Paradise (15 page)

“Y’all know what?” Lacey reached for Mother’s homemade macaroni and cheese and plopped a softball-size scoop on her plate. She took a deep breath and blew out what sounded like good riddance. “Paisley is right. Lots of good things in the future.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, dabbed her dry eyes with the back of her hand, then picked up her fork. “I’m just going to try my very best to put all this disappointment behind me and trust the Lord to lead me in the direction he would have me to follow.” With that, Lacey shoved a forkful of mac and cheese in her mouth—smiling while she chewed, her cheeks bulging.

Dad leaned back in his chair, raising the front legs off the floor. I actually thought he might applaud her performance. “The Lord?” He rocked his chair back and forth. “The Lord.” He nodded.

Mother sniffled. “God does have bigger and better plans for you, Lacey. He does. He really does. He’s given you a gift, Lacey. And the Lord will work it out.”

In my opinion, the Lord was going to work out that gift in a beauty parlor.

“I know.” Lacey batted her eyelashes at Mother. “I’m just going to take a few days off. Relax. Then really start thinking about next steps, you know?”

Mother nodded. Dad and I watched with fascination. Next steps for Lacey probably meant a tattoo.

“What are we doing Saturday?” Lacey asked and it cut me in two. I was counting on her to help me get to the cantina.

“No plans.” Mother settled back into her chair. “I really”—Mother choked back a tear. Next steps were hard on her—“I really need to work on this herb garden I’m planting down by the barn. Jack?”

Dad stared a hole through Lacey. “Pitching lessons in the morning is all. Then I’ll help you.” He was talking to Mother but never took his eyes off Lacey.

“Well, since we don’t have family plans, I think I could use a girls’ night out. Hang out with friends, eat, take in a movie.”

“A movie?” Dad all but laughed out loud. He’d figured her out. Nothing else would get by him.

Mother agreed, “A girls’ night out would be good for you. I know this has been hard. Believe me I do. I really do. And plus you’ve had the stress of that Tucker boy panting around you like a thirsty dog.”

Lacey gripped her tumbler, and I thought she would pitch her iced tea on Mother. Instead, she coolly set the glass on the place mat. “Paisley, do you have plans? Why don’t you come?”

She knew I never had plans. But that was it. Levi must’ve told her. Lacey was my ride to the cantina and my reason for being gone Saturday night.

“Sure.” I tried not to act too giddy. “I’m game.”

Dad set his chair down. The legs slammed against the floor. He was hanging on until Texapalooza, but I wasn’t sure how much more he would overlook before calling my hand.

20

DANCE-HALL DRAMA

The dance hall at Don Caliente’s Taco Bar and Cantina had a polished-wood floor primed with a fresh sprinkling of cornmeal. Slicker than an icy sidewalk. The jukebox rocked old-school Tanya Tucker singing something about her arms staying open all night. Paradise two-stepped around the dance floor, boot scooting and sliding, clutching the waist of a push-up-bra-wearing Best Piece in Town girl. The same girl from the rodeo. Her rich black hair flowed like a thoroughbred’s mane with every spin, every twirl, every swing back into his arms. I couldn’t believe it. Paradise brought a date to our gig. He brought a
date.

“Paisley, keep walking,” Lacey ordered and nudged me in my back. “Don’t let him know you care.”

I cut across the dance floor, making a beeline for the stage. He was just a flirt. A big ol’ flirt. Probably using me like Waylon said, flirting with me to stay in the band. I actually thought, I mean, I was sure he liked me.

Paradise waltzed by, his cheek pressed against her ear. I swear he was whispering. I stopped as they passed, or tried to stop. My boots slipped on the slick floor.
Wham.
I busted it. Falling hard with one leg out and the other bent. An
L
—as in loser.

I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I went down, dusted off my jeans.

Lacey tidied up my bangs with her fingers. “No one saw a thing. Forget it.”

When I finally reached the stage, I felt Lacey drift from my side. She’d found Levi and they were locked in a cleavage-crushing embrace. I turned to the one thing I could count on. The drums. I brushed my hand along a cymbal. A slight
ting
rang out, a whimper. I forced myself to turn my back on the dance floor. I refused to watch them. I inventoried the drums: a full kit—the basic four piece with a kick and cymbals, positioned on an old rug for stability. I’d get out of it what I expected. The throne was just a simple stool. A simple stool with my
caja
sitting on the top. I set the little drum to the side.
“Not playing it,”
I swore.

Paradise had separated himself from dancing long enough to pay attention to the reason he was in the dance hall in the first place. He prepped his accordion, but Paradise had not separated himself from the Best Piece in Town girl. She hovered beside him on the stage with us, with the band.

“Paisley.” Paradise finally noticed I was in the building. He grabbed her hand. They stood in front of the drums. I pretended to tighten the snare. “You know Estella, right? From the rodeo?”

“Not formally.” If my eyes could’ve shot venom, he’d have been in a world of hurt. “Nice to meet you.” I should’ve stopped there, but oh, well. “Lots of chairs around the dance floor to sit on. Not so much room on the stage.”

Her eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a monarch butterfly. Estella, the Best Piece in Town girl, kissed Paradise on the cheek and took a long-legged stride off the stage.

“Relax, Paisley.” Paradise acted as if he held us all in the palm of his hand. “Put it all out there. You’ve got this.” The boy was clueless.

“Can’t hear you.”
Paradiddle paradiddle paraparadiddle
. I shook my head, closed my eyes, hoping that when they reopened he’d be gone.

He wasn’t. Paradise took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. His accordion hung loosely on one shoulder. I watched the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took.

I warmed up until Waylon circled his finger in the air for us to sound check.

“On four, Paisley.” Waylon pointed at me to hit it.

We started playing. It was my worst nightmare. We sounded like a group of grade-schoolers tuning instruments—not a band that had practiced for months. No one was together.

Waylon waved his arms. I thought for a minute he might just take flight. “Do it again.” His face, even his ears were red.

I pounded us in on four.
BAMBAMBAMBAM.

Paradise tapped the toe of his boot, concentrating on it, shaking his head as if the beats were all wrong. Levi moved closer to me, trying to lock in his bass. They were off. We sounded like a junkyard band. I added a three-stroke roll … because I felt like it.

Cal quit playing.

Waylon put his hands on his hips, sucking in deep breaths. “Paisley, you’re rushing it.”

I clinched my sticks in my hand and yelled at him, “Keep up, Waylon!”

The crowd, the folks in the cantina, shifted in their chairs. Their silence sent an awkward vibe onto the stage.

Paradise stared at the ceiling rafters. “Time is your job.”

“Yes, I know that. But I set the pace, remember?” I stood to my feet, sweat beading around my forehead. He must’ve conveniently forgotten about the whole Paisley-you’re-the-heartbeat-of-the-band nonsense. I couldn’t have cared less about the staring crowd.

Cal slumped over a speaker.

Levi said, “You’re not setting the same pace we practiced.”

“Maybe so.” I was burning hot. “But it’s the only pace I’ve got right now.”

Waylon sat on a stool then stood back up. Sat down and stood up. Sat down, stood up three, maybe four times. Paradise turned to Estella. More head shaking.

Of all the whack-ass times to try and get my attention, Lacey pointed at Paradise—gesturing with her hands—some kind of incoherent sign language I’d never figure out. But apparently she and Levi were on the same page.

“Paisley.” Levi blocked my view. He leaned across the drums and whispered, “She’s his sister.”

My blood pressure plunged.

THUMP

Thump

thump
.

I was an idiot.

And the crowd did matter.

“Oh God,” I squeaked. “Please don’t move an inch.”

Levi hid me behind his thick frame. I had no idea what to do next. Suddenly, the little drum stool felt like a pedestal. I’d just put it all out there all right, my whole jealous fit for everyone to see.

But I hadn’t just embarrassed myself. We were onstage in a honky-tonk with a gathering group of regulars and a few invited guests.

Waylon stomped around Levi. Cal and Paradise flanked him. I was surrounded.

Waylon flicked the pick on his thumb as if he were trying to spark a flame from a cigarette lighter. “Paisley.” He sounded out of gas, desperate. “We’ve been friends a long time. I, I always thought I could count on you. But now.” He stopped flicking. He glanced at Paradise, then drew a bead on me. “What do you want, Paisley? ’Cause if it’s not the band … I mean, what do you really want?”

The band stood in front of me with their dreams on the line. Cal’s hands squeezed around the neck of his guitar. His homemade dagger tattoo carved onto his thumb pointed at me. Paradise clutched his accordion to his chest, waiting to hear my answer. No point now in trying to hide that I might have feelings for him. I wouldn’t be able to dodge that anymore. Furthermore, they all knew. Even if they didn’t, they suspected.

The chatter around the dance floor grew louder as the dinner crowd moved from the taco bar into the cantina. They wouldn’t sit idle for long and wait on us to get our act together. Soon they’d start dropping quarters in the jukebox. We’d be done before we ever got going.

I picked up my sticks, ripe to count us in. The dream to be a drummer had never changed for me. It just wasn’t the only desire anymore, and I was tired of tucking my dreams and feelings away. I’d had enough of that. Enough of holding my feelings in my heart. L. V. always said if you keep doin’ what you’re doin’, you’ll get more of what you’ve got. Time to change the results.

Paradise watched me roll the sticks between my fingers. He seemed to figure out what I wanted too. He lifted the cross on his necklace to his lips and kissed it. He turned around, going for his spot behind the center microphone.

I kicked the bass drum then hit the snare—bass-snare, bass-snare—mimicking the natural swing of his backside. Paradise glanced back at me and cocked a grin.

I set the pace, the pace we practiced. “I want it all, Waylon.” The other boys backed away from the drums. Cal swung his guitar around, dipped his shoulder, then leaned back and flared up an ear-scorching intro.

I wanted it all.

21

ALONE IN A CROWDED BAR

A few of what I surmised were cantina regulars spun around the dance floor as we transitioned, like a steady rolling locomotive, from one song to the next. My drumsticks tumbled over the toms, pinged the hi-hat and crash. The vibration from the bass drum shimmied through my body. And since, other than Lacey, I had no one to share in the moment, I drummed for regulars and the band, loving the fact that a beat I drove moved people to get up and dance.

Looking out into the dark bar, I saw Lacey’s face glowing in the red neon of the Bud Light sign when Levi went to work on his bass. She came for him. She’d probably heard enough of my banging around the house. Everyone around her went nuts as Levi flipped his baseball cap backward, then dropped the bass tone to a grooving boogie-woogie. The entire Tucker gang had showed up in full force. They were loud and proud.

Cal had his own following. Five of his skateboard buds huddled near a corner table just off the stage. One dude played air guitar right along with Cal. I bet the regulars wondered what the emo kids were doing in a honky-tonk.

Estella clapped her hands over her head as her grandfather, the accordion king, sat beside her, his chest swelling with pride as Paradise sang lead.

Even some of the Sliders showed up, although Waylon’s dad stood at the back watching every move with his owl eyes. We were, after all, a Slider band. But he’d have to work hard to nitpick. Waylon had been right about playing like we practiced, and no one lacked focus about what we were doing—especially Waylon. He couldn’t have sounded better and his fingers singed his guitar strings and danced up the frets. Even Paradise’s grandfather shifted his gaze for a brief moment to take in Waylon’s gift.

We closed out a song. Levi kept the beat going while I rested my sticks and positioned the
caja.
Rub and stroke, rub and stroke. It was Paradise’s turn. When he drew out the bellows on his accordion, folks began to whoop and holler. With his body swaying and his head rocking, Paradise squeezed out a little spice to complement the country-rock groove. The dancing couples pushed out of a two-step and pulled into a hip-grinding Latin swing. Some bands might have a fiddle or maybe even a harmonica, but the Waylon Slider Band rocked the accordion. And the accordion worked like gravy on biscuits.