Highway Song: A Smokey's Roadhouse Novel (5 page)

“
I
’
ll win you over,
”
he said, the grin flashing again. I had to admit that when he was full of boyish charm like this, I regretted that nothing could happen.

I patted his cheek.
“
Don
’
t count on it, sweetie.
”
If I stood there bantering with him any longer, we
’
d surely wake someone on the bus. Yes, that
’
s what I worried about. Not that I
’
d get logical and realize there was really nothing to keep me from enjoying his company for as long as he was here. We weren
’
t related by blood. He wasn
’
t even my stepbrother anymore. But the daydreams I
’
d had as a child, of him rescuing me, crowded my memory. At times, he still felt like my big brother.

Without any further words, I continued back around the other side of the building. I felt his eyes on me until I turned the corner. Tomorrow, the substitute bus would be here, and he
’
d be gone. I only had to endure until tomorrow.

He held my legs up by the ankles as he fucked me. I was crashing, and he knew it. I
’
d been with him for a couple of weeks, maybe. No memory of the rush now. He
’
d supplied the meth for my binge, and now he had me docile, uncaring. I didn
’
t give a shit whether he fucked me or not, as long as he gave me more of the crystal. But it didn
’
t do anything for me anymore. No high, no shoulder. Nothing. Dimly, I felt the burn on my arm where he touched me with the cherry of his cigarette. Would it scar? Probably, but I didn
’
t care. My lack of response wasn
’
t to his liking. He kicked me.
“
This whore
’
s done for,
”
he shouted. Men came and dragged me out, naked, and left me in the gutter. I didn
’
t care, except it was cold. So cold.

This time when I woke, shaking and with tears dampening my cheeks, I knew I couldn
’
t go back to sleep. The last part was too terrible to relive. I couldn
’
t do it. It was about five in the morning. If I
’
d had a car, I would have taken off then. When I did run, it would have to be by bus, and I
’
d have to have at least enough money to get to Salt Lake City, the nearest big town, and live until I could find a job. Maybe there I could stay awhile. They wouldn
’
t look for me there, would they?

Maybe there I could get more counseling, or another program. I could feel myself slipping, beginning to crave the crystal again. I had less than a one-in-ten chance to stay clean, they
’
d told me. I was a walking time bomb, especially with no support group. I needed to be somewhere with no temptation at all, like here in the middle of nowhere.

But I couldn
’
t risk Smokey
’
s life. He
’
d been good to me. Wearily, I cleaned up and pulled on my clothes for another day in the bar. Soon, I
’
d need to do some laundry, and that would mean going into one of the little towns around here. It was risky, but washing my delicates by hand wasn
’
t really getting them as clean as I wanted. I craved a real shower, too. The only facilities I had here were a rusted-out shower with almost no water pressure and a bathtub with no stopper. Maybe Sylvie would let me use her bathroom for a nice, long shower.

Once again I reflected on how crazy it was to be living in this century with so few modern conveniences. It was as if time had stood still in this remote area, trapping me early in the previous century, while in the real world there were hot showers and laundromats, places to buy groceries that didn
’
t get cooked in old grease, and jobs where I wouldn
’
t have to wear something that implied I
’
d sell sex. Been there, done that. Not going back.

Rex
 

B
ack in the bus, I still couldn
’
t sleep. This time it was the visions of Amy looking soft and vulnerable in the moonlight that kept me awake. If I
’
d found her attractive in her black leather bustier, it was nothing compared to the sight of her braless under a clinging sweater. The night air had been chilly. Her nipples made enticing points in the sweater, and I
’
d wanted to run my hands under it to feel the hard little nubs in my palms.

Her claim that she wasn
’
t interested was a lie. I could see it in her eyes. She wanted me. Probably didn
’
t want to think of herself as the kind of girl who
’
d go for a one-night stand. With luck, we
’
d be gone from here before night fell again. I would have missed my chance. What would she do if I went to her now, before anyone else woke up? Would she give in? Would she admit she was as attracted to me as I was to her?

There was only one way to find out. I put my pants back on, leaving my shirt behind. I slipped my feet into a pair of deck shoes and crept out of the bus again. She had to be staying behind the bar somewhere. Maybe I could find out where. Maybe she
’
d let me in. It had been days since the last gig and the last groupie in my bed. I needed it.

Around behind the bar, I found what looked like a glorified shed with four doors. Aside from that, nothing was in sight. She had to be in there. No light shined from under any of the doors. I circled around behind the building, which looked like it might take only a strong breeze to knock it down. There were four windows in back, corresponding to the doors, but still no light. I threw a handful of sand at each of them. No reaction at first. But from the last one, I heard a faint sound. I went closer and put my ear to the window.

Soft sobs came from inside, followed by a moan.
“
No.
”
Could this be the girl who was flirting with me outside the bus not half an hour ago? She
’
d been cheerful enough then.

A bump, and then the light came on. I shrank away from the window.
“
Shit!
”
I heard. This didn
’
t seem like the best time to press my attentions on her. Doing my best not to make any noise, I inched away from the shack. There
’
d be another groupie soon enough. I didn
’
t need the hassle.

FIVE

Rex

B
y noon, we knew the substitute bus wasn
’
t coming today. The company hadn
’
t been able to find two drivers on such short notice, so the vehicle they
’
d sent from the East Coast was stuck somewhere after a fifteen-hour run while the driver slept for his mandatory eight hours. Seattle looked less and less likely. With both the substitute driver and Joe, we
’
d barely make it if the new bus got there by noon the next day. My band was philosophical. They knew there
’
d be other gigs, but none of them shared my vision of why
this
one was so important.

I didn
’
t want to spend the rest of my life traveling and singing for shit pay, no matter what I said about the life and the groupies being just the way I wanted things. I didn
’
t really want to spend my life going from one woman to another as we moved between cities. I
’
d never had much of a family growing up, so in the back of my mind was this picture of the perfect life. Fuck, even if it didn
’
t include a wife, two and a half children, and a goddamn white picket fence, there had to be something normal for me someday. I was like a tumbleweed, blowing from one place to another with no roots.

What I wanted was a little more glamorous than the other guys needed to know. I wanted a big stage. Glitz, fancy cars, and bling. I wanted a showy woman on my arm. I wanted everyone to know my name. None of that would happen without an opportunity like the one that was slipping through my fucking fingers at the moment. It felt like I was circling the drain, just waiting to take the plunge into the black, wet hole.

They were content to sit for another day doing nothing but drinking and playing poker, or whatever game they
’
d come up with today. I couldn
’
t sit in that dingy bar one more hour or I
’
d go fucking insane. I watched as Amy spoke to one of the old-timers at the bar after lunch. A minute later, he got up and left the building, and I heard the roar of a Harley start up outside. Weird, because I didn
’
t think I
’
d ever seen him without the other one he
’
d left behind, who didn
’
t even look around when his buddy left.

I decided to go outside and walk around some, though there really wasn
’
t any place to walk to. It was creepy, how this little bar sat in the middle of fucking nowhere. We
’
d gathered, from chats with the owner and others, he served mostly the town where his motorcycle club dominated the population. Other little towns around sometimes were good for some people coming in to eat, but mostly not. The predominant religion in the area didn
’
t hold with drinking. It was hard to believe that just the motorcycle club could keep this place in business, especially when there didn
’
t seem to be any industry where the members could work. Ranches, explained Smokey, with a vague wave.

Whatever. I craved movement and somewhere besides the inside of that dark room. I was still outside, just pacing back and forth in the parking lot and trying to write lyrics in my head, when an old car drove into the lot. To my surprise, the driver was the old-timer who
’
d left a while ago. He honked, and Amy came around the side of the building with a full duffel bag.  She seemed to be struggling with it a bit, so I went to help her.

“
Thanks,
”
she said.

“
Welcome. Where are you going?
”

She gave me a cool look.
“
Not that it
’
s any of your business, but Rooster here is giving me a ride to town, so I can do my laundry.
”

My ears perked up.
“
There
’
s a town?
”

She laughed.
“
Not like you
’
d think of one. It
’
s mostly houses. Not much in the way of businesses. Just a little grocery store, a mechanic, and a thrift store combined with a laundromat.
”

It sounded almost as depressing as the bar. But it was new scenery.
“
I
’
ll go with you.
”

Her eyes widened.
“
Wait a minute. I didn
’
t invite you. What would you do? No, you can
’
t come.
”

I turned to the driver.
“
Rooster, I
’
ll give you fifty bucks to take me with you.
”

He leaned out the window and spat on the ground.
“
Get in.
”