Page 2 of My UnTrue Love
Muses were a little bit… trashy.
Not thatClemwas trashy. Not really. She didn’t pay much attention to men, outside of work. Johnny adored that about her. She wasn’t like so many of those cheap sluts who hung around music stars, trading their bodies for a brush with fame. Nope. Clem was the sweetest little rosebud a fella ever knew. It wasn’t her fault her breasts were too voluptuous, and her wild blonde curls always seem tousled from bed. Johnny would be the first one to say she was Good and innocent.
But shelookedtrashy. That was all he meant. In an old movie, Clem would be cast as the dim-bulb tramp, who the hero leaves behind when he finally meets his elegant leading lady.
Johnny needed a leading lady.
Clementine’s affinity for artsy, gingham-patterned skirts wasn’t going to land The Yellow Roses on any up-market magazine covers. Not like Rosalee’s fashionable beauty would. Even Pecos Bill had been interested in Rosalee when she was first hired. But, obviously, she’d preferred Johnny. No surprise.
Itwaskind of a surprise that Clementine was still sitting there silently, though.
Instead of nodding in understanding, which would make this easier on everyone, she had a glazed-over expression on her face. She looked like she was about to cry. He hoped she didn’t. It would be awkward.
Quiet descended over the studio, as she simply didn’t leave. Johnny checked the clock on the wall, wondering howlong this would take. Rosalee was due in about fifteen minutes and they had a lot of new material to cover.
“But… this is my band, too.” Clementine finally told him, her voice sounding odd.
“My name is on all the contracts.” Clem really shouldn’t be in this business at all, if she didn’t understand how the music industry worked. Johnny had been generous to carry her for so long. “IamThe Yellow Roses. Everyone else is replaceable.”
Johnny hadn’t even bothered to clear Clementine’s departure with the rest of the band members, because why should he?Hisdecision was all that mattered.
Susannah Alabama had her bass banjo resting on her knee. She exchanged a cautious look with Bowleg Bob, who played the catfish drums. He lifted his skinny shoulder in a “what can we do?” sort of shrug. Those two members of The Yellow Roses had been around Red River Valley a long time. They knew the score.
Johnny half-expected the asshole guitarist to protest. The coyote-shifter favored Clementine to an annoying degree. Instead, Pecos Bill stayed still, watching Johnny and the other band members with hard blue eyes.
“Clem, I’m sorry.” Johnny tried. “But I gotta do what’s best for The Yellow Roses. That means you have to go.”
After an uncomfortably long time, Clementine nodded. “Alright.” She said in a distant tone.
Johnny was glad she didn’t create a big scene. She wasn’t very assertive, which was always a nice quality in a girl. Clem was cooperative, sweet, and optimistic. A real team player. She’d bounce back.
Clementine got to her feet and picked up her patchwork purse. She really should buy a better handbag. That one reminded Johnny of an arts-and-crafts project.
Across the studio, Pecos Bill moved, too. It was like Clementine’s decision to leave was what he’d been waiting for. For no reason at all, he started packing up his guitar. Loudly.
Clementine jolted and tore her gaze from Johnny to look Bill’s way. She turned towards Bill too much. That was another issue.Johnnywas the star, but Clem spent more and more of her time listening to the damn coyote play.
“Bill?” Johnny called in annoyance. “We need to get started. No time for a break.”
Bill still didn’t say anything. He rarely said anything. Most days, he just meandered in, his cowboy hat pulled low over his strange eyes and an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He’d walk over to his corner of the room, tuning his guitar just so, while Clementine and Johnny worked out the details of whatever song they were recording.
Usually, they didn’t have to bring Bill up to speed on the decisions they’d made. He’d somehow guess what they’d agreed to, like he knew the only possible way the song could sound. Johnny couldn’t understand how the man did that, but it was annoyingly presumptuous.
Bill wasn’t atruecreative. He simply played what he was told to play. Still, his technical skills were undeniable, so Johnny tolerated Bill. For now. They could always replace him on the third album.
Johnny squinted, as Bill ignored his instructions to stay still and casually shrugged on his denim jacket. “Where are you going?”
Bill picked up his guitar case. “If Clem’s not here, I’m sure not stayin’.”
Clementine’s lips parted in amazement.
Johnny was even more shocked. “You can’t justleave.”
Bill snorted as if that was a stupid thing to say and headed for the door.
“You can’t go.” Johnny said again. “It’ll take days to replace you and Rosalee’s drawn up a tight schedule.”
“ReplaceBill?” Clementine repeated, like the very idea was insane. She shook off her astonishment over being fired. (Not that Johnny had really fired her. They were just taking some time apart to grow. He still valued hersomuch.) “Johnny, you cannot replace Bill. It’s literally impossible. He’s the best musician in all of Red River Valley.”
