Chapter 18
ROSALIE
As she stood outside arrivals with Seth, Billy, Frankie and all their gear, waiting for a minivan to pick them up, Rosalie inhaled the southern air. There was something so homey and provincial about the south.
‘You all right there, Rosalie?’ Frankie asked. ‘Kinda look like you’re smellin’ a burger truck.’
She pursed her lips, brought her Dior shades to the tip of her nose and, looking over the rim, told Frankie, ‘Do you really think I would relish the thought of a fatty burger?’
‘Now that you mention it…’
Replacing her glasses, she smiled. ‘You boys only ever think about your stomachs, don’t you?’
‘No, sometimes I think of my mouth, and how it would like to taste a burger and a beer before they hit my stomach,’ Billy said. ‘Is anyone else starving?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Seth said. ‘If there’s one thing we know how to do in the south, it’s feed people. My old man will have had the grill stoked all afternoon, smoking meat for us. Wait ’til you taste his ribs.’
‘Oh, are we going to visit your dad before we go to the hotel? Or are we dropping our things to the hotel first?’
Seth seemed to scowl from behind his thick black shades. ‘We’re staying with my old man. He offered, Sofia was grateful, and down here, somebody offers you hospitality and you turn it down, we have a word for that. It’s rude. ’
Before Rosalie could retort or protest, a black minivan pulled up in front of them and the guys loaded their gear inside.
The van smelled of cheap air-freshener and the leather on the seats was coming away at the edges.
Rosalie considered her pink wrap dress and the damage those seats would do to the crepe material.
She looked at the dirty step up to the van and feared for the cream leather of her Aquazzura bow-embellished sandals, bought new for the trip.
Oh, she couldn’t do it to them. Her beautiful shoes.
‘Are you going to get in the van?’ Seth asked, appearing at her side in his staple stonewash jeans and scruffy boots. How could he possibly understand the dilemma she faced?
Was it too late to arrange herself a luxury transfer? Why hadn’t she checked the schedule Sofia had given her in more detail?
‘All right, let’s go,’ Seth said.
Rosalie squealed as she was hoisted into the strong arms of Seth’s tall, extremely masculine frame. ‘Put me down,’ she yelled, kicking her legs as Seth held her as if he was about to cross the marital threshold.
Ignoring her entirely, Seth stepped into the back of the van with Rosalie in his arms and set her down on the front seat.
With his body leaning over hers, Rosalie breathed him in, surprisingly affected by his scent – soap and natural musk, that was manly and disturbingly delicious.
She found herself wetting her lower lip as she released her grip on his neck and the tips of her fingers traced the line of his ever-present dog tags, taking advantage of the closeness to his firm chest and enjoying the brief investigation into what was under his T-shirt.
To her surprise, when she glanced up to him, Seth’s eyes were firmly fixed on hers.
‘You can’t just manhandle me like that,’ she said.
Shaking his head, he moved to the back of the van, muttering something about time, his death and Rosalie getting in the van.
It was going to be a long three days. Made even longer by the fact she was likely to be spending it in a sleeping bag on some worn sofa in a tiny little wood hut with four men who all wore ripped stonewash jeans and smelly, styleless shirts without exception.
But as the van moved into motion, Rosalie had a thought.
‘Ooo, I almost forgot…’ Digging into her purse, she took out a small paper bag and clumsily got up from her seat, moving to each of Billy, Frankie and Seth, handing out the gifts she had bought them for the trip – mostly in an attempt to win them over.
‘They’re solid gold plecs. Not really for use but as a little memento of the occasion. See, on one side, they say Seth Young, CMA and the number one. You know, because its Seth’s first CMA. And on the other side you have your own name. So either Billy, Frankie or Seth. Do you like them?’
Billy bit down on the plec between his teeth. ‘Yep, solid gold.’
‘They’re pretty neat,’ said Frankie.
And Rosalie raised an eyebrow, eyeing Seth until eventually, his straight lips broke into a chuckle and he said, ‘It’s sweet. Thank you.’
Rosalie smiled. Mission accomplished. ‘I have one for Sofia too,’ she said, retaking her seat.
‘It’s such a shame she didn’t feel able to make it.
She would have been so proud of you guys.
But I totally get it. I mean, she just felt like she shouldn’t have fun and leave New York with her husband in rehab. ’
‘Jay’s a jackass,’ Frankie said. ‘You have to want to get clean to get clean. He’s no more likely to get off the drink and drugs this time than any other.’
‘Yeah, I’m with you, man,’ Billy said. ‘It kills me watching Soph run herself into the ground, scrimping and scraping to keep Sanfia afloat, when he spends every spare dollar they have on his habit.’
‘God, I want this… us… to work out more for her sake than my own,’ Seth said. ‘I know she’s breaking the bank to help me out and I can’t give her anything back right now.’
‘I overheard her telling Jimmy that the bank won’t lend her any more cash on her apartment. It’s mortgaged to the hilt,’ Frankie added.
‘Oh my goodness,’ Rosalie said, turning in her seat to face the guys. ‘I had no idea things were so bad. Why wouldn’t she ask me for help?’
‘Because, Ros, Sofia is a great producer, with or without her big-shot sister. She wants to make her own way,’ Seth snapped. ‘Not everyone wants to live on handouts.’
She wanted to retort. She wanted to argue that she made her own money. But something told her to save her breath.
Turning her back on the guys, Rosalie considered her designer outfit, her perfectly manicured nails and the large platinum diamond flower decorating her finger.
She wouldn’t be able to convince Seth to take her seriously any more than she could convince anyone else.
But her dad had faith in her. He was signing over a recording label to her.
And when she made the label a continued success, maybe even more successful than Andrea’s Stellar label, everyone would take her seriously.
But right now, in a van full of people, she felt sad and lonely.
‘Crank the tunes, driver!’ Billy called out. Country music filled the vehicle as the highways and city lights of Nashville turned into fields and open country roads.
After forty minutes, they took a left onto a bumpy track that was lined with trees and horses in fields beyond. Rosalie’s jaw dropped as they approached the huge ranch that Seth’s dad called home.
‘Are you shitting me?’ Billy asked. ‘Man, you didn’t say you were loaded.’
Seth laughed. ‘I’m not. Randy bought the ranch for the old man a few years back. Before that, we had a much smaller place.’
Seth’s attire, coupled with the whole struggling musician, ex-military thing, had led Rosalie to assume he would have come from not much at all.
But, of course, when you had a rock star brother, things changed.
And Rosalie found herself smiling. Not because she wouldn’t have to stay on a grotty sofa for three nights but because she found herself thinking that one day, Seth would be a star, too.
Something told her he would also be quick to spend his money on his loved ones.
‘Randy Jonson is a decent fucking guy,’ Frankie said of Seth’s brother. ‘Who knew?’
They pulled up by the porch that ran the length of the large house.
White decking was surrounded by white railings that broke in the middle to allow for wood steps leading up to the front entrance.
Two large swing chairs and two bench seats were positioned on the porch to look out across the ranch’s land.
The driver came around to the side of the van and opened the door.
Putting her shades in place over her eyes, Rosalie moved to the open door, looking left and right, taking in the beauty of the place.
The silence of the fields. The vibrant green of the grass. The fresh air.
Well, almost fresh, she thought as she made to step out of the van.
‘Watch out for the?—’
But whoever shouted was too late. Rosalie screamed when her foot squelched into a freshly laid pile of horse poop.
‘It’s still warm. It’s on my skin!’ she yelled. ‘I’m going to vomit. Someone help me!’
But the only help she got was an old man coming running from the porch, a driver holding out a hand and three musicians doubled over with laughter behind her.
‘I am not a bad person!’ she snapped at them whilst holding her nose with one hand to cover the stench and reaching out to the driver of the van with her other, letting him lead her to cleaner ground.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered, darlin’,’ the older man said, before throwing a bucket of cold water over Rosalie’s soiled foot.
‘Is it any wonder I don’t come to the south?’ she cried, mostly for her own ears, as the older man, with a slightly smaller frame but strikingly similar features to Seth, was stepping out of an embrace with his son and greeting Billy and Frankie.
‘Good thing I brought ten pairs of shoes. I’m going to need them,’ she muttered.
‘And this must be the boss,’ Seth’s dad said, holding out a hand to Rosalie.
‘Ah, no,’ Seth said. ‘Sofia couldn’t make it. This is Rosalie.’
‘She’s a groupie,’ Frankie said, draping an arm around Rosalie’s shoulder, laughing as he did so.
‘I am not a groupie. I’m actually helping out whilst I’m training to take over my own recording label. It’s nice to meet you, Mr?—’
‘Tim. Just Tim.’
She nodded. ‘Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Tim.’
Tim looked from Rosalie to his son, whose hand was in his hair, his arm shielding his face and his reaction to the unspoken conversation the two men seemed to be having.