3 Steps Chapter 3
A/N Final part of this story, there may be a follow up at some point. Grateful thanks to everyone for taking the time and trouble to read.
Step 1
"Conran! What are you doing Friday night?"
Teddy, not wanting to tell is boss that Linda in accounts had turned him down for a date tried to sound nonchalant. "Think I'll have a quiet one, I'm planning on going for a run Saturday morning."
"Good, then I'm not interrupting anything important, because you're coming with me to the Bluebird Cafe and looking after Mr Sanderson."
Despite being born in Nashville, Teddy's musical taste did not stretch much beyond Bruce Springsteen.
"The Bluebird Café?"
"Let's talk in my office." The two of them entered a small room, a shrine to dark fake wood, glass and chrome.
"You may not care for country music much son, but Mr Sanderson, who's on the verge of signing something very big, loves it, and a trip to the iconic Bluebird will just about seal the deal. Now I'm going to need a wing man for this and you're it."
"Who is performing?"
"Young lady called Rayner Jaymes, I don't expect you've heard of her but she's pretty hot stuff on the country scene. Just got back from a tour, so this is a kind of coming home small scale gig, trust me the old buffer will be in heaven watching her, and all you have to do is make sure his glass is always full. Give some good ol' Southern hospitality."
"OK, I guess" in truth Teddy knew he hadn't much of a choice in the matter.
"Listen to me, you want to play with the big boys, this is your chance to be there at the closing of a major contract. Keep your eyes and ears open and you just might learn something. Plus I'll be relying on you to come out with all those statics you keep bugging me with; when I give you the nod. This won't be forgotten come bonus time, promise."
"Alright, and thank you."
"No problem, just one more thing, as I'll be matching the client drink for drink, you will need to drive us all to the show and back to his hotel, in my Dodge. Hell, you can even borrow her for the weekend, that should impress the ladies."
"Chauffer, waiter and memory bank? I thought I was supposed to be your assistant"
"It's called being a team player son."
Step 2
The knocking on Deacon's apartment door was not going away however much he tried to ignore it. Who could be wanting him at the unsociable hour of…. He checked the bedside digital clock radio, 11.13am? Deacon climbed into a pair of crumpled jeans and went to shut the door up.
"Hey" said Rayner.
"Hey yourself."
"Can I come in?"
"Makes more sense than me leaving my door open."
Rayner took in Deacon's open plan living area, pizza boxes on the floor, coffee mugs and beer cans strewn around, papers and magazines on the old coach, the only oasis of organisation were his guitar cases, propped against the wall next to the record player and LP collection.
"How you doing?" She asked
"All good here."
"I can see?" she cast her arms about.
"I'm not one for homes and gardens Ray, you know that."
"But Deacon, you've not been home a week and look at the place."
"I've been getting the road out of my system." He said lamely, "I'll tidy before the Bluebird show."
"That's what I came over to talk about. I think we should revamp the set list a bit."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Well, I thought open with 'Wishing' and play 'A Life That's Good' before we break. Here"
She handed over a notepad with the set written in neat schoolgirl handwriting.
He glanced at it, "Can you swap 4 and 5 over so I don't have to tune down twice?"
"Sure."
"And since you got me up, do you want coffee?"
"Only if it's fresh!"
They talked show details for a while, what material would work best in a working bar rather than a sit down theatre.
"You know," said Rayner at last, "I am glad we had that conversation after the radio show and store signing."
"You are, when I told you..."
"You said some very flattering things, but it would have been stupid to do anything rash on tour"
"Absolutely."
She moved a little closer, "immature."
"Irresponsible."
"Reckless." She took his hand in her two.
"Plain dumb."
"So now we've been through all that, we can handle this thing as adults, we know now how it works right?" The notepad fell to the floor.
Deacon wasn't sure he knew anything anymore, "What are you saying Ray?"
"That last week was the first time you ever called me Darlin' and I don't want it to be the last." She kissed his amazed face and laughed. "Excuse me. You don't think I can pursue a rising career in country music and hold down a relationship with the most precious guitarist in town? What sort of woman would I be if I couldn't multi-task?"
"A damn fine one, always." The kiss was longer this time. "The bed's not been made," said Deacon, "but it should still be warm."
"Mmmm."
"And about to get a whole lot hotter," he added to no one in particular.
Step 3
From the side shadows the view of the Bluebird's stage is a little obscured. The place hums with clinking glass and the breath of conversations. A man in baggy jeans taps the centre microphone and twiddles a knob on an amp at the rear, its one red light shining out of the darkness like a motorcycle's tail. Snatches of close by talk become more distinct.
"Such a great album."
"It'll be fine, Mom thinks I'm at Sandra's"
"Wow, actually inside the famous Bluebird"
"And here come's Teddy with more drinks."
Jolted by the passing young man everything swirls out and back into focus, the MC is on stage.
"Ladies and Gentleman, back home from the first part of her headlining tour, put your hands together for Miss Rayner Jaymes." Applause and whoops crackle, echoes distort.
Rayner wears a white gypsy top, Daisy Dukes and strappy heels. Deacon in double denim hoists the guitar strap around his neck and checks the tuning. Quietness slowly descends.
"Put your tongue away son, she may have fallen out with her Daddy, but she's Wyatt stock, out of your league."
Suddenly the random strumming turns into a driving freight train rhythm, Rayner sways, puts one hand on the microphone stand, looks around and smiles.
"Ahh wishing. Wishing I was any place than here…"
Music pours from the stage into every willing receptacle. Emotions shudder and hair stands on end. The bitter sweetness of the upbeat tune and lonesome lyric weaves its magic and the aura of two people doing what they do best is spellbinding. Stage-side a man with kind eyes and prematurely thinning hair scans the room. He moves forwards.
"Hey no cameras, she's a signed recording artist."
The view swoops from stage to a pair of chinos and boots and the screen turns black.
Lamar Wyatt put down his crystal whiskey tumbler and went to take the tape from the VCR.
"Oh Rayna" he said, the voice was soft, husky, maybe tinged with regret. In a quick movement he opened the cassette and pulled at the film of tape inside, sending it into tangled metallic loops before he threw the mess into the waste paper basket for the maid to clear in the morning.
The man turned out the study light and shut the door behind him, but softly so as not to wake his daughter Tandy, asleep upstairs.