Chapter 12: Roadhouse

The first RV dealership entertained them for five minutes when an ignorant but well-meaning sales manager asked if their ‘parents’ would come soon. Fortunately, there was a second dealership across the street. Peter asked the obnoxious man if they were affiliated, and when he denied it, the young man thanked him for his time. Kathy might have been a little exuberant about leaving the parking lot, but who didn’t love a muscle car?

The second lot was smaller and featured fewer models. Fortunately, Peter was well-read on many and found several Fleetwoods to his liking. The office was a small prefab shed with power, a desk, and nothing else. The sole salesperson was a younger man in his 30s with long blonde hair, a thin beard, and a mustache. He wore hippy bellbottom jeans and a loose pleated shirt with an open front. When they entered, he was on the phone having an animated conversation about a service agreement.

“All he needs is rose-colored glasses and a peace choker,” Peter murmured into Kathy’s ear as they examined several flyers. She snorted and giggled back at him before singing,

“Night Fever ... Night Fe ... ver

We know how to do it!”

After a moment, the man hung up. “Sorry about that, guys,” he said, rising. “Good morning. I’m Paul. What can I help you with today?”

After introductions and handshakes, Peter pulled his wallet from his back pocket and produced the black AE card. He handed it to the curious salesman. “We plan on buying a motorhome today,” he said, nodding toward the card. “Please call the number on the back to verify we’re serious buyers. In the meantime, we want to look at those 27-foot Montaras.”

Paul glanced at the card and then from Peter to Kathy, who smiled at him through her aviators. He shrugged and handed the card back. “Ain’t no worries here, man,” he said casually. “I trust you’re legit. Let me get you the...” he grumbled when his phone rang again. He looked at them apologetically as he answered it. Before another heated discussion, he covered the receiver and pointed to a corkboard with dozens of keys, “Knock yourselves out ... I’ll catch up,” he whispered.

After an hour of reviewing models, they agreed on a Fleetwood with a CD player and requested that the queen-sized mattress be upgraded.

“Could we switch this one out with the nice one in the other model?” Kathy asked innocently as she bounced her butt on the thinner mattress. The blonde man regarded her skeptically.

“Hey,” she replied, guessing his thoughts. “You don’t think we’re just gonna sleep on this thing, do you?”

The RV purchase was straightforward, but the insurance was more difficult and expensive. By noon, they happily headed home with Kathy leading in her Camaro. Peter was delighted that the Ford E350 was automatic.

They spent a week packing essential items they couldn’t buy on the road. Their ideas of ‘essential’ differed significantly and almost became heated as they packed clothes, cameras, books, and cooking utensils. It already had a microwave, gas range, and a television.

Kathy grumbled when Peter insisted that she limit herself to one instrument. She brought her acoustic guitar but snuck a recorder in with her shirts. “Why are you bringing the Beast and that big ass monitor when you won’t even be able to use it on the road?” she demanded.

He gazed patiently at her, resisting the urge to sigh and roll his eyes (a gesture he knew would have dire consequences). “Babe, I make money with my computer,” he said. He knew she understood this, and she had seen the incredible success of his investing, which enabled their new carefree lifestyle. But even as the words escaped his lips, he knew they would be taken out of context.

However, Kathy simply smiled thinly and regarded him with her nose bent. “Then I get to bring my Yamaha,” she retorted and turned away dismissively.

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I heard that!”

Cousin Eddy agreed to move in and house-sit for them while they were gone, and on Monday, July 8th, 1991, they hit the road with no destination in mind.

The roadside hole-in-the-wall was nondescript, looking like a modest tavern. The sign claimed family dining but was far more bar than restaurant when they stepped inside. The gravel parking lot circled the building, with motorcycle-only parking to the left of the entrance. They parked the Fleetwood away from the building and walked hand in hand to the entrance. Inside, a full-length bar stretched across the center, separating customers from the kitchen. To the left was an open dance floor with tall tables around an open square. A stage, two pool tables, and several video games were at the back. To the bar’s right was a small area with four larger family tables. Peter guessed it was about a third full.

They’d been on the road for two weeks, taking a lazy southeast route on Interstate 84 through Idaho, stopping at attractions on a whim. They stayed at KOA campgrounds and occasionally a hotel for better showers and to do laundry. After checking out Evel Knievel’s Snake River Canyon jump site and passing through Twin Falls, they pulled into Bisbee’s Roadhouse and Diner. With July temps near triple digits, they dressed down. Peter ignored stares in his board shorts and tank top, leaving his titanium alloy prosthetics on open display as they disappeared into his Converse high tops. Kathy wore a light blue skirt, a faded Guns and Roses tank top, and her typical flip-flops.

A four-member band was playing a lively version of Juice Newton’s ‘Playing with the Queen of Hearts,’ two couples were dancing on the hardwood before them. Kathy began shaking her hips to the tune as they approached a Hostess wrapping silverware in napkins.

“Go ahead and seat yourselves,” she said without looking up.

“Can we sit by the band?” Kathy asked eagerly. “Or is it 21 and older?”

The hostess glanced up at them before shrugging. Her name tag read Betty. “Y’all can sit where ya like, just no alcohol.”

“Thank you, Betty,” she smiled and took Peter’s hand to drag him across the dance floor, pausing in the center to shake it with him. He was spry on his non-feet as he twirled her and caught her in a dip before they continued to a tall table next to the stage. They had to shout to the waitress to order drinks and get menus.

The band consisted of three men and a curious, uniquely short female without common dwarfism disfigurements. Her jet-black hair was styled with ankle-length dreadlocks, glittery babbles, beads, and feathers. The three men were unexceptional compared to her. The oldest played electric guitar and switched between bass and lead, while a younger, skinny fellow played a double-stack Yamaha keyboard. The drummer remained hidden behind his kit, and the bright stage lights blotted his features. Peter was impressed by their music and energy as a group—but from the moment they sat down, they were captivated by the woman.

Guessing her height under five feet and age uncertain, he marveled at her vocal range. Even without a mic, he was sure she could fill the room with her voice. Most striking was her size compared to her guitar, which appeared standard-sized but looked like a cello next to her. Seeing her in a long ivory gown with her small arms wrapped around the instrument was almost comical. That was until she performed. Her ability to play masterfully and sing with an enchanting voice captivated everyone.

Kathy was delighted by her performance and applauded excitedly with every pause. Peter could tell that his girlfriend was equally intrigued by the instrument as the woman playing it. And for good reason. He’d never seen a guitar as unique as the one she strummed.

“My God, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed more than once. “I wish I could listen to it solo,” she added. She and Peter ordered fish and chips and sat beside each other to avoid shouting.

“Maybe she’ll let you check it out during their break,” he replied.

Kathy regarded him like an imbecile and held up her hands, “With these greasy mitts?” she balked incredulously. “I’d cut my hands off for even thinking of touching that beauty!”

Peter snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s amazing the inventions they have these days,” he retorted as he stuffed more fries in his mouth. He nodded towards the bar’s edge. “I bet they even have soap and water in that bathroom right there—”

She glared at him before glancing toward the restroom sign. She was undecided whether to follow his suggestion or dump her soda over his head—when the band decided for her.

“Okay folks, one more song before a break,” the lead singer announced. She strummed a few frets as she continued. “Thanks for having us tonight and maybe tomorrow, too. I’m Skye. This is Dillion on Electric and Zoey on the keyboard. Behind us, pounding out the beat, is Seth! Together, we are Calypso!” She bowed to the applause and whistles, smiling brightly and gestured to the large tip jar by the edge of the stage. “Thank you all so much for the love! Be sure to save some for your servers and bartenders!”

Kathy jumped up and set her napkin over her basket, signifying she was done with her food. “Be right back!” she said excitedly. She stepped behind Peter and bit his ear. “And if I want any lip from you, I’ll hike up my skirt!” she growled before kissing his face and dashing into the bathroom.

It was a short piece by Earth, Wind, and Fire, and a small crowd approached the stage as the band members stretched and set their instruments aside. While Kathy waited behind a few well-wishers, Peter walked over to the tip jar on the keyboard and slipped two $50 bills into it.

When Skye glanced at her, Kathy was struck by her warm smile. “Hi, I’m Kathy,” she said, almost breathless with excitement. I just wanted to say that ... You are really good! And I mean that.” She held out her hand, which the other woman took delicately.

“Why thank you, Kathy!” the short woman replied with a hint of a blush. “You are so pretty! God, I love your skin!” She tightened her grip briefly for the taller girl to help her step down from the stage. “Thank you.”

“That is the most beautiful guitar I’ve ever seen,” Kathy said reverently, gazing at the instrument.

“Thank you. His name is Shima.

“Shima,” Kathy tested the word.

“It’s Hopi for ‘love’.” She looked back at Kathy curiously. “What tribe are you?”

Kathy giggled. “I’m Puyallup from northwest Washington.”

“I would’ve guessed Shoshone, given we’re in the heart of their nation.”

Kathy nodded to the guitar. “May I see him?” she asked cautiously, holding her hands for inspection. “I washed them three times!”

“Certainly,” the small woman nodded. “I could tell you play by the callouses on your fingers. Be my guest.”

Kathy reached across the stage floor and gently took the instrument by the neck. She held it reverently as she gazed upon its workmanship. Under the stage lights, she saw the wood had a deep burgundy and orange hue with a striated grain pattern that reflected depth in its immaculate finish. It was an arch-back design with the back of the body slightly bowed out like a spoon. She gasped at the intricate dancing flute player inlaid into the neck with mother of pearl and turquoise. “Kokopelli,” she breathed as she ran her fingers over the tribal figure.

“Also, Hopi,” Skye smiled, nodding approvingly.

Kathy held the guitar properly and strummed a few chords. Her eyes widened at the pure sound it produced. “Oh my God! Where did you get this amazing instrument?”

The shorter woman laughed delightedly and bounced. “That, darling, is a story for another time. Right now, I desperately need to pee and have a cigarette.” She turned toward the bathroom. “Be careful with him,” she said, “he is all I have.”

The bar had returned to a dull cacophony of mingled voices and the jukebox playing in the background. It was quieter than the live music, and Kathy tuned everything out as she adjusted the strap and slipped it over her head before sitting on the stage’s edge and concentrating on the amazing instrument in her hands. Peter watched her intently as he recognized her ‘zoned’ appearance whenever she began composing or singing. He had heard her sing and play hundreds of times and never tired of her enchanting vocal range or incredible skill. He smiled as several tall tables around them filled with patrons while she plucked out random chords and riffs.

She looked up at her boyfriend incredulously. He sat two yards away, smiling at her joy. “This guitar is incredible, babe!” she said. “Everything sounds so good...” she lifted her face to the ceiling as John Denver’s ‘Take Me Home, Country Road’ spilled from the distant jukebox. With her eyes closed, her fingers effortlessly slipped into the melody and began accompanying it with seamless chording. When the vocals came, she joined with her vibrant voice, lifting her face toward the ceiling as she sang.

Peter grinned knowingly as he glanced around the bar. Every eye had turned toward his girlfriend, who sang on, oblivious to her audience. Near the bathroom, he saw the drummer Seth lean out the back door and speak to someone briefly. When the song finished, she opened her eyes and gazed at him incredulously. “Isn’t it amazing?” she remarked, idly playing different riffs. “Let me try this—”

She shifted her body slightly and began strumming the familiar down-down-up-down pattern of ‘Horse with No Name’ by America. Peter grinned and glanced around the room to see everyone watching her intently. She fiddled with her variations of the two chords before letting it fade. “Doesn’t it sound amazing, babe?” she regarded him sheepishly.

He nodded. “I’ve never heard you sound better,” he admitted, quietly noting that the jukebox was no longer playing.

“I know, right? It practically plays itself,” she replied before biting her lip. “I don’t know what to play...” she confessed.

“Can I make a request?” he asked her.

“For you, baby—I’d stand on my head and eat black, crunchy bugs,” she quipped, drawing laughter from nearby patrons.

“How about the new Traci Chapman song you practiced the other night at the KOA?”

Her eyes lit up, and she uncrossed her legs, revealing a scandalous amount of leg. She tucked her chin and began plucking the chords to ‘Fast Car.’ After the intro rhythm, she lifted her head, closed her eyes, and started singing,

“You got a fast car,

And I want a ticket to anywhere.”

She played the song entirely, keeping her eyes closed until the end. She was startled by the loud applause and blinked in confusion at everyone watching her. Skye had returned and sat beside Peter. During the performance, she held her hands clasped before her open mouth as she gazed adoringly at his girlfriend. She stood up and whistled shrilly, clapping her hands over her head.

“Whoo! Girl! You got it goin’ on!” she hollered, causing the crowd to echo her sentiments. “Come on, sing us another!” she cried, causing another chorus of “yay’s.”

Kathy sat frozen, looking poleaxed. She darted her eyes to Peter and gave him a frantic expression that shouted, ‘Get me out of this!’

He smirked back at her and shook his head. “They love you, babe,” he mouthed to her.

After the crowd quieted, Skye stood and walked over to her. “That’s some of the best music I’ve heard from him,” she smiled. “Come on. Your fans are waiting, girl. Play us something else.”

The native girl glanced around at the smiling faces. The other band members stood to the side, nodding encouragingly. “Um,” she stammered softly. “I’m not really a performer ... Sorry,” she grimaced. “I was just pluckin’ around.”

Skye snorted derisively. “My foot!” she retorted. “If that was just pluckin’, I can’t wait to hear you get serious.” The short woman strode to the step and walked onto the stage where her microphone stood. Her voice filled the room, “I don’t know about y’all, but I think we have a star among us!”

Wild applause and cheering made Kathy shut her eyes and blush.

“Maybe she just needs a little introduction and encouragement.” More cheers did little to assuage her mortification.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Kathy. She’s a bit shy now, but her nerves will fade once she starts singing again. What do you say?”

This time, the crowd begged her to play again, and she looked around at all the friendly faces guiltily.

“Um, I suppose...” she began, interrupted by more clapping. “I just don’t know what to play.”

“Anything!” Someone shouted to more cheers.

Skye knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. “This has to be you,” she said softly. “Don’t play what they want to hear—play what you feel in your heart.”

Kathy chewed her lip uncertainly. “But I don’t know what that would be.”

“It’s simple, darling,” the other woman said. “Just pick your favorite song and let us hear it.”

“But ... there are so many,” she replied as her mind became frantic.

Peter stood up. “I know her favorite song,” he declared and stepped over to her. She looked at him expectantly, and he whispered in her ear.

Her eyes flew open as he kissed her cheek and stepped back. “Um ... That’s definitely my favorite ... but it’s pretty emotional for me, and I’m not sure I can sing it without—”

“It sounds like a perfect choice, sweetheart,” Skye declared and stood up again. “Let’s hear it for Kathy!” she called into the mike, and the room erupted in applause.

Kathy sat transfixed at the sea of faces that grew in number every time she looked up. “Uh ... oh boy,” she sighed as they grew expectantly quiet. “Um ... if you insist. Here goes nothing—”

Before she could start, someone shouted, “Up on stage!”

“What?” she exclaimed in a panic.

“On stage ... So, we can hear you!”

She turned to look back at the platform she was sitting on with all the light aimed at it. “Oh God!” she moaned. Everyone called her to go up, so she reluctantly stood up and entered the lights.

Skye clapped enthusiastically before hopping down and returning to her seat.

Kathy had to squint and hold a hand over her brow to see around her. The microphone beside her picked up her feeble moans. “Oh God! I can’t believe I’m doing this. These lights are so bright.”

A band member dimmed the panel for her.

“Oh! Thank you so much, sir,” she whispered, forgetting the microphone was on. She faced the crowd and unconsciously slipped off her flip-flops. “I’m sorry, everyone, I’m so nervous my legs are shaking.” There were sympathetic murmurs, and she saw Peter rise again and carry his stool forward. He stepped onto the stage and placed it before the mic before helping her to sit. He kissed her forehead and returned to the floor.

“Thanks, baby,” she said softly. “That’s MY man right there, ladies,” she simpered with a warning tone. There was laughter. “And he’s a cyborg. So don’t get any ideas, guys.” The laughter was louder, and Peter bowed graciously.

All noise died away when she strummed a few experimental chords. “I um ... I’ve never done this before, so forgive me for being scared out of my mind right now,” she said facing the microphone. “I’m singing a moving ballad by the immortal Don McLean. I think it’s the finest song ever written ... about one of the greatest artists who ever lived ... and I hope you like it.”

She sat back and lifted her face again, closing her eyes as she strummed a powerful melody. She played the intro twice before lowering her chin and singing.

The crowd was rapt with amazement. She looked to her table and saw Peter smiling triumphantly and nodding. Skye regarded her in stunned marvel with both hands to her mouth.

She closed her eyes again and felt her breath shudder as she began feeling the emotion of the lyrics.