transport. Someone will meet you at the airport. I told the limo company to look for a guy in a dress. He’ll have lumberjack legs, so he’ll be hard to miss.”
“Wow, I’m impressed.” Vince chuckled. “I didn’t know big, handsome stars like you were capable of doing anything but looking good and singing.”
“Surprise,” said Harrison, and hung up grinning.
True was still chewing her string bean. She looked so forlorn, Harrison stood up and went to the bar, where he ordered her a straight shot of Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka. It was local and damned good.
While he was waiting, Carmela walked in ready to fight someone, apparently. Her hands were clutched into fists, and her cheeks wore red flags. She went straight to see True, but a few seconds later she was back with Harrison at the bar. “What’s happened to her? She called me and then she didn’t say a word. So I ran back here … in case she was choking, which she’s not, thank God.”
“I have no idea what’s going on with her. I’ll bet you wondered if she was kidnapped, too, huh? Imagined she was on her way to the ladies’ room and some guy put a revolver in her back?”
“How did you know?” Carmela crossed herself. “She’s okay but a little odd acting.”
The bartender, a twenty-something guy with a big Adam’s apple, was freaking out, looking blindly around him for a shot glass.
“Do I know you?” Harrison asked him.
“Paul Westfall,” he squeaked. “I was a year behind you in school.”
“Cool.” Harrison grinned. He remembered the guy now. Total geek. Chess player. He often taught class for their usually hung-over chemistry teacher, who’d sleep at his desk.
“It had to have been Penn who shook her up.” When Carmela bit her lip, she looked just like Brigitte Bardot. “They had lunch. Penn would make a scary mother-in-law for anyone, but especially True. She’s down on herself because she’s been stuck at Maybank Hall all these years, and Penn’s so accomplished. I told her, look at me! I’m running a business with no customers.”
Harrison flipped through his wallet and tossed down ten hundred-dollar bills, along with his business card, for Paul. “Keep the change, buddy. And get yourself back in school. You need to be mixing things in labs, not at a bar. If you need an interest-free loan, call me. I also give scholarships.”
Now he did, that is.
He picked up the shot—a gorgeous amber color—and turned away before Paul had a stroke or something. “Isn’t Gage in your store now?” he asked Carmela.
“Yes, God bless him. He’s practically my only customer. He loves to straighten my shelves.” She stood on tiptoe to get a better look at True. “Roger told True they needed her booth because the line’s out the door and down the block, thanks to you being here. She told him over her dead body. And now she looks like Dracula’s wife, all pale and bloodless and cold.”
“I’ll work on her.” Harrison would like nothing better than to warm her up. He remembered that night on the Isle of Palms. Jiffy Pop had nothing on that girl. But that girl also had a ring on her finger and a wedding coming up. And he was a country music star with a career that stayed in the fast lane because that was where he wanted it.
Carmela gave him a knowing look. “She’s getting married, you know. Please remember your boundaries, or you’ll have me to deal with, Mr. Gamble. I love her too much to see her dreams get pulverized in the blender of your celebrity, all right? She’s been through a lot.”
“Nice metaphor,” he told her. “And nice Sunday meetin’ biker dress.” He gave her a nanosecond’s once-over.
Carmela blushed. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be good. And call me Harrison.” He winked at her and took off with True’s vodka shot. At the booth, he slid the glass across the table to land right in front of her—in the early days, he’d done his share of bartending himself—and sat down next to her.
“Wow, I’m impressed.” Vince chuckled. “I didn’t know big, handsome stars like you were capable of doing anything but looking good and singing.”
“Surprise,” said Harrison, and hung up grinning.
True was still chewing her string bean. She looked so forlorn, Harrison stood up and went to the bar, where he ordered her a straight shot of Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka. It was local and damned good.
While he was waiting, Carmela walked in ready to fight someone, apparently. Her hands were clutched into fists, and her cheeks wore red flags. She went straight to see True, but a few seconds later she was back with Harrison at the bar. “What’s happened to her? She called me and then she didn’t say a word. So I ran back here … in case she was choking, which she’s not, thank God.”
“I have no idea what’s going on with her. I’ll bet you wondered if she was kidnapped, too, huh? Imagined she was on her way to the ladies’ room and some guy put a revolver in her back?”
“How did you know?” Carmela crossed herself. “She’s okay but a little odd acting.”
The bartender, a twenty-something guy with a big Adam’s apple, was freaking out, looking blindly around him for a shot glass.
“Do I know you?” Harrison asked him.
“Paul Westfall,” he squeaked. “I was a year behind you in school.”
“Cool.” Harrison grinned. He remembered the guy now. Total geek. Chess player. He often taught class for their usually hung-over chemistry teacher, who’d sleep at his desk.
“It had to have been Penn who shook her up.” When Carmela bit her lip, she looked just like Brigitte Bardot. “They had lunch. Penn would make a scary mother-in-law for anyone, but especially True. She’s down on herself because she’s been stuck at Maybank Hall all these years, and Penn’s so accomplished. I told her, look at me! I’m running a business with no customers.”
Harrison flipped through his wallet and tossed down ten hundred-dollar bills, along with his business card, for Paul. “Keep the change, buddy. And get yourself back in school. You need to be mixing things in labs, not at a bar. If you need an interest-free loan, call me. I also give scholarships.”
Now he did, that is.
He picked up the shot—a gorgeous amber color—and turned away before Paul had a stroke or something. “Isn’t Gage in your store now?” he asked Carmela.
“Yes, God bless him. He’s practically my only customer. He loves to straighten my shelves.” She stood on tiptoe to get a better look at True. “Roger told True they needed her booth because the line’s out the door and down the block, thanks to you being here. She told him over her dead body. And now she looks like Dracula’s wife, all pale and bloodless and cold.”
“I’ll work on her.” Harrison would like nothing better than to warm her up. He remembered that night on the Isle of Palms. Jiffy Pop had nothing on that girl. But that girl also had a ring on her finger and a wedding coming up. And he was a country music star with a career that stayed in the fast lane because that was where he wanted it.
Carmela gave him a knowing look. “She’s getting married, you know. Please remember your boundaries, or you’ll have me to deal with, Mr. Gamble. I love her too much to see her dreams get pulverized in the blender of your celebrity, all right? She’s been through a lot.”
“Nice metaphor,” he told her. “And nice Sunday meetin’ biker dress.” He gave her a nanosecond’s once-over.
Carmela blushed. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be good. And call me Harrison.” He winked at her and took off with True’s vodka shot. At the booth, he slid the glass across the table to land right in front of her—in the early days, he’d done his share of bartending himself—and sat down next to her.
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