Chapter 50 Tally
TALLY
Hidden in a side street, Rust and I watch a neon pink stretch limo with tinted windows pull up to the front entrance of the venue. The rumbling motor wakes the group of paparazzi and fans from their bored stupor. Like hypnotized lemmings, they stream toward the flashy vehicle.
“Thanks again for doing this,” I say into the phone pressed against my ear.
Erin’s bright laughter rings through the line. “I should be the one thankin’ you. You really splurged. A first-class flight to LA, a designer outfit, and now I get to pretend to be a superstar. That’s every little girl’s dream!”
I smile even though she can’t see it. “You got my old, empty guitar case with the tracker?”
“Yes, don’t worry. I’ll leave it in the car when we enter the venue. Everything will work out fine.”
“And I’ll protect your pretty, single friend!” Caleb shouts in the background.
Erin sighs, but it doesn’t sound entirely annoyed.
More flustered. Maybe a little amused. “Since we got in the stretch limo, he’s been doin’ the seductive drawl thing again.
He already compared my eyes to a summer creek and my hair to golden wheat.
Then he tried to impress me with facts about Kentucky.
I almost threw hands when he first mentioned his balls. ”
“I said Bourbon Balls!” Caleb yowls.
I look at Rust. “He told Erin about his Bourbon Balls.”
“Took me a while to figure out he was talking about chocolates…” Erin mumbles.
Rust smirks. “Let me guess. He pulled out the creek eyes line, too.”
“Yep.”
Rust gives a grave nod. “Tell her she has my condolences.”
“Hey, I heard that!” Caleb shouts. “Bourbon is the cultural heritage of Kentucky. Everybody should know about it. And Bourbon Balls are delicious! My nana gave me her recipe.”
“I’m straight edge,” Erin cuts in. “And that doesn’t explain the weird compliments.”
“Well, ma’am…” Caleb’s voice fades a little like he’s turned away from the phone and toward Erin, presumably. “I’m a simple country man and you got the kind of beauty that’s like the sunset. I don’t choose to look; I’m just honorin’ the perfect creation God put in front of me.”
Erin gasps. I can basically see her blush in my mind’s eye. “A-anyway, gotta go, Tally. My fans—I mean your fans—are waiting.”
She hangs up. Cameras flash as a blond man in a black designer suit gets out of the limo. There is no trace of the smiley, casual guy Caleb usually is. Playing the bodyguard with his mouth pulled into a grim scowl, he actually looks scary.
“Give him another hour with her and Erin will fold like a house of cards,” Rust says, warmth in his tone.
“She’s doomed. Tragic. They’re gonna have cute blond angel babies,” I agree.
Caleb pushes back the crowd when the sunroof of the limousine opens and a blond bombshell with a bedazzled cowboy hat and oversized sunglasses peeks out.
“Tally! Over here!” a photographer shouts.
My knees sag with relief.
Erin and I have different body shapes, but with her mostly hidden by the car and dressed in a massive, ruffled maxi dress reminiscent of a tiered cake, nobody seems to notice.
She waves. Fans squeal. A young woman holds out a life-sized cardboard cutout of me. As if I didn’t teach her my autograph signature a few hours ago in a downtown motel room, Erin confidently grabs the black marker.
I’m genuinely impressed. She has a talent for acting.
One fan gets overzealous and tries to climb the limo. Caleb yanks the man down, shaking his head no. Erin continues signing merch and posing for pictures while her bodyguard keeps the growing crowd under control. But that won’t work forever.
I turn off my phone, stuff it into my purse and grab my brand new guitar case with my instrument in it. “Showtime.”
My heart pounds as Rust and I walk across the road toward the side of the venue. Adrenaline demands that I run like the wind, but that would draw attention.
When we pass the sea of people lapping like living waves against the limo, I hold my breath. Any moment, I expect someone to spot me and blow my cover, but nobody spares me a single look.
My hands won’t stop trembling as we slip around the corner of the building and approach a security guard by the stage entrance. He’s built like a brick wall and just as grumpy.
Great, I was hoping for an intern. By his practiced scowl, this guy is a fucking veteran in the security business.
“Special last-minute delivery for Miss Creed!” I squeak.
The broad man doesn’t acknowledge me. He sighs and pushes a button on his earpiece. “Code thirty-one. Code thirty-one. Need a six-four stat.”
Shit, that sounds serious!
“I-I got the signed receipt from Miss Creed.” I shove a hand into my skirt pocket and take out the fake bill with my very real signature, presenting it to him.
He huffs like a bull about to attack before his eyes gloss over again.
Now he’s gonna ignore me? How rude! What the fuck will it take for this stubborn idiot to let me through?
Rust clicks his tongue. “They don’t pay you enough for a speakin’ role?”
The guard grunts.
Rust crosses his arms. “If we don’t get this guitar inside the venue in time for the concert, you’re gonna be in a world of trouble, man. We’ve been working with Miss Creed for years and she’s a real sweetheart. But you don’t wanna get on her manager’s bad side.”
The security guy glances impassively at him.
“Have you ever met Rex Dalton?” Rust asks.
The man’s head jerks. I see something I’d describe as primal terror in his eyes and hold back a laugh. It seems my soon-to-be-ex-manager has a reputation here, too.
The guard grunts and presses on his earpiece. “Scratch that. One-two. One-two. Sending through an urgent delivery for Miss Creed. Eight-Nine-Fiver out.” He uses a keycard from his pocket to open the stage entrance and steps aside.
I wobble into the corridor and the metal door shuts loudly behind us.
“Pshhh, I bet he made those codes and numbers up,” Rust says as staff members rush past us like worker ants.
I jump out of the way of a guy carrying a roll of cable. “That terror in his eyes when you mentioned Rex was real though. Quick thinking on your part.”
“Havin’ the misfortune of Dalton’s acquaintance gotta be good for something.”
Instead of following the sign toward the VIP dressing rooms, I tug Rust into a smaller, quiet hallway off to the side. I’ve played in this venue many times and could navigate its bowels with my eyes closed.
This is the storage area and the last place anybody’s gonna search for the superstar of the night.
Praying, I try every door handle until I find an unlocked room and we hurry inside. Costume racks covered in plastic and crates take up most of the space. Spare vanities line the opposite wall. I uncover one and set down my guitar case to wipe the dusty mirror with a tissue from my purse.
Rust takes out the ancient relic he calls a smartphone and taps away on the cracked screen. “I sent Caleb instructions how to find us.”
“Thanks. Can you watch the door while I check my make-up? There’s no key in the lock.”
Rust pulls one of the crates to the door and sits on it “Anybody tryin’ to get in is gonna have to get through me, first.”