Buddy Carruthers, Wide Receiver Page 19

  “Now you have ’em. Go on down there and pay everyone.”

  “But that only leaves me about five hundred dollars.”

  “I’m transferring more money from Buddy’s account—”

  Emmy interrupted, putting her hand on Verna’s arm. “Stop. I can’t do that.”

  “You can. You must. You can pay him back after the next concert.”

  “I doubt there’ll be another concert. After the news ran that story, everyone’ll think I’m broke.”

  “But you won’t be. Go. Perform. Make some money then decide what you want to do.” Verna’s words made sense. The slim, older woman with short, brown hair slipped her arm around Emmy’s shoulders. “Be strong. You can get through this.”

  “I don’t know, Verna. I’ve never been on my own.”

  “This is the perfect time to start. Take control. Call the shots. And keep the money.”

  Emmy managed a small smile.

  “Besides, you’re not alone. You have Buddy, me, and Paula.”

  “Right,” Emmy said. She dialed the venue and motioned Paula over. “That’s right. I’ll be down there in half an hour, with the checks. Yep. You got it.”

  “You found the money?” Paula asked.

  “No, a wealthy football player loves me. It’s a loan, but enough to get us through this show. Come on, Paula. I don’t want to face this alone.”

  Before they left, Verna took Emmy into the bedroom for a private conversation. “Time to stop ordering lunches sent up for everyone, Emmy. Being generous should be put on the shelf for a little while.”

  The rock star sensed heat in her cheeks. “Old habit.”

  “You’re very giving, but right now, you can’t afford to be. It’s okay. People don’t expect it.”

  “I guess I’ll have to start watching my pennies.”

  “And your dollars too.”

  Nerves took hold of Emmy as she rode in the cab with Paula. The unexpected awaited her, putting her on edge. They went to the box office, where the guy selling tickets called the manager. A man, introduced as Roy, showed them into an office in the back. He had assembled a few people to receive checks in advance. A couple of the crew couldn’t look her in the eye. Then, she knew they knew.

  After clearing her throat and taking a deep breath, Emmy spoke, “As you may have heard, I’ve had a bit of a…uh…setback in the past couple of days.”

  “We heard you’re stone broke, Emerald,” piped up one of the roadies.

  “That’s true…was true. But not anymore. I don’t have a ton of money, but I have enough to pay you for this benefit concert.”

  “Good, ’cause this show ain’t benefitting me,” one man joked.

  Emmy’s eyes flashed at him, anger filling her veins. “This is no joking matter. This concert must happen, because it’s gonna raise a ton of money to fight breast cancer. And that’s not funny.”

  He hung his head and blushed.

  One of the musicians stepped forward. “I had planned to ask you to donate my pay to the cause. But now, well. Just forget paying me, Emerald.”

  “Harry! I can’t do that. You’re playing. You deserve to be paid.”

  “Hell, it’s one night. I’ve been playing for you for two years. You treat me good. This time, it’s on me.”

  A lump formed in her throat. Tears stung at the backs of her eyes as she struggled for control. Her lower lip quivered as she clasped Paula’s hand tight.

  “Me too, Miss Emerald,” said Clyde, the bass guitar player. “We’ve been workin’ together for three years. You’ve got hard times. Won’t kill me to play one night for free.”

  “Me too,” said Jimmy, the drummer.

  While the road crew wanted their money, none of the members of the band did. When she stopped crying, Emmy thanked and hugged them.

  During a break, Emmy called Buddy. She told him about the musicians.

  “Wouldn’t Stash be pissed if he knew?” Buddy chuckled.

  “That these guys like me?”

  “Yeah. That they’re on your side and won’t let his dirty deed stop you cold.”

  “You’re right. I do have friends.” She smiled. “Thanks. I feel better.”

  “Hang in there. Mom says you’re a trouper.”

  “She’s awesome. No wonder you turned out so great.”

  “Damn. Now, you’re embarrassing me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Okay. How about this? I’m surprised you didn’t turn out better?”

  He laughed. “That’s better. That’s my Emmy.”

  “Gotta go, babe.”

  “Love you. Kill it, honey.”

  Paula handed out the checks while Emmy wrote down everything she needed to do before the concert. On the way back to the hotel, her head hurt, trying to keep track of all the tasks required.

  “Stash did all this?”

  “Yep. He had it down to a system.”

  “Do you know what that was?” Emmy turned eagerly to her assistant.

  “Not really. But we can make up our own.”

  Once in her room, her stomach told her it was dinner time. Verna offered to pay for the meal, so they called room service.

  Emmy handed her the notebook housing her enormous to-do list. “This is huge. I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Let me see.” Verna read over the entries. “Piece of cake. We’ll make a timeline.”

  “Timeline?”

  “It’s like a list of everything that needs to be done by day and hour.”

  “Great idea!”

  Verna pulled out paper and began writing. Emmy explained what everything was, and Verna gave each item its own time period. Relief slowly crept through the singer’s body as she listened to the ultra-organized Verna make sense out of the mess of things that had to be done prior to the show.

  Emmy pulled out her guitar and practiced at the hotel before taking it to the venue. They set up early there, so she could get a feel for the place. Paula and Verna handled technical problems, with plenty of help from Ray. The back-up musicians generously devoted more time for rehearsal, so Emmy could be comfortable and secure.

  Yet, her newly-won confidence slipped little by little each day as the concert drew nearer.

  * * * *

  Story after story hit the newspapers. Emmy swore Stash was calling it in just to embarrass her. But the F.B.I couldn’t find him. Stash Mullins had vanished into thin air, along with Lani. Will people stay away because of the stories? How much will I raise for the cause? If this concert flops, I’m finished. No one will come to see me again or buy my records. I didn’t do anything. Why did you do this to me, Stash?

  The day of the concert, Emmy woke up stuffy. Some hot tea with lemon and voice exercises cleared her throat. She paced in the hotel.

  “Why don’t we go early? Head off any problems?” Paula suggested.

  “Right. Can’t stay here. Tell me, Paula, do you have any idea why Stash would do this to me?” She perched on a chair, folding a leg underneath her.

  “You’ve asked me before. I have no answer except for the money. That’s a helluva lot of money.”

  “He was already rich.”

  “Not like that.”

  “He didn’t say anything to you?”

  Paula shook her head.

  “Maybe about my loving Buddy?”

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I think it was just the money.”

  “Let’s go. Sitting around here is making me crazy. Verna! Are you ready?”

  Buddy’s mom appeared, carrying her coat. “Yep. Let’s go.”

  The three women toted two suitcases with makeup, wardrobe, and odds and ends. Once they were loaded into a taxi, Emmy let out a breath. Good or bad, I’m on the way. Hope to hell I can pull this off.

  Without Lani, Emmy had to do most of her makeup and hair. Paula took the lead with the timeline list, and Verna helped out when needed. Emmy’s anxiety grew with every task. She had conquered stage-fright, or thought she had, a long tim
e ago. But the butterflies in her stomach told her differently. She paced on the stage, practiced alone, with the musicians, and then alone again.

  Paula laid out her clothes and shoes, but couldn’t get the hair right. Emmy lost her temper, screaming and shouting, which she never did. She reduced Paula to tears. Even Verna threw her hands up and walked out.

  Fear gripped Emmy’s guts and wouldn’t let go. What was I thinking? I can’t do this alone. I’m not smart enough. I’m just a stupid singer. I’m too dumb to understand business. What if something goes wrong? I won’t know what to do. Words hurled at her by Stash, again and again, came back to haunt her. At first, she had argued with him, but eventually, the labels had stuck. Her hands shook, and her mouth went dry.

  As people drifted into the concert hall, Emmy’s courage went south. “Cancel. Tell them I’m sick. Strep. Laryngitis. Make something up. Please! I can’t go on,” she begged Paula.

  The young assistant stood with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips drawn into a firm frown. Verna stood behind her, hands on hips. “If you weasel out, you’ll have to tell them yourself. I’m not gonna do this. Who are you? Where’s the Emerald I know?”

  “She left with Stash. I need him.”

  “You don’t. I’ll be backstage, in case you need me. Verna will be in the first row, cheering you on.”

  “I can’t! I can’t! Please, Paula.” Emmy tugged on her friend. She lost the battle of control, and tears poured down her face.

  “Stop crying! That’s the worst thing, if you want to sing.”

  “Please, Paula, please,” Emmy begged.

  Paula eased the singer away from her. “If you’re gonna self-destruct, count me out!”

  The young woman strode out of the room, pulling Verna along with her. Emmy found tissues and cleaned up her face. She took a shuddering breath.

  Then, a deep voice interrupted her thoughts. “You may be a lot of things, but you’re no coward.”

  She whipped her head around and there stood Buddy. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes grew wide.

  “No game till tomorrow. Mom called a couple of hours ago. Said you were unraveling. So, here I am. What the hell is this all about?” He lowered himself onto a nearby chair.

  She slipped into his lap. “I can’t go on, Buddy. Please. Tell them I’m sick. Tell them anything. I can’t do it.” She buried her face in his shoulder. The smell of his clean, flannel shirt mixed with his sexy scent soothed her.

  He stroked her back. “I can’t do that, honey.” He spoke softly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I believe in you. I know you can do it. And there’s a huge auditorium full of people who agree with me. They’re out there waiting for you. This is a benefit, baby. You’ve got to be there. Hell, some of your boys are doing this gig for free. You can’t back out now.”

  “I won’t be any good. I know I won’t.”

  “Of course you will.”

  She curled up in his lap and shook her head.

  “Emmy, sweetheart, you’ve been performing for years.”

  “Not without Stash.”

  “Yes, without Stash. Your first time was onstage at Kensington. Remember?”

  She sat up and looked him straight in the eye. “Yeah, and I was scared to death, and my voice shook, and I was terrible.”

  “You brought down the house. They loved you. Your fans are here. They’ll love you no matter what.”

  “That’s what you think. They’re fickle. They’ll leave in a heartbeat. That’s what Stash said, and he was right.”

  “I’d like to punch that guy in the face. What did he do to you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “He said I was too dumb to run my own road tour. And he was right.”

  “Mom said you’re doing an amazing job. You’re not dumb, honey. Far from it. And so talented, with the sweetest voice.”

  She took a deep breath. “You think I’m smart?”

  “I know you’re smart. Hell, who coached me in math?”

  “I did.” A small smile broke out on her face.

  “That’s right. And I got an ‘A’ on the final because of you.”

  “You’re smart. You could do it.”

  “With your help. Stash was a controlling bastard. He told you those things so he could run the show, so he could steal from you, and you’d never know it.”

  “True.”

  “Yes, he did. Mom said he’d been stealing from you for the last two years. He wanted to keep you away from the business side of things. He didn’t want you poking around, finding out. So, he made you feel dumb. And you believed him. How could you?”

  “I did. I did.” She shook her head and gazed at the floor. “That effing bastard. He did just what you’re saying. And I was an idiot and fell for it.”

  Buddy tipped her chin up with a finger. “Honey, Emmy, sweetheart. He’s gone. You can do anything you want to. Hell, you’ve been out, performing in front of audiences, grabbing ’em, holding ’em for years. They love you. Not Stash. You, Emmy. You, Emerald, queen of rock.”

  “Right again.” She managed another small smile.

  “Yep. There’s a huge crowd out there, waiting to show you some love.” He eased her off his lap and slapped her behind gently. “Now, wiggle that cute butt into your costume and get out there. People want to hear you sing, baby.”

  He motioned, and Paula returned. She unzipped the dress.

  Emmy ripped her T-shirt over her head and dropped her jeans then turned to Buddy. “Hey, there’s a lady dressing in here.”

  “Oops. Sorry.” Buddy slipped away.

  Energy flowed through her as she fastened the strap of her heels. Paula combed her hair, applied a little more blush, and gave the thumbs up. Peering at herself in the mirror, she grinned. I’m Emerald. Rock star. Singer extraordinaire. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.

  “Ready, Emerald?” Paula asked, her brows knit, a film of worry over her eyes.

  “Damn right, I am. Fuck Stash. We have a concert to do. Fans are waiting. Let’s go.” She pushed to her feet and accepted a brief hug from Paula before going out onto the dark stage.

  Emmy struck a pose, and the spotlight went on the same time as the guitars twanged. She burst into her signature song, and the crowd went wild. The applause jump-started adrenaline through her veins. Fired up, her cheeks warm, and her voice ready, Emmy strutted and pranced across the stage, belting out song after song.

  Finally, she raised her hand for silence and spoke into the mic, “Tonight, we’re here to raise money to fight the evil that attacks women’s beautiful breasts. Breast cancer, we will defeat you!”

  The cheer from the audience was deafening.

  When they quieted down, she said, “Thank you so much for coming. You’ll never know how much this means to me.” The slight sting of tears behind her eyes made her smile.

  The fans started to chant, “Em-er-ald, Em-er-ald, Em-er-ald.”

  They had read the papers and, obviously, they didn’t care. She spied Buddy standing on the side, leaning against the wall. He blew her a kiss. She waved at him then he was gone. God, I love you, Buddy.

  * * * *

  The private plane waited for Buddy before heading to Columbus, Ohio. He boarded and couldn’t stop smiling as he thought about Emmy and how far she’d come. Pride in his girl warmed his body. Time to switch gears and get his mind around tomorrow’s contest, the final playoff game.

  The Kings were facing the Columbus Bobcats, on Ohio turf, putting the Connecticut team at a disadvantage. Horse Jackson, the man who had taken Buddy out earlier in the season, would be playing. The desire for revenge welled up in him, leaving an acrid, smoky taste in his mouth. He hated Jackson and itched for payback. The flight gave him time to think.

  Coach Bass, wide awake and stretched out in a chair in the hotel lobby, corralled his wide receiver. “Carruthers!”

  “Shit,” the footballer mutte
red under his breath when he tried to tiptoe past.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know all about it. This time, it’s okay. But it’s the last time.” Coach wagged his finger in Buddy’s face.

  “Thanks, Coach. Won’t happen again.”

  “I’m thinking of resting you tomorrow, anyway.”

  “Resting me?” Buddy cocked an eyebrow. “What for? I’m fine.”

  “That asshole Horse Jackson is playing. I don’t want him to get another shot at you.”

  “Aw, come on. Don’t wimp out. I’m not afraid of him.”

  “Damn it, Buddy, you should be! He’s got it in for you. This time, it might be permanent. We need you healthy for the Super Bowl.”

  “I can handle him.”

  “Like you did last time?”

  “He caught me off guard. Please, Coach?”

  “We’ll see. Go to bed. Sleep well and let’s see how the game goes.”

  “I’ve picked up my running time. I can beat that dickwad any day.”

  Coach Bass patted Buddy on the back. “We’ll see. Bed, Buddy.”

  “Thanks for waiting up.”

  “It’s what I do.” Coach smiled and headed for the elevator.

  In his room, Buddy slid naked between the sheets. He stretched his arm across the bed and fanned out his fingers. The cool feel of the cotton and the empty space reminded him he was alone. He peered out at the moon, wracking his brain for a way to get back at Horse. Just before he fell asleep, the answer came to him. Beating the Bobcats and going to the Super Bowl would be the best revenge. He smiled and drifted off.

  At breakfast, Buddy slipped into the vacant seat next to Griff in the hotel’s private dining room. He and his teammates stoked up with plenty of protein from eggs, bacon, and sausage. Tension crackled in the air, like tiny bolts of lightning. This game mattered. It was the last hurdle to playing in the Super Bowl, the brass ring competition of football.

  Buddy wanted it with every inch of his body. They had played there twice before, but lost both times. All he saw was victory, with no room to come in second. He’d do whatever he needed to win.

  Since the game wasn’t until three o’clock, they had time to work out some new strategies. The team met with the Coach in the locker room.