Red’s Hot Honky-Tonk Bar (22 page)

“It’s my daughter who should rightly be proud,” Red pointed out. “Up until a few months ago, I had almost no contact with Olivia and Daniel. Their behavior is a credit to her, not me.”

“Still, you must have at least raised her right,” Aunt Phyl said.

“I did my best at the time,” Red conceded.

“So there,” Aunt Phyl said. “We’re agreed that the children are lovely.”

“Yes, we can agree to that. Thank you, Miss Early.”

“You have to call me Phyllis or Phyl, everyone does.”

“All right,” she answered. “And then you’ll have to call me Red. That’s about all I answer to, except Grandma these days.”

“Very well, Red,” Phyl replied. “I’d be pleased to do that. But I’m going to be more honest with you now than you may want. I’m sure you are a person with fine qualities. Still, I don’t think you’re right for my nephew.”

Red said nothing.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Phyl said.

Red doubted that completely.

“You’re thinking that he is a grown man with experience in the world and a level head on his shoulders. I am merely his old-maid aunt. What could I possibly know about what’s best for him?”

“No,” Red told her. “That’s not what I’m thinking at all. I’m thinking that this is another thing that you and I agree on. I am not the woman for Cam. I…I care for him too much to not want more for him than I have to offer.”

If Phyl was pleased with this revelation, Red didn’t stick around long enough to find out. She left the kitchen and made her way to the front room. However, most of the guests had moved to the music room where Cam and the three kids shared a crowded piano bench.

Grouchy Smelly remained in the front room alone and waved Red over to join him. She wanted to resist, but there was standing room only around the piano and she was ready to get off her feet.

With a wan smile, she took the chair at an angle to his own.

“I don’t care for music,” the man announced to her. “Never did. I don’t see what people like about it. It makes me have to talk louder to be heard over the noise.”

Red was tempted to suggest that shutting up might be a cure for that, but she didn’t.

“Cam always plays something when he’s here,” Grouchy Smelly continued. “I can’t seem to stop him, so I quit even trying. Sometimes, though, I ask him to play Woody Guthrie. I know he likes Guthrie and he’s one musician that I can admire. Not for the music, it doesn’t seem like much. But for being a man’s man, a true American, not a Communist like his enemies used to say. Woody was always taking up for the little guy. That’s what’s stinking wrong with this no-account world. The good always die young. A fine fellow like Guthrie leaves this earth too soon, while the rest of the worthless guitar pickers in the world live on.”

Red cleared her throat and decided to try to keep the guy on a subject he liked instead of let him go off on another rant.

“I don’t know that much about Woody Guthrie,” Red admitted. “Of course, I know ‘This Land is Your Land’ and ‘Oklahoma Hills.’ And ‘Vigilante Man,’ I like that one a lot.”

Grouchy Smelly offered a hmm of agreement, so Red plunged on.

“I’ve heard performers I admire, like Willie Nelson and Ray Wylie Hubbard, talk about his influence on their music.”

“And Cam, of course.”

“Yes, Cam, too.”

“Woody, I guess, had more influence on Cam than most. Changed the whole direction of his career. That boy had serious opportunity in classical music. He could be playing at the philharmonic. That’s surely what Phyllis wanted for him, but Woody Guthrie lured him away.”

Red remembered that he’d said as much to her, but she hadn’t questioned him and Cam had not elaborated.

“Well, I’m glad he decided to play honky-tonk,” Red told the man with a light laugh. “I never would have run into him if he’d been playing at the dad-blamed symphony.”

Grouchy Smelly chuckled lightly, apparently appreciating her deprecating humor.

“And I’m sure he would have been sorry to miss out on a looker like you,” the man said. “Woody sure was lucky for him. But unlike most, Cam didn’t get interested in Woody for his music.”

“He didn’t?”

“Heck no, Cam got interested cause of his disease.”

Red was puzzled. “His disease?”

“Yeah, Woody died of Huntington’s chorea—I think they just call it Huntington’s now,” the man said. “He’s probably the most famous person to ever have it. It’s the same disease Cam’s mother had.”

“I didn’t realize that.”

“Yeah, damn shame.” The man nodded gravely and sighed. “Damn shame for the both of them.”

To: [email protected]

November 28 10:17 p.m.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Thanksgiving

Mom wow it was so great to talk to you. We just got off the phone and I have to go to bed but I had to write and say I love you one more time. It was so great to hear your voice. I had a good time at Cam’s aunts house. That was weird because she has not always been nice to me and Daniel but lately she is. The food was really swell except for the stuffing it had like oarsters in it. TOO GROSS. The pumpkin pie was real good. You have to know that’s true cause Daniel ate two pieces.

We played with a kid from our school that we didn’t know and we sang songs with Cam. It was cool. But the best part of Thanksgiving was to come home and hear the phone ring and find out that it was you.

We miss you so much Mom. I know you miss us too and that we just gotta be brave. I can do that. And Daniel to. But it was good for Daniel to talk to you. He is still a kid and all but I think he is going to be O.K. He tells himself that now that Kendras dad is coming home that everything is fine. I know better, but I am not telling him.

I am so glad you got the video feed of Daniel as the turkey. It means a lot to him for you to get to see him. And you don’t need to thank me about it cause all I did was give Mrs. Cook your email. It must of been Red who got her to record it.

She is not so bad as I first thought. Bad but not SO bad. You know. I miss you and love you. I am so sleepy I have to say good nite. Take care of yourself don’t worry about us.

Livy

O
n Friday and Saturday, Red had no option but to take the kids with her to the bar. Cam had missed a recording session in Austin and was catching up over the weekend. And although Kelly had suggested that maybe Olivia and Daniel could stay with her, Red thanked her and turned her down. Her tiny apartment on base was already bulging with her parents, as well as her in-laws, and she had enough on her mind without two extra kids, even if they were Olivia and Daniel.

The kids were stuck upstairs in the apartment for ten hours both days, and even with their stalwart determination to do what needed to be done to help, it was tough. The trip to the Valley on Sunday included a litany of complaints and an open rebellion at the very thought of having to be picked up after school and hanging out all evening in the apartment the next day.

“I promise to work something out as quickly as I can,” Red told them.

Her first task on Monday morning was to contact the Hearts
Apart organization. She crossed her fingers that they would come up with someone as wonderful as Kelly on very short notice.

The response was not all that optimistic. “This time of year is very busy for everyone,” she was told. “I will do what I can, but most of our clients who want to work are already working.”

Discouraged, Red called Sarah to see if she had a babysitter she could recommend.

“I use my mother mostly,” she admitted. “I’ve had a college girl, a friend of the family, a couple of times. But I doubt she could stay late on school nights.”

“Yeah,” Red agreed. “I really need someone older and more mature.”

“I’ll ask around,” Sarah assured her. “Lots of people have nannies who know other nannies. Surely we can come up with somebody.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Sarah answered. “And if you want to leave the kids here with me until you get something settled, that would be fine.”

Red thanked her and left the possibility open. But what she wanted was for the kids to be in the house they’d begun to consider a home. They had been bounced around enough already. They’d have to move again when Bridge came home. That was soon enough for more upheaval.

She contacted a couple of agencies and was waiting for calls when the postman came by. Gabe was very married, but he took every chance he got to flirt with Red. She flirted back, but they both knew it was all just in fun.

He set her stack of mail atop the bar.

“Can I get your autograph, gorgeous?” he asked. “I’ve got one I need you to sign for.”

“You make me feel like a movie star,” she answered as she both signed and printed her name on the official-looking green forms.

“A movie star, huh?” he said.

“Yeah,” she replied. “About half-hungover.”

They both laughed and he handed her a big, thick envelope. The name on the front certainly caught her eye. It was addressed to Ms. Emmaline Rose Cullens. She had been E. R. “Red” Cullens for so long, the sight of her old name was jarring. She glanced at the return address and saw it was an unfamiliar law firm in Dallas.

Brad had warned her that her landlord would undoubtedly barrage her with paperwork from threatening attorneys on their behalf. She didn’t even bother to open it. She just stuck it in her purse to pass on to Brad.

After the third, unimpressive callback, Red was ready to give up. It was almost time for school to dismiss. She had no choice but to go and get the kids and bring them back to the apartment.

Then the phone rang one more time. It was Aunt Phyl.

“Now, I told you that if you needed something, you should call me,” she said without preamble and sounding annoyed.

“Well…uh…”

“I just heard that you are frantically trying to find someone to stay with the children. I am right here on the far side of your backyard fence and you didn’t even think to mention it to me.”

“Uh…well, Phyllis, I know you’re busy—”

“Busy at what? My club meetings and charity boards are all during the day. And I am not about to waste my evenings making inane conversation while drinking gin and tonic at the Argyle.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” Aunt Phyl answered. “I know the children and they will be safe with me. Call the school and tell them that I will be picking them up.”

“I’ll call,” Red told her.

“Good, and don’t worry another moment about it,” she said. “I’ll talk to you when you get home.”

Red hung up the phone and then stood there staring at it. Problem solved. She felt as if things shouldn’t be so easy. Was it just that she’d become so accustomed to them being hard?

But the world was still full of hard things. Kelly’s husband was flown into BAMC on Wednesday.

“It’s not nearly as bad as it could be,” Kelly told Red. “He’ll have a lot of scarring on his face and neck and arm. But he’s not really disfigured. He’s going to need skin grafts, of course. The arm is the worst. He’ll probably lose some use of it. And then there is the pain. It is just inhuman how much he suffers.”

Red could hear the suffering in Kelly’s own voice. But she chose to follow Kelly’s lead and see this very bitter glass as half-full.

On Thursday morning, only minutes after the children went to school, the phone rang. It was Sarah.

“We’ve got to get started on the kids’ Christmas party,” she said.

“Good grief!” Red complained. “They just had a party last week.”

“Every holiday needs a party,” Sarah answered. “I try to think of it as teaching them the importance of social occasions. What are you doing right now? Can you go shopping with me?”

Red had a million things to do, but she allowed herself to be drawn into a search for the perfect Christmas decorations.

“As usual, it’s all really touchy,” Sarah told her later in the car. “We’re celebrating Winter Festival so that non-Christians don’t feel excluded.”

“Okay,” Red said. “So no Baby Jesus in the manger.”

“Worse than that,” Sarah said. “No Christmas trees, no Santa Claus, no reindeer. Even Frosty the Snowman gets people nervous.”

Red laughed, and Elliot, in his car seat behind her, giggled, as well.

“Have you thought about your Christmas shopping yet?”

“No,” Red told her. “I don’t really do much of a celebration.”

“But what about the kids?” Sarah asked. “Kids have to have Christmas.”

“My daughter should be home,” Red told her. “Her tour is up and she thought she would be home by Christmas.”

“Doesn’t that make the holiday bigger?”

“I think the kids will want to just be with her,” Red said. “And I don’t think she’ll want to be with me.”

“Will the kids be moving out of the school district next semester?” Sarah asked.

“I suppose so,” Red told her. “I don’t know. It’s not up to me.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Sarah said. “That would be such a shame. They are so settled here.”

Red couldn’t help but agree with that. Daniel was so happy. And Olivia would really miss seeing Nayra every day.

“It’s my daughter’s decision,” Red said, wishing for perhaps the first time in her life that she had more influence in that. “Bridge will do what’s best for the kids. She’s a very good mom.”

“Of course she is,” Sarah said. “She’s probably just like you.”

That statement was so wholly incorrect that Red actually hooted at the suggestion.

“Bridge and I couldn’t be more different,” Red insisted. “If you ever meet her, you’ll see.”

“Not if,” Sarah said. “
When
I meet her. I like you and adore the kids. You’re part of life in our community. Didn’t Cam warn you, nobody gets out of Alamo Heights without strings attached.”

Inside the megastore, they wheeled Elliot’s stroller through the rows and rows of holiday decorations. Red had no opinion on most of it. Sarah finally went for a red-and-white theme, with red tinsel and redbirds in the snow.

“Our kids love the idea of snow,” Sarah said. “They haven’t been around it enough to know how cold and miserable it can be.”

At the checkout stand, Red insisted on paying.

“I can’t let you do that!”

“Oh, yes you can,” Red said. “You’ve been paying for everything up to now. Your cupcake tab alone would probably pay for Elliot’s college education. Not to mention how grateful I am for all the work that Brad’s done on the contract.”

Red suddenly remembered something and began digging in her purse.

“Wait, here it is.” She pulled out the fat letter from the Dallas lawyer that had been stuck in her purse for four days. “I meant to send this to Brad. Could you give it to him?”

“Sure.”

When Red got home from their shopping trip, she had to rush to get ready. By the time she got down to Eight Street and Avenue B, it was past time for the bar to open.

To her surprise, it already was.

She walked right through the front door to find Cam
already behind the counter. The place was still empty, but anyone showing up could have gotten a beer.

“You opened up.”

He shrugged. “Just trying to show you what a good help I could be.”

“I’m convinced,” Red said. “With the kids, with the bar, with keeping my sanity, you’re a wonder on all accounts.”

She added to this vote of confidence a quick kiss before stashing her purse on the shelf beneath the cash drawer and unlocking the floor safe.

“Why aren’t you in Austin?” she asked.

“All finished.”

“Wow, great, congratulations,” Red told him. “Did you get a job offer?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “But I turned it down.”

“Why would you do that? With Brian working his full-time job, the band is going nowhere.”

Cam nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty much over.”

“And the young kid you were working with, you said you liked him. You said he’s an up-and-comer.”

He agreed. “The kid has every chance of doing something big. He’s got lots of talent and he’s not afraid to surround himself with talented people. His sound is unique. He’s physically appealing and has both the ambition to push himself forward and the determination to see it through. I think he’s got a real shot. And I told him that.”

Red put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I don’t get it, Cam. If he makes it big and you’re playing in his band, then you’re making it big, too.”

Cam shrugged. “I’m not that interested in making it big.”

Red gave a chuckle of disbelief. “I didn’t know honky-tonk fiddlers were allergic to success.”

“I’m not allergic to success,” he said. “But the band is leaving on tour in three weeks. They’ll be traveling all over the country. They’re playing two hundred dates next year. I’m not interested in doing that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m happier staying here,” he answered.

Red was methodically separating the change into the cash drawer, but it was hard to concentrate with her thoughts going a mile a minute.

“I just hope that you’re not staying here for me,” she said. She knew her words sounded harsh, but she was afraid they needed to be.

“No,” he answered. “I’m staying here for me.”

He stepped closer and put his arm across the cash register, effectively halting her work.

“You must have heard from Aunt Phyl and her friends how I gave up a promising future in classical violin. Didn’t you ever wonder why I didn’t pursue that?”

“Because you liked Woody Guthrie better.”

Cam gave a slight chuckle. “Woody and I have a bond, that’s for sure,” he said. “But that’s not exactly why I’ve done things the way I did.”

“Then why?”

“Because I wanted the time more than the music,” he answered. “Do you understand what that means?”

“No, not really.”

“Classical music is more like an apprenticeship. You play for years and years behind musicians that are better than you. It’s a lot of time, a lot of hard work, a lot of waiting.” He removed his arm from in front of the till and folded both across his chest. “Honky-tonk fiddle, no waiting. You just get up and start playing. Maybe you can only play in open jams or with fly-
by-night bands, but you get to play, the music is fun and you’re in control of your life. Your time is all up to you.”

“I think that’s what the grasshopper said when he was frittering away the whole summer.”

“Maybe so,” Cam agreed. “But life is too short to waste any of it waiting to live.”

Red thought that he might have a point, but for some reason, she didn’t want to give it to him. “You’re very fortunate that you have the opportunity to make that choice.”

“Everybody gets to make that choice in one way or another,” he said. “I work, I don’t owe money to anybody, I don’t mooch off anyone. I make a living. It’s not a fortune, but I’m careful. I own myself. I don’t have a time clock or a boss, or even a tour with two hundred gigs scheduled.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her toward him. “I have a woman I care a helluva lot about and if I choose to be with her instead of hanging out with a bunch of boring, lug-head guitar players, that makes me brilliant, not lazy. Besides, the poor, struggling-musician thing, the chicks think that’s really hot.”

Red laughed. “I think I’m getting too old to be put in the ‘chick’ category.”

“Yeah, that’s what makes you so much more of a challenge. And I love a challenge,” he said, and made a growling noise. “What do you think my chances are of luring you into sex on this bar in broad daylight with the door unlocked?”

“Not likely,” Red told him.

The phone began ringing.

“Ah…and the woman is saved by the bell.”