8 - Starbucks, Shmarbucks

Church bells.  Cassidy heard church bells.

She fought desperately to escape the clutches of the sleep that, once again, hadn’t claimed her until nearly dawn.  It was nothing less than a Herculean effort that brought her to a level of consciousness in which she could comprehend that those church bells were designed to awaken her.  Her ears registered the sound, her mind had interpreted it, but her hand wasn’t quite capable of reaching for the phone that continued to ding dong like the witch was dead. 

“Unnhh…”  One hand slapped over the nightstand’s surface until she came up with the grating device that was determined she be awake.  A swipe of her finger brought blessed silence and she squinted one eye to look at the time.

“Hellfire and damnation!”  Cassidy scrambled out from under her quilt and rubbed frantically at her face in an effort to become coherent.  She had set her alarm for ten and it was now ten forty-five so she’d evidently been sleeping deeply enough to ignore it for the past forty-five minutes.  While it was great that she’d finally gotten some decent sleep, it was putting her in a bind now.   She had a little over an hour to get herself ready, make the half hour drive to Blackbird Studios and meet Obie at noon.

Snatching up her ‘dressy” Levi's – the ones not quite as faded – a white peasant-style blouse and her beige stiletto sandals with the thin strap around the ankle, she scampered out the back door and over the little bridge that took her to the detached bathroom and kitchenette.  After the world’s fastest shower on record, she quickly blow dried her hair and left it to hang free before dressing.  She was just reaching for her makeup bag when her phone rang. 

Snatching it from the bathroom vanity, she found that it was Libby calling. 

“Damn, damn, double damn,” Cassidy muttered before she answered the call.  “Hey, Lib!  I’m kinda in a hurry, so if you don’t need anything important-“

“Billy Jack was here again,” her sister interrupted.  “He says they found MeMaw’s car in Atlanta.”

Lord?  Seriously?  Today?

A deep, gut-felt sigh escaped as she commenced the multitasking process of applying makeup while talking to her sister.  There may come a day when she wasn’t able to smear on makeup without a phone attached to her ear.

“I knew they would,” Cassidy justified patiently.  “That’s the reason I sold it in Atlanta, bought another in the next town, sold it shortly after and bought yet another one before I left Georgia.  Then, for good measure, I traded dead even for another car after I left the state.  They won’t find me until I’m ready to be found, Libby.”

Considering how little progress she’d made so far, that might very well not be until next Christmas, but she chose not to share that speculation with her agitated little sister.  She just needed to quickly smooth the girl’s ruffled feathers so she wouldn’t be late to the studio. 

“This is really freakin’ me out, ya know.  I hate this crap, and I can’t believe you’re puttin’ me in this position.  How long is this gonna take?  Huh?”

Lord?  Please? 

“It takes as long as it takes, Libby.  If I could snap my fingers and find what I needed, this whole thing wouldn’t have blown up in the first place!”  A deep breath kept her from stabbing herself in the eye with a mascara wand. 

“I am doin’ ev’rythin’ I know to do,” she meticulously assured her sister.  “You just keep that disposable cell phone hidden away, real good, okay?  The last thing we need is for Billy Jack or – Lord forbid, Darrell – to stumble across it.  In fact, get rid of the one you’re usin’ now.  Smash it, flush it or set it on fire.  I’ll send you a new one and change my number again, just to be safe.  Okay?  Does that make ya feel better?”

“No.”  Not ideal, but at least Libby didn’t sound like she was about to tip to the wrong side of sanity anymore.  “But I’ll do what you tell me.  I’m trustin’ you.”

“And I won’t let you down, sweet girl.  I promise.  Now I gotta go.  Love ya, and I’ll talk to ya tomorrow.”

Gratitude wasn’t a strong enough word for what Cassidy felt when Libby meekly agreed and disconnected the call.  Deeply indebted to the Lord above for scootin’ her sister along was more appropriate.  There was a possibility she would end up so deeply indebted to Him that she might find herself checking into nun-hood when all this was over.

A quick check of the time found her with exactly thirty-seven minutes to make a thirty minute drive.  Cassidy seized a pair of dangly earrings, gave her hair a final shake and decided she wasn’t going to get anymore put together than this. 

Thirty-four minutes later, her rattletrap Jeep pulled into the modest parking lot outside Blackbird Studios.  She had precisely three minutes before being late, and strutted across the parking lot as fast as five-inch heels would permit, frantically seeking a door that resembled a main entrance.  The one on the far left had an awning over it, and she elected to take a chance on it.  That chance paid off when she breathlessly stepped through it seconds later to discover Obie inside, casually chatting with someone from the studio.

“Cassidy!”  Obie greeted warmly.  “You found it.  Good, good.  You excited?  Oh, this is Ben, the owner of the studio.  We’ll be in Studio H.”

Cassidy hiked her backpack purse onto her shoulder and smothered a grin.  This man was the most excitable and hyper human being she’d ever run across.  That entire monologue had been served up in a single breath, and she thought he could’ve easily gone longer without lack of oxygen.  The only person of her acquaintance who might be able to give this fellow a run for his money would be a wound-up Libby. 

“Hello Ben, it’s a pleasure to meet ya.”  She stuck a hand out to the slightly paunchy man with salt and pepper hair and a goatee to match.  He accepted it jovially and returned the sentiment, leaving her to address the other man.  “Obie, good to see you again.  I’m runnin’ a little behind schedule today, so I’m prayin’ you’re gonna tell me there’s coffee somewhere around here.  If there’s not, I’m in a world of hurt ‘cause an under-caffeinated me doesn’t have a chance of keepin’ up with any version of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure there is.  There’s a lounge back there with all the coffee you can drink.  That’s no problem.  I’ve had two myself.”

He wore a wedding ring, so there must be a Mrs. Obie who was equipped to deal with this level of hyperactivity.   Then again, Mrs. Obie might be in charge of scheduling his road trips as a way to limit her exposure to that hyperactivity.

“Well, I’d be much obliged if you’d point me toward that lounge.” 

A wave of one hand silently instructed Cassidy to follow along, and he led her left, then right down a long, snaking hallway, until they’d reached the far end.  On the left-hand side was an open door, and Obie charged right in, without hesitation.   

“Hey, asshole.  Make Cassidy some coffee while you’re at it, would ya?”

Stilettos and a short stride had her straggling a couple of paces behind him, so she didn’t know who had earned that term of endearment or been assigned as her barista.   Entering the Studio H lounge, she saw that there was a nice dinette table, a stuffed chair and sofa, end tables and two footstools that doubled as a coffee table.  There was also a counter along the far wall that housed a microwave, mini fridge and coffee pot. 

On first glance, she still had no idea who the man was, seeing as the “asshole” in question had his back to her.  It was a very nice back, draped in a snug black t-shirt, and she had nearly determined that his form was familiar when he turned to speak over his shoulder. 

“How do you take your coffee, Cassidy?” Jon inquired, affirming the suspicion that she knew him. 

Starbucks, Shmarbucks.  I'd pay twice the money to have this man serve me coffee.

Much the same as Tully’s last week, he wasn’t the loud, outgoing persona one assumed a musician to be.  He carried a quietness and solemnity about him that was at enormous odds with that stereotype, and it almost lent him an air of… grayness.  He was more the type to blend into the woodwork than to command the attention of thousands, with the only exception being the slight sparkle of his blue eyes while awaiting her coffee preference.

“Black,” she supplied along with a lazy smile.  Gray or not, he was still awfully pretty to look at.

Lord, You really didn’t have to make up for the whole Libby thing, but I’m beholden for the serendipity.  Thank Ya.

“I didn’t expect to be seein’ you here.”  She accepted the hot mug and sipped of the brew whose smell alone had her feeling brighter.  Or maybe that was the sexy barista.  No matter.  She was perking right up, either way.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”  He followed the understated apology with another sip from his own cup, even as he steadily regarded her with hooded eyes.  

“Jon’s was coming down for a coupla days,” Obie interceded, drawing her attention away from the broody man whose scrutiny made her a bit uncomfortable compared to his Chihuahua friend.  “So he decided to join us for a while today.  Maybe even lay down a duet with you, depending on how things go.  Any complaints?”

“Not a one.  It’s a pleasant surprise,” she assured the men, and then remembered something.  “Jon, did Clay get ahold of you?”

The grayness lightened a bit with his smile.  “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way.  He’s part of the reason I’m here.”

It irrationally disappointed her to discover Clay was the motivation for Jon’s presence.  When she first realized it was him at the coffee pot, Cassidy foolishly entertained the notion that he’d come – at least somewhat – because of her.  There was no justifiable reason for it, beyond one tiny electric touch when she’d mopped off his arm, but it hadn’t stopped the notion from forming. 

Disappointment notwithstanding, she rallied an easy smile. “Glad to be of help.”

“Okay.”  Obie clapped his hands together and bounced on the balls of his feet.  “Talk to me, Cass.  I have tentative agenda, but some items are negotiable if there’s anything you’re passionate about doing.”

What an interestin’ choice of words.

She shifted her gaze briefly toward Jon, whose eyes were still fixed on her, and lifted an indifferent hand.  With every ounce of resolve she possessed, Cassidy purposefully mentioned nothing that she may or may not be passionate about.  “You’re the boss.  I’m just along for the ride.”

“Well, I’m hopin’ it’s a helluva ride.  There’s a keyboard in there.”  Obie pointed to the recording booth.  “I want to see what kind of skills you have on it.  Accompany yourself to anything ya want, and we’ll do a rough take.”

She offered an agreeable nod and smile, imbibing another swallow of fortifying caffeine as she proceeded in the direction he’d indicated.   On the inside she was thinking that, if Jon was going to spend the whole time looking at her as though she was the Little Red Riding Hood to his Big Bad Wolf, this was going to be a very, very long day. 

Stimulating, perhaps, but long.