Outlaw Country (3 page)

Roger was going to make sure that Colton didn’t miss this date, though. Despite Colton’s hangover, wild horses couldn't keep them from Muscle Shoals. They were already two hours late, but Roger could smooth that over easy enough. The band was there laying down the backing track anyway. He knew they were tight, so with his bad luck, their work was done for the day.

The manager clenched his jaw as the engineer screamed at him over the phone. Roger was darting in and out of traffic on his way to Sheffield. “I know, I know. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll make your overtime come out of Colton’s weekly pay.”

He looked over at his star. Colton’s face was wedged against the seatbelt, and even with the window down, Roger could smell the beer stench leaking from the singer’s pores. He knew that the engineer wouldn’t be the only one pissed off. Gracie, who by all accounts, was a sweet girl, and her manager/mom would be royally pissed. Roger prepared himself for the tongue lashing he knew he was in for.

“Ten minutes. We’ll be there in ten goddamn minutes!” He disconnected the call and dropped the phone into the rental’s center console. It would take him fifteen minutes, but he wasn’t about to answer another call in between.

Talking to himself, Roger tried to work through his career choices. “What the hell am I going to do with you, Colton? You’re either going to get sent to mandatory anger management, or get yourself killed before they can send you. Then I’m out of a job. The Guilty Party is back to being a second rate wedding band. You want that? You really want that?”

Colton let out a lazy groan and gave a half-hearted attempt to shift the seatbelt from crushing his nose. Surprised, Roger turned, but Colton didn’t give any indication he was going to wake up. The GPS told Roger they were a mile away, and his singer was dead to the world. Drastic times, drastic measures, Roger mused.

As he pulled quickly towards a stop sign, Roger mumbled, “Sorry.” He mashed down on the brake pedal not fifteen feet from the sign. He leaned back in anticipation, but Colton’s body flew forward until the seatbelt locked.  The singer’s head swung forward with a quick snap.
 

“Fuuuck.” Colton growled as he brought his hands up to his neck. “The hell you tryna do, Rog?” The deep gravel voice was worse than usual, and Roger wondered if he’d be able to squeeze out a decent take.

“Waking you up, asshole. We’re here.” Roger pulled into the small gravel lot beside the small, brick studio. It didn’t look like much on the outside, but neither had Hitsville, U.S.A.

Roger opened the passenger door for Colton to get out. The young singer looked like comprehending anything beyond sleep would be a huge chore. Roger heard the faint, muted sound of drums coming from inside, and hoped to God that the band was still working on the backing track. He had to unsnap the seatbelt, then grab Colton by the arm.

“Hell, at least let me have a smoke.”

Roger yanked Colton up. “Not a chance. You might go up in flames.” The manager kicked himself for not bringing a can of Axe or snagging the dangling pine tree from the rear-view mirror. Miss Gracie Hart wasn’t going to be getting Colton at his finest, that was for damn sure.

Gracie saw just how pissed her mother was the second that Colton walked in. The batboy country singer was barely conscious. Her mother covered her nose when his manager walked him past. She reached for her phone the second that Colton headed into the sound room. Gracie knew that her mother would have every intention of calling Arvin. She was about to send the call when Gracie’s hand stopped her. “Mother, let’s just ignore it. As long as he can sing, we can get the take and be heading home before long.”

“It’s unprofessional.” Kathleen said it loud enough, so they could hear it as Roger and Colton headed inside the room.

“Mother,
please
.”

Gracie didn’t want to start a big thing over it. After two hours, she wasn’t expecting him at all. Now that Colton was in the studio, she couldn't help but feel the rush of excitement enter the building along with the singer.

He wore a tight, gray t-shirt with a stylized skull pattern on the front. His dark jeans had a light leather belt around them with a large buckle reading HAGGARD across it. The outfit was made complete by the cowboy boots on his feet.

He was bigger than she thought he’d be in person. The sleeves of ink disguised just how muscular he was. She had watched a video of him playing at some summer festival where he was shirtless, but in person, the muscles were much clearer and larger. Gracie made a point not to stare. She wasn’t worried that Colton might catch her. Gracie suspected that his eyes were barely open beneath his Aviators. The real fear was her mother seeing her.

Gracie’s body tingled at the sight of him. Despite the fact that he was hungover, or still drunk, at nearly noon. She knew he was probably going to give a real lackluster performance, and she knew he’d either hit on her or barely speak to her, but it didn’t seem to matter. Gracie felt that presence that she’d heard so much about. In an instant, it was clear how he had climbed from nothing to such a hit so fast. Even half-awake, he filled up the room.

His manager eased him onto a stool in front of one of the microphones and gave Gracie a half-hearted wave. She turned to her mother. “It’ll be all right. Really.”

“If you say so.” Kathleen’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern and suspicion despite her attempt at holding onto any shred of positivity.

Gracie headed in to stand beside Colton and record. His manager was on his way out. The older man gave a beaming smile and extended a hand. “Roger Ellery. I have the good fortune to represent the genius behind me.” He spoke in low tones and really laid the sarcasm on thick at the mention of
the genius
.

“I’m Gracie Hart. Glad to meet you, Mr. Ellery.”

“Please, Roger is just fine.” He leaned in close. “Look, I can’t apologize enough. He’s not...well, let’s just say he’s not a morning person.”

Gracie shook her head and gave her best confident smile. “You think I don’t know what kind of person he is? I know what I’m getting into.”

Roger laughed, gave her shoulder a squeeze, and stepped past her out of the recording booth. Gracie turned back to the man she was to sing with. The confident smile fell away.

When was the last time you were nervous?
Thirteen, maybe fourteen. It was too long ago for Gracie to remember with any certainty, but those nerves were back hard. Her stomach turned, and her heart beat like the recording was a make or break moment. She couldn't find words, which was another unusual feat for Gracie. Her mind went blank the moment she stepped beside the second microphone.

Colton looked in her direction, and she wasn’t sure if he gave her a nod, or if his eyes wandered up and down her body. She prayed her mother saw a nod, but to Gracie’s eye, it was something else. She caught the hint of a smile barely hidden behind the pop screen of the microphone.

“You know the words?” His voice sounded like he’d spent the night out behind a truck stop. Gracie was beginning to think that he wouldn’t be able to lay down a take after all.

She nodded, still unable to find any words.

“That mean you ain’t got them written down anywhere?” Colton bent his head forward and looked at her over his sunglasses. The deep amber of his eyes looked like flames in the dim room.

Gracie grabbed the sheet from a music stand. This time, she didn't miss the dip his eyes took to the low V of her dress. A shiver ran down Gracie’s spine.

Her mind was still blank, but she forced out a few words. “Sorry, my lines are highlighted.” Willing her hand not to shake, Gracie handed the lyrics sheet over to Colton.
 

He grinned at her. “Thanks, doll. Guess I didn’t do my homework.”
 

That smile. Jesus, that smile. Gracie hated herself for all the feelings and emotions surging through her body. They were so rapid that she barely had time to grab onto one before it was something completely different. Lust, anger, desire, impatience, and confusion brawled beneath her blonde curls. She turned away from Colton and the large pane of glass separating the two singers from everyone else on the other side. She was blushing hard.

For a second, anger won out, and Gracie couldn’t help herself, saying, “Did you even learn the melody?” She threw over her mouth, but it was too late. That acid tongue that she tried so hard to keep caged had gotten loose.
 

“The hell you say?” Colton’s dark and throaty voice was at attention all of a sudden. He pushed the sunglasses back over his bloodshot eyes. He leaned right against the screen in front of the microphone. “We ready to do this shit, or do you have anything else snappy to throw my way?”

Gracie’s heart raced, and she wanted to claw her voice box out. She had started things off on a great note.
Piss off the man you’re going to duet with. Brilliant.

“Uh, give me just a second to cue up the backing track, Mr. Wade.” The audio engineer’s voice played through speakers in the vocal room.

“Nah, nah, nah. Mr. Wade sounds like some fuckin’ insurance salesman. It’s Colton, or it’s nothing.”

The room was dark through the sunglasses, but Colton loved to play the James Dean character. Silent right up until the moment of the explosion. It always put people on edge, and it always gave him the upper hand.

“Oh, sure thing, Colton.” He heard that submission in the engineer’s voice.
 

Colton smiled to himself. He turned back to the pretty, young thing he had the pleasure of standing beside.

Gracie Hart, herself, in person. When Roger had told him, Colton got hard at the prospect. Sure, he thought she was the almighty, unattainable piece of ass, but she was also a fuckin’ rocket shipping up the charts. His concerts sold out just like hers, but for him a crowd of three grand was a sellout. For her, it was thirty thousand plus.

Colton knew what kind of man he must’ve looked like to her. He was the kind that her protective mother, just on the other side of the glass, had nightmares about. Gracie? Gracie was the kind of girl who starred in Colton’s wet dreams.

He wondered how long she had agonized over the dress. It was white with red silhouettes of birds across it. Below her thin waist, the dress spread outwards, reminding Colton of some teeny-bopper from the fifties. The playful curls and straightened blonde bangs only got Colton going harder and faster.

The shades were a good choice, he thought as Colton took in Gracie’s chest. It wasn't exactly on display, but Colton didn’t mind waiting until the store opened for business. That thought brought a smile to his face. “Doll, you got a pencil?”

She turned from the music stand, and Colton saw a bit of intimidation in her eyes. He liked that a Billboard princess was intimidated by him. “Huh?” She turned her face toward him, trying to comprehend.

“A pencil.” Colton looked around. “You got one?”

Without taking her eyes off of him, Gracie fumbled around at the music stand until she found a pencil. She held it out to him.

Colton took it, taking the time to run a finger over her open palm. The music stand blocked the view from outside the sound room. A girl that close to her mother is looking to get far away, he thought.

“God damn, I did it again.” He laughed to himself and crossed a few lines out on the lyrics sheet.

Gracie’s mouth dropped open. “You aren't doing what I think you are doing. Please tell me you aren’t”

Colton shrugged as he wrapped the toe of his boot around the music stand. He dragged it in front of his microphone and set the lyrics sheet down. “Just an improvement or two.”

“Improvement?” Her voice sounded like Gracie had just heard something between heresy and heinous insult. “It’s Johnny Cash for shit’s sake!”

Colton was about to drop a remark that would’ve dropped the girl’s mouth open, but the engineer cut them off, saying, “Your label is paying handsomely to use this space, can we get a damn take already?”

With an eye roll, Colton shut his mouth and filed away the witty comeback for another time. When he put the headphones on and heard his band’s backing track, everything was gone. The throbbing headache, the stiffness in his joints, and the fucking brightest lights he’d ever seen. It all became nothing as the music became everything.