You'd Be Mine(22)

I nod, and he comes back live. “All right, folks, we’re back with the lovely Annie Mathers and her fiery fiddle-playing cousin, Kacey. We’ve challenged her twelve minutes to write up a ditty about her tour headliner, Clay Coolidge. Take it away, Ms. Mathers!”

I start strumming.

“This little tune is gonna have a bit of a Creedence Clearwater Revival feeling to it. I figured y’all might dig that being in the Gulf bayou,” I start.

Well, I met me a man in the bayou

His voice gave me shivers and swirls

His last name was so presidential,

His first name was straight from the soil

I sang with this man in the bayou

He swung Levi hips to a beat

All the ladies went nuts in the bayou

All the fellas drank their whiskey neat

I was tempted by this man in the bayou,

Oh Lord, he was sin wrapped in vice

His lips are why kissing’s invented

His skin’s pure sun-drenched and spice

I met me a man in the bayou

I knew he wasn’t to be tied down

Y’all will fall fast for that man in the bayou

But that ain’t a road I’ll go down

For we all crave the man in the bayou And his songs will serenade us late

He’ll make love to us all in the bayou

But my tour goes through many a state

So I’ll leave this here in the bayou

Our memories, we will hold dear.

With Larry and friends in the bayou

Perhaps y’all will call me back next year



I open my eyes as a sparkly-eyed Kacey is wrapping the final pull of her strings. For a half second, it’s all silence, and I can feel my face start to heat, but then Larry busts into a full-on belly laugh, and I sink back into my chair. I take my time putting away my guitar, composing myself.

Larry is beaming and wiping at his eyes. “We’ve had a lot of singers come on our show—young and old, newcomers and industry icons, and”—he turns to his associates, who are all smiling—“I think we can all agree that twelve-minute tune will go down as a favorite.”

My face feels hot as the sun, but I laugh. “Aw. I’m so glad. Guess Clay makes for easy subject matter. You’ll have to use him again sometime and compare the two.”

“I have to address the elephant in the room,” Larry says seriously. “You sang that you’ve been tempted by Clay, leading to even more speculation about you two kids. Are you saying that you’d be interested if you could?”

I decide to toss Larry a bone with some honesty. “It’s really impossible to say. I’m too busy having fun of my own. This is my first tour, Larry. I just graduated from high school! These are the best years of my life! I don’t want to waste them chasing after a mustang.”

Larry’s female cohost, Lisa Marie, gives me a fist bump. “Even a mustang as wild as Clay Coolidge?”

“Ain’t the chase half the fun, y’all?” I say.

Connie gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up from outside the booth, and I allow my shoulders to slump the tiniest bit as Larry leads us into a commercial break. I pull off my headphones and shake hands all around. We hit the sunny street a few minutes later, and I stop in the middle of the sidewalk to let the warm rays seep into my skin and give it a chance to darken my freckles.

“Connie,” I say, not bothering to open my eyes. “What day is it?”

“Thursday. Show tonight.”

“So, no studio time?”

“Not today. You’re off until Tuesday.” I think I can hear the amusement in her voice. I open one eye to confirm my suspicion.

“So, technically, I don’t have to be anywhere until sound check?”

“Technically,” she says, sounding wary. “Why?”

I suck in a lungful of humid air and can almost taste the sea salt. I grab Kacey’s arm. “I wanna find a piece of coastline and fall asleep with sand in my hair.”

Kacey grins, pulling out her phone and tapping at the keys. “I’ll let Jason and Fitz know if they want to join us.”

“Ask Jason to grab my bathing suit.”

Connie sighs, but it’s relaxed. A black town car pulls up to the curb. “Let me guess—you aren’t coming back with me.”

Kacey confirms the guys are coming.

I shoo Connie. “Go. Find your husband. I know I’ve been cramping your extended honeymoon.”

“Fine, but find me when you’re back. Southern Belle has called me three times already this morning.”

“Not happening, Connie,” I reply in a singsong voice.

She purses her lips but slides easily into the back seat without comment. A tinge of annoyance creeps up my spine. Southern Belle is a record label fronted by Roy Stanton. Who is not only a first-rate douchecanoe—who pimps out his all-lady clientele under the ruse of female empowerment—but also happens to be a former lover of my mom’s. So ew. I cannot for the life of me understand why Connie insists on pushing this meeting.

I take another deep breath of ocean air and brush it off. Summer is in full bloom on the Gulf, and all I want to do is take off these espadrilles and stick my toes in the surf. I wasn’t lying when I told Larry I want to have fun and experience these so-called best days of my life. What good is traveling the country if I don’t see any of it except the inside of sound studios or my bus?