NOTES:
This is my first attempt at publishing anything here, so try to be kind. Everything written here came straight out of my demented mind. I hope you like it.
*****
It doesn't happen often. Most of the time, instead of dancing to the music, I'm playing it.
It's a living, I guess. Truth be known, I love it; the noise, the smoke, the babes...all of it. I been doing it for years, but it doesn't seem like it. It feels like yesterday that I got a call from my old friend Randy, asking me to come out and see him, and bring my bass. "Jimbo, how 'bout we put something together and play a little music," he said. "Who knows, we might even score a few babes along the way!"
From there it spiraled; that first band didn't last. Any kind of argument caused friction amongst band members. From arguments about song choices, to downright fistfights about bar girls, it all took its toll. Of course, we were all in our teens, so anything could cause friction. But, you have to start somewhere.
Either way, I never made it big, and to be honest, that never was in consideration. Who the hell wants to go skipping off to Nashville and fight all those battles with record companies telling you how to do your own music. Besides, as it turned out, you could make your own cd's and sell 'em just as easy; the hard part was promotion, and with all the social networking sites nowadays, you could do it on your own pretty well.
So, that's what I did. After banging around in a couple of bar bands honing my skills, I decided to put one together myself. Seeing what worked and what didn't, I used my knowledge to build a pretty damn good band. Nothing Flashy held together for damn near seven years, playing the dancehalls and clubs of South Texas. Cover tunes were the staples that got us employed most weekends, and allowed us to make a fairly good living, for a bunch of twentysomethings. It held together until the oil boom started. Once that oilfield money showed up, most of the band decided that we didn't make enough, me included.
I went to work in the patch, but didn't really like it. I wasn't on the rigs, per se, but doing third party work for them. It meant that I spent lots of ass time in trucks, waiting for the rig to get ready. The main part I didn't like was the inability to do anything outside of work. Being on call all the time made for no stability or idea of when I could go out to blow off steam. Sure, I made a nice chunk of change, but without any idea of when I could get time off, it wasn't any fun. I couldn't go party with friends on a whim, because when the phone went off, it was usually my boss telling me to get my ass to the damn rig and hurry up. I spent more money on speeding tickets and insurance increases than anything else. Damn sure wasn't worth it, since I had money to spend, but no real time to spend it.
So, even though it was lucrative out there, I had to let it go. So, with time on my hands, and a decent size coin purse in my pocket, I had to decide what to do. Even though I had been out of it for a couple of years, I missed music. I'd miss the money from the oilfield, but not the hours.
With a few phone calls, along with a Craigslist ad, I had it back together. My band, Nowhere Road, plays mostly weekends, along with festivals and whatever I can book us into. It takes us all over South Texas, and makes me enough money that I don't have to have another job if I live fairly frugally. I do a little freelance writing just for something to keep my mind occupied, and I make a little off of that. Actually, that's kind of where this story basically starts.
I met Lisa at a gig in a dance hall in Beeville, TX.
Actually, I didn't meet her there, but I saw her in the crowd. She was with some guy who didn't dance that well, so she mainly sat watching the band and tapping her foot to the beat. Her eyes kept following me across the stage, but that wasn't unusual; we all got watched by the girls. Not to toot my own horn, but I ain't terribly hard on the eyes, and the others ain't either. I'm about 6-foot-tall, with dark hair and brown eyes. Though I'm kind of big boned (read as chunky), my voice makes up for a variety of bodily sins. I guess it's an occupational hazard; women must like it when I sing at them, even if I'm not really singing to them in particular. Hey, whatever...it works for me.
So I noticed her looking. She was extremely pretty; a shimmering auburn mass of hair perched atop a cowgirl's body. Tight blue jeans swaddled around an ass that could stop traffic, and something frilly as a top (hey, I ain't no fashion consultant...it was a dark shade of white, I think, if that matters.). But, she was with someone, so I didn't really consider her open game. I noticed her; hell, a dead man would have noticed her, but I didn't think too much would come of it.
Unfortunately, her date noticed her noticing me, and got a bit offended.
"Hey man," he said, coming up to the bandstand.
"How can I help ya? You want a song played or something?"
"The best way to help me is to keep your eyes off my gal, bud. Otherwise, I might have to wrap that guitar around your fuckin' neck."
I laughed, which did nothing for his temper. "Look, dude. I ain't eyeballing your lady, and I'd appreciate it if you'd back off my stage. Otherwise you might get a surprise tooth cleaning from my bass guitar. Why don't you just mosey on over there and dance with her and let me do my job, get it?"
It would have gotten more heated but one of the bouncers wandered over to see what the problem was.
"Problem, Jim?"
"Nah, Ronnie, just a song request, isn't that right, sir?"
"Yea, sure," the guy said. "We'll talk later, I guess."
He turned, just as she walked up to the stage, an odd look on her face.
"Brad, what's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," he growled, "'cept you acting like a slut, Lisa."
Boy, did that go over like a lead balloon. After her face registered complete surprise, it morphed into full and total fury, which transformed her pretty green eyes into pools of emerald fire. Looks like that turn smart men into apologizing lumps of mush, but this guy apparently didn't have enough sense to know that he had just tossed his self into the discarded boyfriend category.
He found out when she slapped the piss out of him.
As she stalked off to her table with him in hot pursuit (apparently, he finally figured out how screwed he was), I motioned to the bouncer to keep an eye on them.
"As stupid as he is, he might do something even stupider than just kicking that gal to the curb. Keep your eye on him, Ronnie."
"No problem, Jimbo"
We kicked off another song to finish the set, and I filed the encounter in the back of my mind. Not that I wasn't interested in her, but getting in the middle of that drama was just not worth it for any woman. Now, if she ended up loose in the long run, I would consider it, but not tonight.
Turns out, I was right. I found out later in the next set that old dumb ass actually made the mistake of grabbing her arm to emphasize his point when she had made her way to her truck. First, she slapped him, then she screamed for help. She got it in the form of three cousins of hers, who politely beat the shit out of dear old dumb ass Brad. Ronnie, my bouncer buddy, watched for a minute while Brad took his ass whipping, but finally waded in when the fight got bad. Brad would be a little black and blue, but would sustain no lasting damage, with the exception of his reputation. That was pretty much shot. Ronnie clued me in to all the dirt, I smiled, and politely forgot all about it.
Until closing time.
As we broke down the stage, Ronnie walked up with a big grin on his face.
"Yo, Jimbo!" he bellowed.
"What, ya big ape? I got work to do!"
"I got a message for ya," he said, grinning like a possum.
"Ok, spit it out, unless you want to be here till 3 AM."
"She said thank you for sending me out to save that asshole from getting himself killed by her kinfolks, and to tell you she would see ya around."
"She who?"
"Lisa. You know, the gal that slapped the cowboy shit out of that idiot she was with? In the second set, remember? The guy's name was Brad Somethingorother..."
I searched my memory files, remembering the encounter with Brad the ass.
"Oh yea...redhead, hot as hell, gorgeous green eyes..."
