Chapter 2

“Well this is where I turn off, son. It might be tough gettin’ another ride this time o’ night, ‘cause they ain’t likely to be anything but local traffic comin’ by. If I was you, I’d give some thought to overnightin’ at Jackie’s Place across the road there.”

I stepped out of the ancient red Ford pickup and lifted my guitar and backpack out of the bed. “I sure do thank you for the ride, sir. Do you know if the rooms over there are expensive?”

“Nah. Jackie’s a real nice woman n’ she’ll treat ya fair. If you’re any good on that guitar, why she might even put ya up for a night in trade for a few songs at the bar.”

I closed the door and thanked him again. It wouldn’t be the first time I sang for my supper.

He touched a finger to the bill of his John Deere cap and headed west on the dirt road, leaving a cloud of fine dust in the fading light.

I looked around in every direction and confirmed the only building in sight was the motel that had maybe eight units with an attached café and bar. A yellow light at the top of a telephone pole dimly illuminated an unpaved parking lot with three cars, four pickups, one flatbed semi loaded with baled hay, and a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Coors, Budweiser and Miller Lite signs decorated the front windows of the bar. I was starting to feel awfully hungry, and I hoped they would still be serving food. I needed something hot, healthy and filling instead of the junk food that was my normal fare.

Inside, there was a long bar along one wall, a few tables scattered around, and a half dozen booths against the outside wall. The jukebox was playing something by Dolly Parton. I could see a kitchen through the swinging doors behind the bar, so real food at least looked like a possibility. I laid my guitar and backpack on one seat of the booth nearest the door, and slid in on the other side. While I was looking over the handwritten menu, a small woman who looked like she’d reached forty the hard way set a glass of water in front of me.

“Evenin’, darlin’, what can we get ya tonight?”

“Um, what do you have that doesn’t cost too much? I’m on kind of a tight budget.”

Her laugh lit up her whole face, and that made her pretty, in a rough sort of way. “Ain’t we all, sweetheart? Tell ya what; I can do ya a nice cheeseburger and fries for three bucks. How’s that?

“That’d suit me just fine, Ma’am. Why don’t we do that? And maybe some coffee.”

“You can drop the ‘Ma’am’ stuff ‘cause my name’s Jackie. What’s yours?

“Bobby. Bobby Foreman.”

She stuck out her hand and said, “Pleased to meecha, Bobby Foreman.” She nodded at the guitar case and asked, “You any good with that ax?”

“Pretty good, I guess. At least I don’t get many complaints.”

“What kinda stuff do you do?”

“Oh, a little bit of everything I guess, but mostly I sing the old country and western standards.”

She gave my hand a couple of pats and said, “Well, you came to the right place. Tell ya what, sweetie, you favor us with a few tunes, and maybe I can come up with somethin’ a little better than a burger n’ fries. You sure look like you could do with a couple o’ good meals.”

“Thanks, Jackie, I’d be happy to. Where do you want me to set up?”

“Just use one o’ them stools down at the end of the bar. You want a beer or somethin’? I can bring it to you while you get ready.”

God, there was nothing I wanted more than a beer!

“Um, I guess I’ll just stick to the coffee, thanks.”

“One cup of coffee comin’ up. Cream n’ sugar?”

“Just black, thanks.”

I sat on the barstool and tuned my Martin DL. It wasn’t a top of the line model, but it had a beautiful rich sound. I strummed a couple of chords and gave Jackie a nod when I was ready.

She switched off the jukebox and rapped a big wooden spoon on the bar. “Folks, listen up here! This good-lookin’ young man by the name of Bobby Foreman is gonna sing us a few numbers. Lord knows we don’t hardly ever get live entertainment around here, so be nice to him, and don’t be stingy with the tips.” Nodding to me, she said, “Let her rip, darlin’!”

I figured since I was in the middle of Wyoming, I’d start out with a cowboy number. I picked out an intro and sang Willie’s “My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys”.

When I finished, the dozen or so people in the room just sat there in silence. I was beginning to think I’d totally bombed, when a lanky, gray-haired old gent sitting at the bar wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and said, “Son, I’ve heard Willie sing that song a hundred times, a couple of times live, and I never get tired of it, but I gotta tell ya, I think you do it every bit as good as he does. I’d be pleased to buy you a drink if you’d sing it one more time.”

That was as nice a compliment as I’d ever received. “Well, I thank you for saying that, Sir. Let me do some other stuff, then I’ll come back to it a little later. And thanks for the offer of a drink, but I think I’ll pass on that.”

I moved right on to a rousing rendition of Hank William’s Jambalaya, and that pretty much put the rest of the crowd in my pocket.

Maybe forty-five minutes and a dozen or so songs later, Jackie rapped the bar with her big spoon again and said, “Folks, I know you’re lovin’ this as much as I am, but it’s time to give Bobby a break so he can eat his supper.”

Back at the booth, Jackie had already laid out a platter loaded with a big T-bone steak, a baked potato, hot rolls and a salad on the side. It was the best meal I’d had since my escape from West Texas.

After a second set, finishing off with a repeat of my first song for the old guy, I was sitting in the booth sipping more coffee when Jackie slipped in beside me and stuffed a ten-dollar bill into my shirt pocket. “It’s from Frank down at the end of the bar.”

I waved my thanks at him and he waved back. That made thirty-two bucks in tips for the night.

Jackie patted my arm and said, “Darlin’, you got yourself a real talent there. How come you ain’t in Nashville gettin’ rich?”

“Well, for one thing, nobody ever asked me, and besides, I don’t think I really want to get tied up in some contract that makes everybody rich except me. I’ve met a couple of guys who went that route, and they weren’t too happy with the way things turned out.”

The truth of it was that my dad owned his own recording studio, and he didn’t ask me to sign a contract with his people, he demanded it. The next day I was gone, and I had no intention of every going back.

Jackie sympathized, “Yeah, you probably got that right. I reckon most of them big promoters are a pack of thieves, ain’t they?”

“A lot of them are, from what I hear. Uh, Jackie, do you own this motel?”

“Sure do, Sweetie. It ain’t all that much to brag about, but it’s all mine.”

“Well, I was wondering if I could get a room for two or three nights in exchange for helping out with some odd jobs, like washing dishes and waiting tables. I’ve has some experience at both.”

“Tell ya what, darlin’, you already earned yourself a room for the night. Let me sleep on the job part and we’ll talk in the mornin’. Come up to the bar when you’re ready to crash and I’ll give ya the key.”

“I’ve had a long day, so I’m about ready to pack it in right now, if you don’t mind. If you get any closer, you’ll know I’m in need of a shower.”

She chuckled at that and said, “You don’t smell bad, but you do look like you’re ‘bout done in. Grab your stuff and I’ll show you the way.”

I woke up early the next morning and felt a need to exercise my body. I put on some shorts and sneakers and ran a couple of miles up the highway and back in the crisp morning air.

Trying to stay healthy had become almost an obsession since I quit the sauce. As I jogged along the side of the road, I thought over how my life as a teetotaler was going so far. I was still living from hand to mouth by scrounging jobs from one town to the next, but at least I had a few bucks in my pocket, and I didn’t feel like warmed-over death when I woke up in the morning. A pang of anxiety rolled through my chest when I thought about how last night probably would have gone if I’d taken the old guy up on his offer of a drink. I knew damned well I wouldn’t have been able to stop after even one sip. That’s how I’d kept sober for the past seven months; knowing that one slip-up might send me on a bender that could end up with me dead in some back alley because I got shit-faced and degenerated into a drunken asshole. But damn, it was hard to say no sometimes!

I rinsed the sweat off in a quick shower and headed over to the bar. I didn’t see Jackie when I walked in, but there were already a few locals having breakfast, so I slid into the same booth I’d occupied the night before. A good-looking young waitress brought me a glass of water and a cup of black coffee. She had a smile that could melt an iceberg.

“Good morning! You must be Bobby.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m Bobby.”

She stuck out her hand and said, “My name’s Cheyenne, like the Indian tribe. Mama said you could have anything on the menu, so what’ll it be?”

“You’re Jackie’s daughter?”

“Yep.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Cheyenne. Um, I was wondering if you had any oatmeal. Maybe with some raisins and walnuts and brown sugar.”

“It’s not on the menu, but I think I can whip that up for you if you’ll give me a few minutes. Anything else?”

“Maybe some whole wheat toast?”

As she pushed through the right door into the kitchen, Jackie came out the left. She saw me and flashed a big smile as she carried two loaded plates to some middle-aged men with cowboy hats and big bellies at the far end of the room. She spent a couple of minutes joking and fending off their flirtations before coming over to my booth and sliding in beside me. Cheyenne hustled past carrying two more plates and I stared appreciatively at her shapely, jeans-clad backside.

Jackie laughed and said, “Yeah, she does have a cute butt, don’t she?”

I was embarrassed at being caught mid-ogle. “Sorry, Jackie, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

She laughed again, “That ain’t rude, honey, that’s just good taste. Hell, if you didn’t appreciate somethin’ like that, I’d figure you was from the other side of the tracks, if you know what I mean.”

“You mean gay? No, I’m not gay, but I have some friends back home who are.” I tossed in that comment to discourage any future homophobic barbs because they grated on my nerves.

“Well good,” she kidded, “I’m glad to hear a girl like me still has a chance. Listen, Bobby, I was thinkin’ about what you asked me last night, and here’s what I can offer. I got a regular boy who helps me out in the kitchen, but he’s over in Casper visitin’ with his gramma for a few days. Now, there’s probably a hundred little chores need doin’ around here that I just ain’t had a chance to tackle yet. If you’ll help me out with a few of those and entertain us for a couple of hours in the evenin’, I’d pay ya a hundred a week and toss in your room and board. What do you think?”

I couldn’t believe my luck! “Jeez, Jackie, that’s more than I could have hoped for. Thank you so much!”