Run Rose Run(24)

“Spider,” he called over his shoulder, “come check this girl out.”

“Woman,” AnnieLee said under her breath.

Then an extremely large man in an extremely large cowboy hat—Spider, AnnieLee could only assume—strode over to hear her version of Willie’s ode to being on tour, and pretty soon a whole cluster of people had gathered around her stool. Spider wanted her to sing “Two Doors Down” next, and she’d barely gotten the last line out before everyone started calling out more requests from the jukebox lineup. A very young couple with their arms around each other’s waist asked if she could play their wedding song.

“Our first dance was to ‘I Cross My Heart,’” said the woman, who hardly looked old enough to be in a bar, let alone in a marriage.

AnnieLee clipped a capo onto her guitar’s first fret. “George Strait, right?” she asked.

“Damn straight!” the woman said, and then she blushed and giggled as if she couldn’t believe she’d said the word damn.

AnnieLee closed her eyes and thought back to being a kid, listening to KCMN—“That’s Country Music Now at 95.5 on your FM dial, cowboys”—on the truck radio, clutching her banged-up, twenty-dollar guitar in sweaty hands as she tried to figure out where her fingers were supposed to go. She could remember the tune, but…

“Can you help me a little with the lyrics?” she asked.

And just like that, AnnieLee’s performance turned into a sing-along. The young woman put her arm around Spider, who was three times her size, as he joined the chorus with his deep baritone. And then more people started drifting over and adding their own voices. AnnieLee played Patsy Cline next, and then Tammy Wynette. A tip jar appeared at her feet, and within half an hour it was full to the rim with small bills and loose change.

When AnnieLee had played at least half of the songs in the jukebox, the man in the Charlie Daniels shirt stepped forward to ask her if she had any songs of her own she could play.

Her fingers were aching and her throat was sore, but she wanted him—and everyone else, for that matter—to hear the words that she herself had written. She’d prove she wasn’t just a human jukebox. “I’ve got loads,” she said. “You really want me to play one?”

“Damn straight!” the young woman shouted again.

“Hell yes!” said her baby-faced husband.

The crowd fell silent as soon as AnnieLee played the first little lick of her song. Her voice was tired, but it still had power, and she felt her spirits lifting even higher as she played song after song of her own.

Finally she had to put the guitar aside and stand up. Her legs were cramped and her fingertips felt blistered and raw.

“I’m sorry,” she said to everyone. “I think I might be done for the night.”

They began to boo loudly but playfully, and then Ingrid the bartender appeared and wagged her finger at all of them like a tattooed Viking den mother. “Give her a break, you guys,” she said. “A girl’s gotta eat.”

She set up AnnieLee at a little table in a corner and brought her a chili dog and a huge pile of cheese fries. The food smelled so good AnnieLee very nearly cried. “I could eat this three times over,” she said.

“You must got a hollow leg,” Ingrid said.

AnnieLee put a warm, greasy fry in her mouth. “I’ve got a lot of hollow.” She saw a waitress walking by with a basket of tater tots. “Could I have some of those, too, please? And a Coke? I’m sorry, I’m just—” But she couldn’t speak anymore, because she had to get the food in her mouth. And though she tried to eat politely, it was impossible. For one thing, she was starving, and for another, consuming a chili dog was an inherently messy operation.

Ingrid came back a few minutes later with more food and said, “Here you go, Takeru.”

AnnieLee looked up. “Who?”

“Takeru Kobayashi,” Ingrid said. “You know, the Japanese eating champion.”

“Oh, sure, of course,” AnnieLee said, nodding as if she’d heard of him, which she hadn’t. She took a grateful sip of her Coke. “This tastes funny.” Then she flushed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude—”

“It tastes funny, dummy, because there’s Jack Daniel’s in there,” Ingrid said, giving AnnieLee’s shoulder a quick pat. “It’s good for the voice box.” She grinned. “And the mood.”

The whiskey burned AnnieLee’s throat a little, but she got used to it quickly enough. Soon, a pleasant, warm feeling began to spread throughout her body. Her calloused fingertips stopped hurting so much, and she felt a new but fierce affection for every single person in the Lucky Horseshoe.

By the time AnnieLee got to the bottom of the glass, her worries seemed as far away as clouds on a distant blue horizon. She was finally safe, right here in Music City, and she knew without a doubt that pretty soon, she was going to make all of her dreams come true.





Chapter

23



AnnieLee was still giddy from her performance as she left the Lucky Horseshoe almost eight hours after she’d arrived. She’d given Ruthanna’s guitar to Ingrid for safekeeping, and she’d then bid a fond and only slightly tipsy farewell to all her new friends, promising that she’d come back to sing for them again as soon as she could.