Tate (7 page)

“Listen, Carlene, I gotta get back. Can I call you later?”

“Lovely, Tate! That’d be just lovely!”

I returned to the studio and we ran through some more of the new material, to complete the album. The singles,
I’m a Guy
and
Night Moves
, were doing well.
I’m A Guy
bounced between number one and number two on Billboard’s Country chart for weeks. The song that I wanted to sing today was one that I’d just started working on. I didn’t really
play
the guitar while I sang - I lightly strummed, trying to get the tune together in my head - but I
knew
the words.

I saw you there

That smile you try not to share

The eyes that shine

Just want to make you mine

All mine

I feel your heart

The one you try hard to guard

Lips like sweet wine

Just want to make you mine

All mine

Then finally you smile

And I’d walk a hundred miles

To make it all fine

To make you mine 

All mine

“Come sit out here for a bit. I want to go over some notes I took on that one,” Andy suggested. I joined at him at the console. “I think Marco agrees with my thoughts,” he said, and Marco nodded his agreement. “The music needs some work, but not much. I heard where you were going.”

Again, Marco nodded, adding, “I can hear soft violin or something like that with it. Maybe a, uh, what the hell do you call them… a fiddle!”

“Good!” Andy laughed. “We’ll be wearing shirts and jeans like Tate before you know it!”

“Boots, don’t forget the boots!” Marco added.

Finally, Andy turned to me. “I’m guessing the break for the phone call earlier was about a woman.”

“It was,” I said, and I couldn’t have wiped the stupid grin off my face if I tried.

“Well,” Andy said, “that explains it all.”

“What do you mean?”

“The song, for one thing. Definitely written about someone you care about…”

“Or want to care about?” Marco cocked his head as he raised an eyebrow to me in question.

“Both,” I said.

“Your emotions came out all through that song. It’s one of those songs that, as long as this woman is part of your life, those emotions will come to life through your voice. If she’s not in your life, you’ll never be able to sing it that way again. I know.”

“She’s kind of a mess. She’ll be a challenge, but I’ll patiently chip at the broken pieces until she’s healed.”

“If she’s worth it, don’t be stupid. Don’t let her get away. Take it from someone who knows.”

I thought hard about what he said. I knew his story. The whole world did.

“She’s worth the challenge,” I said, and again that damn grin was there, making me blush like a kid.

“I need to get going. I’m taking Carlee out to dinner tonight. Honor Roll again!” he said proudly. “The harder she studies, the more broke I get!”

***

I grabbed a bite with Marco, and when I finally got to the hotel, I called Carlene.

“Hey, sugah!”

“Can we continue the conversation we began earlier? I mean, if I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Free as the spirit that travels with me! First tell me how it’s going with your music,” she said.

“I sang a song today that Andy loved - no tweaks to voice or lyrics, just some musical suggestions. Going back in the morning to finish it up. So, with the singles and the other four we’ve cut, I’ve got six ready.”

“A six-pack!” she laughed, adding, “Not that I drink beer. I’m a champagne kind of woman.”

“Closing my eyes. Yep, I can see that,” I chuckled.

“Lovely! Well, congrats! I can’t wait to hear what you release next. Now we were talking about Maisie, right?” I heard a mischievous tone to her voice. It made me smile.

“Yes. Maisie.”

“Tate Morrow, I just want to tell you this before we get too deep in conversation what Maisie means to me. That beautiful young woman is a gem in my country queen crown - the biggest gem of all, actually. Has she told you about her mama?”

“I’ve asked, but she changes the subject. I’m trying to take it slow, because I see her struggle over personal things. I don’t want her to back off, so I’m learning to side step when it seems as though she’s about to retreat.”

“Now, this isn’t gossip. I want to make that clear. She’s guarded and somehow a sparkly vest meshed our lives into a beautiful thing. She’s the daughter I never had, never wanted, but I can’t imagine my life now without her.”

I kicked back with a beer to listen.

“She doesn’t know her father. I mean that she doesn’t even know who he is. I offered to help her find out about him, who he was, but she wanted no part of it. And you won’t have to dig too deep to find out about her mama. Her granny raised her because Kitty was using up any man in Nashville who she figured had more than a nickel in his pocket. I knew about Kitty waaaay before I ever knew Maisie,” she said, drawing the word
way
out.

“Kitty was a user – men and drugs. Velma, Maisie’s granny, worked hard to keep Maisie away from that lifestyle, and she did a good job, but she didn’t have to work too hard. Maisie is keenly intuitive. She figured things out about her mama when she was young, and became the little turtle she calls herself. Kitty only showed up when she’d spent some poor sap dry and needed something. Maisie looked like a dark-haired Shirley Temple when she was young. I’ve seen pictures, and she was cute as a bug!”

“She still is, Carlene.”

“Lovely, Tate! Just lovely!” she shouted. “When she was in fifth grade, Granny sat her at the sewing machine and the magic began. Give that girl a piece of fabric and amazing things happen. You know our story. She was fifteen, and when I saw that vest at the fair, I had to have it. I gave her more than she wanted, but I wanted to see more from her. She’s quite amazing.”

“Her junior year, bad things happened. Kitty had been usin’ up this new up and comer and he came in one night and found her in his bed with his drummer. Rage overcame him. He shot them both and then turned the gun on himself. It was awful. Granny and I worked to help her move on after all that. I paid for private tutors so she could finish high school and graduate without having to go back to school because she was having no part of that. Wouldn’t even discuss it.

“For graduation, I bought her a big’ol fancy sewing machine and she became a little sewing fool. I took her to a fabric store one day and told her to find something to make me a dress for the CMAs. She told me she couldn’t, and I told her, ‘You’ll make me a damn dress or I’m gonna grab a piece of fabric and tie it around my body and I’ll go just like that.’

“She worked for weeks, measuring me, sketching... I told her I didn’t want to see it until it was ready for me to try on. And Tate, I’d have proudly worn whatever she made, even if it was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen. But it wasn’t. It was beautiful, and I told everyone on the red carpet who my designer was. That was the first year I won Best Female Artist. My picture was plastered on every magazine and paper that covered the event. I couldn’t have been more proud if she were my own flesh and blood.

“I helped her get a little place on the west side of town. She couldn’t get the permits because she wasn’t eighteen yet. We got her set up and she sewed morning, noon and night. That’s when Dion came along. He knocked on the door, opened a sketch book and the two of them have been together ever since. Most nights she slept in the backroom. She worked her ass off, and she was making money. I used her up - dresses, more of the vests that became my signature, and then the men wanted to wear them under their monkey suits,” she said with a big laugh. “She keeps me grounded. I have a tendency to get a little raucous and rowdy, and then I remember all she’s been through and I settle my happy ass right down.”

We talked for about an hour. Carlene told me about Blake Bolden and their short life together.

“I knew when I met her that something was missing in her. It was like I saw the spark but it never became a flame. After hearing this I could never have imagined all that she’s been through,” I mused.

“And so soon after Blake, Granny died.”

“It’s been two years since the accident, right?”

“ACM night will be three,” Carlene replied. “And you are the first man she’s even given the time of day.”

“I won’t take that lightly.”

“Tate, my lovely, your mama did a fine job raising you. That’s enough for now. You’ll have to get her to fill in any blanks I missed. I hope you do. I gotta go get my beauty sleep, it takes more these days!”

I dialed Maisie’s number. “Hey there,” she said, and her sweet voice made me smile. It sounded as though she was happy to hear from me.

***

Maisie

Tate called again the second night he was in Florida. As we talked, he shared his moon with me once more, and I loved that he wanted to. After I hung up, I laid awake for a really long time. There had been one man in my life for four years. I’d never really even dated anyone else. Blake Bolden was it. All the guys I’d met before made me feel like it was an honor for him to pay attention to me. I felt like it was their honor that I let them pay attention, but my mom’s story hung over me like a black cloud. Granny always said I was from the ‘wrong side of the tracks’.

As soon as I met Blake, I saw sparks, fireworks, pixie dust, and I felt hot molten lava from my head to my toes. And suddenly, I realized that I felt the same way when Tate Morrow entered a room.

Am I healed enough to explore?

Can I let go of Blake’s memory and allow another man in my life?

What about my heart?

Will Tate be able to handle all that baggage that comes with Maisie Bolden?

So many questions…

The next morning, Carlene came into the shop soon after I opened the door.

“Hello, sugah!”

“What brings you out before cocktail hour,” I laughed. “You’re all happy like you got laid or something!”

“I just woke up feeling lovely! I decided that the world is grand, and I’m gonna make it good day! I’m gonna give it all I’ve got!”

“You did get laid last night!” I deadpanned.

“Better than that!” She giggled. “Purple.”

“Purple what?” I questioned.

“Passionate purple is the color you’re going to use for Tate’s vest for the ACMs!”

“I don’t think he’s the vest type.”

“Maisie,” she said, and suddenly there was an unfamiliar seriousness to her voice. “I like him. I think he’s the real deal. I’ve done some digging, because I always want to know.”

“You thinking about asking him out?” I asked.

“P’shaw,” she snorted. “He couldn’t handle me. I’d wear him out in a week, and he’d need a month to recover.” Her words had both of us roaring with laughter.

“I think he likes you, Maisie, and I think you’ve got something going on in there,” she said, tapping my forehead with a long, perfectly manicured nail painted a shade in the spectrum of colors right smack in the middle between red and orange. “You’ve done your mourning. Open the door and see what the wind blows in, my lovely.”

At that exact moment the door opened and Dion breezed in with a big box.

“Look what came!” he said excitedly. Carlene and I lost it. We were laughing so hard that we were both in tears.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, clearly bumfuzzled over our outburst.

“Carlene just said, ‘open the door and see what the wind blows in’, and there you were!”

“What’s got you all happy and shit? You’re kinda freaking me out. I haven’t heard you giggle like that, or seen a smile on your face that bright since, well you know,” Dion said, and suddenly he paused. He looked first to Carlene, and then to me. “Unless that hunk of handsome cowboy I’ve been daydreaming about is around!”

With a hand on his slim hip, he turned toward me. “Girl, you got some ‘splainin’ to do,” he said in a Ricky Ricardo accent. His eyes sparkled with mischief. He placed his hand over his heart and feigned disappointment. But I knew he was playing.

“He’s not your type, Dion. I heard the disdain in your voice as you grumbled over the shirts with the pearl snaps, and oh my holy hell, when you got to the denim I thought you were going to cry,” I laughed.

“Oh but Maisie, when he walked out in that tux…” He fanned himself, laughing.

“Oh, just open the damn box, Dion!” I told him.

He opened the box and pulled out a bolt of amber brocade. The light hit it and all three of us were giddy.

After we’d oohed and aahed over the fabric, I turned to Dion and then glanced Carlene’s way. “I think it might just be that big’ol hunk of handsome cowboy…”