The High Notes: A Novel(23)

“You can come to Nashville with me, if things don’t pan out in New York,” he suggested gently.

“Thank you,” she said. “I can come to visit if I stay in New York. I probably won’t anyway.” She was sure Clay Maddox would be out of reach.

Boy would have liked more than just a visit, but he didn’t press her about it. She was on a path, which he respected, and he didn’t want to spoil what they had. He had never met a woman like her. She was almost like a musical genius of some kind. She had a gift. And she thought he did too.

They found a motel to stay at that was clean and decent off the highway. They only had one room available, and Boy said he could sleep on the floor. He didn’t mind, and had a sleeping bag in the car.

“Are you sure?” She felt bad about making him sleep on the floor. But she didn’t trust either of them if they slept in the same bed, and neither did he. He could only restrain himself for so long.

They took the room, and he went to get his sleeping bag. They took turns taking showers, and sat on the bed, watching TV together like two kids. He bought a bag of popcorn in a vending machine, and she giggled when he brought it in.

“This is like a slumber party.” She laughed, and he gave her a look.

“Don’t push your luck, Cooper. I’m trying to be a gentleman. This is not like a slumber party. I’m trying to be a good guy.”

“You’re a great guy,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek, and handed him a can of Coke while they watched a show on TV. He finally got off the bed when it was over, and climbed into his sleeping bag on the floor. She was already half asleep on the bed and he turned off the lights. They had both behaved admirably.

They woke up in the morning with the sun streaming into the room. They dressed quickly, had breakfast at a diner near the motel, and got back on the road. Iris was full of energy after a good night’s sleep, and wrote another song, as Boy headed south into Missouri to avoid storm warnings in Iowa. They didn’t drive as far that day, and stayed in another motel, in separate rooms that night, but they watched TV again in her room until they went to bed. The following day, they drove to St. Louis. She’d been there a few times on tour, and always loved it with the big paddleboats on the river. They took a ride on one. They spent the night there, and had a good dinner in a nice restaurant, and drove to Illinois the next day. They didn’t drive as far north as Chicago, stayed at another motel and then drove to Indiana the next day and spent the night in Columbus, Ohio. They were taking their time. They went to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, the next day, to see the Amish Country and farms, which Iris had always wanted to see. They went to a farmer’s market, and bought baskets of fruit they ate on the way. And from there they finally drove to New York. They both felt as though they’d gotten there too soon and wished they had stretched the trip longer. It had been a special time, suspended in their own world, singing, while Iris wrote songs. She had written four on the trip. He was stunned by how easily she did it, and by how the words and music flowed out of her and blended perfectly. It was what set her apart from the other singers he knew, who sang everyone else’s songs and music, but not their own. They both knew that many of the famous singers had written their own songs.

He drove her to Times Square, which was the only area they both knew. It was nighttime and brightly lit, people were bustling along the sidewalks and they all seemed in a hurry to get somewhere.

They put their car in a garage, and found a small hotel that looked clean on one of the side streets, and checked in to two rooms. And then went back out to the street to find a place to have dinner. They picked a Chinese restaurant a block away. There were dozens of choices, which all looked good.

“I ate at a cafeteria here when I was on tour. We didn’t go to big cities much. I only came here once in four years,” she said, and he nodded.

“I went to a Bruce Springsteen concert in Madison Square Garden with a bunch of guys from Nashville,” he shared. “We got drunk and I don’t remember where we had dinner, but we had a hell of a good time.” He grinned and she laughed, as they dug into the food they had ordered. It was delicious and they were both starving after the last leg of their drive. “This looks like a fun city,” he commented, “a little intimidating. I wouldn’t want to live here.”

“This part looks a little like Vegas, but it’s all a lot bigger here, and I like the desert there better than the city. I lived in a bunch of places in Nevada with my dad. I went to a school in Tonopah, which I didn’t like much.”

“Sounds like my time in Tennessee before I went to Nashville. It’s a pretty small city, and just about the right size for me. I’d get lost here,” he said, and she nodded. She felt that way too.

“I have to do something with my hair,” she commented to him as they left the restaurant. “I look like a tiger.” It was streaked with the faded brown hair dye and her natural blond.

“I can’t help you there. I don’t do hair,” he said, and she laughed. “Do you have to cut it to get rid of the brown part?”

“I don’t know. I dyed it so none of Hendrix’s scouts would recognize me. They won’t look for me here, and they’d never find me if they did. It’s a big place,” she said, and was happy to get back to the hotel. She asked them at the desk and they told her about a hair salon a few blocks away. They told her she could just walk in.