Silver Thunderbird
A/N A writing challenge eh? Hell why not, possibly a precursor to something longer, here's a oneshot for the pot. Written like its 1999. The single line (miss) quoted lyrics are by Billy Edd Wheeler and Jerry Leiber - 'Jackson' and Lyle Lovett, Willis Alan Ramsey and Alison Rogers -'That's Right (You're Not from Texas'.)Thanks to 'Sunday for setting this thing up and to everyone who's clicked through.
As the final chords merged with audience cheers, blazing yellow light flooded the festival stage illuminating its headline star. Rayna stood, exhausted but exhilarated, her auburn hair set off by a black jacket and tight silver top. "Thank you Texas, did y'all have good time?" More roars. "Thank you to the Organisers, the crew who worked so hard, my great band, and of course my wonderful guitar player." The whoops reached another level. "Give it up y'all for Mr Luke Wheeler!"
The rows had started even before the tour did, and were still rumbling after 3 shows into the 20 date, 4 week rodeo. A tour begun in Tennessee and broadly tracking a lazy spiral of arenas, festivals and large theatres, winding up in NYC in August. Two weeks earlier, Rayna and band had spent an intense period in a disused aircraft hangar, oh the glamour, rehearsing over 35 songs, whittling down a set. And here was the first problem. When she handed her band leader two lists, one for festivals the other for indoor shows, Deacon had instantly spotted the elephant in the room, or rather the one missing from it. "Where do we do 'A Life That's Good?'"
"We're not. I'm resting it."
Deacon spluttered into his Styrofoam coffee cup. "You gone crazy Ray?"
"I want to keep things fresh. Anyway, I never feel the song works in a big show, not like it did at the Bluebird."
For a moment Deacon considered giving the CMA award winning, Queen of Country a lecture in show dynamics, but thought better of it. They both knew that song could work anywhere and that artists from Led Zeppelin to Paul McCartney had successfully used acoustic breaks in the middle of stadium shows to give ebb and flow. But the set Rayna was proposing had little of that. Packed full of power pop country crossovers it was heavy on the latest album and worryingly light on Claybourne/Jaymes originals.
"Well it sure is MTV friendly fodder. But there is much more to you than that."
"Deacon," she drew a deep breath, "I've had Buck on my back for a month, and no doubt he's been getting the heavy talk from Edgehill. It's tough out there. I'm up against Shania, and Reba, and Faith, there's only so much airplay I can grab and the main aim of the tour is to boost the album.
"Yeah, but the lack of our music Rayna, that don't impress me much."
The joke failed, bitterly. "Write me a song as good as that one," Rayna spat back, "and I'll open the show with it."
Deacon's eyes drilled into her before he marched away to inform the band.
A pick-up truck sped them away from the festival site early morning soundcheck, back to the downtown luxury hotel. Deacon sat up front, Rayna in the rear checking her schedule with the Edgehill lackey seconded to the tour. "Magazine interview at 12.30." The young woman told Rayna, "no need for photos they can use the media pack images. Then radio at 2 and more press until 3.30. A Jeep will take you and Mr Claybourne to the site at 6 and your stage time is 9pm. As headliner you will be following Luke Wheeler and his band."
"Fine."
Deacon cut in. "Unless that son of a… overruns."
"Relax hun," said Rayna, "there's flex in the start times, it's all covered."
They pulled up by impressive glass doors, Deacon was about to stride in blinkered, but halted when Rayna stopped to sign for 2 girls waiting outside. He shifted from foot to foot unable to force a smile. No one asked for him to sign. Once inside a lobby that felt about the size of a small Cathedral they made their way to the elevators, there to be joined by Edgehill girl, now carrying a manila envelope.
"This came for you Miss Jaymes."
"Rachel, if we are going to survive the next month together you will have to start calling me Rayna, and you can call Mr Claybourne here at any time after 10.30am." She adopted a stage whisper. "He's not really a morning person." She took the envelope and stepped inside, ready to be whisked to the top floor suite. As the doors closed Rayna wilted. She had about an hour to turn herself around, Deacon could just flick though cable TV until tonight's pick up."
"You OK?" he asked.
"Yeah." Normally she was excited to be back on the road, this time it was weighing her down. "Just not really feeling it right now, I'll be fine by tonight."
They entered to suite and Rayna crashed onto the chaise longue.
"What's in the envelope, another lawsuit from your father?"
"Ha ha, very funny." She opened it, "oh, it's from Teddy, background info on a possible investment. I'll take a look on the way to the interview."
She seemed perkier, Deacon scowled. "How the hell did he know we would be in Austin?"
"Because I gave him my itinerary, the Wellbeck profit statement is due soon and I want to know my ROI."
"Deacon didn't ask what an ROI was. "Maybe if you spent less time playing at being a business woman you wouldn't be too tired for the music. You know, the thing you are good at."
Silently Rayna headed for the shower, cursing how events were sliding out of her control.
The Teddy Conrad thing, she knew, bothered Deacon even more than her set list. A friendship begun after Teddy helped to secure her house, their pairing had Tandy's encouragement and even Bucky's quiet approval. Through his diverse range of contacts, Teddy could suggest new ways to maximise her stupefying royalty cheques, and Rayna soon built up a discreet portfolio of investments, including stakes in sustainable forestry and an artisan bakery business. But more than that Rayna found Teddy Conrad simply easy to be with. A rock that she would soon need. In '97 when Deacon started a second period of rehab, it was to Teddy she turned. What began as time killing restaurant meals, morphed into nights in, at hers. Rayna ran the full range of her cooking skills from A to B, laughed, cried and swore with Teddy, and shared the sick irony that her best method of coping with Deacon's drink problem, was to open up to her own fears via large glasses of Californian white. Deacon's return didn't break that friendship and having someone in her life with no connection to the country scene gave Rayna breathing space, pulling her free from the insanity of that whirlwind. If that made Deacon jealous, then tough.
Media duties over it was back to the hotel again. The curtains were drawn in a suite illuminated only by flickering TV playing re-runs of a soap. He wasn't watching it, he wasn't checking the papers Rachel had sent up with the first reviews, he wasn't scribbling lyrics or noodling on his guitar. He was hunched on a chair staring blankly into space over a half empty bottle of Jim B.
"Deacan?"
"Huh."
A part of Rayna brain begun calculating high grade math. How far gone was he, would he sober in time? She needed more data, so continued talking casually.
"That was a pretty easy afternoon, they all ask the same questions."
"Great." Monosyllabic, not a lot of help there. She ploughed on.
"You'll never guess what Teddy's suggesting. The wife of one his clients buys these gorgeous boots from this bespoke shoemaker. I could become a partner in the business and endorse a range of cowgirl boots."
A twisted smirk. "Congratulations Ray. If perfect Teddy Conrad says it's a good deal then it's sure to make you millions."
Even by recent standards it was a low blow. "That's hardly fair is it?"
"And that matters right now? You're singing songs you don't believe in, every night on stage, because some geek with a spreadsheet tells you that's what the numbers prove."
"I believe in every song I put out there. You know that, and Teddy certainly doesn't dictate my set lists."
"But it's all part of the same game, can't you see that? Three chords and the truth baby, that's how we started this and now look at us."
Rayna was angry now, tired of tiptoeing in stilettos. "Yeah, let's look at us." Her Southern chirp took on an icy edge, "I see two professionals trying to stay at the top of the league, not a couple of principled bums, scrounging an existence from bar tips. That attitude only takes you so far, don't believe me, go ask Beverly."
He got up and moved towards her, but stumbled over his own drink-tied legs and lurched forwards, pushing Rayna into the hotel room wall. The smell of liquor infused with sweat was overpowering. Instinctively she pushed back, and he crashed to the floor, taking the whiskey glass with him.
No-one spoke, Deacon breathed heavily. "God Ray, you thought I was going to…. Never… I just wanna hold you, know that the real person is still inside." He was on the verge of tears, but Rayna knew from experience they were 40% proof. She had to be cruel to be kind.
"Forget it. You're not well, I'm giving you the night off. She moved towards the bedroom door, her right hand involuntary twisting the golden charm at her neck. "I'm going to make some calls."
Half an hour latter Rayna was in the hotel lobby nervously approaching the concierge desk.
"Yes Mam?"
"I need a favour from you guys, an invisible one."
"Of course, I understand, how can we be of assistance?"
"Should anyone call tonight from the Truman suite and ask for alcohol, can you make sure that order is, er mislaid?"
"Certainly Mam, that will not be a problem."
Rayna breathed with relief, she was well aware of the legendary reputation the hotel had for discretion and was certain the desk had received far more lurid request than this one, but it still wasn't enjoyable.
"Thank you so much" and she causally dropped a sealed envelope containing two $100 bills onto the white marble desk top.
On the drive to the festival Rayna did some mental juggling. Rachel could get her stage clothes delivered on time, check. But promoting her rhythm guitarist to lead was going to leave a hole in the sound, could she get someone good enough to dep at no notice if she arranged tabs for the new songs? At the artist gate Security had not been expecting her arrival this early either, but her Texan flagged wrist band and an Interstate call from Bucky soon cleared a path. Nevertheless her dressing room trailer wasn't available yet, so Rayna walked through the afternoon heat with Rachel to the green room tent, where she found Luke holding court.
"Rayna! You come over especially to see me and the boys play?"
"You know I always enjoy your shows Luke. But the hotel kitchen's a little hot right now, so I what I really wanted was fresh air."
"Plenty here in Texas, just as long as you steer clear of the John and those people with funny smelling cigarettes."
"Can I have a word in private Luke?"
"Sure thing Mam" and he lead the way to his trailer.
"So," Rayna concluded, "can you suggest anyone who can play rhythm for me?"
"Can beat that," he replied, "supposing you swap out a couple of songs for some classic duets and I'll do the job for you personally?"
"Really? you'd do that, after your set?"
"Of course, why on earth would anyone with half a brain cell not want to sing and play with you?"
It was ten past when Rayna took the festival stage "Good Evening Austin, wasn't Luke just fantastic? Well, tonight I've got a special surprise for y'all…"
"… We've been talkin' 'bout AUSTIN, ever since the fire went out…"
"… You're not from Texas, but Texas want's you anyway..."
"…and of course my wonderful guitar player. Give it up y'all for Mr Luke Wheeler…"
Backstage towels and champagne bubbles… a bear hug from Luke… the media scrum... the crawl in the jeep to the exit gate… the brightly lit freeway… the heavy serenity of an out of hours hotel... the think, grey, top floor corridor carpet, enveloping her tired feet… Luke's parting words, "Any problems I'm staying on the floor below. You holler, got me?"
Rayna let her eyes adjust again to the gloom of the suite, one freestanding lamp set dim. Deacon was on the chaise, T shirt and boxers, a sheet half wrapped around him and snoring loudly. The hotel room's "Do Not Disturb" sign was propped up nearby against an empty mineral water bottle. Rayna went into bathroom, the light flicked on and buzzed. Just like a teenager coming home way past curfew she was scared the noise may wake him. The toilet smelt of bleach and in the sink a grotesque cocktail of whiskey, beer and every miniature the well stocked minibar formally held. He'd poured the lot of them in, just to make sure they hadn't gone down his neck. Mechanically Rayna tidied the room and herself, got into bed, closed her eyes and waited for the morning.
It was the bedside phone that woke her. "Good Morning Madam, we have a room-service order for breakfast for 1 to be ready in 10 minutes, will that be convenient?" Under the silver platter chilled fresh fruit, steaming pancakes, thick yoghurt. On the side, strong, aromatic black coffee and atop the crisp linin napkin a single Texan yellow rose. It was gone nine, Deacon nowhere to be seen. Nothing surprising there, she had been exhausted after the festival performance and nothing short of a small earthquake would have raised her during the night. There were no calls on her cell and he wasn't responding to his, so Rayna ate with the TV for company, surfing to find a local news channel, just in case. Then as she was wondering whether or not to call Rachel, the phones rang again. She picked up the one in the lounge area. "Miss Jaymes, your car is ready for you."
Today was a rest day. "Excuse me? I didn't order a car."
"The driver was very definite Mam, shall I ask him to go around the block for ten minutes in case there is some misunderstanding?"
"No, no. It's OK. I'll come down and see for myself." In the elevator she remembered Rachel. Not employing a full time PA, it hadn't even occurred to her to delegate. Anyway she was curious, first room service breakfast now a mysterious messengers, was this some kind of Claybourne apology?
The flawlessly made up receptionist smiled at her, "It's parked up in the drop off area. Go to your right Madam."
Walking outside Rayna heard music first, drifting over the hotel concourse , 'Silver Thunderbird' the song must about 10 years old now, what was the name of that artist? Deacon would know, he always had anything like that on tap. She turned the blind 90 degree corner and there it was, a 50s mint condition, tail finned Thunderbird convertible, in silver, glinting in the sunshine, portable CD player on the back blearing out the song. In the driver's seat, facing away from her a man in a cap. Deacon tuned his head and smiled lopsidedly "Good Morning, ready for a little drive?"
They were bowling out of town before she got her breath back. "How did you manage…"
"Had a chat with the concierge team." He raised his voice above the engine. "Once I got that crap out of my system I went down and told them what I had in mind. Jeez those guys have phone numbers for everything, just as long as your Amex card is valid. Best 50 buck tip I've ever given. No wait, the ONLY 50 buck tip I've ever given! Rayna smiled thinking of the tax free income her tour party was generating for the hotel staff. They pulled up at a red light, Hair tied back and with no make up Rayna was relieved people were looking at the car, not her. "Deacon, you cannot drive one mile more until you tell me who sings that freaking song."
"Marc Cohen." The light changed, Deacon stamped down on the gas and the car shot forward pushing Rayna back in her seat. "'91," he continued, "we were touring New Mexico, you kept wearing a green shirt with embroidered flowers on stage."
"Shit, so I did. With my hair what was I thinking?"
"Looked pretty darn cute to me, especially when the top poppers burst open!"
"How do you remember that stuff. Yesterday you didn't know what day of the week it was?"
"That's easy, I ever only take in the good bits. The rest is just noise."
Rayna could feel her cell vibrate in her bag again. When they stopped at a filling station she went to the rest room. There were 3 text from Luke.
Good Morning – OK?
Everything fine with DC?
Let me know you're alright x
She deleted them quickly and shot one back.
All good Thank you for everything.
There was one from Bucky too.
GENIUS - grt soon
Finally she rung Rachael, clocking in to keep the dogs at bay
Deacon drove them deep into the country taking seemingly taking random turnings, until pulling off the highway and into a country park. When he finally killed the motor Rayna could see a trail-path sloping towards sapphire blue water, framed by green and grey scrub, the wide Texan sky above them. Deacon breathed deeply. "Ah, so good to get the city out of my lungs." A faint ticking from under the hood as the engine cooled, bird calls from across the reservoir and young children's play laughter. Rayna was transported back to her girlhood with her mother and Tandy, this was just the sort of spot they would have come to, but try as she could Rayna could not place Daddy at any of those outings.
They took the easy hike to the water's edge. Deacon skimmed stones, of course he did, and with complete nonchalant ease. An art that Rayna had never mastered.
"Here, let me show you." Standing behind Rayna, he took her wrists in a strong grip and practised the motion with her. On the third attempt they got a stone to bounce twice, victory of sorts. Locked together he nuzzled her soft warm neck. Briefly she stiffened then allowed herself to be swept into his embrace. Only after release did he finally ask after the previous night's show.
"A friend helped me out." Rayna told him and he took it well, calmly, like he had a choice.
"I let you down baby, and that hurts more than the biggest hangover God could throw at me." She stared out over the water. "I just gotta rise out the ditch and start over again." He added, pulling a harmonica from his top pocket and tooting. Distractions Rayna thought, running away from the central issue and any responsibility, like he always did. He was obviously still not ready to face up to the truth, but maybe she wasn't either and a distracted, functioning Deacon on tour was certainly a better prospect than a drunk, spiky and tiresome one. Besides, that was one hell of a hook he'd just pulled from that instrument.
In front of the T bird, picnic remains scattered on a rug Deacon looked upon Rayna as she leant against the chrome, hugging her knees. So damn hot. Her face held a classic beauty now but her eyes still shone with the same relentless desire of the teenage country wannabe he had first seen on a barstool cracking out standards with a maturity and confidence way beyond her years. It hadn't been the Daisy Dukes and coy white halter top that caught him, well not just that. But that voice. It carried all the fire of her hair, the sparkle of her iris and guts to project across a noisy bar more decidedly than many established singers. He'd known then he wanted to work with her, and more.
To shape that talent and give it a platform to shimmer on. More than a decade on and deep down Deacon still felt the same, it was just that so much had happened since, shit getting in the way and the harder he tried to force, the more the magic eluded him. Here in this piece of countryside, Rayna off guard, the pressures of the tour thrown aside, it was easy to believe again.
Back on the road and Deacon hung a right, the signposts pointed to San Antonio.
"Deac', where we going?"
"Enjoy the ride, we've got this old lady all day and I'm going to make the most of her. Rayna was wearing his cap now, the speed breeze buffeting them and the first hint of evening in the sky. Urban sprawl, stop, start traffic, gasoline fumes, horns, a police siren. Then he was veering off and into the concrete jungle of an old drive in movie complex.
"Wha… you cannot be serious."
"Darlin' were in a 50s dream machine, where else is a boy gonna bring his best gal?"
She was laughing despite herself. "Someone will see."
"SShhh, pull that cap down, nobody will be looking for a country music star here."
He arranged burgers and shakes and from their authentic portable retro booth, the two of them settled in to watch Austin Powers.
Much later in the suite Rayna pulled off the cap and glanced at the single sheet of A4 Rachel had left. The details were laid out for next day's schedule, and begun with 'Check Out 10:45…' She had one hand on the buckle of her jeans. "I need a shower…. Care to join me?" Deacon could barely stop grinning to plant the first kiss.
Steamed up mirror, damp, crumpled towelling, the detritus of their clothing forming a breadcrumb trail across the floor. Rayna spun and side stepped towards the bed, Deacon all over her, all around her, stroking, caressing, pressing into her flesh. Their breath came in short bursts, any attempts at all sex talk had been lost to animal moans. The spark between them was earthing with primeval magnetism. She fell onto the divan, he on top and she locked her long tanned legs around him. Her nails gouged into his back, spurring him, the beautiful woman now a blur of fresh, moist skin and wayward hair. For the first time since before tour rehearsal Deacon Claybourne felt complete, and utterly fulfilled.
"Looks like I require another shower," he noted, "alone this time would be best." As Rayna lay in the tangled linin she knew that by the time they caught up with the tour machine, she and Deacon would be walking into soundcheck hand in hand, as if nothing of the past couple of days had ever occurred, daring anyone else to contradict them. What neither of them guessed was that from now on, nothing would ever be the same.