3 Steps
A/N My first try at Fan Fiction - a prequel in the late 80's inspired by Juliette's line that her mother listened to Rayner James music when pregnant.
Step 1
A warm, salutary early summer's evening in Alabama. Deacon wasn't even sure of the name of the town. It was the one after Birmingham and the one before Athens on the schedule. 26 Southern towns in 30 nights, criss-crossing the state lines at the whim of a promoter's pen. The schedule was gruelling, but strangely it was the night offs that hurt the hardest. On the road there was a rhythm, travel, food, show, sleep; travel, food, show, sleep, rinse and repeat. On the bus Deacon would play a few hands of cards with the boys, down some beers and lie in the bunk, as the rumble of wheels on the interstate lulled him to dreamless sleep. That part was easy. Even the beers were not a problem, Deacon always knew when to stop, and he knew that Bucky, Ray's road manager, noticed everything. If Deacon failed, word would get back to Watty White, and work for a jobbing guitarist in Nashville would disappear like smoke on the breeze.
No it was the days off that knocked you out of time. That moment when every nerve in your body told you it was time to go on stage, feel the love and buzz, a million times better than bourbon, even in some two-bit town; except tonight there was no show, it was just you, four walls and the adrenaline. Which was why the 4 walls that currently surrounded Deacon Claybourne contained a bar, while in front of him were shot glasses, both full and empty, and an untouched portion of chicken. This was by no means the first tour he had done with Rayna James, but it was the biggest, promoting the album Edgehill believed would help break her nationally. It was a long slog. Rayna had been doing radio and press, on her supposed day off, so he couldn't spend time with her song writing. And Deacon wanted to spend as much time as possible with the sassy, confident red-headed women that he was rapidly falling completely and totally in love with. Not just a companion for the road, but someone who made him feel alive, someone he could share his dreams and darkest thoughts with, well almost all of them.
Lynyrd Skynyrd was playing on the jukebox, Deacon downed another shot in one. This tour had to work, Ray's profile was increasing, but she wasn't the only hot shot on the scene. Luke Wheeler for instance, and man with basic guitar skills, too much hair, too big a hat and talked about horses all the time. Couldn't decide if he wanted to be a hippy or red-neck, yet his six gun brashness had got him signed to a major label and a support slot for the Southern dates of the Glenn Fry tour. Meanwhile Deacon was being offered only the possibility of work, maybe with Willie, maybe with Waylon, maybe, or maybe not. The jukebox clicked over to Freebird, an all-time classic. Deacon hated the song. Oh, he could appreciate the structure of it, but the guitar solo went on forever, something alien to him. Though could rock out with the best of them, Deacon prided himself on always knowing when to stop, step back from the spotlight and give it to those who really had something to say. He signalled a passing waitress for more whiskey. Yes Deacon Claybourne always knew when to stop, and tonight he would stop, just one glass after he'd had too much.
Step 2
Sitting on a stool at the bar was a dirty blonde wearing an old but jazzy dress. She too stared at her drink, her mind buzzing, missing stimulation, just as much as the man's a few feet away. Jolene's life was chaotic and colourful, but what had shocked her into her latest period of cold turkey was the news of her pregnancy. For over a month now she had been clean, OK nearly clean. One advantage of the situation was she had a little spare cash and last night had treated herself to a front row seat at the Rayna James concert. An evening to get lost in music and stop worrying about what she would tell Eddie when he returned to base. What a night. Inside the darkened auditorium the outside world simply did not exist, there was only the cool strokes from the air-con and the sweet sound of steel strings and harmonies. Hearing Rayna live was an experience, the subtle light and shade in her voice that never made it through the radio or her cheap record player, she pulled you into the songs, sent you on a ride and let you down gently on the other side. Her guitarist, so strong and good looking was like a rock, providing the landscape for Rayna s voice to dance around. There was a magnetic spark between them and when he solo'd and she sashayed the rest of the band seemed to melt away into the background, while above the spotlights gleamed as if every star in Alabama was focused on the two of them. That evening Jolene had sworn to herself she would sing her baby to sleep with lullabies every night.
But that was yesterday, today the woman was still pregnant, still craving and still needing a distraction, the bar was near and she had a few dollars in her purse. She glanced at a table where a man was sitting, who looked a little like Rayna's guitarist from the night gone. Only this guy wore a baseball cap low, his stubble glistened with sweat, his jeans unwashed and there were holes in his sneakers. Jolene knew the type from so many alley's and downtown apartments, it was lightyears from the confident, man with the subtle smile who coaxed magic from his guitar. The jukebox changed again, to Gimme 3 Steps.
Step 3
A little unsteady on her heels Jolene came down from the barstool and headed for the restroom. As she neared the table of the man with the baseball cap she slowed and swayed, could it be? No. At the same moment the man rammed down his last glass, pushed back his chair, on rising nearly cannoned into Jolene. The Walkman hanging from his jeans fell to the floor, its batteries flying one way the cassette another.
"What the.." mumbled Deacon
"I'm sorry," said Jolene, "my fault, can I buy you a drink? Or something to eat? You've hardly touched that chicken and the food here's really not that bad. In fact the special is very reason…"
"You know what," said Deacon cutting though her prattles, "Why don't you just take your sorry and park it some-place else? I don't need your help, or your sympathy. I'm fine, the food, was fine and tomorrow I will be a long way from this town, which is fine by me." Deacon grabbed the tape player and batteries and headed for the exit.
Jolene's breathing slowly returned to normal. From under the table she kicked out the cassette and read the neatly handwritten label "Mix Tape 8 – For Ray."