Run Rose Run(13)

Not that she cared to admit it to herself.

She slid into the cool, dim bar well after sundown. Dirty ol’ Ray was nowhere to be seen. The stage was empty; Carrie Underwood sang softly on the radio. AnnieLee was relieved to see Billy polishing glasses behind the bar. She hopped onto a stool near the soda gun and waited for him to notice her.

When he did, he looked as though he was actually glad to see her. “The songbird returns,” he said.

“I thought you were going to say, ‘Look what the cat dragged in,’” AnnieLee said. She didn’t think she had any leaves in her hair tonight, but it’d been a long time since she’d seen the inside of a shower stall.

He laughed. “I don’t keep my job by being rude to guests of my establishment.”

What if the guests aren’t paying customers? she wondered but didn’t say.

He poured her a club soda without asking her if she wanted one, which she did. If only he’d toss a free hamburger her way! Between rationing her food, walking around all day, and shivering to keep warm all night, she was losing weight. Pretty soon she’d be skinnier than a guitar string.

“You get yourself an instrument yet?” Billy asked.

AnnieLee shook her head in mock gloom. “My fairy godmother quit.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Me, too. Now I have to buy a guitar instead of getting handed an enchanted gourd. Can you believe it?” AnnieLee slapped the bar for comedic emphasis. Noticing her fingernails were dirty, she quickly put her hands back under the counter. “But that takes money that I don’t have.” She looked at Billy hopefully. “Do you happen to need any housekeeping help around here or anything?”

“Sorry,” he said. “We’re fully staffed on that front.”

She considered mentioning the dusty picture frames and the slightly grimy sheen to the tile in the women’s bathroom. Certainly no one could ever accuse the Cat’s Paw cleaners of trying too hard. But then she grinned—suddenly, brilliantly. “Great. No problem. So how about you ask me to sing again, and you pay me a little bit of money this time?”

Billy stood there and stared at AnnieLee as if he couldn’t figure out where a person like her could come from. And she half wondered the same thing. She’d always been shy. But that lady with the cat-eye glasses had said that success took fearlessness and shamelessness both. Sure, she might’ve been a fading barfly, but she’d sounded as though she knew what she was talking about.

Billy pulled a pint of Miller Lite and walked it over to a table near the stage. When he came back, he said, “You can’t just keep coming in here and hoping I have a slot for you.”

She ran her fingers through her tousled hair. She knew that. But so far Billy’s was about the friendliest face she’d seen.

“Fair enough,” she said. “But since I’m here now…”

He sighed. “No one’s up there, so what the hell? You might as well be.”

“Can I use…” she began, glancing over his shoulder at the orphan guitar.

“Guess you’d better,” he said gruffly.

She was halfway across the stage before she turned around. “Thank you,” she called.

And then she sat down in the rickety chair and began to play, without any preamble and without any amplification. As the songs unspooled their beauty into the quiet, half-empty room, the pool game halted. Someone ordered a whiskey in the barest whisper. The only sound, besides the raw, aching sweetness of AnnieLee’s voice, was the whir of the old ceiling fan.

When she was done playing, AnnieLee came floating off the stage, happier than she’d been in days. The euphoria lasted all the way up until she saw Ethan Blake having a beer at the other end of the bar.

Her cheeks went hot with shame. She knew she should apologize for being rude to him, especially since he was a fellow musician. But it was impossible to show the tiniest glimmer of vulnerability. If she did, her whole brazen facade would shatter.

And so she simply pretended she hadn’t seen him. She sank onto her seat, still breathing a little heavy from her vocal exertions. Billy came over and placed two twenty-dollar bills on the scuffed wooden bar.

“Really?” she said, forgetting about Ethan instantly.

“You were dynamite, kid.”

Though she was nearly speechless with gratitude, she knew she had to keep playing the proper part. “When I’m back on my feet you won’t be able to get me with such bargain-basement prices,” she said.

Billy snorted. “Ethan,” he called. “You’ve played here a hundred times. When did I start paying you?”

“Are you paying me?” Ethan called back. “It’s so little I guess I hadn’t really noticed.”

Billy snapped his bar towel in Ethan’s direction and turned around, grumbling something about the world being full of ingrates. From opposite ends of the bar, Ethan and AnnieLee laughed together, and the next thing she knew he was standing beside her, and his handsome face was like a light that was too bright to look at.

“You were great—again,” he said. “Your voice sounds even better when it’s not coming through Billy’s crappy amp.”

“Thank you,” she said. She kept her tone cool but perfectly polite.

“I won’t offer to buy you a drink this time,” he said. “But I’ve got these French fries…”