Just Beyond the Curve (15 page)

“Oh,” Toby said, then grinned. “Is that all? Come
with me,” he laid his hand at the base of her neck and guided her
down a long hallway to the right of the studio mixing room.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked
suspiciously.

“To the top,” he replied, his hand dropping to the
small of her back. “If you’re willing to go, that is.”

“I am,” she replied, allowing him to lead her into a
small file room.

“In here are hundreds of unrecorded demos,” he said
pointing around the room. “Pick anything you want and we’ll record
it. Headphones are there so you can listen in private and
concentrate. When you find what you want, come get me and we’ll get
busy,” Toby said.

“Do you really think I can make it, Toby?”

“I’m betting on you, girl. So is John Travis and Jake
Strum. So, give us your best!”

“I promise I will!” she grinned, then bounced to her
tiptoes and kissed his cheek quick as a snake.

Toby smiled, turned and left the room as Janice was
placing the headphones over her ears and selecting her first
demo.

An hour later Janice came to the mixing room with a
handful of CDs. She was grinning like a Halloween pumpkin, the
difference was she had all her teeth; they were snow white and
perfectly aligned.

“So, you ready, girl?” Toby asked, skeptically.

“I am,” she replied. “Do we have the sheets on
these?”

“We have the sheets on everything in that room,” he
said with a big smile. “We’re not a fly by night operation around
here!” He laughed as he went out the door for the music sheets.

Janice followed him out and when he located the sheet
music and handed it to her she went to the sound booth and he went
into the mixing room. It was time to go to work.

“Janice Reeves, Superstar! Take one. Legends Never
Really Die.” He started the CD for the song and Janice came in
perfectly, as she had done with her own song. He wondered if she
was an idiot savant. He actually believed John Travis was.

Ten minutes later Janice sat on her stool and stared
at Toby in the mixing room. He sat staring at her in disbelief;
spellbound with awe at her natural perfection.

“Toby, you alright?” she finally asked, wondering if
he was asleep with his eyes open. “Toby?” she repeated, starting to
climb off the stool and go see about him.

“Un-be-lieve-able!” he exclaimed, then yelled,
“Aaaaahhhhhh! That’s what I’m talking about, girl! This one’s going
as a single!” he yelled.

“Let’s do another one of these before we commit to
any one of them. I just have a feel for them. That’s why I chose
them.”

“It’s sure gonna be a nice evening!” Toby said
sliding another CD in and leaning back to listen.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When a leather tan Mercedes limousine pulled off the
highway and started for the house Billy ran to meet it. He wondered
who it could be this time. It seemed nearly every country star in
the world had come to visit John since he’d gotten out of the
hospital. Several had been on tour in Europe for the past few
months and Billy was hoping one of them had come home and come to
see John. He wanted to meet them all! And his brother-in-law was
his ticket to fulfill his dream.

The limo parked beside John’s brand new Chevy
Silverado pickup and the back door was pushed open. A large white
hat was what Billy saw first, then a tall, big man stood up in a
light gray western cut suit. When the man looked up Billy
recognized Allen Jackson and his hopes plummeted.

"Hi Allen, wanna see my new horse? He’s a beaut!"
Billy said, having met Allen several times at the hospital. He
wasn’t the famous Allen Jackson, but he was still a good guy and
willing to do most anything for John and his family. Billy thought
Allen might secretly be in love with Misty. He sure went out of his
way to please her, Billy noticed.

"I’ll bet he is," Allen said placing a large hand on
Billy’s back and walking toward the front porch with him. "Maybe
I’ll take a peek after while. Right now, though, I gotta rouse John
from his supper."

"John’s been actin’ funny lately," Billy said in a
disappointed tone. "Like he’s scared or somethin’," he added.

"It’s called P.T.S.D., post traumatic stress
disorder," Allen explained. "A lot of people get it after they’ve
been hurt real bad. Like in a war or something."

"He was just shot," Billy said. "He wadn’t in a
war!"

"Maybe he don’t know that," Allen said stepping up
the porch steps and crossing to the door. "He, for the most part,
trusted Danny and Danny tried to kill him for selfish reasons we
may never understand fully."

"Danny was mad and jealous. John took Judy from him
and he tried to take everything from John. He was sick! I hope he
gets the death penalty!"

"He probably will," Allen said, opening the door and
stepping inside.

John sat in the darkened study listening to his
father’s recordings. Their voices were nearly indistinguishable
from one another. He lay relaxed in a lazy-boy recliner staring at
nothing.

Allen stood in the door and looked at him briefly,
then came on in and sat on the sofa across from him. "You ‘bout
through feelin’ sorry for yourself, John?" he asked in a mellow
tone.

John glared at at him coldly.

"Yes, sir, your daddy’d be right proud of you ‘bout
now if he could see you like this."

"Don’t bring my folks into this," John demanded, his
anger quickly rising.

"You brought ‘em into it!" Allen accused. "Now, face
the music, son. You’ve got a million fans out there you’re pissin’
on. They ain’t gonna put up with it for long."

"I wasn’t doin’ it for them, Allen!"

Allen looked at him coldly. "You like this house?
Your new pickup? Billy’s horse? Your wife and son? The respect and
adoration of millions of people all at once? If you do, and you
want to keep ‘em, you’d better get off your duff and make ‘em some
records. And make some appearances somewhere. If you don’t you’ll
lose ‘em, Son. I can promise you that. This business is
competitive. You either sing or sink. Your choice." As Allen said
the last he stood up and stared honestly at John.

"Yeah and let some other nut take a crack at me? No
thanks!"

"That was one in a million, John," Allen said,
spreading his hands.

"Who say’s there ain’t two? Twenty? Five
hundred?"

"Who’s to say there is? You wanna throw your life
away and ruin your family in the process. That’s your decision.
I’ll send the invitation from CMA back, declining, and you can
drown in your fears in the dark, listening to a ‘has been’ while
you fear the improbable.

"What about CMA?"

"You’ve been nominated for Entertainer of the Year.
Among other things. You’ll probably not make it actin’ like ya’
are. Country fans don’t much like weak, tremblin’ cowards."

"I ain’t no coward," John said seriously. "Besides,"
he added softly, "I don’t even know if I can do it anymore."

"It’s a damn cinch I can’t do it for you," Allen
said. "So, if it gets done, it’ll be up to you. It’s your
reputation on the line and there ain’t but one way to find out. So,
are ya comin’ or not?"

John stood up slowly, levering himself out of the
chair, "Still a mite sore on the inside," he explained as he made
his feet. He extended his right hand to Allen. "I ain’t very smart,
Allen. But, I damn sure ain’t no coward, either!"

"Well, let’s go to the top, then," Allen replied,
taking John’s hand and shaking it firmly while slapping him on the
back.

When they came out of the house a few minutes later
it was through the back door. Billy stood at the corral staring at
the beautiful black Morgan gelding that John had bought him.

The stallion saw them coming and began to prance
around excitedly. He stopped in front of Billy and stuck his
velvety nose into the outstretched hand and licked up the sugar
cube it held.

"They sure are beautiful creatures! Ain’t they? You
rode ‘im yet," Allen asked before anyone could answer.

"Sure, lots of times," Billy replied. "He’s the
greatest present I ever got from anyone. Except John," Billy said,
smiling up at John. "I wish John was my dad and not my
brother-in-law." Billy turned and crushed John in a hug.

"I love you too, Billy and I wish you were my son
instead of my brother-in-law. So, that makes us even, don’t it?"
John replied hugging the boy back.

"You always make me cry, John," Billy said, wiping
his eyes. "But, I love you anyway!"

"I don’t mean to make you cry, Billy," John replied
seriously.

"They’re happy tears," Billy said seriously. "Not sad
ones. So, they’re okay, huh?"

"All tears should be happy tears, Billy," John
agreed, wiping his own eyes.

"Come on now, let’s go make records, before I start
blubberin’ too!" Allen said, turning away and started for the
limo.

"Billy run tell your mom you’re goin’ with us," John
said, shoving him forward gently.

John and Billy followed the limo to Austin and parked
around back in the parking lot. They were in the studio less than
five minutes later and John stood in front of the microphone with
the Martin D-10 in his hands. When the music began to play, he
didn’t. He stood relaxed but frozen.

"John, are you alright?" Toby asked from the mixing
room.

John couldn’t answer. He slowly removed the guitar
from around his neck and set it in the stand, then walked from the
studio without a word. In the mixing room, Allen shook his head
angrily and stomped out to meet him.

"What’s wrong with John?" Billy asked Toby.

Toby shrugged his shoulders and rewound the tape,

Allen caught John as he stepped from the studio. His
face was red and his blood was near boiling. "If you want that boy
in there to watch you fail, then keep stepping toward that door,
John!" Allen said loudly.

"What’s the use, Allen?" John asked calmly. "My
heart’s no longer in it."

"So you’re sayin’ you ain’t got nothin left to prove,
that it? You’ve made it as far as you want to go, huh? Well, you
ain’t the only one involved in this, son! What about your band?
What’ll they do?"

"I don’t know, Allen," John replied, easing past him
and taking a seat on the sofa.

"You figure it out, you let me know. But don’t you
drag that boy down with you, he worships you, John! You’ll break
his heart and I won’t stand for that. I’ll kill ya myself!"

Allen glared down at John, then turned and walked
back into the mixing room and sat down. He stared silently at the
suspended microphone and the Martin D-10 guitar.

John laid his head back on the sofa and closed his
eyes. He had never really thought about singing, so not singing
really didn’t bother him that much. And as far as his band went,
what did they do before signing on with him? They were obviously
making a living. At least they weren’t starving. So, if they broke
up, so what? They had played with John Travis, Jr. The son of a
legend and a singer on the road to becoming a legend like his
father. In a sense they were famous, too. They were half of what
made John Travis and the Travelers; without each other each was
nothing.

John was still lost in thought when Janice came into
the lobby from the song room as they had taken to calling the room
where the unrecorded original demos were kept. She stopped and
looked at him with wonder; there sat a
legend
in the country
music business, and she stood not ten feet away from him.

As she crossed the room for the recording studio,
John reached up, rubbed his face tiredly and sighed. She had no way
of knowing that his mind was racing along at ninety to nothing and
he was a million miles away from Jackson Recording. She smiled and
walked toward him, thinking he was awake. It was hard to tell in
the semi-light he sat in.

"John, can I ask a favor of you?" she asked
nervously.

John opened his eyes at the sound of the beautiful,
soft voice. He smiled seeing it was Janice Reeves. "Hi Janice. How
are you?" he asked warmly.

That’s what she liked about John; he was always warm,
positive and friendly to a no body like her.

"Great!" she exclaimed. "This is the most fun I’ve
ever had! Making records and hearing them played on the radio! It’s
all I’ve ever wanted to do. Now, thanks to you, I’m really
doing
it!"

"You’re a very talented lady, Janice," he said
honestly. "You deserve it."

"Thank you," she said with a large smile.

"Now, about that favor," he said, looking at her
openly. "I’ll do it if I can. Just ask."

Janice became a little nervous. She had found a
beautiful ballad that would make a perfect duo. She thought her and
John’s voice would go together on it perfectly. She jumped in head
first, wondering how deep the water really was. "I found this
really great ballad by Towns Van Zant that would make a beautiful
duo if we were to do it together. Would you counter me,
please?"

"Aaaahhh!" John sighed sadly. "Everyone wants me to
sing! But I don’t know if I can anymore," he said, then hung his
head and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"And too scared to try; just in case, right?" she
said, thinking of her own reluctance to try again after the death
of her father. She sat easily beside him. "I was like that after
the death of my father; while you were in the hospital recovering
from the gunshots."

"What happened," John asked, turning halfway around
on the sofa and laying his knee across the sofa between them.

By the time she had explained the whole thing she was
in tears. John’s eyes were watery, too, feeling her sorrow. "What
changed your mind?" he asked gently, holding her hands in his.

"You did," she replied honestly, wiping her eyes and
laughing shyly at her tears.

"Me?" John asked surprised. "How, why?"