Page 4 of Hallow’s Eve
Grady said he was on it. “You want to come back and file a police report?”
“No.” All I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed.
Chapter 2
EVE
“Eve,” the old hag hollered from my doorway. Gran banged on the wooden frame. “Eve Angel. Whore. It’s well past one.”
Waking up in the middle of the afternoon might as well have been illegal around here. What did she expect when I worked until three a.m.? I rose like the dead, took my time with it. Throwing on my robe and slippers, I cleaned myself up before I left my room. Heaven forbid Gran saw me with my hair a mess and crust in my eyes. I heard my Gran groan from her seat when I finally reached the kitchen. I’d gone straight to the counter. People treated you like a low life if you weren’t up with the chickens, even if you worked nights in Nashville, Tennessee apparently.
“I wish you could find a normal job. Whore,” my Gran complained as I made her lunch, a simple sandwich. I’d left her breakfast in the fridge. I wasn’t sure how she managed to heat it up herself if she couldn’t put ham and cheese between two slices of bread. See, she could. Frannie Newberry was a capable woman at seventy, but I had to earn my keep around here and that meant doting on my dad’s cruel mouthed mother. Now, that was cruel of me. My Gran was not very nice, a real bitch at times, but bless her heart, she had a real medical condition.
“You know the bars ain’t open this early, Fran.” Heaven forbid I call her a Gran. She insisted on Fran. Not to mention some honky-tonks were open already and folks were already singing down on Broadway, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Nights were where I made my money. And I had to make money since I planned to move out of here real soon.
“I meant a normal job. One closer. Whore.”
Ignoring the latter, the whore part, I replied, “There ain't nobody wanting to go and listen to anyone a pickin’ first thing in the morning.” Tourists maybe but not anyone who counts.
“You could work mornings like normal folk, good folk and then go play your music in the afternoon. Whore. They’re hiring up at the Walmart. Whore.”
I leaned against the counter. “The music scene ain’t just playing, it’s about listenin’. And being present. About rubbing elbows. For that, I need to be out at night.”
“You’re your mama up one side and down the other. She was always a dreamin’. Little good it did her. Whore. And how would you know? You’ve only been here a couple years. I’ve lived here my whole life. Whore. And I’m not no damned star yet. Whore.”
“You’ve lived here in Cottontown, Gran… Fran. You ain’t stepped foot in the city in a coon’s age.”
“Cottontown is close enough.”
I opened my mouth.
“I’d watch what I say if I were you. Your daddy’s askin’ after you. Whore. He wants you to come on home. Be done with this foolishness. Go to college like your brother, Hob.”
Tapping my foot, I held my tongue.
“You’re going to miss me when I’m dead and gone,” Gran howled like she always did.
Despite my Gran harping on me, running away to Cottontown had been the best thing to happen to me. After all, I was a skip and a jump from Nashville now. When I didn’t argue, Gran sniggered, took her plate, mumbled some more obscenities that she couldn’t help, and shuffled back to her room to watch her reality television. To be preached to by a woman who sat in her pajamas and watched “Kardashians” all day when all I wanted to do was sing a song or two at work, maybe be discovered… I screamed internally. But if I shut my mouth, Gran laid off me. That’s something that rarely happened back home with dad. A drunk, there was no way he’d let go of an argument until he passed out. He wanted me in college. I’d hated school with a passion. As soon as I turned eighteen, I begged to come live with my Gran. Dad wouldn’t have it. After I graduated high school, there was no stopping me from leaving Arkansas to pursue my dream of becoming a Country Music Star.
Dreams… we all woke up from them eventually.
When Gran left the room, Killer clomped in. Our old black Great Dane was no killer, not of live things anyway. He loved to chew up shoes and anything that didn’t put up a fight, but Gran kept the name he came with. I let him out to do his business. He was so feeble that he’d be right back in to sleep the day away. Once I poured some coffee that was brewed this morning, popped it into the microwave and grabbed a banana, I glanced at the calendar. Halloween had snuck up on me. Fall always came out of nowhere. Summertime shined so bright that I’d forget there was much else. I was always happiest when I could throw on my bikini and hit the pool. Those times were few and far between now that I was an adult. All of a sudden, before I really got the chance to enjoy the warm weather, boom, the leaves were dead and falling off the trees. Boot and jacket weather was upon us. That made me smile for a moment. Something else that made me smile, all the little children would be coming to the door tonight when Gran liked to turn off her lights. She’d get so pissed off and cuss them all out. Some of it she would even mean. I hope she didn’t pull her gun again. Too bad I’d miss it. I had to work.
Every year at Bootsies, they had a big costume party. I assumed the costume party was annual. I'd only worked at Bootsies for a year and a half. Everybody had to dress up, even the patrons, even my boss Grady. Especially a barmaid like me. Yeah, I was a waitress. Server if you were being polite about it. But every once in a while, I gotta get up on stage, pick my guitar and sing one of my songs. But more often than not, I gotta get up on stage and sing somebody else's song. Grady loved the covers. And the only reason I sang at all was because Grady liked me. And when I say he liked me, he liked, liked me. But he was a fifty-year-old man, and I was 20 years old.
Last year I went as Eve because of my name, Eve Angel Newberry. The punny costume had been my bestie Donette’s bright idea. Since I’d not thought of anything else it looked like I’d be going as Eve again. It was better than the other idea Donette had, an angel, since out of everyone who worked at Bootsies, I was the innocent one who didn’t smoke, drink or do any drugs. They suspected I wasn’t too experienced in bed, as well, and they were right, even though I would never admit it. I grabbed a bright red apple from the fruit bowl. Maybe I’d find an Adam like Donette planned to find her Beetlejuice.
Dreaming again…
I’d not had as much as a date since I arrived in Nashville. No suitors in almost two years. My dry spell started as me trying to take my music seriously for once but turned into a curse. Already, I only had a couple boyfriends to speak of. Back home, it’d been my tragic loss of my mother and overbearing and suspected father that kept guys away from me. Here, I’d done it to myself. Just like I’d gotten stage fright, I had date fright.
Sipping my coffee, I strolled to the screen door. Out of it there were trees as far as the eye could see. Cottontown called itself a rural paradise. It got the rural part right. With approximately four hundred folks living here, it was rural, complete with farmland and curvy back roads. Cottontown reminded me of my home in Arkansas without the drama from my daddy’s drinking. Inhaling the fresh air, I knew soon I’d have to don my disguise. Not only would I be dressing up for Halloween, nightly I pretended I didn’t mind being groped. Guys got drunk and I looked good. It was bound to happen. Hell, girls got drunk too and fancied me as well. Though that wasn’t how my bread was buttered. Needless to say, I’d be putting on my thick skin to head to the bar. Too bad I couldn’t put on that skin to sing.
When I moved here, I was told, Nashville drivers were like New York drivers. Yeah, if New York drivers were rednecks with a heap of dead deer in the back of their larger-than-life trucks. Dude just cut me off. Road rage overtaking me, I used my horn way too many times heading to the heart of Nashville, Broadway. And traffic must be worse here with the unending construction. Entering the city, I spotted fifty-eleven cranes in the skyline at least. Nashville was growing by leaps and bounds. Everyone complained about it, but I’d never known the city any other way. Some called it Cashville, and I liked that name because it was where I made my money. I passed the old Gibson guitar factory before I turned down Church Street and parked in the garage. I hauled my Gibson in its case, the one my mother left me, out of Gran’s El Camino and practically ran down the stairs thinking of last night.
I hoped Ford was okay.
Stepping out on the street, right away I heard Broadway, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” playing to be exact. But it being Halloween, the song had a spooky beat. Then, a big box truck zoomed by and almost hit me. Flipping him off, I thought of how I used to get here early and head the opposite direction, straight for the cupcake vending machine or to get a one-hundred-layer donut. Then I’d head to the Music City Walk of Fame. I’d eat my sweet treat and read the names in the stars on the concrete. That was back when my dreams were fresh. As it was now, I passed the Ryman Auditorium and Legends Corner and didn’t even look at the iconic mural with Country Music’s biggest stars. Yes, I was ashamed I’d not done more with the opportunity.
