“You get so dressed up just to do the payroll, Rolando?” Roland finished signing the last paycheck, then looked at his uncle, Jorge. Doing the payroll today had kept him from getting dirty after he rushed home. He had showered and changed into a gray western shirt, creased blue jeans, and black cowboy boots.
“Jorge,” Roland answered with a slight smile. “I couldn’t go out with a pretty lady looking like a greasy mechanic, could I?”
Tío Jorge’s ever present grin widened below his bushy gray moustache. “Is this one special?”
Roland winked. “They’re all special, Jorge.”
“Ay, Rolando.” The middle-aged man sighed, shaking his gray head. “You sound like your papá. He danced with all the pretty women a long time before he found your mamá. Are you going to be old, like a viejo, before you marry, too?” He crossed his brown forearms upon the wooden counter that separated the carpeted waiting area from the office desks.
“Jorge, I’m only twenty-nine.” Roland stuffed envelopes with employee paychecks while he talked. “Besides, women are different now. They want a glamorous career, and the husband and children practically have to make an appointment just to be together. My brother, Ray, lives like that.” He shook his head. “That’s not the kind of life I want.”
“You want a woman to stay home and make tortillas for you, eh?” Tío Jorge asked.
Roland glanced up to see the teasing gleam in his uncle’s brown eyes.
“No, Jorge. I woke up from that dream years ago. Even my mother buys her tortillas now.” In recent months, though, Roland had come to appreciate the traditional aspects of his childhood, which were quickly going out of style, and wished he could find a woman who treasured the customs of their heritage, yet could walk beside him in the twenty-first century.
The door to the waiting room opened, and Jessie came inside. Roland stood up immediately, as Tío Jorge turned around.
Jessie’s appearance was a beautiful compromise between two styles. Her long dark braid hung down one shoulder. She wore a delicately hand-embroidered Mexican blouse that reminded Roland of all the colorful artistic work he had seen in Puebla. Her short blue denim skirt, matching denim jacket, and black ankle-strap shoes would make any man take notice.
She smiled politely at Tío Jorge, then looked at Roland with a question in her brown eyes. Obviously, she was waiting for an introduction, but Roland had been struck dumb by her appearance. He cleared his throat loudly, hoping it would clear his brain, too.
“Jessie, this is my uncle, Jorge Tovías. Jorge, this is Jessie Medina. She’s the lady who works for St. Joe’s.”
“It’s nice to met you, Señor Tovías.”
Tío Jorge shook her hand. “It is my pleasure, señorita. My sons, Ariél and Pablo, went to school at St. Joe’s. We all want my grandsons to go there someday as well.” He turned back to Roland. “I’ll finish the payroll if you want to leave now.”
“It’s done, Jorge. I have only a few envelopes to seal. Thanks, anyway.”
“Please come by again, señorita.” Jorge gave her a slight bow, then left the waiting room area.
Roland turned to finish his work quickly, anxious for a second chance with her.
“Your uncle’s a nice man.” Jessie stepped closer to the counter.
“He’s like a second father to me.” Roland smiled as he spoke about his family. “My dad died last year, and even before I assumed a full partnership with him, Jorge always treated me fairly and respected my opinion. He calls me his college-educated partner, but what that man knows about cars equals four degrees.” He put the last employee check in an envelope, then set the pile in the metal basket for Jorge to distribute later. “Shall we go?”
“My car’s outside.” Jessie withdrew her keys from the small leather purse hanging over her shoulder.
Roland stepped around the counter. “It’ll be safer locked inside the garage. I’ll drive us to Austin in my car.”
Keys tightly clutched in her hand, Jessie shook her head. “Thanks, but we’ll go in my car.”
Roland frowned and said, “Jessie, I’d feel stupid being chauffeured.”
Her skin seemed to darken as her brown eyes flashed. “Don’t you trust foreign cars? Your car can break down just as easily as mine, you know.”
“My car doesn’t break down.”
Jessie’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Of course not.”
“Regardless, I like to do the driving when I’m on a date.”
“This isn’t a date!” She was quick to argue. “I was supposed to be with Brother William tonight, remember?”
“Well, when you go out with Brother William, you can drive. Tonight, I’m driving.” He knew he sounded stubborn and bossy, so he added, “Besides, a bigger car is more comfortable on a long drive.”
Her shoulders raised and lowered with her loud sigh. “I’m only compromising because I don’t want to be late. Let’s go!”
He directed her to a place to park her car, then escorted her to his clean blue car parked in the outside lot. Both of them reached for the door handle of the passenger’s side. She sighed and stepped back, allowing him to open the car door for her. Her “thank you” sounded cold and distant.
“I guess you have the tickets in your purse,” Roland commented as he started the car.
Jessie buckled her seat belt. “Gonzo said they’ll be at the Will Call window in Austin.”
“What’s a Gonzo?”
“My friend from KYCK radio.” She stared out the window.
Roland raised an eyebrow. Only a moron from St. Michael’s would have a nickname like Gonzo, but he kept his opinions to himself.
They drove in a tense silence through the streets of San Antonio and eventually through the heavy rush-hour traffic on Interstate 35 North as Roland drove towards Austin.
Jessie finally broke her silence. “You know, I usually deduct my car mileage for my job.”
Roland kept his eyes on the road, but her words were unsettling. His emotions never went beyond the fact they were going out together. Not until she came through the garage, did he realize how much he had looked forward to spending the evening with her.
She sighed, then reached forward to put on the radio.
Roland caught her hand and held it a moment. Her small fingers were delicate and cool. “I’m sorry. Accept tonight as a small donation to the St. Joe’s development fund, okay?”
“I guess I can do that.” Jessie pulled her hand from his. She turned on the radio, and resumed her observations out of the window.
Roland drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He admired the way she took her responsibilities to heart. Last night when he had witnessed her fond relationship with her brothers at the meeting, evidence of her familia’s loyalty and love had tugged on his personal feelings in a new, different way.
Suddenly, he wanted to know even more about her, and began with the first question that came to mind.
“So, Jessie? Seen any good movies lately?”
“What?” She turned from the window.
“Movies! You know? I mean you go out, don’t you? Have you seen any good movies lately?”
He heard her laugh, and felt himself start to relax. He hadn’t realized how nervous he was until her laughter seemed to untwist a sore spot between his shoulder blades.
“The last movie I saw? A cartoon about rabbits in space. I took my niece and nephew.” She laughed again. “What about you?”
Now it was Roland’s turn to laugh. “I saw a movie made in Latin America. I took my mother to the Guadalupe Theater during the last film festival.”
“Did you like the movie?”
“It was very unusual. I learned a new cuss word in Spanish.” He gave her a devilish grin. “Want to hear it?”
“No, thank you!” Her smile lit up her eyes. “The last time I said a Spanish cuss word, Sister Emiliana made me write a term paper on the origin of the word.”
“How educational! When I cussed at school, I always got Detention Hall.”
Jessie appreciated Roland’s silly comments and regained her usual good mood. She had overreacted at his garage, but she didn’t expect Roland to change a simple business trip into something personal, like a date. But as she gave it more thought, she was flattered by his attention to her as a woman, not just a person doing a job for the school.
An instinct from deep within told her she could learn to like Roland. A lot. He was a thoughtful man, even though some of his stubborn ways annoyed her. She looked at him in a personal way, though, when he told her about his parents’ immigration from Mexico when he was a year old. He spoke proudly of his father’s and uncle’s struggle to open Tovías Mechanics. When no bank would finance their venture, both men turned to other businessmen in the barrio to get financial support. They paid back their small loans and gained the respect and trust of others in the bargain. People from all over San Antonio did business with them now.
She heard his voice thicken with emotion as he spoke of his father teaching him to be a mechanic first, and ways to be a smart businessman, too. It relaxed her to listen to him talk about Mr. Tovías with as much feeling as she had for her own family. She realized they shared more similarities than differences when it came to the things that really counted.
Suddenly, she was aware the car slowed down, and Roland had stopped talking.
“I don’t believe it!” he groaned, pounding his fist on the steering wheel. His head moved from side to side as if he looked for something on the road. He sighed, and muttered a colorful curse in Spanish Jessie had never heard before.
“What’s wrong?”
“The car’s overheating. We’ll stop at that curve over there. At least we won’t be stuck on a narrow shoulder.”
“Stuck? What are you talking about?” Then she saw the beaming red lights on the dashboard, and she sighed, too.
Roland said nothing as he flipped on the car blinker and eased his car onto a wide gravel area that was like a driveway no one had finished.
Trying to stay positive, Jessie rubbed her forehead. After all, Roland was a mechanic. He ought to be able to fix his own car quickly.
Roland turned off the ignition, and yanked the lever to open the hood of the car. “This is ridiculous! I checked this car out myself this morning!”
Jessie bit her lip to keep herself from saying all the burning comments on the tip of her tongue. She unbuckled her seat belt as Roland did, and they both got out of the car.
“Stand back, Jessie,” Roland warned, then lifted the navy blue hood. He stepped back as the steam rose from the engine. He stuck his hands on his waist, and gave his car a look that said, How dare you betray me like this?
Waiting and watching, Jessie folded her arms across her chest. Hoping Roland could fix the car fast, she glanced at her watch. Gonzo had warned her to get to the backstage early, because each star had his own routine, and he didn’t know Badger’s preferences.
Roland walked to where she stood. “I hope you’re not going to say anything dumb right now.”
“Who? Me?” Her eyes widened innocently. She was tempted, but she wasn’t a fool. He was probably angry enough to curse his American-made car for the rest of the century.
Then he sighed, shoving his hands into the rear pockets of his jeans. “At least we can enjoy the sunset.”
Jessie glanced around. The sun was a golden shaft of light lowering in the horizon. The skies were shades of blue and gray, with purple clouds. It was pretty, but she had other things to do besides admire a Texas sunset.
“Roland, do you know what’s wrong with the car?” He shrugged. “Let’s find out.” He walked to the car, but Jessie remained where she was.
Afraid he’d see the lustful gleam in her eyes, Jessie had to avert her gaze when he came back to where she stood, wiping his hands on a handkerchief. She had been admiring something far more intriguing than a sunset as he worked on his car.
“Well, I know what the problem is,” he said slowly.
“So fix it.” Watching the patterns her toe made as she slid it across the tiny rocks, she stared down at her shoes.
“I can if you’ll take off your panty hose, Jessie.”
“Are you crazy?” Nothing Roland had said or done before this shocked her more. She looked into his face and found herself surprised by his serious expression.
“I need to rig a fan belt from your pantyhose. That’s all that’s wrong with the car!”
“That’s all?” Jessie scoffed. “Why don’t you keep a spare in your car?”
Roland glared at her. “And I suppose you have a spare fan belt in that foreign cracker box you drive?”
Jessie’s arms crossed her chest. “I really don’t know!”
“Listen, Jessie, I can rig a fan belt from your pantyhose that will get us to a gas station. Then, I can buy a new one, put it on, and we’ll be on our way! Now what will it be? We stay here and wait for hours for a tow or do I get your pantyhose?”
He made it sound so easy. Jessie huffed a resigned sigh, but she wasn’t about to hike up her skirt and pull down her pantyhose on the side of the road. She looked around, glancing at the stream of traffic, and then searched for a big bush or something to give her privacy. Finally, she saw her only option. She pointed a finger at Roland. “You wait here!”
He gave her one of his incredibly charming, but thoroughly exasperating little grins before she walked back to the car.
Glancing out the window, she saw Roland with his back turned. Thanking an angel for his gentleman’s manners, she struggled to slide them off within the confines of the car. Finally, the pantyhose were off, and she slipped her shoes back on.
“You can turn around now!” Jessie called, leaning against the fender of his car. The pantyhose were bundled in one hand.
Roland turned and came towards the car. As his eyes moved over her legs, she felt naked. She wished she had worn her longer blue-jean skirt tonight.
She tossed the pantyhose in his direction. “Here!” He caught them easily in one hand, and grinned. Not wanting to dwell on her pantyhose wrapped up in his fingers, she walked around the car door and went to sit in the front seat.
The delays the next hour cost them valuable time. Roland had to wait for the engine to cool before he could work on it. Luckily, they found a gas station three miles up the road, and he bought the fan belt. While he worked on the car, Jessie bought new pantyhose at a nearby convenience store.
It was almost eight when they arrived at the Will Call window of the Frank Erwin Center in Austin, a drum-shaped building used for the Texas Longhorn basketball games and various campus and city events.
Jessie quickly handed Roland his ticket and pass, a cloth badge with Badger McCloud: City Lights Tour and Backstage printed in black letters.
“Come on, Roland. I hope we’re not too late.”
She stuck her adhesive badge on her denim jacket, then led Roland through the ticket gate. Once they were inside the building, Jessie turned towards a narrow hallway leading towards the business offices.
Their rapid footsteps echoed loudly, but Jessie was more aware of her pounding heart. The delays might have cost them her chance to talk to Badger.
She smiled when she saw a uniformed guard at the end of the hall. He waved them along, and Jessie moved into the backstage area with Roland following close behind her.
“I guess you’ve done all this before,” Roland said in a quiet voice. “You know exactly where you’re going.”
“I’ve been here before. With Gonzo.”
“Of course. You two are just good friends, right?”
Jessie glanced at him, but ignored the implications of his word choice. If he had a problem with a woman having men as friends, there was no time to discuss it now.
They entered a large dressing room area where some forty people milled around. They were helping themselves to soft drinks from a hospitality table, sitting on folding chairs and gossiping, or just standing in small groups looking as lost and as out of place as Jessie felt.
“Where is he?” Roland asked, his voice almost impatient.
Jessie glanced at her watch, then sighed. “I’m not sure.” No one in the room looked like a musician, if she really knew what a musician was supposed to look like. Girls in tight jeans, muscular men in old T-shirts and faded denims, others who were dressed in expensive western clothes.
“Let’s wait over here.” Without thinking twice about her actions, she grabbed Roland’s hand and pulled him towards one of the several portable walls that separated this backstage area from the rest of the dressing rooms.
As they stood there, looking around, she started to pull her hand away, but Roland intertwined his fingers through hers.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
The simple statement made her smile. Jessie appreciated Roland’s presence. She didn’t want to admit she was scared, but the thought of approaching Badger, and asking him to help St. Joe’s made her heart move into her throat.
Usually, a person approached a manager first, but Jessie knew that going the usual route would take time—time that St. Joe’s couldn’t afford. She recalled all the problems when she helped Texan Cola stage a concert. She wanted to bypass all the red tape of managers and contract negotiations. Talking to Badger himself, she might reach him on an emotional level, and the others would just follow his orders. Yet Brother William was the one who knew Badger McCloud. What could she say that would persuade a busy singer to come and do a benefit for a poor boys’ school in San Antonio?
She pressed her hand into Roland’s, trying to get some of his stubborn confidence to pass from him to her.
“So who’d you meet last time?” Roland asked.
“What?” She wondered if she missed something while she stood there, getting cold feet.
“When you came with your friend Godzilla. Who did you meet backstage?”
Jessie laughed. “His name is Gonzo, not Godzilla.” The tension eased from her neck and shoulders. “Gonzo is a nickname. Gonzalo Rangel is his real name. We went to college together.”
Roland cocked his head to one side. “I hope you’re not going to tell me you two were roommates.”
Jessie fluttered her eyelashes. “Why, of course!” She playfully whacked his arm with her free hand. “Really, Roland! Don’t you know any women whom you consider just good friends?”
She saw him bite his lip, his eyes contemplating the ceiling. “Not really.” Then he chuckled. “But I guess I can start with you.” His black eyes shone as he stared at her.
Before she could respond to the warm feelings his words inspired, someone nudged her aside. She realized about another thirty people had crowded into the room while she and Roland were talking. The backstage area was sticky with bodies, heavy with perfume and cigarette smoke. She barely caught a glimpse of someone in a black cowboy hat walk into the room, before everyone started moving about.
“Badger! Badger!” a female voice exclaimed.
“Wait a second! It’s not him,” another said.
Jessie’s neck stretched from side to side, trying to see over and around the crowd. All she saw were black cowboy hats and indiscriminate faces. “Who are those guys?” She glanced up at Roland, wishing she had worn her tallest heels tonight.
“Maybe band members—no! There he is!” Roland’s excited voice made her jump to her tiptoes, as she tried to spot Badger’s trademark black hat with a badger’s tail mounted into the beaded hat band.
A burly man nudged her out of the way, and luckily, Roland’s firm grip on her waist helped her keep her balance. Bodies pressed around them, as everyone tried to get to the famous singer.
Jessie realized that if she didn’t push her way through, she’d never be able to talk to Badger. “Roland, we have to get to him. Come on!”
Someone stepped on the toe of her shoe. Even though she couldn’t escape the aggressive elbow jabs bruising her side, she pushed more diligently, until she reached an opening near the front.
Badger McCloud was a short man with wide shoulders; he was wearing a chamois western shirt and black jeans. The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt displayed muscular forearms heavy with blond hair. Because of his black hat and tinted glasses, she could barely see his face, but his brownish-blond beard was trimmed close to his square jaw. A charming smile appeared beneath his moustache frequently, as he walked around the room in a relaxed gait, obviously pleased to see his backstage audience.
Badger seemed to be following the directions of a man all dressed in black with sparkling gold jewelry. Badger posed for pictures with two women, probably winners in some promotional radio contest. The man in black introduced Badger to the men in expensive boots, who talked to him for five minutes before Badger moved over to sign a handful of tickets.
“Badger! Badger! Wait!” Jessie yelled, waving her hand. She tried to get closer, but all gathered seemed determined to keep their places. She couldn’t squeeze through the human barricade. She winced when someone jerked on her braid. She tried to ignore the boot heel scraping her shin.
Then, she felt a hard squeeze on her fingertips.
“Enjoy the show, beauty!” Badger’s deep voice cut through the buzz in the crowd.
Jessie realized that Badger had mistaken her for an aggressive fan trying to touch him. She nearly laughed at the sheer insanity of the circumstances, before she toppled forward as the crowd suddenly dropped back. Strong hands caught her again.
“Badger left, Jessie.” Roland’s voice seemed to come from a distance.
Had he made a mistake? Jessie looked around. The crowd thinned as people began to leave the room.
“I wasn’t expecting this crowd. I guess I misunderstood what a backstage pass was,” Roland said. “We didn’t speak to him at all. Not even close.”
Jessie looked up to see the disappointment in his face. “I just assumed we’d get his attention. Maybe Brother William would have done a better job.”
Roland’s arm draped her shoulders. “At least you tried, Jessie. Brother would be proud of how hard you tried to get to Badger.”
Disappointment made her shiver. When Roland pulled her closer to him, she didn’t resist. She inhaled deeply, relieved the crowd had moved out, and she could breathe again.
Roland planted a soft kiss on Jessie’s forehead. “Shall we go find our places in the arena? At least we can enjoy the concert.”
When he touched her so affectionately, she felt even more determined not to let everyone down. “No, Roland. We need to talk to Badger tonight. Maybe we can get into his dressing room.”
“Are you crazy?” Roland’s loud exclamation made others stare in their direction. He grabbed her arm and led Jessie towards a more secluded spot.
“Listen, Jessie. We gave it a shot, but we lost. We can get Brother William to send him a letter or something. There are other singers, you know.”
Jessie jerked her arm out of his grip. “Roland, a singer isn’t just going to walk up to a school and volunteer to do a benefit. There has to be a connection somehow. Let’s face it! We don’t know any other famous people who went to St. Joe’s.” She looked around, trying to decide what her next step should be. “I’m not ready to give up yet.”
Roland rubbed his temple. “I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as you are.”
“I have.” Jessie’s eyes burned as she glared at Roland. “You!”
His tight-lipped expression surrendered to an amused grin. “I guess I am as stubborn as you are. All right, Miss Jessie Medina, where do we go from here?”
Jessie knew it was too close to show time to talk to Badger now. She turned to Roland. “What if we go to Badger’s hotel and talk to him there?”
“Great idea, but we’ll never get past the bodyguards.”
“I’ll think of something, don’t worry.”
As they left the backstage area, Jessie wondered if she had fooled Roland with her confidence. Honestly, she had no idea what to do next. Could they even find Badger’s hotel? How would they approach the men who guarded his door? What would keep the bodyguards from tossing Jessie and Roland off a hotel balcony?
Jessie’s prayers to a guardian angel rumbled hard and fast inside her.
We travel down two roads
to the same destination
Two different paths to reach
the same bright end.
Why can’t I walk beside you,
And not one step behind?
If we walk together, we’ll
reach the end as friends.
If we chase our dreams together
We’ll stay close until the end
And hold each other close to the heart.
Roland thought, nice song, as he listened to Badger McCloud’s romantic lyrics.
They sat inside the arena, and this song was the first one that the audience had quieted down to listen. Badger’s popularity with his fans had impressed Roland from the start. He glanced over at Jessie, her elbows balanced on the seat arms. Her chin rested in her hands while she listened to the music.
Jessie Medina impressed him, too. She had a personal drive he admired. And her zeal made him take risks he had never experienced before. Yet for all her tenacity, there was a feminine side that touched a need within him to take care of her. And it wasn’t some macho-man thing, but a natural tenderness towards Jessie. He felt an overwhelming urge to stay with her during her struggles to meet her goal. After all, weren’t her goals the same as his?
The song ended, and everyone applauded.
As Roland clapped his hands, he looked around the crowded arena. Would Badger McCloud even listen to their plea? A busy singer who could fill an arena like this could give St. Joe’s such a financial boost. If only the man would say yes.