9. Ajay
ajay
. . .
I don’t know how long I waited outside of Bailey’s for Whiskey to come out, hoping she’d follow me outside to yell at me, but she never came. Must’ve been an hour or two, maybe even three before I decided that I better see if the Inn down the street had any rooms available before I hoofed it to the edge of town. What I should’ve done was take Elle up on her offer to get me a car, but being as I can’t leave the county, everything I need is close by. And I wasn’t joking about calling Sheriff Foster for a ride. I will because I know it’ll piss him off. He won’t tell me no either, that much I’m sure of.
Inside the Inn, I’m met with the soft smile of Mrs. Buxley. “I heard you were back in town.”
“Yes, ma’am, just for the week. Trying to clear up a matter with Judge Harvey.”
She waves off his name. “That old coot needs to retire and make way for the young’uns.”
“Wouldn’t hear me complaining.” If he wasn’t a sitting judge, I might not be in this position right now.
“I hear you on the radio every now and again, playing those drums.”
I smile shyly at her. “Thank you, Mrs. B. Can you tell me if you have a room available? I’m looking to stay the full week.”
“Let me see what I have.” She thumbs though what looks like an old, outdated reservation system, pulling cards and matching them to the calendar on her counter. “Looks like room 4a is available. Would that work?”
“Sure will.”
She hands me a form to fill out and in turn, I hand her my credit card, hoping she takes plastic. If not, I’ll have to call Elle and tell her I need cash. There’s no way the bank here is going to give me anything other than the two-hundred daily limit on my debit card.
Mrs. Buxley hands my card back to me and holds the key, letting it dangle from her hand. “You know, this room has a view of Bailey’s.”
“Okay,” I say, unsure where she’s going with this.
“Miss Jameson works Monday and Tuesday during the day. She arrives between nine and ten. Friday and Saturday nights, arriving around five.”
“And on Sundays?” I ask.
“I don’t know, but I know she’s not in church.”
“Why you are telling me this, Mrs. B?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes true love needs a little push in the right direction.”
I take the key and thank her for the information. I don’t believe in that true love thing. Love is messy. It hurts. It causes you to bleed and do stupid things like leave your girl behind. The room I’m staying in has one full-size bed, a decent size television and a very small kitchen with a small table by the window. However, the bathroom is a nice size with a soaking tub. The bonus of the room is the balcony.
Pulling the sliding glass door open, I step outside and place my hands on the ledge. Main Street in Bailey is bustling. Cars are parked along both sides of the road and people are out walking. Sure enough, the bar and grill’s within eye sight and I can see who’s coming and going. With nothing but time on my hands, I can sit here and people watch. I can try to recall faces that I’ve long forgotten and pull up old stories from the recesses of my mind. I can try to sit here and think about any and everyone except for Whiskey, but I know that won’t happen. Not now. Not since I’ve seen her. It would almost be better to know she wasn’t living here or working across the street. And now that I know what days she’ll be there, I have every excuse in the world to stay in my room, yet I know that won’t happen. I’m going to be there every time she is because I’m sick in the head and madly in love with that woman, although, I’ll never tell her. She has a life and doesn’t need the likes of me coming in and disrupting things for her.
As much as I want to stand here and watch my former hometown move along with the day, a hot shower sounds more appealing. The duffel bag Elle packed for me has most of my essentials. I strip out of my suit and hang it up, preserving the almost wrinkle free garment for my next court hearing. I’m tempted to take a bath but am eager to get the filth of the jail off me and don’t want to wait for the water to fill up. Besides, the last one I had, Whiskey was with me and for some reason it doesn’t seem right to take one without her.
She’d be shocked to find out I’ve only casually dated about three women over the past five years. It took me close to two years to stop having dreams about Whiskey. Dreams that would turn into nightmares, nightmares into panic attacks. I often wondered if she ever figured out that the person calling and hanging up in the middle of the night was me or if her father figured it was some punk kid from town harassing him. I waited for her to answer, to whisper my name in the darkness, but she never did. I don’t know what I would’ve done if she had. Come back, probably.
The water pressure is a godsend, pounding down on my neck and shoulders. I rotate my head back and forth, loosening up my muscles. They’re tight and in traction from the lack of sleep or better yet, quality of bedding. As much as I complain about the tour bus, I’d gladly take a rocky night of swaying on the road over what I just went through.
When the water turns cold, I finally shut it off and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. The alarm on my phone is going off, reminding me it’s time for rehearsal. Not tonight or tomorrow night. Fans of Sinful Distraction are going to find Harrison behind my kit, playing our songs and wowing the crowd while I sit here and have a pity party for myself. If I were a betting man, I’d place a Vegas style wager on how long it takes social media to speculate why I’m not there. Drugs will be the foregone conclusion, followed by exhaustion. It won’t take them long to figure out that I’ve been arrested, if they haven’t already. I’m not sure Sheriff Foster or Judge Harvey is smart enough to alert the media, nor do they probably care. Doing so does give the town of Bailey a tourism boost though. People, mostly teens and the younger generation, will come to town looking for me. They won’t have to look hard, no one here is going to keep my secret except for maybe Mrs. B. I left all those years ago without a word, except to Whiskey. I’d be back in a few weeks. I was just going to go to Nashville and make some money, hopefully enough to get us to Los Angeles. Boy, did my plan go awry as soon as I got there.
Bar after bar, I look for notices of house bands needing a drummer. Bar after bar, I’m rejected or told to come back later, but later is an indefinite time. These managers have no idea, they expect the house band to be on their game each and every night and don’t care for the likes of me hanging out, praying that someone isn’t showing up for work tonight.
I’m desperate. My time’s running out. Two weeks is what I told Whiskey, and I’m down to three days. I need to find work. I need to make something of myself and this is my only skill. Sure, I could become a dishwasher but what kind of life is that for my wife? It’s not. She shouldn’t have to work to support me, it should be the other way around. What she should’ve done was tell me no when I asked her to marry me, but the baby… I still believe we were doing the right thing by getting married, even if her parents didn’t think so.
There are only a few more bars to try before I have no choice but to give up. The place is empty except for one single guy sitting at the bar nursing a drink. The bartender is stocking his shelves, probably preparing for the nightly onslaught of people that plan to come in tonight.
“Excuse me, I was wondering if your house band needs a drummer tonight. I know it’s a longshot ? —”
“Don’t have a house band,” he says without looking at me. “The groups that play here are booked by booking managers. You’d have to ask them, but…” he finally turns, looks at me and shakes his head. “Let me guess, small town garage band drummer looking to make it big?”
I shake my head slightly. “Just looking for a chance.”
The man at the bar looks at me. “What can you play?”
“Anything,” I tell him. “I can read music and have a photographic memory. It’s really the only thing I have going for myself right now. And I can play. I’m not great, but I’m good. I can follow lead and I’m a hard worker.”
The man turns and holds out his hand. “Mitchell Mooney. I manage ? —”
“I’ve heard of you, Sir. You’re one of the most sought-after managers for new bands trying to break into the industry. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“What’s your name, son?
“Ajay Ballard. I’m from Bailey, North Carolina.”
“You got a family or are you free to be at my beck and call?”
“Free, Sir. Nothing holding me back.”
He hands me his card after he writes something on the back. “Meet me here, five thirty. Rehearsal starts at six after I’ve fed ya.”
I take it and read it over, committing the address to memory. It’s not lost on me that he mentioned food. I haven’t had a real meal in weeks, not since Whiskey cooked me some fried chicken. “I’ll be there.”
He nods and turns back toward the bar. I could stand there, but I don’t want the man to think I’m a creeper. Instead, I say “thank you” to the bartender for not throwing me out and rush out of there. I don’t know what possessed Mr. Mooney to give me his card but there’s no way I’m going to let him down.
My phone rings and Harrison’s face stares back at me. I clear my head of the night when everything changed for me and accept his call. “Hello?”
“Ajay, heard you’re in some trouble.”
“Nothing that shouldn’t be taken care of by the end of the week.”
“Do you need me to come to town, straighten some folks out for you?” Harrison laughs. Since joining Sinful Distraction, he and I have grown closer. So have Quinn and I. They’ve showed me what it’s like to have a family. I always knew I was welcomed at the Foster’s, but with the Jameses, it’s different. At Christmas, I had a stocking hung from their mantle, one that Ms. Katelyn had made especially for me. I don’t remember having a single Christmas with my parents or even my grandma for that matter.
“Maybe,” I tell him because right now I could use a friend. “I’m hoping things blow over.”
“If not, I’ll be there. Katelyn’s worried about you and doesn’t like that you’re alone so don’t be alarmed if my fiery wife shows up in town looking lost.”
I have to fight the lump in my throat from overtaking my emotions. “I appreciate that. I’ll be on the lookout for her. She won’t have a hard time finding me, small town and all that.”
“Don’t worry about tonight’s show; I have you covered. JD has promised to make sure Twitter knows you have the flu or something. I don’t know what that means.”
A laugh escapes me. JD and his Twitter — it should be outlawed. “Thanks, Harrison. I appreciate everything.”
“You’re family. There isn’t anything we don’t do for family. I’ll see you in a few days, son.” He hangs up, leaving that last word lingering in the air.