Tate (6 page)

“My parents were older when I came along. The ‘whoops’ my daddy always said. Popie is twelve years older, and Gabby is ten. Daddy worked the oilrigs for thirty years, and I guess he thought his family raising days were over. Mama was a stay at home mom, always there when I came in from school. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a mama’s boy.” She snickered when I said it.

“Daddy came home one day when I was eight years old, packed a bag, said he didn’t want to be married anymore, and left. Mama gets a check every month, but we don’t hear from him.”

I saw that she was struggling with my story, so I turned it around a little. “Popie has twin boys, Aiden and Quinn. They’re eight and oooh wee, what a handful! Both she and her husband are accountants. They own their own business and work from their home office so that Popie knows they stay out of trouble. Gabby’s still single, I don’t think she’ll ever get married. She dates, but I don’t see her sharing her life with anyone on a full-time basis - she’s too independent. And then there was me. I went to University of Oklahoma. It was close to home. Close to Mama.” I saw her smile when I said it.

“What did you study?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” I laughed. “I made it through the middle of my sophomore year working on a degree in finance, and then a friend dared me to do open mic night at Wet Willie’s. When the crowd liked it, I was hooked. I was on a scholarship and my grades dropped, so I lost it. Man, was my mama pissed. I loved the bar scene. I worry now that this will be so different that I won’t love it so much, but I gotta give it a try.”

I saw her yawn and finally said, “I’m afraid I’ll wear out my welcome, so I’m gonna get going. I’d like to see you again, Maisie. Soon.”

“I’d like that.”

“Would you really?” I asked, and she nodded. “I’m glad. I don’t know what it is about you…”

“I piss you off,” she said, with a light laugh.

***

The following Wednesday, Maisie, Carlene, and I hit up another Nashville favorite - Puckett’s. We had a great dinner and plenty of conversation.

“So, Tate, who’re you taking to the GRAMMY Awards?” Carlene asked after a while.

“Audra’s setting it up for Ami Woodson and me to go together. Same label, same management, blah, blah, blah. I don’t want to, but Audra’s making it like I don’t have a choice.”

I swear I saw Maisie cringe.

“You’ll be making the decisions you want – be your own man - as soon as you get that lovely little award in your hands,” Carlene said. The sound that bubbled from her was a sarcastic laugh. I noticed the look that remained on Maisie’s face.

“Maisie? You OK, little one?” Carlene asked, seeing the same expression.

“Hmm? Oh. Ami. I was remembering one more detail for one of her dresses,” she replied quickly. “Making a mental note to get that done. She’s coming to try them on again tomorrow, and I don’t want to have to deal with her rants.”

I saw Carlene’s expression. She noticed exactly what I thought I saw. Maisie appeared jealous when I started talking about Ami being my date. I think I liked that.

“I haven’t met her,” I said.

“You won’t like her much,” Carlene laughed.

She was right.

Chapter Three

Tate

I won the GRAMMY Award for Best Country Song, and was sorry that I didn’t buck Audra’s demand that Ami be my date. We met in Audra’s suite for introductions and drinks before the event and I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy the evening. Ami talked all night about one thing - herself.  She also made a point to snuggle up to me every time anyone came close with a camera. She made what should have been one of the greatest nights of my life miserable. I’d have enjoyed Maisie’s company. I made a vow that going forward I would be my own man and call my own shots. I wasn’t going to allow this lifestyle to rule me. I had the award in my hand that Carlene said would set me free, and I planned to play that card.

“I saw you win the award,” Maisie said, when I called her the next day.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I asked playfully.

“Sure.”

“If I’da had to hear one more word about Ami’s hair from her or anyone else, I think I would have puked. She likes herself.”

“A lot,” Maisie giggled. It seemed she was happy with my comments.

Maisie, Carlene, and I went on several more outings, just the three of us. It was always a good time, but I was ready to spend some time with Maisie - alone. We talked on the phone often, but I wanted to spend time getting to know her.

I called one evening and heard a merry voice when she answered. “Hi! I’m happy to hear from you.”

“Really? Have you been thinking about me, Maisie? I want you to.”

“Don’t get all pushy.” She laughed nervously.

“Can we have dinner tonight? Just us?”

“As long as it’s not a date,” she replied quickly.

I would let her think it was whatever she wanted to think it was as long as she’d go with me. “Whatever you say. I’ll pick you up at your house at six.”

“No. Here, at the shop.”

“I’ll follow you home anyway. You don’t have to invite me in. Your house at six.”

I heard the Hmmph in her sigh, but she agreed.

“My house at 6:30. I have something here to finish and then I’ll head that way.”

I went to the door. I was treating this as a date whether she wanted that or not.

“Wow,” I said when she greeted me. She wore black jeans that hugged her figure, and a white lacy shirt. It was sexy as hell, and the boots she wore that added a good three inches to her height didn’t help keep sexy off my mind.

“Ready?” she asked, moving aside as though she could read my mind.

“I am. Are you?”

I helped her into her coat and we went to the truck. As I helped her up, a breeze blew and her perfume floated in the air. She smelled like heaven. When I closed the door, I ran my hand through my hair trying to get a grip on my thoughts. Tonight she was an enchantress. I don’t think she even knew it, but she was.

“You look amazing tonight. Not that you don’t always look good, it’s just that…” I was tripping over my tongue. “You look nice.”

“Thank you. Where are you taking me?”

“Where would you like to go?”

She turned in the seat to look at me. “You don’t already have a plan?”

“I do. But since it’s not a date, I wanted to give you a chance to pick somewhere you’d like to go. Do you like Italian?”

“I do.”

“Porta Via,” I answered.

“I’ve never even heard of it,” she said, and settled comfortably into the seat.  “Pizza?”

“Or pasta, or whatever is on the menu that you’d like.” That perfume she wore wafted my direction once more, and I had to shake my head. “What’s that perfume? It smells
really
good.”

“Pink Sugar. I like it.”

“It smells kind of like caramel candy. The kind with the vanilla center,” I said, and she laughed. As we entered the restaurant, a waiter delivered a pizza to a table close to the entrance. “Oh my goodness, that looks sinful!”

I kept my thoughts to myself. She felt dangerous tonight. They seated us in a corner booth and I waited as she slid in to see how far she’d scoot. The center. I slid in and moved close, but not so much that’d I’d make her uneasy, plus I wanted to look at her. I ordered a bottle of Chianti and got comfortable.

“The pizza pictures kind of make you want to drool,” I laughed.

“So do the pasta dishes. My goodness.” She sighed, appreciating the menu.

“Maisie, you look incredible. I can’t help myself. I just have to admire.” She looked away and I saw a blush grace her cheeks. The waiter returned and poured the wine. He left to allow us time to look over the menu a little longer.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’ll keep thoughts to myself.” She looked up at me in surprise, and then hurriedly returned her eyes back to the menu.

“I’m thinking I’d like to start with this Crêpe Porta Via thing, but it looks like it’s drowning in pesto and I didn’t bring any breath mints,” I said. She laughed a laugh I hadn’t heard yet. “What? I don’t want garlic breath on our not-date.”

She took a sip of the wine and looked at me across the rim of her glass. “Is this a date, Tate?”

“You tell me.” I watched that beautiful face to see what her eyes would tell me.

The blush reappeared. “I think it’s probably a date.” She looked down again as though she was studying the menu.

I scooted closer. I leaned to whisper in her ear, placing my hand on her back. “I like for you to think of this as a date, Maisie, but I don’t want to rush you. It can just be dinner if that would make you more comfortable.” I liked the shudder that I felt.

“I don’t think I chose this outfit for ‘just dinner’,” she said finally.

“Good, then I won’t order the crêpe,” I replied.

“I have gum,” she said, with a shy smile.

I couldn’t help myself. I leaned closer and snuck a kiss. Her lips were the sweetest things I’d ever tasted.

“The crêpe to start,” I told the waiter when he returned.

“I think we have to have a pizza. It looks so good,” she said.

Just looking at her was the best part of the evening. She told me about what she’d been working on and I told her about my music. It seemed that was always our comfortable conversation. It was a great evening, and driving home, she chatted as we drove about the area and memories of growing up in Nashville. This was a first.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked when we got back to her place.

“I would.” I walked around, opened her door and helped her out. It was cold and I wrapped my arm around her as we headed to the door. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Tate.”

We sat on the sofa and talked about our evening. “I find that I enjoy your company,” Maisie said after a while.

“I take great pleasure in sharing yours,” I responded. I waited a few minutes, thinking. At last, I said, “I’m gonna be out-of-town next week. I’ll be gone about ten days. Will you miss me, Maisie?”

She hesitated, and finally said, “I believe that I will.”

“One more question, and I’m gonna ask because I don’t want to do anything you aren’t ready for…”

She scooted closer and placed a soft kiss on my lips. “Good night, Tate.”

I drew her back to me. “One more, Maisie. Please,” I didn’t want it to sound like I was begging, but I wanted another kiss. As I kissed her, I felt her let hesitation ease. “I don’t know what to say, except I don’t want to go,” I said when I let her go.

I knew what a huge step this was for her. As I rose to leave, I had to work hard to hide the smile she put on my face. “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”

“That’ll be nice,” she replied.

I stopped before I reached the door and turned to her. “Maisie, you have no reason to believe this, but I look forward to every call,” I told her, and as bad as I didn’t want to leave, I swear I skipped out the damn door.

***

It was the last week of February, and I was going back to Florida to work with Andy and Marco on the album. We’d cut four singles the first go round, but I had almost enough material now to complete the project. Andy and I talked several times over FaceTime. He’d have me play some of the new stuff I’d written, critique it, and add suggestions. The best part of our conversations was when Andy expressed how proud he was of the first single,
I’m A Guy
. He was as proud as I was.

“I gotta tell ya, Tate, this experience has given me a whole new appreciation for the country genre. Who knew?” he laughed. “You know they’re playing
Night Moves
on contemporary stations – not just country, my friend.”

“Yeah, who knew?” I repeated.

***

I left early Monday morning. After a busy day with Andy and Marco, it was almost ten that evening when I finally got to my room. Anxiously, I dialed Maisie’s number.

“I hope it’s not too late,” I said when she answered.

“Not at all, I haven’t gotten ready for bed yet. I came home late - stayed to finish up dress designs I’ve been working on. The Academy of Country Music Awards are in April and Ami’s got like five designs she wants. Spring colors, she keeps saying. And I’m working on a design for Carlene, and of course, a vest.”

“Andy Stevens is friggin’ amazing. I sing a couple of lines, he sits back, feet up on the console with his eyes closed, and then says, ‘sing it more like this,’ or ‘if you kicked this up a bit…’ He pushes and it makes me better. I wish you were close so we could sit down and I could tell you all about it.”

“Tell me now,” she said, and I did.

Almost an hour passed of mostly me rambling and finally, she said, “That’s all so exciting, Tate. He’s a huge star. I never thought of him in country music.”

“I know. His suggestions make it more edgy. He keeps saying ‘cross-over’. But hey, enough about me, tell me about your day.”

“Oh a stitch here, a bitch there,” a comment that caused me to roar with laughter. She never really said much, but when she let loose she had a fun streak in her.

“Have you ever been to Florida?” I asked.

“No.”

“It’s sunny and warm. I could live here. I’ve never liked winter, it’s kind of gray and depressing.” I paused as my thoughts churned. Finally, I took a chance and said, “I wish you were here. I’d take you for a walk on the beach and let the sand squish between your toes. Look out the window, Maisie. Do you see it?”

I heard shuffling, and finally she asked, “The moon?”

“Yes, I’m sharing that with you tonight.”

“Thank you. It’s funny to think about the distance between us, yet we see the same moon.”

“I wish you were here,” I said once more, hoping that I wasn’t pushing my luck.

I heard her huff out a breath, but I couldn’t tell whether it was nervousness or aggravation. “Thank you, Tate,” she said finally, and then paused. “I think I would enjoy being there with you.”

“Maisie?”

“Tate, I haven’t met anyone who’s made me want to step out of my comfort zone as you’ve done. I don’t know why, or what it is about you…”

Thinking I needed to give her a detour from the seriousness, I laughed and said, “I’m just so damned adorable!”

“You are,” she said, and somehow I could feel the blush on her cheeks radiate through the phone.

We talked a while longer, but I kept it light. I didn’t want to push. She was opening up. I wouldn’t take a chance on blowing that.

Finally, she told me, “I need to go, but I’ll look forward to your next call.”

“Tomorrow,” I said quickly. “Good night, sweet Maisie.”

After I hung up I called a friend. “I need your help getting a phone number…”

***

The next morning, I had the number I’d requested, and dialed.

“Hey! It’s Carlene! I’m not available. Leave your lovely little message at the tweet sound and I’ll get right back at ya.”

“Carlene, it’s Tate. Could you please give me a call?”

I headed for the studio, and an hour later, there was a message. When I checked it, I dialed back immediately.

“What’s up, sugah?” she laughed.

“Carlene, she’s got me all wound up.”

“Let me tell you what you’ve done, Tate Morrow,” she said. I sat back and waited, wondering what she meant. “She’s a mess. I mean that in all kinds of ways. She’s a little package of dy-no-mite, but that crash killed her. She walked around in a fog for months. She immediately went back to work. She was sitting at that sewing machine the day after the funeral. She thought sewing would keep her mind occupied. She’s been quietly hiding behind that damn thing ever since, like it’s a fortress. She’d drive ten miles out of her way to avoid that intersection.”

She paused a moment and added, “Tread lightly, my friend. She’s fragile. I mean it, Tate. This is the first time she’s opened up to anyone but me since it happened.”