Southern Rocker Chick Read online

  Doyle Quinlan owned the Golden Armadillo, the second largest club in the city. It had risen to fame during the 1960s, reigning as the preferred nightlife of the Austin elite until Southern Nights opened in 1971. With their money and influence, the Hollises quickly stole its clientele and its talent. Their bitter rivalry had continued over the next three decades. I could tell by the gleam in Daddy’s eye that he didn’t mind stoking that fire to get what he wanted: a headlining gig at Southern Nights.

  It was all Suzanne could talk about, too. She already picked out my outfit for the rehearsal. Technically it wasn’t a dress rehearsal, but we all wanted to be shiny and pretty for someone who could book us into a major nightclub.

  I slipped into the jeans and the tank top, looking like some misplaced hippie from the 1970s from my bare feet to my tiny gold hair band. Over the last two years, I got a song of my own to sing, a Dobie Gray tune which fit my laidback, groovy image.

  I was still tiny. I was pretty sure I had reached my full height at 5’2. I had filled out in all the right places, almost too much so. I weighed 110 pounds but most of it was in my C-cup bra. Some guys at school had pondered, aloud, how I managed to stay upright. I’d retort that I was surprised I couldn’t hear them talk over the whistling between their ears and stalk off.

  My brown hair was long, I usually kept it in pigtails or braided down my back. Every now and then Suzanne would fix it in a French braid. Those were my favorite times with Suzanne. She’d regale me with her colorful stories as her fingers ran through my hair.

  It always made me feel girly and pretty and special.

  Thanks to the harsh lights we constantly performed under, I was allowed to wear a lot more makeup than I would have otherwise. “Pretty girls always sing better,” she would say with a wink as she painted on my war paint. “Ask any guy in the front row.”

  There were only two guys in the front row when we took the stage to rehearse that afternoon, Doyle Quinlan and Bobby Lee Talbert, one of the organizers of our event. They leaned in close as they watched us, talking softly. Doyle was tall, well over six feet, with a muscular build barely contained by the clothes that he wore. His jet black hair was neatly coiffed like some TV evangelist. He had clear blue eyes that were sharp as ice, and his sideburns were meticulously trimmed, turning silver right at the edges. From the cut of his black suit and his polished, shiny black cowboy boots, every inch of him screamed power and clout.

  I was intimidated by the way he scrutinized me as I performed. I felt like some calf walking around an action, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. I missed a few notes before I summoned the image of Christopher in my mind’s eye, so that I could salvage a modicum of confidence I discovered several nights before.

  Finally our set was over and we all walked off stage to meet Doyle. Suzanne and Daddy schmoozed while I hid behind Benny. Finally Doyle caught my eye. “Don’t be so shy, girl. Come over here and tell your Uncle Doyle hello.”

  I inched forward a little bit before Daddy pulled me by the arm into their circle. I shook Doyle’s large hand, which enveloped mine. He looked as tall as a sycamore as he towered above me by over a foot. “You’re a talented little gal, ain’t ya?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know how talented I was, only how talented other people seemed to tell me I was. Those weren’t always one in the same.

  Bobby took Suzanne and Daddy aside to talk business, leaving me with my new fan. “Come on over here and sit with me,” he said. He took me by the elbow to pull me over to his table without waiting for me to consent. He poured a glass of ice cold water into the crystal glass on the table. I stared at the bold gold jewelry on his hands. He wore more bling than Suzanne, if that was possible.

  He smiled at me when he handed me the glass. “You gotta protect that voice, gal. That’s your golden ticket.”

  I said nothing as I sipped the water.

  He sat back in his seat and studied me openly. “So how old are you, anyway?”

  “Fourteen,” I murmured.

  He chortled. “That’s the wrong answer if you want to perform in nightclubs around these parts, sugar. You have to be eighteen to walk through the door at my nightclub.” His eyes narrowed. “So how old are you, gal?”

  I swallowed hard. “Eighteen?”

  He leaned forward on the table with a smile. “Good girl. I knew by looking at ya that you were smart. Smart and pretty, what a lethal combination.” He toasted me with his tumbler of whiskey. “So is this kind of music the only thing you know? Or can you perform country, too?”

  “I can do anything,” I promised at once.

  He chuckled. “Is that right?”

  I blushed and shrank back in my seat. Instantly I knew he was bad news. He sat too close. He stared too long. I glanced around for Suzanne or Daddy to rescue me. They were still huddled with Bobby near the stage. “I should probably go join them,” I said as I began to rise, but he grabbed me by the elbow and plopped me back down in the seat.

  “Now don’t get your feathers ruffled. We’re just getting to know each other.” He leaned back in the chair again. “Fact is I can do a lot for you and your friends if you let me. I have an opening this week as a matter of fact. Bobby suggested I check y’all out and guess what? I like what I see. How would you like to be on a real stage?” he asked softly. “This is bargain basement stuff here. Favors and freebies. I can offer you the Golden experience. You play on my stage and every club in town is going to want you. I just have a couple of provisions.”

  I gulped hard. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear them. “Provisions?”

  “We have a very discerning clientele. This hippie-dippy shit won’t fly. You need to go out on that stage like a lady. You let me have final approval over your wardrobe, and your song selection, and you could be rehearsing in my club by tomorrow afternoon. If you’re ready for that next step, that is.”

  I thought about Daddy and what he would do. Hell, I thought about Suzanne and what she would do. This was the opportunity we’d been working for. Finally I nodded. “We’re ready.”

  He smiled wide. “That’s what I like to hear.” He rose from the table, pulling me to my feet as well. “Now give your ol’ pal Doyle a hug.”

  Again he didn’t really give me the choice to decline. He pulled me flush against his body, which I immediately felt stir against me. I pulled back immediately, but he appeared nonplussed over my reaction. “I’ll send a limo for you tomorrow from school. I want to get you into wardrobe immediately, so we can see what kind of image works best for my club.”

  I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to smack him hard before I ran back to my Daddy. But I knew by the victorious smile on Daddy’s face that he knew we’d had already been presented with the offer to perform at the Golden Armadillo. There was nothing left to do but accept.

  It was all he could talk about on the way home. “Do you know what this means?” he asked with a wide smile plastered across his face. “We’ve arrived, Lil Bit. After this weekend, every club in the city is going to book us. And I’d bet every dollar we’re going to make the very next call we get is from Southern Nights.”

  He rattled off that magical number again, what we could stand to earn in just one weekend. It wasn’t a whole lot, but it was a whole lot more than what we’d been making. “And I tell you what,” he said as he slapped my knee with his hand. “We’ll take your Mama out somewhere special.” Our eyes met. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, honey. You’re right. I haven’t done right by your mom. But I swear to you I’ll make it up to the both of you. You’ve proven you’re in it for me,” he added. “So I’ll do whatever you want to prove I’m it for you.”

  I smiled at him. If that was what was truly at stake, I could put up with a skeevy guy like Doyle Quinlan. After all, how far would he go? He was one of the most powerful businessmen in Austin. Like he would wreck his rep over jail bait.

  “So you know what you’re going to do tomorrow, right?”

  I nodded. “Mr. Quinlan
is sending a limo.”

  “To your school,” he added as if I had just won the lottery. “Now, I know that Mr. Quinlan is a little formidable. All you need to handle him is a little southern charm. Remember you have all the power as long as you have something he wants."

  I shivered a bit. That was what scared me. “But why do I have to go alone? Why can’t you drive me like you always do?”

  “You know I have last minute details to go over with Suzanne and Bobby, baby. Why are you being so difficult? Getting in with Doyle Quinlan is a good thing. What girl doesn’t want to be driven around in a sleek limousine, dressed pretty and treated like a princess? I swear, girl. Sometimes I just don’t get you.” I gulped back any response. “This is going to give you a glimpse into the life we’re working so hard for, Lacy. Don’t be difficult. Don’t be like your mother.”

  I sighed and stared out the window as we drove home. That trailer looked a lot smaller after time spent around the rich and illustrious. Maybe Daddy was right. If we just played the game, we could cut off our own piece of the pie and get the hell out of this hellhole. Then Mama and Daddy could set aside their differences, rekindle their romance and we could all be a family again.

  It never dawned on me until that very second how much I wanted exactly that.

  Hell… Mama could even take Suzanne’s spot on stage after a while. We’d be the traveling Abernathys, singing all over the world, all this ugly business forgotten.

  But that night as I closed my eyes, I remembered how it felt when Doyle’s icy blue eyes surveyed me top to toe. I felt like some slab of meat hanging off a hook, or a lobster scuttling along the bottom of a crowded tank, praying no one would pick me to go in the boiling hot pot of water.

  I sent Christopher a text. Maybe if I could just talk to him I’d feel better. “Homework,” he sent back. “Can’t talk tonight.”

  I tossed and turned until morning.

  I decided not to dress up the next day. I didn’t put on any makeup. I wore my hair in two braided pigtails and opted for a fairly worn pair of jeans with a droopy hoodie. Daddy was at the table when I came out to forage for breakfast. He took one look up and down. “Are you kidding?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You look twelve.”

  “Duh,” I retorted. “I’m only fourteen, Lucas.”

  He tapped his forefinger to my temple. “In here, you’re eighteen, which is exactly what you have to be to get into the Golden Armadillo. Go change.”

  “I’m comfortable as is,” I said.

  “Now,” he reiterated sharply.

  “He’s just going to change what I wear anyway,” I persisted.

  “Lacy Rae Abernathy,” he started, his tone deep and lethal. He took a deep breath to compose himself. “You don’t seem to understand how important someone like Doyle is to our career. He’s got the resources and the network in place to make us or break us. That’s why we have to raise our game. We have to show him we think we deserve to stand on that stage. We have to act like it, talk like it, and most definitely dress like it. This is diamonds and denim… leather and lace. Class, baby girl. Class and lots and lots of money. And you want to show up looking like some welfare kid? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I don’t like him, Daddy,” I finally said.

  He stared at me like I had grown a third head. “No one ever said anything about liking him, Lacy. Where is that in the rules?”

  I tried again. “Fine. I’m scared. Okay? He makes me feel exposed.”

  Daddy just laughed and dismissed my concerns with a wave of his hand. “Please. He’s just a good ol’ boy from another era. He may flirt a bit, but he’s harmless.”

  “He’s flirting with a fourteen year old,” I snapped.

  Again he chuckled before he grabbed himself another beer. He was drinking earlier and earlier in the day now, usually around the time Mama or me started in on him. “He came onto you? Really, Lacy?”

  “Yes!”

  “And what exactly did he say?”

  I stammered a bit. It was hard to explain, especially to someone like Daddy. He was a ladies’ man who knew how to charm the panties off of every girl in the county. He often made little innuendo he had no intention of pursuing, just to get what he wanted. He wrote it all off as harmless and victimless. “It’s nothing he said exactly. Just the way he made me feel.”

  “Ah,” Daddy said as he took another sip. “It couldn’t be because you’re fourteen and just taking every little thing to the extreme?”

  I stared at him, open-mouthed. Did he really think I was some hormonal little drama queen?

  Daddy stood up and rounded the table. “Look, Lil Bit. I know you’re new at this whole boy thing. And I know that your mama has yammered your ear off telling you how dangerous boys and men could be. But like I told you yesterday, you’re the one in the driver’s seat as long as you have something he wants.”

  My eyes met his. “And what if I can’t give him what he wants?”

  Daddy knelt to look me straight in the eye. “Then lie.” He brushed my hair with his hand. “This is the real world, baby girl. And sometimes we have to scratch a few backs and kiss a few asses to get where we want to go. If you play this thing right, we could be out of the Golden Armadillo and into Southern Nights like that,” he said, snapping his fingers for emphasis. “Then you’d never have to see him again except on your terms. So you bat your eyelashes at him. You preen in your pretty dresses. In the end it’s a small price to pay for your family, don’t you think?”

  Mama slammed out of the bedroom, running late as always. She had been working the swing shift at the diner to cover Daddy’s expenses. He needed new equipment, money to travel and promotional materials. Mama had been so jazzed to finally save back nearly two thousand dollars, only to have three thousand withdrawn from their joint bank account just so the band could cut a demo record. Mama and Daddy had fought about it for a week straight before he finally left the trailer for a few days so she could calm down.

  When he came back, he had five hundred dollars of a peace offering, which nearly brought her back into the black.

  She had to hawk some of Grandma’s jewelry for the rest.

  “This is how she died, you know,” Mama had told me while we were standing in line to get mere pennies in exchange for the large emerald ring. “She worked herself to death because she had no one else to help ease her burden.” Mama lit a cigarette on the way out, almost begging to die quickly in the same tragic way… losing the battle with lung cancer at fifty.

  She was frantic as she searched for her keys. “I can’t afford another write-up,” she mumbled. “I really could get fired this time.” Finally she snagged the keys from the couch and ran out the door without even saying goodbye.

  “See what your mama does for you, Lil Bit?” Daddy said softly. “She’s working herself into the grave to support our crazy dream. And you’re complaining about being treated like a princess, riding in a fancy car, wearing expensive clothes and being treated like a VIP just because the guy makes you ‘feel’ funny?” He grabbed his beer from the table. “Guess you’re not as strong as I thought you were, baby girl.”

  He stalked to the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

  I dropped my head and dragged my feet to my own bedroom, where I changed into something more age-appropriate for an eighteen-year-old.

  That was my role to play, apparently.

  I shook in my shoes all the way to three o’clock that afternoon. Christopher had three big assignments due that week, so I knew that he was out of commission for the foreseeable future. I had a few acquaintances, but no real friends. Most of the girls in my class thought I was filthy trailer trash. A few others were nice until I started telling them about the band and all our shows, which they thought was uncool for a teenager to be in her father’s band, singing tired old songs none of them would have listened to willingly.

  So my mind ran unchecked the whole day, playing scenario after
scenario, to prepare myself for anything that might come.

  As the massive black limo slid up to the curb, a few of the richer girls snickered behind their hands, saying things like “skank” and “hooker” as I climbed in. There was a bottle of champagne uncorked and ready, but I declined. “I don’t drink,” was all I said.

  I couldn’t stop my whole body from trembling as we rounded the stone driveway up the hill to the Golden Armadillo, a massive club with doormen in tuxedos and cowboy boots. One helped me out of the car and led me by the arm into the darkened establishment.

  Thanks to Daddy’s time with the band, I had been inside a few dive bars that consisted of two tables, a long bar and a stage about as big as a headboard. The Golden Armadillo topped all of that. The interior had mirrored ceilings, black walls, disco balls and various cowboy paraphernalia on the walls, studded with crystals to sparkle and shine from the strobe lighting. There were probably twenty tables around the outside of the polished dance floor. They were also painted jet black with a gold-embossed armadillo embedded in the center of each one.

  Whereas the male employees wore black suits with boots, the female employees wore short, flouncy mini dresses. They, too, were black, designed to look like tuxedos from the choker bow ties just above exposed cleavage, all the way to the long tails in the back. Their stockings were white, with tiny sequins sewn in to catch the light. Their shoes were patent leather Mary Janes.

  The only female not wearing this getup was a tall raven-haired woman in a bright red business suit. She approached me with her hand out. “Hi, I’m Mary Quinlan. You must be Lacy.”

  I shook her hand and nodded. She couldn’t have been more than thirty. I assumed automatically that she must have been Doyle’s daughter, given their height, hair and last name. Somehow that reassured me. Surely he wouldn’t attack me in the back room if his daughter was holding the fort down out front.