I smile. “No worries with us, she keeps us both in line.”
“I bet, have a nice night.” He chuckles.
Memphis is soaking up the anonymity of being fifteen miles away from home. He has his arm locked around Waylynn’s waist as he guides her closer to the stage, where Bates promised he’d save us a table.
The music coming from the speakers is low enough that patrons can feel it through the floorboards, but not loud enough that they have to yell to be heard, which is how I hear a woman say, “He must be her brother. Guys like him only fuck girls that look like her, they don’t take them out in public.”
My jaw ticks, and I want so badly to say something just as nasty back to her, but Waylynn would inevitably ask what happened when the girl threw a drink in my face, and I’m not repeating her words. We can just show her how wrong she is.
“Hey, baby.” I scoot into the booth beside Waylynn.
She’s all smiles as she looks around. “These are really good seats.”
“The place is tiny. All the seats are good.” Bates leans his cello case against the back of the booth.
Waylynn probably picks up on Bates’s self-deprecating tone, but it doesn’t stop her from saying, “You must be really good, or people wouldn’t be here to hear you play.”
“They are here for the cheap booze.”
“We’re not. We’re here to see you,” she tells him in earnest. I want to smack a kiss on her face, so I do.
Bates is watching her with his head tilted to the side and a soft look in his eyes that he shakes away when Memphis speaks up. “They’ll all love you as soon as you start playing. They always do.”
“Excuse me.” The same woman I overheard talking shit approaches the table with her friends, her eyes locked on Bates.
“Yeah?” Bates responds.
“We just wanted to tell you we watched your show last week and loved it. You’re amazing,” she gushes, all googly eyed.
“Oh wow, thanks.” Bates smiles at them with real gratitude.
“We were wondering if you could sign this?” She’s acting all nice now as she hands over a pink paper pamphlet the bar printed out with Bates’ name on it and the time of the show, but I know what she’s really like.
“Ah, sure.” He looks around. “Do you have a pen, darlin’?” He leans over the table to ask Waylynn, who is smiling wide at the other woman.
“Sure.” Waylynn reaches for her purse, and the girls’ eyes go to the bag, probably knowing a hell of a lot more about the designer label than I do, and then they share a look with each other. If I had the money, I would fork it over right now just so I could tell them I bought it for her. “Here you go, you can keep it.” She extends her arm to give Bates the pen and smashes her tits on the table in the process. We all notice, but she’s clueless.
“Thanks,” Bates says slowly like he forgot why he has the pen in the first place. I would laugh, but I’ve probably done the same thing before.
“I’m Emma, and this is Harper.” The talkative one pushes the papers toward Bates.
“Right.” He bends and writes one name on each flyer, then signs his name under that. “Thanks.” He passes both papers back, still smiling.
“How exciting,” Waylynn says under her breath, looking at both me and Memphis.
“It is for us,” the girl says in a nasty tone.
“That’s awesome. Now he knows his work is appreciated.” She beams.
“I can’t tell if she’s patronizing me or really happy that she knows you.” The woman makes a face like she’s confused and trying to be funny at the same time.
Waylynn’s sweet expression slips, and she looks down at the table.
“Because it was neither. You can go.” It’s the nicest thing I can force myself to say.
“Oh, I was just teasing.” She tries to act as if I’m the one being an asshole, but I’m not letting her get away with that shit.
“Not likely.”
