Shall We Dance? Ch. 01

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A Musician's View of Life and Love.
4.9k words
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Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 08/27/2016
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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..."

"That's the one."

"Best I stay out of that, Ronnie. That gal could be trouble with a capital T," I grinned. Doubtful, I was sure, but who knows? She was glancing at me pretty hard while sitting with her man, and that doesn't give a fella warm fuzzies when he's on the wrong side of those glances. "What do you know about her anyway?"

"She's here fairly often, but hardly ever alone. Not married, lived here all her life, got kin all in this area. She's a good old farm gal, drives a pickup and a tractor, and has her pick of men prowling around. I know some of her kinfolks, they're good people. I'd chase her myself, but she shot me down back in high school."

"Damn, Ronnie...I didn't need her life story. Just the broad strokes, man."

"Oh, there's plenty more, but I figure she'll tell you the rest."

"Oh really?"

"Yea," he said.

"And what made you think this, budro?"

"Honestly?" he said.

This I got to hear. "Honestly," I said.

"Because she doesn't chase men. She doesn't have to, they chase her. But, she sounds interested, and if I know her, if she's got interest in you, you're damn near got," he smiled. "She can be determined when she puts her mind to it. I could tell you stories, but I think I'll just let you find out on your own."

Hmmm. Very interesting. However, my friend Ronnie did forget one little thing. I don't live here, and have no plans to move here. I'm a traveling minstrel, a vagabond, going only where the music takes me. Sure, I have a place to lay my head, but Ronnie don't know it, and neither does Lisa. Hell, few in the band knew it, and that's the way I prefer it. So, determined or not, Lisa would have her work cut out for her.

"Well, even if she's interested, I don't play around with women who are married or in a relationship. So, if she becomes single, I might listen to what she has to say. It's a moot point anyway..."

"A what?"

"It don't matter. She's with Brad Asshole."

"Afraid not, my boy. He signed his walking papers tonight, when he laid his hand on her when she didn't want it. Once her cousins got done beating his ass, she told him to leave her alone and don't bother calling back, because she was done with him. He got the message."

"Well, fine. But I still ain't interested. She's not in my league, and I don't have time to settle down and get myself in her league. I'm pretty happy as things are right now. I'm on the go from town to town, and when I'm not, I'm planning my next trip. So, let her know I appreciate the thought, but no thanks."

Ronnie looked at me like I was from Mars. He shook his head, laughed like he had lost his mind, and said, "Sure, bud...I'll let her know."

It was almost a month later when I swung into Beeville for another gig. Same town, but a different club than the last time I set foot here. The band and our roadie (Can't afford more than one, and we don't mind setting up our own stage anyway.) had begun the set-up, when a pickup truck pulled into the lot. I was elbow deep in wires, trying to get the mixing board hooked up, and I didn't even pay attention to the guys around me, much less the taps of high heels coming across the floor. I continued to plug in all my connections from the snake running overhead until I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Yea, bud...what do ya need?" I said, not looking up.

The voice that came back to me caused me to bump my head on the power amp case.

"Bud ain't here. My name's Lisa, and I wanted to thank you for helping me get rid of an asshole."

I whirled around, dropping everything I had in hand. "Well, you're welcome, I guess. The way you say it, sounds like it needed to happen."

"Do you remember the night?" she asked, a twinkle in her eyes.

As a musician, it's nice to keep your crowd happy, and lying to them isn't the way to endear them to you. I try not to lie about stupid little things like this, so I didn't.

"Sorry, I don't think I do. It's been a while since I been here, and the last time was another club here in town. I don't..."

Recognition hit me like a truck, once I took a good look at her. The sparkling green eyes, auburn hair, the name.

"Wait...yea, I remember. Sorry, took me a minute to figure it out."

She smiled, but a shadow of something other than happiness flashed across her eyes. "So, why couldn't I thank you that night? Ronnie started spouting off some bunch of nonsense about you being out of my league or such. I didn't quite understand all that, and I was disappointed that you didn't feel like talking to me."

Uh-oh...storm clouds rolling in, Jim. Better batten down the hatches, I thought.

"Look...Lisa, wasn't it? I said, remembering it well. "At the time, I didn't want to interrupt a man and woman arguing about their relationship..."

"But," she started.

I cut her off, saying "...because I wanted no part of breaking up anyone's relationship, even though the guy seemed like an idiot."

"But..." she again started.

"So I told Bobby..."

"Ronnie," she managed to get in, with a grin.

"Ronnie, then. I told him I wasn't interested. I did say something about you being out of my league..."

"Now wait a second..."

"...and I stand by that. You're entirely too hot to be worrying about an old music hound like me. I appreciate the thought..."

"Hold on here..." she again started, her voice beginning to rise.

"...but I stand by my comments. Now, I really need to get back to work."

I turned to walk away from her only to be caught by the ear by an irritated woman.

"Now you just hold on there, cowboy. Don't you just feel all self-important? Telling me I'm too hot for you and all...don't you think I can make up my own damn mind about that? I swear..." she huffed, her eyes beginning to darken.

I recognized that look, or at least the beginnings of it. Backpedaling, I began, "Now wait..."

"Now, you listen here, you silly assed redneck..."

"I ain't..."

"Don't you tell me what I want and don't want, and I sure as hell don't think your own opinion of yourself means a damn thing to me. I can make up my own damned mind without your input. So you just stand there and look handsome."

I turned ten shades of red.

She turned me around to look me in the eye, and quietly told me exactly how things would go.

"I'll be here tonight, and we'll talk further. I might dance with others, but tonight I want to talk with you. When you have a break, I'll be waiting for you. Will you talk to me?"

Her eyes drew me in, threw me up against the wall, and broke my will.

I shook my head and muttered, "Fine. Catch me at first break."

After a first set that I would consider average, but everyone else seemed to enjoy, I headed to the "band's table" which was close to the stage. Lisa sat at the end, more or less away from all the wives that managed to make the gig, along with guests that we invited to help us keep our host dancehall happy. I had not noticed where she sat, and honestly didn't keep up with what she was doing. Keeping up with her didn't figure into my thinking; I was just too busy trying to make sure we kept on the beat, made our transitions as natural as possible, and ensuring our sound was up to par. I reached for a towel to try to wipe the sweat off before it soaked my cap completely. Lisa pitched me one before my hand hit the one I reached for.

"Hot up there?" she asked.

"Just a tad," I replied.

"Is it always like that?"

"Most nights, yes. It depends a lot on the hall, the crowd, and the feel of the place. If the crowd isn't reacting, you try your best to make them. If they are, you try to keep it up. Either way, it can be hot work."

"Seems like a lot of work for not near enough money."

"Hell, if I was in it for the money, I'd a quit years ago. I like it."

"Mind if I ask why?"

"Honestly?"

"Sure."

"I worked the patch for a while, and didn't like it. I made plenty of money, but didn't have the time to do much with it. While I was out there, I found a new revenue stream, decided to work with it, and found my way back to music. I missed the energy and excitement of getting up there and making people happy, if only for a little while. Honest enough?"

She sat back in her chair and smiled.

I wiped my head again; damn, it was feeling hot, for some reason.

"However..." I grinned. "You didn't come over here to hear me rattle on about my life, did you? If you did, I'd be disappointed."

She grinned like a possum. "No, I didn't. But I know my time is short, because your break is about over."

I looked at my watch, wondering just how 15 minutes just flashed by.

"So," she said, "I'm going to sit here and listen to you kick ass this set, maybe dance a time or two, and think of what I want to say. So far, I like what I'm hearing, not just musically. You're an interesting man, and I am definitely interested."

"Can I ask why?"

"You could...but you'd lose the crowd. The natives are getting restless."

It was true. Folks started asking the other members about when we were cranking back up, and the noise level was beginning to rise...a sure sign of a crowd getting anxious.

I rose, grabbing my towel. I smiled, tipping my cap to the lady, and said quietly, "See you in a bit, then."

Her smile lit up the room, and she leaned in to me and said, "Go kick ass, hot shot..."

We kicked it in second gear, matching the crowd's enthusiasm. Mixing in a little rock, a few fast country numbers, and a Cotton-Eyed Joe, the energy level rose steadily. For some reason, we were hitting the notes right on time; crowd energy does that to a band. It was looking good, and our excitement level grew. We kept it up for a good thirty minutes, winding them up to a fever pitch. Time to ease 'em down a little.

"Let's do a little buckle shining', folks" I said.

A nice waltz eased them down. A slow love song eased them down a little more, then we revved 'em back up.

All musicians know that it's all about the tempo of the night. Rev 'em up, ease 'em back. Keep asses on the floor, but don't wear 'em out. Don't let 'em get too excited, because (surprisingly) you find that trouble starts when they get all revved up and you don't provide that little slow down to calm down.

Tempo, you see?

I noticed that Lisa had danced some, but returned to her seat at the table with the band's family. When she didn't dance, her foot kept the beat, and her eyes seemed to follow me wherever I went on the stage. I also noticed that a sexy grin stayed on her face.

Not that I looked, mind you. I caught her out of the corner of my eye, of course. Well, ok, I did look once, when I thought she might have left. It was a bathroom break, and I got a grin directed at me, when she noticed me breaking my neck to try to find her.

At the next break, she mentioned it.

"Looking for someone?" she said, grinning' like a possum.

"No, I thought you might have found you a handsome cowboy that wanted to take your mind off of little ol' me."

"There are a few of those here..."

"I agree..."

"But, I kind of like leaving with the one that brought me, so to speak.

I got a shocked look on my face. "But, I didn't bring you, you know...

"No, you didn't. But, I came to talk to you, and that's good enough."

I was about to get started on the reasons she really shouldn't be waiting for me when she raised her hand and said, "Hush...I know what I'm doing, damn it. You really should relax. It's not like I'm asking for a kidney, or begging you to make me pregnant, so just hush."

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