Chapter Four

 

Somehow, Slattery figured Cinderella’s mice-turned-coachman driving the pumpkin coach couldn’t have been much more surprised at the sudden shift in reality than he was, driving Sabetha to Boots and Bandanas. The down-to-earth sexy Texas gal that intrigued him had transformed into a glamorous woman, and he had no clue how to deal with the shift. Under the taffeta, beneath the faux pearls, she remained Sabetha but at the same time someone beyond his realm.

They parted ways once inside, Sabetha so she could take the stage when it became time, Slattery into the bar with the other patrons. He walked up to the bar, ordered a long-necked beer, and sipped it, the bottle smooth and cool against his mouth. Slattery spun the stool around to check out the place. Seemed like a basic bar to him, a large room with a bar along the right side with a mirrored back. Tables for two and four were scattered across the floor beside it, and the space widened a little to accommodate more in front of the small stage as well as a small dance floor. To the right of it, more seating was available. A bigger crowd than he’d anticipated filled many of the tables. Although dim like most drinking establishments, he noticed a few decorations on the walls, sports memorabilia, and some autographed baseball player pictures. One glass fronted frame boasted about “The Dugout”, and he figured the place must have been a sports bar at one time.

A silver ball hung stationary over the dance floor, a relic from the disco era of the late 1970s. This place must have had several faces, he thought, and turned his attention toward the stage. Three guys made a little instrumental music, one on an upright piano, another on a Fender acoustic guitar, and the third on drums. Although he lacked a very good ear for music and wouldn’t win if he tried to play “Name That Tune”, Slattery recognized an old Merle Haggard song. In the back right corner, Sabetha perched on a chair, waiting. Her stiff posture and the way she balanced on the edge made him think she must be nervous. He would be too, in her shoes.

Around the time he started his second beer, the stage lights dimmed and the piano player stepped up to the microphone. “If I could get your attention, it’s time for our star attraction, Miss Sabetha Hill, so give the lady a hand.”

A round of applause mingled with a few hoots and whistles echoed around the room, and Slattery grinned. Sabetha might not be his lady, not yet, but he intended her to be. She stepped up to the mic and waited for the crowd to settle down. When they had quieted to a few murmurs, she spoke. “Good evenin’, y’all. Like the man said, I’m here to sing, and I’m planning to rock the house, then take you home. I’m gonna start with a tune the Judd’s made famous a long time ago, “Have Mercy”. Boys, hit it.”

Slattery focused on Sabetha and let everything else recede into the background. Her rich speaking voice promised she might be a decent enough singer, but he’d praise her no matter what. When she began to sing, he sat up straight and almost dropped his beer. Slattery put the bottle on the bar and let her song sweep over him, as wide and encompassing as evening tide.

The song burst from her throat and riveted him. In his opinion, Sabetha combined the powerful voice of Patsy Cline with the honest grassroots sound of Janis Joplin and blended both with something genuine. She didn’t sound like anyone else, but her voice had both sweet and smoky qualities hidden within it, and she touched him deep within. From the way the crowd responded when she ended the tune, clapping with wild noise, some jumping to their feet with enthusiasm, others shouting compliments, he thought she hit a common chord. Heart and soul, he thought, she’s got both, and she’s giving it to everyone here.

He joined the applause, and when she glanced his way, he shot her a big smile. She marked it, grinned back, and introduced the next song. This time, she sang a fast, rockabilly Johnny Horton tune Slattery barely remembered, “Take Me Like I Am”. Over the next two hours, she sang everything from Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” to Hank Williams’ rollicking “Say Hey Good-Looking (Whatcha Got Cooking)” and Patsy Cline’s classic “Crazy”. She sang a little Shania and then Grace Potter’s “Nothing But The Water”.

Emotions, many long dormant, stirred to life within Slattery’s soul. The sheer power of feeling almost drowned him as she sang. When Sabetha launched her last song of the night, the hauntingly beautiful and poignant “The Rose”, sung by various artists over the years, tears scrolled down his face, slow and warm.

A man who hadn’t wept when he’d been injured, remained stoic when he learned his left leg had been amputated, or shed tears when the woman he’d thought he would marry ended any future together, cried now as he couldn’t then. Despite a tight knot in his throat and an ache in his chest, Slattery never realized until the song ended and he struggled to see through the tears.

Embarrassed and unwilling to be caught in such an emotional moment, he grabbed a handful of bar napkins and blotted his face. Then he downed the remainder of his now-warm beer as the crowd went crazy with applause. He tamped down all the powerful emotion and schooled his face into what he hoped might be a normal expression. By the time the applause ended and Sabetha made her way from the stage toward him, he’d regained control. Nothing but the crumpled napkins on the bar left any evidence he’d bawled like some dumbass.

“So, what did you think?” Sabetha had to shout over the bar noise as she approached.

“You’re fantastic, honey. You’ve got star quality.”

Sabetha’s grin burst out like sunshine in the clouds after heavy rain. “Do you really think so, Slattery?”

“Damned right I do. What now?”

She chugged down water from a bottle the bartender provided. “We get the hell out of here before some cowboy tries to romance me or ask for autographs,” she said. “I’m hungry now, so let’s grab something to eat.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said and when she reached for his hand, he grasped it tight.

They moved together through the press of people. Some shouted out compliments, a few guys tried to hand Sabetha scraps of paper with phone numbers, and others grinned. After the intense emotional reaction to her music, Slattery craved fresh air and quiet, so he pushed through.

At the car, he took long, deep breaths of the night air, cool enough for spring. “Where do you want to go?”

He’d like to take her to some trendy hotspot, someplace where the stars gathered over food and drink, but he wasn’t dressed for it and he’d be out of place. Slattery’s personal choice would be to grab something familiar, burgers or fried chicken or a thick sub sandwich or smoked ribs, but he figured she would prefer finer fare.

“Well,” Sabetha said after a pause. “I’d love to go out for breakfast, a platter of pancakes with sausage or a waffle, but I’d have to go home first and change. I don’t dare drip butter or syrup on this or it’d be ruined. But that would take a lot of trouble and time, so if you’d rather, we can grab something at a drive-through window. Then we can take it back to my place, eat, and you can go home.”

Her words conjured up an image of his empty rooms, and he almost shuddered. “It’s not too much to ask,” he replied. “I’d be happy to take you someplace like Denny’s or Waffle House or IHOP after you put on something more comfortable. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to be or have to get up early.”

She smiled. “But do you work tomorrow? I wouldn’t want you to end up worn out and tired.”

“I do, but not until eleven at the convention center. It’s a gem and jewelry show, everything from cheap beads to valuable diamonds.”

“It’ll be late by the time we get a table, order, and eat. Don’t you have to sleep sometime?”

He shrugged. “I can get by without much. Besides, I had that nap.”

Sabetha shook her head. “That’s not enough. I work my long shift tomorrow anyway. Let’s either grab something or stop at Von’s or Ralph’s and I’ll get something quick to cook, bacon and eggs maybe.”

For a moment, Slattery almost yielded to the temptation of home cooking, but he pulled himself back from the edge. They’d shared an incredible day together, all the more so because they had just met, but such domestic intimacy seemed too much for now. Besides, he rationalized it would take as much time as eating out by the time they made a supermarket stop, Sabetha changed, then cooked and ate. “I’ll take a rain check for breakfast,” he said. “In the interest of time, since we both work tomorrow, how about we grab some fire-grilled chicken from El Pollo Loco, some rice and beans, take it to your place, and call it good.”

Her smile faded a little but she nodded. “Okay, sure. I’d rather fix something more than bacon and eggs for you anyway. Chicken sounds delicious.”

They brought two chicken dinners, his with rice and pinto beans, hers with rice and coleslaw. At Sabetha’s apartment, she made a fast change into leggings and a long-tailed T-shirt, then they ate. They talked a little about her show, the songs she sang, and the bar. Then the conversation shifted into growing up and food, things not as common in California like beans and cornbread, rich, thick gumbos, and barbecue. Although the grilled chicken was delicious, Slattery missed old-fashioned Southern fried chicken, something he seldom found in the land of fruit and nuts.

“I’ll fix you some one of these days,” Sabetha promised. “I don’t have a big, seasoned cast iron skillet like my grandma, but I can make chicken almost as good as hers.”

“Sounds great,” he said.

By one thirty, they’d finished the food, and fatigue hung heavy over Slattery. His phantom leg ached, the way it often did when he kept long hours, and he wanted a shower before sleep. He reminded himself Sabetha worked tomorrow too, so he pushed back from the table and stifled a yawn. “I probably should go,” he told her. “I’ve had a fantastic day, one of the best in a long time. You’re quite a gal and one hell of a singer.”

Sabetha blushed. “Thanks. I had a good time too, and I’m glad we met. If you get a chance, listen to me on the radio and let me know what you think.”

“I will.”

She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a business card from the radio station. “My cell number’s on this if you want to call.”

Slattery did, and he would. “Got a piece of paper? I’ll give you mine.”

He had to think about what it was since he seldom used the phone. His bosses called him from work, his mother once a week, his siblings on occasion. Slattery scribbled it down and handed it to Sabetha.

“I’ll see you sometime soon, I hope,” Sabetha said. Then it struck him hard, like a load of granite on his thick skull. Damned if the woman wasn’t hinting.

“Want to get together Friday?” As far as he knew, he didn’t have a gig and if he remembered, it was a day she had off from radio.

Her quick smile confirmed what he’d thought. “I’d love to, Slattery. What would you like to do?”

A few ideas popped into his head but he didn’t want to commit now. “We’ve got all week to figure it out. Maybe dinner or a movie…”

“Or the beach or a flea market,” Sabetha added. “Or a museum or something.”

Sand ranked high on his list of things to avoid, but for now, he nodded. “Sure, any of the above would do.”

Sabetha walked him to the door but before she opened it, she turned to face him. She said nothing, but her blue eyes met his and he swore he could read the emotion in their depths. She liked him, that much he didn’t doubt, and he liked her just as much, maybe more. He knew he would see more of this amazing woman, and despite his fatigue, a rush of desire flooded his mind. His cock twitched with interest and he wanted her, so very much. Slattery imagined how smooth her skin would be under his touch, how sweet it would be to hold her breasts in his hands, and how it would thrill him to run his lips from the hollow of her throat to the valley between those titties. Heat roared through him until, if he didn’t know better, he’d swear he had a fever.

Something flared between them, invisible but potent enough to almost touch. They’d held hands, linked arms, but nothing had indicated this might be anything but friendship. But Slattery craved more so he kissed her. His mouth landed on hers and fastened in place, her lips heated silk beneath his. Something delicious and electric shot through him as they kissed, a wild wonder he’d thought he might never experience again. Sabetha leaned against him, her hands straying onto his shoulders as his arms pulled her into an embrace. He deepened the kiss, and she responded with the same intensity. God, she made him almost dizzy as he shut his eyes to savor these incredible moments.

He pulled back first but still held her in his arms. Sabetha smiled up at him, face flushed, lips darker than ever. “Wow, Slattery.”

“You liked that, did you?”

“I did, a lot. It’s just…”

Here’s the brush-off, he thought. “What?”

“It might be a fluke so I think we should kiss again, just to see if it’s the real deal or just illusion or a one-hit wonder.”

With a groan, Slattery obliged her and ground his mouth down on hers again. He tasted and teased, began light and then kissed hard. His fingers cupped her cheek with one hand, her skin warm against his touch. A light floral scent wafted into his nose from her hair and skin. He thought he could stand this way forever, mouths welded together, bodies pressed close.

But then he wanted her, ached with a savage wildness to take her, to blend their bodies into one flesh. From the way she clung to him, how she kissed him back, Slattery thought Sabetha wanted the same.

He almost did but jerked back. If he didn’t, he would, and since it was much too soon, he would spoil any chances of a future with her.

“So, what do you think?” he asked. His breath came short and rapid, his heart pounded like a bass drum. “I’m pretty sure that’s more than a one-hit wonder.”

“Me too, Slattery.” Her voice emerged soft, a whisper in the night, husky as a fervent prayer in church. “Good night and call me, okay?”

“I will. Night, Sabetha.”

Slattery considered kissing her one more time but rejected the notion. If he did, he would surrender to lust and passion. Instead he touched her cheek with the back of his palm. “See you later, honey.”

Before he could change his mind, he left. Although he never looked back, he thought she stood at the door to watch him until he passed out of sight because only then did he hear the apartment door shut with a quiet click.

He walked upright, with effort, until he descended the stairs and covered the distance to his Caddy. His leg ached, real pain this time, from wearing the prosthesis for so many hours, but he hadn’t been about to reveal how much he hurt to Sabetha. Once behind the wheel, he rubbed at his knee then headed for home, his heart and mind lighter than they’d been in the six-plus years since he came home from the desert sandbox, his lower leg gone.

His apartment had never seemed as empty or quiet. Slattery removed his shoes, then slid his prosthesis from the socket and removed the sock worn beneath it. He winced as he rubbed the stump, the skin long since healed but ever sore. With his cane, he splashed through the shower, then he sprawled on his bed and sipped Irish whiskey until the worst of the hurt dulled, and he thought about Sabetha. His emotions warred against each other, hope against despair, a new, strange joy and inexplicable sadness. When he finally slid into sleep, his last thoughts were of her, and he thought he dreamed about the woman.

In the morning, Slattery rose late, went through his shit, shower, and shave routines, then dressed in his uniform for the job. The pain in his stump had receded. As he put his billfold, keys, and phone into his pockets, he considered calling Sabetha but didn’t. By now, 10:15, she’d be en route to her job and he should be headed to his. The pain had receded to a bearable level and he struggled to set his mind for work mode. Once there, at the jewelry and gem show, he became Slattery, the security guard, unsmiling, alert, and standing at near Army-perfect attention. Outwardly, he remained sober and staunch, but within his heart beat to a strange, new rhythm, and his emotions simmered in a volatile stew. The mask he plastered across his features hid his inner thoughts but Slattery found emotions, however confused, an improvement over apathy.

Slattery compared almost every woman he noticed at the event to Sabetha. None, he thought, were as pretty or vivacious. He recalled the graceful way she moved, the quick smiles that illuminated her face like summer sunshine, and the taste of her mouth beneath his. On his lunch break he considered going out to the car to tune into her radio show but didn’t. He would wait until his shift ended.

On the way home, he listened to Sabetha’s patter with something close to awe. Her voice sounded the same and yet it didn’t. Her broadcast sound possessed a depth, a sharp clarity, and a professional quality she didn’t adopt in everyday conversation. Pouring from the speakers of the car, her voice carried a smoky, sweet Southern flavor, and he hungered for more. Once settled in his apartment, he found the station on the stereo and let Sabetha fill his empty rooms with sound. Slattery kicked back in his recliner, prosthesis off, and drank a tall glass of Jameson’s blended with Pepsi. He liked most of the tunes she spun, an eclectic mix, but she made it work with her introductions and segues from one song into the next.

He listened to classic Johnny Horton, Frank Sinatra, the Glenn Miller Orchestra, to Patsy Cline and Kitty Wells. She played a little early Elvis, some Andrews Sisters, Hank Williams, Webb Pierce, and Nat King Cole. Best of all, she let Peggy Lee’s amazing voice drift over the airwaves to his ears, and he savored his favorite Peggy Lee song, “Fever”.

He had one now, and like the woman sang, it could be hard to bear, but at the moment Slattery wouldn’t have it any other way.