Damn, damn, damn, damn…fuck. The string of curses running through Victoria Roddy’s mind was a mantra that kept her from screaming until she passed out, or running into the great beyond to start living as a hermit in the first cave she came across.
“Damn it to hell, kid. Is she ready?” Bryce Benton asked Victoria with barely concealed aggravation.
Victoria glanced at the door to the studio’s bathroom and tried not to grimace. There really wasn’t anything to say that would sound believable, and she wouldn’t lie or make anything up to try to con her mother’s longtime guitarist. Bryce had been there from the beginning and hadn’t retired to his goats and chickens because Victoria had begged him not to.
In the last couple of years he’d been her ally in trying to keep her mother, Sophie Roddy, in check so they didn’t miss any professional obligations. Sophie was country music royalty and the reigning queen of Nashville, but it was hard to see the glamour when she had her head in the toilet and mascara smeared around her eyes.
“She’s not feeling well.” The statement was the one she’d said with more frequency in the last year. “Give me ten minutes, and she should be good to go.”
He shook his head and leaned against the doorframe. “I love you, kid, but it’s time for either rehab or a vacation so she can drink herself into the oblivion she’s gunning for. Some of the guys are starting to put feelers out for new gigs, and I can’t blame them. I owe it to you to give you a heads-up. Pretty soon the band is going to be me and the crazy guy that plays banjo over on Main.” Bryce put his arms around her when she couldn’t hold back the tears over the whole situation. “I know you love her, but it’s time to stop covering up all the stuff that’s not your fault.”
“She’s my mother, Bryce. You know I can’t do that.” She took a deep breath and kissed his cheek before stepping back. “Give me ten minutes.”
“This is going to be a long day, sweetheart. Blowing off a time in the studio is one thing, but tonight we’re going to the Opry. She’s got to be ready. That’s a big stage to fuck up on.”
No matter how famous an artist was, they were as awed as a newcomer when it came to walking out onto the Grand Ole Opry stage and into the circle. That six foot section that had come from the mother church of country music, the Ryman, gave the new building some of the tradition and magic of the old place. Her mother had been there dozens of times in her career, but tonight’s performance was about to give Victoria hives. Drinking was one thing, but her mother’s new boyfriend Weston Cagle had introduced a cocktail of pills for Sophie to chase down with her drink of choice, Cinclair Whiskey.
“She’ll be ready.” She said it, but there was no part of her that believed it.
Sophie’s life of recording, touring, and performing was the only thing Victoria had ever known because Sophie had dragged her along for all if it, although all she’d really wanted was to stay with her grandparents. The only normal life she’d carved out for herself was the four years she’d gone away to college, but her absence had knocked the wheels off her mother’s runaway train.
Any dreams of pursuing her love of playing her own music had been sidelined when Sophie’s manager quit a month after Victoria’s graduation because he’d been fed up with Sophie’s behavior. Victoria had taken over, but the last three years were about to drive her to drink as a way of escaping the hell her life had become.
No time to dwell, so she opened the door to Sophie’s moaning and retching. “Are you okay?”
“What have I told you about this fucking early morning shit?” Sophie got off her knees, staggered to the sink, and stared at the running water like she didn’t know what to do with it.
“It’s one in the afternoon, and we got here twenty minutes ago. We were already an hour late, and it’s really not fair to the guys.” She handed Sophie a wet paper towel and crossed her arms. “You realize you’re the headliner at the Opry tonight, right? You need to get it together.”
“And you need to reel the judgment back…a lot,” Sophie said, taking a moment to spit out the water she swished around her mouth. “You know I’m a damn professional who doesn’t need anyone to tell me my goddamned job.”
“Your job’s been waiting for you for over an hour, and I’m shocked they stuck around. Why is it you’re the only one who doesn’t see that you’re killing yourself?” Her mother rinsed her mouth again and glared at her, making her bloodshot eyes really stand out. It was like looking at a racoon having a piss-poor day. “Get mad all you want, but it’s the truth.”
“Let’s go before the world comes to an end, since that’s how you’re spinning it. I just wasn’t feeling well, and y’all all act like it’s a crime.” Sophie smoothed down her platinum-blond hair that was a shade or four too garish to be her natural color and circled her shoulders as if to relax them. The big hair that was her mom’s signature and the moves she was making only highlighted how thin and frail she looked.
Sophie totally schmoozed the guys in the control room like she always did, but the band didn’t appear at all enamored. They seemed furious until they began, and Sophie started singing. The song that’d probably be the first single off the first album her mom was putting out in four years sounded fantastic with her iconic smoky voice.
Weston had floated a few songs and expected them to be chosen because of his relationship with Sophie, then got angry and disappeared when they were rejected. He’d made himself scarce around rehearsals and such, and he’d handed Sophie a bottle before they’d left the house. Victoria wanted to throw it away, but that would only start another argument when her mother found it missing.
“That was wonderful, ma’am,” the guy in the control room said, seeming really starstruck. They wouldn’t start recording until the producer arrived. This session was for the benefit of the mixer and audio guys, to get things tweaked, and would hopefully make things go smoother when whoever Sophie’s longtime label, Banu Records, sent over arrived.
“Quit with the ma’am stuff. It’s Sophie.” Her mother had a way about her that made it easy to gather new fans, no matter how young or old they were.
“Thank you, Sophie, and we’ll go ahead and take it from the top. We’re hoping to get through two today, and the rest in the couple of weeks Banu set aside for you.”
Victoria was encouraged as Sophie drank four bottles of water and a cup of coffee while they worked and didn’t take long in the restroom when she excused herself. Sophie actually appeared sober by the time they wrapped, a little after five. That gave them time to have dinner before they headed to the Opry.
“I’m not hungry, but I do need to lie down for an hour. You should’ve thought about the strain of a day like this before you scheduled stuff.” Sophie leaned back and closed her eyes in the passenger seat as Victoria started her car. “You’ve been here long enough to know better.”
“I do know better, Mom. This was to warm up your voice for tonight. I know how you feel about the Opry over any other venue.”
“Shut up—stop being patronizing, and bring me home.” Sophie was acting like a petulant child, and it was about to get worse. Victoria could feel it in her gut, like an old man could feel rain coming in his arthritic joints.
“Mom, we don’t have time to go back to Brentwood. If you need to lie down, you can come to my place.” Once Weston had moved in with her mother, she’d found an apartment in town.
“Call Weston and have him meet me there, then. He can bring me tonight.”
The word fuck replaced the string of damns in her head, and she took a deep breath to calm her thoughts. “Mom, do you think that’s a good idea? You and Weston like to have a good time, and tonight isn’t about that.”
“Let’s remember our places, okay? And you could do with a little fun yourself. All you need to do right now is keep my schedule and make sure everyone’s paid. That’s it. I’m responsible for me, and it’s been me who’s gotten this far.”
Victoria sighed at Sophie’s cruelty. Only an unlucky few got to see this side of her, and Victoria always got the brunt of it. “Sonny Liner gave you a warning after what happened in Baton Rouge. Do you remember that?”
The way Sophie grabbed her arm and tightened her fingers made Victoria swerve the car. “Sonny Liner knows as well as I do that the Banu label would be shit without me as its cornerstone. If you’re smart, you’ll shut up about Baton Rouge. There was nothing to that except bad timing.”
“I don’t think he was kidding, but you know best, so I’ll remember my place.” It was an unkind thought that came to her as she said it, but if the head of her mother’s label finally got fed up with her, they’d cancel her contract and Victoria would be free.
“Don’t get dramatic on me, sugar. Spending all day locked in a studio puts me in a bad mood, but I’ll feel better after a nap.” Sophie relaxed her hand into more of a caress, but as usual, it was too little too late.
“You know best, and you have a key, so I’ll see you later. I know you hate me saying it, but try to remember how important tonight and this album are. Tonight is the beginning of the PR buildup Banu is doing before it’s released. You’ve got to be on your A-game.” There was no way she was going to hang around and get yelled at for the rest of the afternoon. Her mother liked reminding her that she was an adult and responsible for her own decisions, and those decisions had landed her on top of the charts. And to add to that, Weston gave Victoria the creeps.
“It’ll be a show no one will forget.” Sophie opened the door before the car stopped, having spotted Weston lounging on Victoria’s front steps.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
* * *
“How can you say no?”
Mason Liner glanced up at the waitress before turning her attention to the young guy who’d begged for a meeting. She couldn’t remember his name. “Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm for your girlfriend—”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said with the indignity of an old church marm in a whorehouse on a Sunday.
“Kid, never start any negotiation with bullshit. You love this girl, and good for you, but the last thing Nashville needs is another Taylor Swift lookalike in everything but the height and talent. Get her a few gigs on Broadway, then give me a call, but try some voice lessons first.” She put her hand out for him to shake, hopeful he’d recognize it as closure to their meeting. It was doubtful any of the bars along the famous street that was Nashville’s entertainment district would hire this girl to do anything but bus tables.
“The regular, Mason?” the waitress asked when she came back. They’d both watched the slow walk of rejection the guy had done, but that wouldn’t be the last time he’d do it, so it was good he was getting some practice in.
“Let’s mix it up and have it with fries this time.” She smiled when the woman kissed her before going to put her steak order in.
That order and the table where Mason was sitting had been her Friday night ritual for the last six months. Skull’s Rainbow Room wasn’t at all a new place in Nashville, but a lot of the locals sometimes forgot it served up great food as well as good entertainment. On Fridays, though, after the band and the dinner service, they’d added burlesque, and Madame Belle Lenox was the only woman she’d ever known who’d turned down a recording deal.
What Mason hadn’t turned down was an invitation for a drink at Belle’s place the first night she’d come to see the show, and that had turned into a mutually satisfying relationship with very few of those annoying strings that usually came with spending time in a woman’s bed. Belle was a little older than her, but the way she worked a crowd and danced made you forget everything but Belle.
Her cell phone flashed on the table, and she was surprised to see her father’s name on the screen. Friday nights were usually his time to sit in his recliner in his boxers, eat wings, and drink a few beers with her mother. Business was put on the back burner on Friday nights.
“Hey, Pop.”
“How’s my little Buckaroo?”
She laughed at the nickname and at how her dad’s voice made her happy. “Good, I’m having a steak at Skull’s, and we put the finishing touches on Colt Kenny’s tour. All I need is an opening band, and we can start advertising.” She nodded at the waitress as she put her plate down, and Mason immediately salted everything on it. “And I’m an inch taller than you, so keep that in mind when you call me little anything.”
“Little Buckaroo sounds better than big Amazon, so keep that in mind.”
Mason heard her mother laughing in the background.
“You should thank me for your good looks, and hopefully you can do it in person tomorrow. Are you free around ten?”
“For you I’m always free, Papa. I’ll come earlier than that and bring some doughnuts.”
“Good. Just one more thing, and I hope it’s not messing up your night, but I need you to head to the Opry and catch Sophie’s set. The studio called me today, and we might have some problems on the horizon when it comes to Ms. Roddy, and that’s going to be one of the things we need to talk about tomorrow.”
“I’ll be happy to, Pop,” she said, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. “I’ll see you in the morning. Do you need anything else?”
“All I need is to see you and that brilliant brain of yours you got from your mama. The great hair and eyes—that’s all me.”
“At least you have me to remind you what great hair used to look like.”
“You’re killing me, kid, so bring those doughnuts as well to make it up to me.”
She laughed at that too as she stared at the black-and-white checkered linoleum stage floor where Elvis, then a nobody, had been given a chance to perform. Skull’s had been the first stop for a lot of famous names, and another reason Mason liked it. And all the women backstage ready to dance weren’t a bad reason to visit either.
Belle came out an hour later with her signature big yellow feathered boa and prowled the stage as she sang, looking like the truest definition of a sexy woman. The boa dropped on Mason’s head as Belle winked at her, but every pair of eyes in the room stayed on Belle. Her body in a sheath dress was something songs should be written about.
The show was an hour long, and Belle’s girls packed the place and kept the patrons drinking. Skull’s was a Friday night must if you wanted a change of pace from the row of honkytonks on Broadway. Mason downed her drink when the manager waved her over to the end of the bar. The next show wasn’t for another hour, and the band started up again to fill the time.
“Belle said to go on back,” the guy said, shaking her hand. “And thanks for the recommendation on the band. They’ve been a good addition, and the folks really like them.”
“Let them start playing their original stuff.” She waved to the lead singer who’d lifted his hand after noticing her. “Trust me, everyone will love them as much as the old standards they’re doing now, and they won’t be around for free much longer.”
“You signing them?”
“Not yet, but they have potential, and they have that connection with the crowd you can’t teach.” She stayed for the beginning of their first song before heading to the dressing room past the storage area.
Belle was in a bustier and fishnet stockings held up by garters when she opened the door, and Mason couldn’t help but stare like a horny teenage boy. “How is it you get better looking every time I see you?” Belle asked.
“It’s all the dim lighting in these places. It works to my advantage.” She gladly stepped forward when Belle tugged her by the belt and pushed her down on the couch. “You were as gorgeous as ever, and that voice of yours gives me shivers.”
“Hopefully that’s not the only thing that gave you shivers, lover.” Belle straddled her lap and threaded her fingers into her hair. “You looked so delicious sitting there that I can’t wait for you to bring me home.”
“Oh yeah?” She untied the top of the bustier and worked it down to expose even more of Belle’s cleavage. “What can’t you wait for?”
“First I want you to touch me, since I could almost feel your hands on me the way you were staring, and then I need you to fuck me. And I really need you to do that right now, baby.”
Mason glanced down, enjoying the way the black garters contrasted against Belle’s legs, and how sexy she was with only that and the bustier on. “Are you wet?”
“Mason, you might get pinched for silly questions. Give me what I want.”
Belle lifted onto her knees a little when Mason ran two fingers from the opening of her sex to the top of her clit. That made Belle hiss and pull her hair hard enough to cock her head back so she could kiss her.
“You want it fast or slow?” The way Belle was chasing her fingers with the movement of her hips made it clear.
“Are you going to fuck me or talk me to death?” Belle bit her bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth. “God,” she said as she stilled when Mason filled her up. “You always know.” Belle moaned when Mason stroked her clit and pressed their foreheads together. “Fuck…fuck me.”
Mason slid her fingers out and in rapidly, making sure to hit Belle’s clit every time. The sight and feel of her made Mason hard, and she wasn’t stopping until Belle came on her hand. “Let me see you.”
Belle leaned away from her and tugged the blood-red bustier down until it was well below her breasts, and she moaned when Mason sucked one in. “Yeah, baby, harder.” Mason pressed into the sofa and put her hand behind Belle’s head so she could lean back, giving her room to really move her hand. “Like that, oh, fuck me, like that,” Belle said with her eyes closed. Belle’s hips pumped in rhythm with Mason’s thrusts, and it didn’t take long before Mason felt Belle grip her fingers in the most intimate of ways.
“You aren’t Nashville’s most sought after producer and record executive for nothing, baby,” Belle said, squeezing her fingers one more time after she came. She leaned forward and kissed Mason before letting her hand go. “You certainly know how to produce all kinds of things in me.”
“Thank you, and if you form a fan club, I want to be nominated for president.”
Belle got off her and slipped into the bathroom before coming out in the costume she’d started the show with.
“Are you in pain, babe, or you want to wait?”
“You’re a hard one to say no to, but I have to leave early. I promised my father I’d run an errand for him, so I have to get going.”
“No time for me to return the favor?” Belle asked as she reapplied lipstick.
“Believe me, I’d like nothing better, but I have to go. Are you okay for a ride?” She usually gave Belle a lift home, but she doubted the night would end anytime soon.
“I’ll ask one of the girls, and remember, I owe you one.” Belle kissed her and pressed their bodies together.
“That I won’t forget, and believe me, the chore Sonny assigned me will be doubly hard considering how hard I am at the moment.” She laughed and slapped Belle’s ass. “Have fun tonight.”
“And you try to do the same.”
“I’ll do my best, darlin’, but I very much doubt it.” From what her father had said about Sophie, and what she remembered of her past behavior, the rest of her night wasn’t going to be fun at all. “I very much doubt it.”