immediately. “Who is this?”
“Well, this is Dewey Hesseltine. I’m trying to reach Miss MG Carmody.”
Dewey Hesseltine. MG frantically flipped through her mental Rolodex, trying to remember exactly who Dewey Hesseltine was. She thought he might be a club owner but she wasn’t entirely sure. She’d met a lot of people like him in Nashville—some of them legit, some not. Still, no reason not to be polite.
“This is MG, Dewey. I’m sorry. I was just surprised to hear from you. How are you?”
“I’m fine, but I’m kind of annoyed with you, young lady. How come you didn’t let me know you were here in Texas?”
MG rubbed a hand across her forehead. The automatic answer, Because I have only the vaguest idea of who the hell you are, didn’t seem quite right under the circumstances. “I’ve been kind of busy, Dewey. Family stuff.”
“Well, family’s important, that’s for sure,” Dewey said vaguely. “But so’s singing. I’m looking to fill some gaps in my schedule here at the hall. I’d have called your manager if I knew who he was.”
“I’m between managers right now, Dewey.” Seeing as how her former manager had washed his hands of her when she told him she was taking a time out in Texas. Of course, in reality he’d washed his hands of her a long time before that.
“Well, then we can just set this up between us, can’t we? I got an opening next week I’m tryin’ to fill. Not much time to publicize it, but I can get your name onto some posters. It’s strictly pass the bucket for pay, but the crowd’s good. You should pick up some cash.”
She licked her lips. Singing again. After all these months. When she hadn’t touched her guitar since she’d walked in her grandpa’s front door. “Where’s your club, Dewey? I’m outside Konigsburg and I can’t travel too far right now.” In fact, considering the state of her Kia and the cost of gas, she probably couldn’t travel more than a couple of miles without a certain amount of luck.
Just an excuse, MG. You could travel as far as you wanted to. If you wanted to.
“I’m in Oltdorf, same as always. It’s the Oltdorf Hall, after all.” Dewey sounded a little annoyed. Maybe he thought she should know what and where Oltdorf was. Wrong again, Dewey.
She blew out a quick breath. “I’m still getting my bearings in the area. Where is Oltdorf exactly? I live on Wildrose Lane.”
“Well then you’re just down the road.” Dewey’s voice warmed. “That big fancy inn there is about five miles away.”
She blew out a breath. “Great. I guess I can find you.”
“All right, sugar.” The good ol’ boy was back. “We’ll give ’er a try. Let’s say Wednesday night next week. You go on at eight. Do me a thirty-minute set and I’ll pass the bucket for you. We’ll see how it goes. Main act’s out of San Marcos. College boys. Just gettin’ started, but they’ve got a following already. Should be a good crowd.”
MG wiped her suddenly damp palm on her thigh. Her chest felt tight. “Okay, Dewey, I’ll be there around seven to get everything set up.”
“That should do it then. Can’t wait to see you, sugar.”
“Me too. See you Wednesday.” MG disconnected and allowed herself to settle back against the lumpy couch again, trying to will her pulse to slow down.
Singing. In front of an audience.
She hadn’t sung for anyone since she’d moved back to Texas. She hadn’t even thought about looking for a gig. In some part of her mind she’d pretty much given up on the whole idea of singing and writing songs. It seemed sort of stupid—the singing chicken farmer. Just like going to Nashville had seemed stupid to her mom.
Wasting your time and your money, MG. Why’d you get that college degree if you were just going to go starve in Tennessee?
And then she’d given it all up to come back here, to look after Grandpa and to watch him die. And now to try to keep his farm—their farm—afloat. She felt a quick pinch of
“Well, this is Dewey Hesseltine. I’m trying to reach Miss MG Carmody.”
Dewey Hesseltine. MG frantically flipped through her mental Rolodex, trying to remember exactly who Dewey Hesseltine was. She thought he might be a club owner but she wasn’t entirely sure. She’d met a lot of people like him in Nashville—some of them legit, some not. Still, no reason not to be polite.
“This is MG, Dewey. I’m sorry. I was just surprised to hear from you. How are you?”
“I’m fine, but I’m kind of annoyed with you, young lady. How come you didn’t let me know you were here in Texas?”
MG rubbed a hand across her forehead. The automatic answer, Because I have only the vaguest idea of who the hell you are, didn’t seem quite right under the circumstances. “I’ve been kind of busy, Dewey. Family stuff.”
“Well, family’s important, that’s for sure,” Dewey said vaguely. “But so’s singing. I’m looking to fill some gaps in my schedule here at the hall. I’d have called your manager if I knew who he was.”
“I’m between managers right now, Dewey.” Seeing as how her former manager had washed his hands of her when she told him she was taking a time out in Texas. Of course, in reality he’d washed his hands of her a long time before that.
“Well, then we can just set this up between us, can’t we? I got an opening next week I’m tryin’ to fill. Not much time to publicize it, but I can get your name onto some posters. It’s strictly pass the bucket for pay, but the crowd’s good. You should pick up some cash.”
She licked her lips. Singing again. After all these months. When she hadn’t touched her guitar since she’d walked in her grandpa’s front door. “Where’s your club, Dewey? I’m outside Konigsburg and I can’t travel too far right now.” In fact, considering the state of her Kia and the cost of gas, she probably couldn’t travel more than a couple of miles without a certain amount of luck.
Just an excuse, MG. You could travel as far as you wanted to. If you wanted to.
“I’m in Oltdorf, same as always. It’s the Oltdorf Hall, after all.” Dewey sounded a little annoyed. Maybe he thought she should know what and where Oltdorf was. Wrong again, Dewey.
She blew out a quick breath. “I’m still getting my bearings in the area. Where is Oltdorf exactly? I live on Wildrose Lane.”
“Well then you’re just down the road.” Dewey’s voice warmed. “That big fancy inn there is about five miles away.”
She blew out a breath. “Great. I guess I can find you.”
“All right, sugar.” The good ol’ boy was back. “We’ll give ’er a try. Let’s say Wednesday night next week. You go on at eight. Do me a thirty-minute set and I’ll pass the bucket for you. We’ll see how it goes. Main act’s out of San Marcos. College boys. Just gettin’ started, but they’ve got a following already. Should be a good crowd.”
MG wiped her suddenly damp palm on her thigh. Her chest felt tight. “Okay, Dewey, I’ll be there around seven to get everything set up.”
“That should do it then. Can’t wait to see you, sugar.”
“Me too. See you Wednesday.” MG disconnected and allowed herself to settle back against the lumpy couch again, trying to will her pulse to slow down.
Singing. In front of an audience.
She hadn’t sung for anyone since she’d moved back to Texas. She hadn’t even thought about looking for a gig. In some part of her mind she’d pretty much given up on the whole idea of singing and writing songs. It seemed sort of stupid—the singing chicken farmer. Just like going to Nashville had seemed stupid to her mom.
Wasting your time and your money, MG. Why’d you get that college degree if you were just going to go starve in Tennessee?
And then she’d given it all up to come back here, to look after Grandpa and to watch him die. And now to try to keep his farm—their farm—afloat. She felt a quick pinch of
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