something, Trace. I feel it's the right time." She took a deep breath. "I loved you back when we worked together, when you wrote those songs for me."

Trace turned away from the TV he'd been ignoring and looked straight at her. "Michelle, you were barely twenty. It was a crush, that's all."

"Maybe you're right, but I believed that I loved you. Then you hit it big, married Trixie. I moved on, kept working, became what I am today. And when I found out you weren't with her anymore I was hoping that maybe, working together again, you'd see that I'd grown up. I'm not the same naïve young girl." She sighed, took a sip of wine.  

"Then Lisa showed up. Even before you started officially dating, I could see the attraction. Trace, I don't know if it would have worked out between us. Maybe not. But I regret every day not telling you how much I loved you back then."

She touched his arm again, but this time it felt more like the supportive touch of a friend.

"If you love her, and I believe you do, then you need to go to her. Don't give up. Don't be an idiot. You need to try or you'll never know what could have been."

She rose from the bar, taking a hundred from her purse and laying it on the bar. "Is that enough for his too?" she asked the bartender.

"It's too much, ma'am. I'll get your change."

"Keep it." She slung her purse over her shoulder.

"Come on, Trace. Let's get you home."

Chapter Nineteen

Coffee. The smell wafted through his dreams until it pulled Trace awake. He opened his eyes and the living room light hit him like a hammer. Hangovers sucked.

He squinted, turned his head a quarter inch to the right. Blurry shapes and fuzzy colors came into focus. He'd fallen asleep on the living room couch again. He sat up, scrunching his eyes closed against the bright overhead light, rubbing his temples, trying to ease the headache. "I'm too damn old to sleep on a couch," he said out loud.  

"Here." A glass of water, two aspirin, and a cup of coffee was placed on the coffee table in front of him. The coffee smelled wonderful.  

"Thanks," he said, and looked up to see Michelle. "Morning." He swallowed the aspirin and the water before cradling the coffee mug in his hands. "Why are you here?"

"Well, someone had to drive you home, Cowboy. You walked into the room and collapsed on the couch. I was beat, so I slept in the guest room. I didn't think you'd mind."

He vaguely remembered talking to her at the bar.

"My truck?"

"Still at the bar. Patrick is having someone drop it off later."

"I guess I owe you for getting me home." Trace sipped the coffee, trying to piece together fragments from the night before. He'd yelled at Trixie, punched the wall in the dressing room, then headed to a bar nearby. He remembered drinking Boilermakers before switching to beer, then something about Patrick and going to Europe. He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness from his brain.

"You're welcome, Cowboy. It wasn't a problem." Michelle settled next to him, holding her own mug of coffee. "You must really love her."

"Her?" Trace was confused. Who was she talking about?

"Lisa. You talked about her on the ride over." Michelle looked at him, smiling. "She's a lucky girl."

"Not that lucky. She was caught lying - to me, her boss, Leon and the other producers, Patrick. She's not my girl anymore."

"Yeah, you said that too. But it's not true, is it?"

Trace was quiet, but yeah, he had to admit it, even if only to himself. Something was still there. You don't fall out of love with someone in barely twenty-four hours. He did love her. But she'd lied to him. It's wasn't an accident, a mistake. She'd lied. Could he forgive that?

"No, it's not true." Trace admitted out loud. "But it doesn’t matter. It's over."

"Don't be so sure about that. Give her some time. Both of you need some space for a while." Michelle finished her coffee, set the cup on the table and rose from the couch. "I need to go. I have a cab coming."

"I can take you wherever." Trace said, setting his coffee down too.

"No, you can't. Your truck isn't here and you have a hangover. Rest, take it easy." She picked up her purse as the intercom buzzed.

"Yes," Michelle pressed the button and answered the page.

"This is the doorman. There's a cab here for Michelle Nelson."  

"I'm on my way down." Michelle let go of the button and turned back to Trace. "Don't be an idiot, Trace. If you love her, forgive her. See what happens."

He raised his cup to her, but didn't say anything.

Michelle closed the door behind her after stepping into the hall. Trace heard the lock click behind her. His head pounded like a full drum set was inside his skull.  

"Dammit." He said, and collapsed on the sofa.

###

The rest of the weekend passed Lisa by in a fog of tears, ice cream, B-movies with Tanya, more tears, Chinese food, more ice cream. But the time for self-pity was over. Monday morning -- time to man up and get back to work.

Lisa needed to speak to Molly Sims and her parents. She knew they'd hear what happened soon, if they hadn't already, and as much as she didn't want to lose Molly as a client, she didn't want the Sims to believe she'd lied to them too. And she hadn't. She'd told the truth about the contract with Molly -- nothing had been said about Cahill-Waters when they'd signed with her. But Lisa needed to be sure they understood everything that happened Saturday night. She entered their apartment building and took the elevator up to the eleventh floor, ready for whatever decision they made.

Molly answered Lisa's knock.

"Lisa, hi. I'm glad you're here. Come on in." Molly grabbed her hand and pulled her through the entry to the apartment.

"Molly, wait. I need to speak to your parents."

"They're in the dining room. Come on."

Molly led the way through the apartment, past an expansive living room with French doors leading to a balcony. As she passed the sheer-draped doors, Lisa thought there must be an awesome view of the city from up here. Molly led her around the sectional sofa and into the attached dining room. Her parents were at the table, eating breakfast.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sims, Hi. I'm sorry to bother you during breakfast."

"It's no bother, Lisa. Would you like something?" Caroline motioned to an empty chair next to hers. Molly dropped Lisa's hand and made her way to her own seat across from her father.

"Eat something, Lisa. Mom makes great breakfasts." Molly took a bite of her scrambled eggs.

"No, thank you, Molly. I need to talk to you about my continuing to represent Molly." Lisa stood near the family, clutching her purse, twisting the strap around her hand, then loosening it. Her palms felt damp and her forehead hot and sweaty.

"I hope you're not changing your mind." Caroline placed her napkin on the table and turned toward her, giving Lisa her full attention.

"I'm not, but I want to make something clear. In regards to our contract, Molly is my client, not a client of Cahill-Waters. At the time I signed Molly I was working out a four-week notice. Molly is my client and isn't represented by Cahill-Waters."

No one spoke. Let me fall through the floor now. Lisa continued twisting her purse strap.

Caroline broke the silence. "Lisa, until Saturday night I didn't know you had worked for anyone else. As far as I'm concerned, you and you alone are Molly's manager."

"I am? You're not concerned about what happened Saturday?"

"After we heard what happened and discovered you were working for someone else, we did discuss the contract with our attorney. He'd gone over the contract to begin with before we first signed, and he told us everything was fine. Molly had no other link to your previous employer and I'm happy to keep you as part of our team. You've done a great job with Molly, getting her booked on talk shows and radio. Patrick Mitchell is a wonderful agent. Thank you for recommending him."

"I've known Patrick for some time. He won't let you down. Thank you for deciding to keep me on. It will help as I search for more clients."

"If that's all you needed, at least have a cup of coffee with us." Caroline indicated the empty chair next once more and this time Lisa joined them. Caroline took her hand while Mr. Sims poured her a cup of coffee.

"Lisa, as I said, you are a great manager and we're pleased with all you've done. It must have been difficult."

Their belief in her, their trust, helped Lisa relax. It was as if a huge burden fell from her shoulders. She sweetened her coffee and took a sip.

"It wasn't difficult because I love this work. I love managing. It brings out so much in me that I didn't realize that I had." Lisa set her cup on the table. "But Molly is my client, and what I want is secondary to what she wants. So, tell me what you want?" Lisa pulled out her notepad and pen and got busy taking notes and bouncing ideas off the Sims family.

As she sipped coffee and planned out the more public aspects of Molly's career, Lisa felt calmer than she had in weeks. The big secret was out and it barely caused a blip on anyone's radar. Except it cost her a relationship with Trace.

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat?" Caroline offered her a plate filled with pancakes, eggs and bacon.