Chapter 24 Rust
RUST
We pack up at sunrise.
Tally drives the first leg to Arkansas, but we take it slow and appreciate the landscape drifting past. She seems like a different woman. The urgency has faded from her demeanor and her shoulders have relaxed.
When I take over the wheel, Tally grabs her guitar from the back. Her fingers dance over the fretboard and the notebook lies open on her lap, slowly filling with notes and fragments of lyrics.
I see the words Tailgate Harmony and my heart trips.
She’s writing a song based on last night.
I wanna ask her about it, but I respect her creative process. Right now, she’s not ready to share.
We stop to get gas and Tally picks up some boiled peanuts.
She’s so fucking sexy sucking the juices from the shells before she eats the seeds.
I catch myself staring all the time. With my blood pooling in my crotch and leaving precious little for my higher brain functions, it’s a miracle I don’t drive us into a ditch.
After a few more hours, Tally stretches and opens the map on her phone. “There’s a small town nearby. It’s called uhhhhh… Pine Bluff. How cute! Sounds like a great place to stop for some rest and a meal, don’t you think? I could use a shower, too.”
I agree, already imagining what I’ll do to her once we get in said shower together. Following the guidance of a smooth female voice from her phone, the drive passes quickly. I have to admit that it’s a lot more convenient than fumbling with a gigantic paper map.
“We can get a room there!” Tally points at a motel. A big sign above the office reads ‘Paradise Rest.’ It shares a parking lot with a windowless honky-tonk bar called ‘Bottles & Boots.’
I tip my cowboy hat at her in acknowledgment. The thing is growing on me.
I prepare to pull into the motel parking lot when a motor howls behind us. Reflexively, I slam on the breaks, reaching out to grab a hold of Tally.
A red sports car flies past. An arm with a golden watch flings out of the window to give me the finger as the scumbag runs a red light ahead. He nearly hits a lady with a stroller, swerving hard. Before he turns the corner, I get a glimpse of his vanity plate spelling ‘2RICH4U.’
My heart pounds from adrenaline. I scan Tally for injuries, but she had her seatbelt on and seems unharmed—though she’s madder than a wet hen.
She huffs and sticks her middle finger out of the window. The other car is long gone, but it’s the thought that counts.
“Fuck you! Learn to drive!” she shouts, cheeks reddened. She turns to me. “Can you believe that shit? Like what, he can’t wait until we’ve pulled in? And then he almost hit that young mother. Ugh, tiny, shriveled dick energy.”
She holds her fingers less than an inch apart.
“But you reacting so quickly and calmly to prevent an accident? That’s massive dick energy.” She shows a good twenty inches between her palms. “Monster cock energy, really.”
“I think it ain’t quite as big but thank you.” I chuckle thinly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She inspects her guitar. “No damage here, either. I just wish I could teach that piece of shit a lesson.”
“He’ll get his comeuppance, Trouble. Ain’t our job to make sure it gets delivered.”
I park Yolanda and we head inside the motel to book a room. The lady who owns the place is friendly. She tells us about the Friday night special in the honky-tonk, which is run by her son, and recommends a diner down the road a piece, which is run by her cousin.
The room is somewhat dated but clean. Standard furnishings with a big bed, a modern TV, and a closet. A desk and a chair, too. Unfortunately, the shower is too small for two people. What a disappointment.
I let Tally freshen up first. Trying to be helpful, I offer to learn her curly hair routine so I can assist, but her exact response was ‘Over my dead body.’
When the shower starts running, I sit on the bed and my phone dings in my pocket. I jump. I don’t get a lot of texts and it takes me a while to unlock the slightly unresponsive, cracked screen.
Caleb
Have y’all kissed and made up yet? Or do I have to look at your sour face for another damn decade before you get your girl back?
I groan, scrubbing a hand over my mustache. How do I explain that we’ve done far more than kissing but I’m still working on the winning her back part? Easy. I don’t.
Me
Mind your own beehive and you won’t get stung.
Caleb
Okay, Mr. Cranky Pants.
Me
Don’t you have a car to crush?
Caleb
Already done. Checked on your shop too and hung up an ‘On Vacation’ sign.
Me
Thanks, man.
Caleb
Anything for loooooooove. Let me know if you need pointers on how to woo a girl.
Me
You haven’t had a girlfriend in two years.
Caleb
I told you I’m done with my slut phase! I’m waiting for Mrs. Right. Got inspired by a good friend who’s been pining after the same gal since we were kids. Now go and make me proud. I can’t wait to be your best man.
I sigh, dropping my hat on the bed. His confidence is almost too much. Cal’s hearing wedding bells but all I can hope for right now is one week with Tally.
Six days to be precise, the annoying countdown in the back of my head cuts in.
Damn, I need a distraction. Being alone with my thoughts is a bad idea.
I shove my phone into my pocket and take the TV remote from the bedside table, pressing the on button. Why won’t this thing work? I swear modern technology has a grudge against me.
Groaning, I take out the batteries and put them back in. I try every button, but the screen stays lifeless. Outraged, I pull the TV stand from the wall and discover the culprit.
A cut power cord.
Who the fuck does that? I should tell the lady at the reception about this later.
Defeated, I put the remote aside and take the only available magazine from the desk. My lips twitch with disgust. It’s the newest issue of ‘Gossip Grove’, one of those stupid celebrity tabloids.
I leaf through the pages.
“Should’ve brought a book,” I mumble.
I don’t know a single so-called celebrity in this magazine. A yawn escapes me. I just can’t muster up any real interest in their fabricated drama and fake relationships.
I’m about to throw the whole thing into the metal waste bin by the desk when a picture catches my eye and I freeze.
There’s one face I do recognize. Technically there are two, though they evoke opposite reactions in me.
One’s Tally.
The other is Rex fucking Dalton.
Writing below the image says ‘Manager cleans up messy singer’s drunk meltdown.’
The picture shows Tally stumbling out of a honky-tonk, heels in her hand. Her cow-print mini dress has shifted in all the wrong places, dangerously close to revealing her gorgeous tits and her panties.
Dalton ushers her into a black limousine. He shields her with his silk suit jacket, but he does a piss poor job of it. It looks like he’s strategically leaving her most vulnerable parts exposed.
Then I spot the headline.
Boot Scootin’ Bust?! We have the real inside scoop on Tally Creed’s Canceled Tour Dates!
I nearly rip the paper as I read on.
Trailerpark Bombshell Tally Creed left fans hanging after suddenly canceling the first leg of her much-anticipated ‘Greatest Hits, So Far’ tour. Management promised that the shows would be scheduled for a later date and all ticket purchases would stay valid.
But an industry insider tells us there’s more to the country diva’s vanishing act.
Our source says among recent struggles with songwriter’s block and weight gain, Tally drowned her worries in liquor and suffered a nervous breakdown. She’s currently being treated in a closed mental health facility.
My hands tremble with rage.
Since their source is talking shit, I reckon there’s more to that picture than meets the eye, too. It ain’t like Tally to get sloppy drunk. She can hold her liquor and knows her limits.
My eyes flick to the bottom of the page where the writer is credited. It’s some person called Night Wolfe, the same source credited for the picture. That must be a pseudonym.
I’d love to see how they’d handle their life under the fucking microscope! I bet they wouldn’t survive a day with every damn decision, every damn smile and every damn breath being scrutinized and captured in pictures.
The shower turns off and panic tightens my chest.
I can’t let Tally see this. It would only hurt her.
I search the room for a way to dispose of the magazine and when I see her purse on the bed, an idea crosses my mind.
A chuckle leaves me as I take out her lighter and set fire to the pages. Burn, motherfucker! If only I could set the asshole who wrote this shit on fire, too. That would teach him.
Satisfied, I watch the flame. My eyes glaze over for a second and when I refocus, my heart drops.
Shit, how long did I zone out?
The blaze licks much higher now. I didn’t think past the setting on fire stage but it’s quickly becoming an issue.
I blow on the magazine and the flame lashes out.
Right, oxygen stokes fire.
I throw the magazine on the floor, grab a pillow from the bed, and start whacking. Smoke curls upward as the flames rise.
Fuck! At this rate, I’m gonna set off the fire alarm.
I stomp on the burning pages when a screech comes from the bathroom door.
Tally stands there wrapped in a towel, wet curls falling into her face. Our eyes meet and it feels like time stops. She must think I’ve lost it.
Way to win back your ex-wife, Rust! Make her think you’re a complete, utter nut-job. Now you’re forever gonna be the guy who almost burned down the motel.
Oh God, now the pillow is on fire, too!
I wave it around and sparks fly while I keep shame-filled eye contact with the love of my life. She’s so pretty, framed by the little embers.
But wait, is that a grin? Is she smiling affectionately or is she laughing at me? Big difference. One my heart doesn’t understand. My chest warms and—
Flames flicker at the edge of my vision, drawing my attention downward.
For once, it’s not passionate love for Tally heating my chest.
My damn shirt is burning!