Page 18 of Betsy
She stared right back.
“Fine.” I capitulated even though I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t start in on one of our own songs. Wouldn’t she need to know the compression and EQ of those? Instead, I did as she said and sang the famous children’s ditty.
She stopped me athandle. “I need you to do the motions.”
I studied her face, looking for a hint that she was laying one over on me. A twitch of her cheek. A crinkling of her eyes.
She looked back at me as steady as could be.
“Why?”
“Because”—she spoke slowly as if to a child—“no one stands completely still behind their mic when they’re performing. I need to hear how the mic picks up when you’re moving around.”
Okay, that actually made sense. Maybe she wasn’t having a laugh at my expense. I started the song over, creating a handle by placing one hand on my waist and a spout by arching the other in a downward angle. I tipped when the song said to, to the accompaniment of strangled chuckles from the guys behind me.
“Will you sing that to the baby when she’s born?” Tricia asked around her laughter.
Betsy’s face nearly glowed when I turned to her. “Got what you needed?”
Her palms rested on the soundboard as she leaned forward and locked her gaze with mine. “I gotexactlywhat I wanted.”
7
Betsy
“Ithink that’s a wrap for today.” Asher pulled his bright-orange guitar strap over his head, then placed the instrument in its case. “Good work today, everyone.”
Tricia gave a thumbs-up as she guzzled water from a bottle. I eyed her baby bump. Either the woman was baking more than one tiny human in there or she was nearing her due date.
Reason number two-hundred-thirty-three why musicians were idiots: they thought going on tour when one of their lead vocalists was ready to pop was a good idea. Talk about selfish narcissism. Tricia probably didn’t think she had a choice. Either she went and performed like a well-trained circus monkey, or she lost her place and all she’d been working for.
Tours were no joke. Long days on the road. Hours on your feet in front of unforgiving audiences. Terribly unhealthy food from drive-throughs. Sleepless nights on hard beds in cramped spaces.
I wanted to march right up to Asher and rip his Christian mask off his too-handsome face, then flick him right between the eyeballs. He could sing about God’s love until he was blue in the face, but I didn’t believe his sincerity for a second when he put his own ambitions for fame and fortune above his supposed friend’s health and that of her unborn child.
“Mamacita’s Cantina?” Asher looked up from fastening his guitar case shut, unaware of my seething and my wish to cause him physical harm.
Tricia wiped water from her chin. “I could totally go for one of their smothered burritos right about now.”
Jimmy unplugged Marcus’s bass from the amplifier. “What’s your homework situation looking like?” he asked his son.
Marcus winced. “Biology test in the morning.”
“I’ll help you study.” Jimmy turned to Asher. “We’ll have to take a raincheck on dinner. Maybe next time.”
I’d learned earlier that Marcus attended the local public high school instead of homeschooling. They had worked it out with his teachers so that he could go on this tour with True North, although I really didn’t see how he was going to be able to juggle a full school workload with the rigors of tour life. Hopefully he didn’t get car sick, since his future held a lot of hours reading on a moving vehicle, and I didn’t really want to smell vomit while driving across the desert.
Asher gave Jimmy a two-finger salute. “Tell Doreen I said hi.”
“Will do.” He gathered his stuff, and the two walked out the side door.
Here’s my chance. I could follow in the father/son Beeman shadow and slip out before anyone noticed. Not that I was a coward. I just didn’t want to get fired for throat-punching my boss on the first day.
I’d only taken a couple of steps when Asher pinned me with a razor-sharp look. “Betsy.”
My shoulders squared as I faced him. I didn’t care what he said; he’d hired me to do a job, and my duties for the day were over. He wasn’t entitled to any more of my time. Even if Mexican food sounded delicious and my stomach chose that moment to growl. I wasn’t willing to endure the side helping of heartburn sharing a meal with someone so egocentric would bring. Because despite hownice—why did that sound like a different four-letter word in my brain?—Asher had presented himself to be so far, I knew it was an act. Forcing Tricia on a tour in her third trimester proved it.
“Oh, yes, please come.” Tricia looked at me, hopeful. “I’m always surrounded by guys. Rescue me.”
