Chapter 18 #3
Taking the record from the shelf, she admired the close-up of the woman on the cover. Her roman nose and high cheekbones, her painfully exquisite smile that lit up her eyes, which were a reflection of Andrea’s and her long dark hair, the same colour as Sofia’s.
Settling into a high-back chair, she admired the image of Andrea’s mother until she was looking at it through wet eyes.
How sad it must have been to lose her mother at such a young age.
A space in her life that could never be filled.
Rosalie had never lost any close relatives in her life, yet she could understand feeling like something, or someone, was missing.
‘Rosalie?’ Frankie called from somewhere in the distance. ‘You ready for beer and wings? I feel like my throat’s been cut here and the others are telling me I’ve got to be all chivalrous and shit.’
Rosalie chuckled. ‘On my way.’
She breezed onto the lawn towards the guys and the long table that was laid with food from the grill. ‘Looks yu?—’
Catching herself right at the last, Rosalie yelped when the heel of her shoe dug into the mud, making her stagger-stumble forwards.
‘Nice choice of footwear for the lawn there, pretty lady,’ Billy called out.
Tim appeared at her side. ‘Darlin’, I think I’ve got some spare boots from summer harvest that might fit you, if you like?’
‘Oh.’ Rosalie laughed off her tumble. ‘Not to worry. Us city girls can handle our shoes, Tim.’
Nevertheless, she was grateful for the arm he offered, linking him as he helped her to the picnic bench-style table.
Staring at the spare spot next to Seth, she contemplated how she was going to get her legs over the seat gracefully in her dress.
‘Need a hand?’ Seth said with irritation in his voice.
Rosalie wanted to stick out her tongue in response but refrained. ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said, bending to sit on the seat and pressing her knees together as she swivelled over the bench seat. ‘There. I’m in.’
‘Now that the lady’s here, let’s dive in,’ Tim said, lifting a plate of sweet-smoky wings from the centre of the table, holding them up for Rosalie in his red apron that read My son is a rock star .
Rosalie stared at the plate, wondering how she was supposed to get the sticky meat to her plate, feeling all eyes on her.
Well, she could always wash her hands afterwards , she supposed, as she took two wings between her fingers and popped them onto her own plate. As she did, she told Tim, ‘You might need an apron that says my sons are rock stars soon.’
He beamed like the proud father he was. ‘That I will, darlin’.’
Rosalie glanced to Seth, offering a smile, but got nothing in return, except the usual stone-faced Seth, as he seemed to be only with her.
Rolling her eyes, she picked up a wing and gently nibbled the food between her teeth, being careful not to mess her lipstick.
Then the taste hit her tongue and, moaning, she wrapped her mouth around the chicken.
Forgetting herself completely, she spoke through a mouthful of food.
‘Oh my goodness, Tim, these are soooooo good.’
As she bit hungrily into the wing again, all the men laughed. ‘Seriously, Billy, you’re going to love these. Dig in.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Billy said, as eager as Rosalie with his food. ‘Oh yeah, that’s good grill, sir.’
‘Tim, where did you learn to – Oh, pants!’ The wing she was holding slipped between Rosalie’s fingers, and as she fumbled to catch it, her elbow caught the edge of her plate and in a split second, two chicken wings covered in sauce had rolled down the front of her pink dress and landed in her lap.
Not knowing what to do, she stared down at her dress, open-mouthed. The stain would never ever come out of the fabric.
‘Oh good Lord,’ Tim said, rushing to her and rubbing her dress with a cloth that spread the sauce further.
‘Oh hell,’ Tim said, pulling back in a fluster.
Right then, Billy laughed. Frankie laughed. Seth stifled a laugh, and Rosalie… well, what else was there to do than laugh with them.
Once their giggles had subsided, Seth stood and offered her a hand up. ‘Come on, I’ll get you some clothes of mine that might be more appropriate. You can throw as much food down them as you like, promise.’
Accepting his moment of no doubt fleeting kindness towards her, Rosalie took Seth’s hand and let him lead her into the house, upstairs to his bedroom.
‘Here, try these,’ he said, handing her a pair of jogging bottoms and a hooded sweater. ‘Not quite your usual glamour but better for stains, I think.’
Rosalie took the clothes. ‘Thank you.’
He nodded, staring at her but not speaking.
Inhaling deeply, she took the opportunity to ask him, ‘Seth, why do you hate me?’
He folded his arms across his chest, biceps and pecs bulging. ‘I don’t hate you, Ros. I’ve just known girls like you and that hasn’t worked out well for me.’
She stepped back and sat down onto the edge of his bed. ‘Tell me?’
He shrugged. ‘I was engaged once. To a girl called Connie. And she was a heck of a lot like you. Shoes, clothes, spending all the time. Trying to buy her way out of problems.’ He stepped back, leaning against the bedroom wall, a sign Rosalie took to mean he was going to open up to her.
‘When I was younger. Before I enlisted, and then when I was on leave, I used to go to a lot of Armstrung’s gigs, with my brother and the guys. They always had groupies around, you know? Anyway, then there was Connie and she took an interest in me. I fell for it.
‘It’s kind of hard to believe now but I thought she was… the one. Right before I went away on my first tour of Afghanistan, I proposed and she said yes. That was it for me, you know; the house, the family, the rest of our lives.’
‘What happened?’
‘Whilst I was away, I got a letter telling me she’d found someone else.
Turned out to be another musician. She sent it to me with an extortionately priced jacket, as some kind of conciliation prize.
’ He shook his head again. ‘I think she only ever wanted to get closer to my brother and the band, looking back.’
‘And that’s why you don’t want to be associated with Randy?’
Seth shook his head, moving off the wall and letting her know he was about done talking. ‘Randy and I chose different paths, and I want to make my own way. It’s not to do with Connie.’
‘But not liking me is?’
He didn’t reply.
‘I’m not like that, you know, Seth. I do have substance. I’m sorry that someone did that to you but you shouldn’t let it colour your view of people before you take the chance to get to know them.’
He stared at her, then nodded but didn’t seem convinced. ‘See you outside.’
‘Thanks again for the clothes.’
* * *
Rosalie stood to the side of the stage and watched Seth jog into position, picking up his acoustic guitar and pulling the strap over his head as he went.
There was an incredible crowd, given the time of day – late afternoon – and that Seth was still relatively unknown, despite his first single having been an airplay chart hit.
Her heart swelled with inexplainable pride as she watched the crowd cheer, eagerly anticipating this hot new artist’s set at the CMAs.
Like he had done at the Presley John concert, Seth took a moment to absorb the venue and the crowd.
It was a wonder he could see with the combination of the late afternoon sun shining directly onto the stage and the overhead lights on full beam.
He took a seat on the stool positioned before his microphone, exactly where he had sat the day before for his sound check, and Rosalie watched as he took a deep breath.
But he didn’t look nervous; he looked every bit a star.
Black shades shielded his eyes. He wore the pair of jeans that he had worn the night of the Presley John concert – much fancier than his usual stonewashed pair and slightly fitted, just enough to hug his butt and thighs – and a plain khaki-coloured fitted T-shirt, with his signature dog tags hanging down his chest. What she had once thought were a teenage boy accessory, she now respected as his nod to his brothers in arms.
‘How’re y’all doin’ tonight?’ he asked the audience, his southern twang as thick as ever.
Rosalie smiled at the wolf-whistles and screams Seth received from the field in front of the stage.
Then Billy counted them in and Seth kicked off with a medium tempo track from his album, one Rosalie had loved the first time she’d heard it in the studio.
It took a line, maybe two, but Seth settled quickly into the performance, singing and playing as well as he ever did, teasing the crowd as he built the track and found his stride.
When he kicked on after the second chorus, Rosalie closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the music rock her body.
When the song ended and the screams and cheers had died down, Seth thanked the audience, then started talking to them.
Rosalie missed what he said because a kerfuffle of noise started up behind her.
Turning to look across her shoulder, she saw a tall, broad guy in black jeans, black shades and a black leather jacket.
With his messed-up rock-star hair, she could have sworn it was…
‘Randy?’
Seth’s rock-god brother finished signing the breasts of a woman and came to Rosalie’s side. ‘If it ain’t the designer lady.’
‘Hi, Randy. I didn’t realise you and the band were playing?’
Randy folded his arms across his chest and leaned casually against a large amplifier that wasn’t in use but was on standby at the side of the stage.
‘We’re not.’ He gestured with his head toward Seth, who was starting up his most upbeat track, strumming his guitar and smiling like fun knew no limits. ‘I came to see him.’
Rosalie knew that Randy was amidst a tour with his band, Armstrung . She had no idea how he’d managed to make it to Nashville and she doubted he could be staying any longer than a night. She felt an overwhelming affection toward him on Seth’s behalf.