So we jammed for an hour. I got out the lap steel and we played old country, Hank Williams, Jimmie Dickens, other guys they had no idea I knew about.
We even did an old Bob Wills song, that Freddie sounded damn good on. Ideas were popping.
Of course, it was too good an opportunity for Freddie to pass up, so with permission, he posted pictures, apologizing for lack of sound, but thanking his good buddies Two Thirds Irish for hosting again.
Sammi was furious with me when she found out.
“Two of the biggest names in country music, and it didn’t occur for you to call me. I bet you called that red headed slut quick enough, or was she already there?”
This was about two days after I found out she was cheating, so I wasn’t too concerned with her feelings.
“I’m about sick of this shit of ranting about Moira. We have a professional relationship on top of being really good friends. Do I accuse you of improper behavior when you study with Gary? They say people with a guilty conscience make accusations. Anything you need to tell me, Sammi dearest?”
I couldn’t quite keep the anger out of my voice.
She backed off instantly, looking nervous.
“I’m sorry honey. She’s just so pretty and you’re with her more than me. I trust you, really. And you know you can trust me, right?”
I wanted to take that lovely, double jointed body, tie it into a knot, and bounce it off the wall a few times. It took everything I had to regain control.
“Yes honey, I know quite well how trustworthy you are. But I’m sick of you bitching about Moira, so give it a rest. You understand?”
“Calm down, babe, please. I’ll never mention her again. I’m sorry I’m so bitchy, being without a car and trying to finish our wedding details is stressing me out.”
I accepted her apology, but didn’t make much effort to cuddle or talk afterward. She got the message and left me alone.
…………………….
I had heard an r & b version of ‘Walking After Midnight’, the great Patsy Cline tune, when I was much younger. It stuck with me.
It would pop in my head from time to time, and I would fool with it. Part of my garage was converted into a recording studio with an almost obsolete 32 track system. I had a friend who was an electrical engineer and singer/rapper who tweaked the system as I had the money, so we could get a pretty good product out. We actually did demos for people, mostly CDs for fellow bar bands to use for attracting business. Mel, the engineer, would also video tape performances to accompany the CD.
We overlay the basic soundtrack with horns, faked on my keyboards, and a screaming slide guitar lead. Backing vocals that had an almost doo wop feel. It sounded like western swing on jet fuel, but it worked. I just needed a vocalist who could do it justice, and it wasn’t me. Moira would have been a good choice, in fact we did a version in some of our sets, but the way it was set up called for a man’s voice.
I sent it off to Freddie, who played it for his producers, and they all agreed it would be great for him. A country classic with a new, modern feel. It would be the lead off single off his next project.
He was bubbling when he called.
“Man, that was great! Can I get your band to back me in the studio?”
Duh, duh, duh. The chance to work on an album with a singer destined to do great things? Gee, we would have to think about it for awhile. And of course, we would get credit, and get paid.
He called about every other day. What did I think of this song? Would that sound good with horns?
His biggest concern was originals. He used some of the most talented songwriters in country music, but was having trouble getting a ‘signature song’, something fans would automatically identify him with. What he had done so far was good, but almost generic. You could almost interchange any new singer with the material and nobody would notice. It was very frustrating.
“Damn Wiley, you know almost ever musician in three states. Isn’t anybody out there writing?
I’ll listen to anything, you just never know.”
Well, since you asked. I sent him one of mine.
……………………
I made phone calls, set up rehearsals, checked on advertising. Tried to get three days worth of work done in two hours.
I took a break. There were some things packed in a corner I wanted to move to another unit for more work space. Nothing valuable to anyone but me.
My grandmothers’ rocking chair. My Dads’ old stereo and albums. Two or three boxes of children’s books she used to read to Chip. And probably me when I was young. They were dogeared, worn with use and love. I planned on reading those same books to my children, even though the odds of that happening was growing less and less.
Moira came in while I was sorting and offered to help. I could tell something was wrong, but we had learned to give each other room, so I didn’t say anything.
She was moving a box of books when the bottom came apart. She retaped the box and started stacking. She picked up a book and just stopped, frozen.
I Love You This Much, by Sue Buchanan, one of the best children’s books ever written, was in her hands. It was Chips’ favorite book, read almost every night, especially if Gram was around. She had read it to me at his age.
She leafed through it, not really reading. There was something in her manner that spoke of pain. I picked up my old mandolin and started strumming.
I had made up a little song based on the book I used to sing to Chip some days when no one wanted to read it to him.
“I love you this much/my heart swells at your touch/I can never get enough/’cause I love you this much.” I sang softly.
There were four more verses, but before I could sing them, Moira let out a small sigh and collapsed slowly towards the floor.
I dropped my mandolin and grabbed her just before she fell, lowering myself into the rocking chair.
Her arms circled my neck and she put her head against my neck and cried.