Diamond (24 page)

Jesse stared blankly at the receiver in his hand and then flung it across the room with a curse, ignoring the crash it made as it jerked the phone from the table and onto the floor.

She was gone. He shuddered and leaned his head against the wall, willing the bile rising in the back of his throat back where it belonged.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

But the harshly whispered prayer did no good. God had already ignored every prayer he’d made for the last few months. Why did he think this time would be any different? He staggered down the hallway toward the front door, uncertain about what he was going to do when he got outside. He only knew that wherever it took him, he would be that much closer to Diamond.

The air was sharp and brought tears to his eyes as he stood at the edge of his porch, staring at the distant lights of Nashville on the night horizon. The long, mournful wail of a train whistle ran with the wind that passed before him. Jesse listened absently and then with quiet intent. He looked at his watch, mentally calculating the time it would take a train to run from Nashville to the crossing below his place. Remembering the train whistle that he’d heard over the phone, he began to smile. It was too obvious to be a coincidence.

“You’re still in Nashville, aren’t you, girl?”

For the first time in months, there was hope in his heart. What he was thinking was a long shot, but he’d bet the pot on it. Jesse Eagle was about to gamble everything he had on the chance that the woman he loved was still within reach. But this time, he wouldn’t make the mistakes he’d made before. This time, when he found her—and he knew that he would—she’d be the one dealing the cards.

“Oh, hell. I’m here, aren’t I? Just pass me the peanuts and shut up.”

Twila Hart’s grumble was met with a round of good-natured jeers as her friends shoved a snack-laden bowl across the table toward her and then topped her drink for good measure.

Twila hadn’t wanted to come to a club that night and watch a bunch of gourd-green singers giving up poor imitations of Garth Brooks and Keba McEntire. Most of the young performers hadn’t figured out that they needed their own style, not a good rendition of someone else’s. But she’d been reluctantly convinced that getting out would be good for business.

And she did have this new blue suede pantsuit with fringe on the jacket that hung clear to her hips. It had been dynamite on the hanger but had lost something in the translation when she’d put it on, even though she was a trim size 9. However, she was of the opinion that anything that cost eight hundred dollars needed to be seen. Tonight was as good an excuse as any to wear it.

Twila had learned years ago that being a personal manager in a city overrun with them wasn’t an easy way to make a living. Every Nashville entertainer who was worth his or her weight in guitar strings already had one.

Twila was overwhelmed daily with the constant influx of newcomers to Nashville who would sell their soul for a shot at stardom. Most of them had some talent, but few had what it would take to succeed in this highly competitive field. She’d had a few good clients but none that had hit star status. There had even been a couple of fabulous flash-in-the-pans and one that was an out-and-out mistake. But, she reminded herself, he’d been great in bed.

She tossed a handful of peanuts into her mouth and chewed as she squinted against a cloud of smoke that drifted across her face. Not for the first time, she wished that she was at home with her bra off and her sweats on, eating pizza and cussing her cat. At forty-four, she was beginning to lose her enthusiasm for the business.

She glanced down at her watch, promising herself that she’d give it an hour and then would get out of there, no matter what kind of teasing she’d get later. She sighed as the lights dimmed. That meant the break was over and another act was getting ready to perform.

A tall, leggy blonde wearing white satin trimmed in gold sauntered onto center stage, calmly ignored the catcalls and whistles that accompanied her entrance, and slipped the strap of her guitar over her shoulder. Twila watched the woman’s long, slender fingers run lightly across the strings and noticed that there was little to no fidgeting about her as she stepped up to the mike. The woman gave a toss to the long blonde mane of hair hanging across her shoulder, looked up, and smiled at the audience. Even from here, Twila could see the pure country green of her eyes.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Diamond said. “My name is Diamond Houston from Cradle Creek, Tennessee—and of late from Dooley’s down on Jefferson Street.”

The audience erupted into a small round of laughter at Diamond’s wry admission of where she’d been singing. Everyone knew that area of town was not choice property, nor did anyone live down there by choice.

“In my line of work, my business and your pleasure are one and the same.” She grinned at a couple of men who were sitting down front, trying to get her attention. “And no, I’m not available by the hour. Before you grab for your wallets, I’d better break the news. I’m just a singer.”

The audience roared with laughter, appreciating the way the tall blonde made light of what they’d been thinking.

Twila sighed and tried not to roll her eyes in dismay.
Great
—
a comedienne. She needs to be in Vegas, not Nashville
. She thrust her fingers back into the bowl of nuts and started to dig when the woman’s voice rolled across her consciousness and flowed across the room.

Without announcing the song, Diamond began to sing, and the words poured from her lips in easy rhythm. Her fingers rocked across the strings in a slow, gentle beat as the toe of her left boot kept time while she played.

The nuts were forgotten as Twila stared openmouthed at the depth of tone and clarity of pitch with which this woman sang. It was somewhere between the rhythm of a Negro spiritual and the poignancy of true country sound. It seemed to come up and out of her mouth as easily as she breathed.

Twila forgot that she hadn’t wanted to come. She forgot that she’d intended to eat pizza and turn in early. Instead, she sat back in her chair praying that this woman didn’t already have an agent and contemplating the best way to introduce herself.

When the performance was over Twila made her way through the throng surrounding the backstage door.

“Miss Houston, you were great!” the club owner said, handing her an envelope with her pay.

“Thanks, Mr. Call. I enjoyed it. You’ve got a great audience to play to.”

Melvin Call grinned. “Call me Melvin,” he said. “And speaking of audiences, how would you like to come back—say New Year’s Eve?” He saw the shock on her face and grinned again. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t be offering, because I’m usually booked up. But one of my singles decided to get himself arrested last night, so my program is now one entertainer short. Are you interested?”

This was important. Diamond knew that such an offer would be a long time in coming again. But everything was happening so fast she wasn’t sure how to deal with it. There was only one thing she could think to do, and that was be honest with him about her situation.

“Mr. Call, I’d like nothing better than to take you up on your offer, but I need to be up front with you. I don’t know the rules in this business. I don’t have a manager or a—

“Honey, don’t ever let them know your weaknesses.” Twila Hart grabbed Diamond by the elbow and tugged gently, softening her warning with a smile.

“Hey, Twila,” Melvin said. “Didn’t know you were out there tonight. Did you hear this little lady sing?”

“She’s why I’m not at home eating pizza as we speak,” Twila said. “Introduce me, Mel, and be kind.”

Diamond was lost. She looked from one to the other, uncertain of who was in charge. The only thing she knew was that it sure wasn’t her.

Melvin grinned. “Diamond, I’d like you to meet Twila Hart. She’s been in the music business almost as long as I have.”

Twila winced. “I didn’t ask for an insult, just an introduction.” Then she proceeded to take control of the situation. “Are you really Diamond Houston, or is that a stage name?”

“’Fraid it’s real,” Diamond said. She held her breath.

Twila rubbed her hands together in glee. She could picture the PR now. A choice name, a beautiful face and body, and, by God, a talent to go with it.

“So,” Twila went on, “I couldn’t help overhearing you tell Mel that you want a manager.”

“Well…”

“I’m interested,” Twila said. “I’m also honest, and I’m damned good at my job. Ask Mel. Ask anyone in town. They’ll tell you the same thing.”

It was the word
honest
that sold her. That and the straightforward manner with which Twila had approached her. Diamond took a good, long look at the woman and decided that while Twila Hart could have used a touch-up on graying hair roots and a lighter hand with the makeup, she liked what she saw.

“Great outfit,” Diamond said, eyeing the blue suede fringe on Twila’s jacket.

“No, honey.” Twila pointed to Diamond’s white and gold satin. “That’s a great outfit. Mine’s nice.” Giving away nothing of the tension inside her, Twila pressed on. “So…what do you say? Are you willing to take a chance on a stranger?” The moment she said it, Twila knew by the look on Diamond’s face that somehow she’d stepped on old wounds. But she maintained eye contact and held her breath, waiting for Diamond’s answer.

Diamond’s stomach turned. A feeling of déjà vu swept through her so quickly she almost staggered. She’d taken a chance on a stranger once before, and it had nearly killed her. But she wasn’t ready to call it quits. She took another long look, a deep breath, and held out her hand.

“I think I can take one more chance,” Diamond said. “After all, I wasn’t a gambler’s daughter for nothing. Johnny always said you have to trust your instincts.”

“Johnny?” Twila wondered if he was the reason Diamond Houston had turned pale earlier.

“My daddy. He’s dead, but a lot of what he taught me isn’t. Try as I might, I can’t seem to lose my past.” Diamond was unaware of the bitterness with which she spoke.

Twila nodded. She had a suspicion that Diamond Houston was trying to lose more than her upbringing. But that was okay with her. As long as she didn’t lose that marvelous voice, they were in business.

“Need a ride home?” she asked.

Diamond nodded.

“Good. We can talk details on the way, and while you make me coffee, we can discuss where we go from here.” Twila grinned at the look of distrust on Diamond’s face. “Don’t get cold feet on me now, girl. Because we
will
go on from here—and the only way to go is up.”

Diamond grabbed her guitar case, coat, and purse and was outside before she had time to absorb the implications of what had just happened.

Mack sat in a corner of the club in the darkest part of the room and stared at the woman onstage. His date glared as he sat openmouthed, watching Diamond Houston perform. He’d been so shocked by her appearance onstage that he sat unmoving through the entire performance. By the time she walked offstage, he had come to enough to realize that Jesse would kill to know that Diamond was still in Nashville.

Trying to make excuses to an already furious redhead, he shoved a couple of twenty-dollar bills in her hands and told her to get herself a cab. He was desperate to get backstage and talk to Diamond. Mack could just imagine Jesse’s elation when he walked in with his lady on his arm. In some small way, Mack felt obligated to make things right since he’d been one of the reasons things had gone wrong at first.

Mack’s date stuffed the money in her bag, made her way out of the club, and didn’t look back. He didn’t even watch her leave. He was too busy trying to catch Melvin Call’s attention to get himself permission to go backstage and talk to Diamond. He caught up with him in the hall, but by then it was too late. Diamond was gone, and all Melvin could tell him was that she’d left with Twila Hart.

“Sorry,” Mel said. “I don’t need performers’ addresses. Only their agents’ promises, and warm bodies on the right nights.” He started to walk away.

“Damn!” Mack muttered, and kicked the toe of his boot against the bathroom door. All his dreams of returning Diamond to Jesse had just gone up in smoke.

“Hold your horses,” a man yelled, believing that Mack’s furious kick was directed to the locked bathroom door.

“Hey, Mel,” Mack said, and waited for Mel to turn. “How did you get her to sing here? Did she audition, or what?”

Mel grinned and slapped his thigh. “That’s right!” he yelled. “I plumb forgot. I don’t know where she lives, but I know where she works. Down at Dooley’s on Jefferson Street. However,” he said, grinning, “I don’t know how much longer she’ll be working there.”

“Why?” Mack asked.

“Because from the look on Twila Hart’s face when they left, she’ll have that lady signed, sealed, and delivered before morning. She seemed real interested in representing her.”

Mack nodded. “I guess I can contact Twila, or maybe—”

“Hell,” Melvin added. “I guess I’m getting old. You might also be interested in knowing that she’ll be back here on New Year’s Eve.”

Mack started to grin. “You sorry sonofabitch. I’m damned sure interested, and you know it.” He slapped Melvin on the back and left.

Melvin shrugged. It didn’t surprise him that men were trying to keep up with Diamond Houston’s whereabouts. She was one pretty lady.

Diamond was nearly home before it dawned on her that she’d performed in an actual, bona fide club, been paid, and possibly gotten herself a manager to boot. She grinned.

Twila saw Diamond’s smile as she accelerated, shooting through the intersection just as the yellow light turned red.

By God
, Twila thought.
I’ve gone and got myself a star to shine. And if tonight is any indication of her ability, it isn’t going to take all that much polish to do the job
.

“This is it,” Diamond said, pointing toward the old, two-story apartment house she called home. “Home cheap home.”

Twila laughed aloud. Diamond’s wry humor about her situation was delightful. “Looks like the apartment I shared with my first husband.” She stopped in front and peered doubtfully through her windshield. “Is it safe, or should I get my gun?”