Page 8 of Just Business

“Thanks,” I mutter tersely, and without another word I turn on my heels, pushing through the door into the night. I scroll to Tyler’s contact, nostrils flaring, and he answers on the first ring.

“Ty, the motel is overbooked. There’s no room available.”

“Dammit,” he says under his breath. “Okay, give me a bit. Maybe I can find something. Call ya back soon.”

The line goes dead, and I sit, contemplating what to do next. It’s been right under twenty-four hours since my last drink and this frustrating evening isn’t helping matters. The craving for a buzz is hitting hard and without thinking I open maps on my phone to find the nearest bar. Old Town Tavern is the first listing, and it’s only a few minutes away. With a sigh of relief, I crank the engine and follow the directions on my phone.

The bar is directly on Main Street, sitting at the end of a strip of businesses that have all closed for the night. If the lack of cars is any indication, it’s probably empty inside, but I still lower my ball cap to conceal my face as best I can while heading to the door.

I’m so consumed by my frustration that I have tunnel vision to anything around me, and the siren song of bourbon is calling. With the lighting low and the cloud of smoke thick, hopefully no one will recognize me. Making a beeline for the bar, I slide onto the empty stool near the corner, positioning myself so the people sitting nearby can only see the edge of my profile.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks, trying to crane her neck to get a better look at my face. Turning slightly in my seat, I face her more fully as she sizes me up, likely trying to figure out if she knows me from somewhere.

My eyes scan the bourbon selection behind her until I find what I’m looking for. I point to the top-shelf bourbon. “A shot of that one on top there.”

My spirit might be willing, but my flesh is pretty damn weak tonight. Plus, I just rolled up in a swagger wagon. I deserve this. Something I’ve gotten great at lately is lying to myself. I’ve perfected it, in fact. And telling myself that I deserve this drink after the shitty day I’ve had is just one more lie stacked on top of the others.

When she hands it over, I toss it back in one fluid motion, relishing the burn as it slides down my throat. “Another, neat.”

She raises a questioning eyebrow, watching me as I take a small, deliberate sip and set my glass down. Chuckling, she shakes her head and moves on to take another drink order.

“What’s going on that I can’t find anywhere to stay? It’s like everyone decided to visit this tiny town at the same time,” I ask, only half-joking.

She’s mixing a fruity cocktail, but she pauses mid-shake to answer my question. “Oh, it’s those fishermen. Dunno which way you came in from, but that river of ours has some of the best fishing in the south.” She points her index finger in a vague direction. “It lasts several days. I’d be surprised if there’s anything available for a while.” I have to listen carefully to catch everything through her southern accent. Texans have accents, too, but there’s something about Alabama that creates a unique twang.

The reality of my living situation hits me, and I let out a groan. She chuckles, raising her shoulders like she’s saying,them’s the breaks.

I’m so done with this day. Maybe the universe saw this coming, and the powers that be sent the van to show me what van life is all about, cause it looks like that will be my bed tonight.

Slipping my phone from my pocket, I fire off a text to Ty.

Pretty sure you won’t find anything.

Ty

Yeah, I was about to call and tell you that.

I’m willing to sleep in the van tonight, but I’m done if we can’t find something by tomorrow.

I passed a truck stop on the way in. I’ll see if they sell travel pillows or something, just for tonight.

Ty

Understood. Don’t blame you a bit. I’ll keep working on it.

Cheers and laughter erupt from different groups in the bar, momentarily distracting me from my thoughts. I put my phone down, glancing around to see what’s happening. Over in the front corner, a small stage is set up with a microphone and screen for karaoke. A group of college-aged girls steps up and performs a slightly past tipsy rendition of "Goodbye Earl."

I’m surprised when a small laugh rumbles deep in my chest, one corner of my lip pulling up slightly.

After them, a few others take their turn. When an older gentleman with a gray combover shuffles onto the stage I expect him to sing some classic country, but nope—that’s not at all what happens. We all sit through an awkward-as-hell but surprisingly soulful and in-tune rendition of “I’ll Make Love to You” by Boyz II Men. The bar falls silent and all I hear is the rattle of ice in glasses.

From my periphery, the bartender shakes her head, her lips rolling in to hold back a laugh. Okay then, I’m not the only one feeling secondhand embarrassment. Seems like nobody here knows how to react.

When the whiskey kicks in, a slight buzz loosens me up. I think to myself,fuck it. Apparently, I’m only scared of being recognized when I’m stone cold sober. I ask the DJ if he minds I do a live performance, and he shrugs like he’s used to this question, giving me a double thumbs up.

Grabbing my guitar from the van, I head back inside and jump onto the stage. I strum the opening chords of “After Midnight,” and a few people at a nearby table turn, recognizing the intro. By the time I’ve gotten through the first verse a small crowd has gathered, and when I hit the chorus they’re singing along with me. This,this, is what I’ve been missing. There’s a connection with a small crowd that doesn’t happen when all I see is spotlights.

Toward the end of the song, an undercurrent of excitement buzzes through the room, and the energy shifts. The crowd in the bar has grown, and it’s evident at least half are starting to realize who I am and it won’t take long before the other half has caught on. Suddenly, it hits me how foolish I’ve been as people start nudging each other. When the first appears, I duck my head low and hop off the stage. Getting up there was a stupid idea, and I can only hope nobody was quick enough to snap a photo. If I ruin Kate’s meticulous planning on day one, I’ll never hear the end of it.

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