38 - Plumb Nuts

“Cassidy, you wanna try something with Lema?”

Staring thoughtfully out the window as she sipped her tenth cup of coffee for the day, Cassidy’s first instinct was to refuse the proposal.  It was nine o’clock, darkness coated the outside world and not a single good thing had come of this day.  The two and a half hours following David and Obie’s return had actually been worse than the first six hours of their studio day, as impossible as it seemed. 

Jon had struggled to make a decision about what he wanted to do.  When he finally did make one, he changed his mind two minutes later before finally going back to the first choice.  Basically, they’d spent the evening listening to him mutter frustrated obscenities and, when he barked at Cassidy for starting the song he asked for instead of the one he wanted, the guys decided enough was enough.  Both of his friends bluntly told him he wasn’t producing anything worth a damn, he was a pain in the ass, and that he needed to get out before they killed him. 

It was a testimony to his fatigue that Jon agreed to go with only a cursory argument, but he was still muttering obscenities when he walked out the door half an hour ago.  Based on the text she’d received shortly thereafter, which asked if she wanted to stay at the hotel or cabin while he was gone, Cassidy assumed he was now on his way back to New Jersey.

Her belongings were in the back seat of the Jeep alongside her dirty laundry, so she had chosen the cabin and returned a quick message to that effect.  It was for the best, but that decision came with another lengthy drive at the end of her day and she still had to wash her clothes. 

If she left now, it would be at least two hours before she got home.  Adding another two or three hours on top of that just to goof around in the studio sounded like torture right now.

You’re also floating on the lazy coffee river, which means you’ll be up all night worryin’ about Jon, anyway.  Might as well enjoy the distraction they’re offerin’.

“What’d you have in mind?” she inquired, rotating her torso and twisting to relieve some of tightness that had come from sitting on a hard stool in front of the mic all day.  A glass of wine would have been more therapeutic than the coffee; it was just too bad she hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“I dunno.”  He lightly smacked David, who was at the lounge’s dinette table scrolling through his phone.  “Any ideas?”

“Huh?”  Blank blue eyes flipped back and forth between her and Obie.  “I wasn’t listening.”

The burden that Obie suffered was enormous if the depth of his sigh was any indication.  “Singing.  With Cassidy.”

“Yeah, sure.”  He immediately pushed to his feet, the phone simultaneously sliding into his pocket.  “What floats your boat, Dixie girl?  I don’t know a lot of shit kicking country music, but I’m game.”

Her mouth bemusedly curved around the edge of her coffee cup.  His assumption that she was a country music girl was right up there with believing that her slow drawl was a measure of her IQ.  Human beings were a peculiar lot in the way they stereotyped others to make themselves more comfortable.

“See those shoes?” Obie directed David’s attention to the ruby heels she still wore.  “They sure as hell aren’t shit kickin’ boots.  Our girl is a rocker."

The big blonde man’s forehead furrowed in perplexity.  “But… You were singing Patsy Cline on the solo I heard.  And hymns earlier today.”

“Honey, likin’ Queen or Aerosmith doesn’t mean I’m pure heathen,” Cassidy laughed.  “My MeMaw raised me right; it just didn’t stick quite as tight as she hoped it would.  And Patsy Cline was Obie’s doin’, not mine.”

“Oh.”  A light of remembrance dawned in his eyes.  “Hey, that reminds me.  Did you ever find that friend of your grandmother’s?”

Cassidy wrinkled her nose with disgust, because Beauregard Beasley was still missing in action.  He remained well hidden from her, in any case, even after doing all the things David had suggested.   It was starting to get under her skin.

“No, not yet.”

“Why don’t you let me take a stab at it?” It was nearly an exact echo of his generous offer from the other night.  “It will give me something to do other than trot around after Obie and Jon like a damn dog.”

“Fuck you,” Obie muttered absently as he now scrolled through his own phone.  “Jon’s back at the hotel alive, by the way, and it’s not my fault you don’t have a life.”

He was at the hotel?  That surprised Cassidy, but perhaps he was just stopping by to check out and pick up his things before leaving town. 

“Thank you for pointing out that I don’t have a life, because that’s precisely my point.  Justify my oxygen intake, Dixie belle.” 

It was tempting to take David up on that offer.  Sorely tempting because Google, database searches and general internet research weren’t exactly her forte.  She could conduct basic inquiries, but Cassidy worried that she was missing something significant due to her lack of expertise. 

What kept that temptation in check was the fact that, in order to accept his assistance, she would have to provide more information on Mr. Beasley than she wanted to give.  It was just better if no one but she and Libby knew why Beauregard was a person of interest. 

“I ‘preciate the offer, honey, but I’ll just muddle along on my own,” Cassidy declined as gently as she knew how so as not to offend him.  She’d stuck her foot in her mouth enough lately.  “There’s no sense in tyin’ yourself up with it.”

His face spoke volumes about his inability to comprehend the irrational ways of stubborn women.  “I’m not giving you part of my liver; it’s just a few minutes of time.”

Cassidy’s sense of humor was sparked and she couldn’t keep from absurdly remarking, “Since I don’t have a good recipe for liver, I’m much obliged to you for keepin’ that.  I’ll be fine on my own, thank ya.”

“Jeez, Hannibal the Cannibal.  Stubborn much?”

“Very much,” she concurred without hesitation and accompanied the agreement with a feisty grin.  “It’s part of my charm.”

“Well, use your charm to pick a damn song, so we can get this show on the road.  And pick something fun, would ya?”

No charm would be necessary to accomplish that task, because she had already chosen.  Cassidy regretted not being able to do this song during the last studio visit and, now that Jon had presented her with ruby slippers and admitted he heard her voice instead of Judy Garland’s, there really was no other option to consider.

Bumping her grin a little wider, she kicked one high heel up to touch her backside.  “You’re gonna need to refer to the shoes again for my selection.  You get to save your voice, though.  I require nothing more than your stellar piano playin’.”

Obie glanced up from his phone with a snort.  “Why am I not surprised?”

His eyes shifted between the room’s two other occupants in expectation, but the answer wasn’t provided quickly enough to suit David, leaving him to complain, “Since I’m obviously the only one in the dark here, is somebody gonna fucking clue me in?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Lema, meet Nashville’s answer to Judy Garland,” Obie presented with an absent wave while swiping his phone with one thumb and walking around the corner to the soundboard.  “She wants to do ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’.”

Cassidy was finding things increasingly amusing as the caffeine buzz kicked in and she giggled at his disappearing form before fixing mischievous eyes on David.  “He’s smarter than y’all give him credit for.”

“I heard that.”

“You…”  David’s finger waggled in her face, before he hooked an arm around her neck and walked her toward the recording booth.  “You’re a damn troublemaker.  I could grow to like you.” 

“Okay, children,” Obie announced from his soundboard throne.  The phone had been put aside and he was clearly ready to work.  “Playtime is over.  Let’s get something recorded that doesn’t make me feel like I’ve flushed an entire day of my life down the crapper.”

Cassidy climbed onto the stool with a laugh and settled the headphones onto her ears.  “No pressure, though, right?”

“Let’s just say… less than there has been.”

“No shit,” David emphatically validated his friend’s statement and took his place at the keyboard.  “Gimme a sec to pull Dorothy up for a quick listen.  Any particular key, Cass?”

“C is fine.”

“You’re easy.”

“You bein’ snide again?” she sassed with a teasing wink as he once again swiped at his phone.  “Hey, can I ask y’all a question?”

“May as well,” was Obie’s sighing opinion.  “Since we’re stuck waiting on Lema to figure out his shit.”

One long middle finger flew up in the air before returning to the iPhone screen.  “How in the hell was I supposed to predict I’d ever, in my fucking life, need to know this song?  I mean, come on!”

“Cassidy, what’s the question?”

She covered a yawn with the back of one hand and blinked her eyes hard, praying the coffee wasn’t wearing off just yet.  “You think Jon is really gonna consider usin’ me for the band?”

“He’d be a stupid sonofoabitch not to,” the man outside the booth stated flatly.

“That means he probably won’t, especially considering today’s clusterfuck,” David predicted with a frown, still scrolling.  “Damn shame, too.  I’d rather look at your ass than his.”

“David!”  It felt only proper to feign indignation at his directness, but Cassidy was actually feeling quite pleased with herself.  She’d gotten more compliments on her backside in the last week than she had in years and was glad she hadn’t given up Pilates when she wanted to – or the sadistic StairMaster.  They were evidently doing the job.

HIs eyes slipped up long enough to deliver look of bored disbelief.  “Like you don’t know you have an amazing ass.”

Not knowing whether to take him seriously – about Jon’s intentions, not her backside – she turned an inquiring gaze on Obie.  “So, no?”

“He could surprise me, but I’d bank on no.”  Narrow shoulders lifted helplessly.  “Doesn’t mean we still can’t get you on the scene, just not with Jovi.”

Knowing that she couldn’t accept such an offer was irrelevant to Cassidy’s pride.  Her voice was at least as good as her backside and she wanted the offer.  She wanted him to think her good enough to give an offer to and there was still a chance, if these men would lend a hand.

“Dammit all to hell,” she drawled dividing her smile equally between them.  “Y’all convinced me I can sing and I’m gonna be eleventy-two shades of insulted if he isn’t on his knees beggin’ me to help out his little ole band.  Think we can cook somethin’ up that might convince him?”

“Well, rainbows sure as fuck aren’t going to do it,” proclaimed the sarcastic man who was still in search of the music for that song.

“Oh, but you’ll indulge me that one outta the sheer goodness of your heart.”  Cassidy batted her lashes with a proficiency that would make Scarlett O’Hara proud.  “Won’t you, honey?”

Rather than falling at her feet to do her bidding, she found herself the object of David’s narrow-eyed scrutiny.  “What’s it worth to you?”

“How abut I stand in front of you while I sing?  You can watch my ass,” she cheekily proposed.  “That work?”

“Eh.”  He shrugged in resignation.  “I’ve done worse for less.  What the hell?”

Cassidy giggled and blew him a flirtatious kiss.  “Thank ya, darlin’.  Now what about for Jon?”

Reaching for a pen, David began scribbling something down from his phone screen and she expected it was the chord progression for “Rainbow”.  Since he was busy, she turned her question to her adoptive mentor. 

“Obie?”

“Yeah, I’m thinkin’.”  One arm was propped on the soundboard while he tapped his chin with the index finger of the opposite hand.  “If you’re going to prove you're capable of singing with the band, I guess you should try a Bon Jovi song.  One that his voice won’t let him do so much anymore.”

“That’s easy,” David remarked without looking up from his notations.  “He cusses every time somebody mentions doing ‘Always’.”

She knew the song.  It qualified as a greatest hit for the band and was challenging.  Then again, most of Jon’s songs were.  He just made them look easy.

“That’s true,” Obie conceded.  “I was thinking of ‘In These Arms’ or ‘Make a Memory’, but ‘Always’ is a good choice.”

David’s curls swung along with his head.  “Scratch ‘Memory’.  Carries too many ghosts for him.  He won’t be able to focus on her, and that defeats the purpose.  ‘In These Arms’ and ‘Always’.”

“With my song that makes three,” she stated the obvious.  “Y’all plannin’ on spendin’ the night here?”

“What else do you gotta do, Dorothy?”

If she was Dorothy, he was the Scarecrow with the mop of straw-colored hair that sat on his head.  Obie would probably be a good Tinman, so all they needed now was a Cowardly Lion and Toto.

Focus, girl.

“Laundry is what else I’ve gotta do.  So unless you wanna do it for me, I think we oughta keep it short and sweet.”

Limber fingers stretched over the keyboard, experimentally testing out the chords to Cassidy’s anthem.  “Seems like I’d be the sicko who would enjoy washing your unmentionables, but I’m disturbingly mainstream in that regard.  Be happy to buy you new ones, though.”

“Oh my word.”  He was the most incorrigible, unpredictable, unrepentant, rottenest man she’d ever met – also one of the funniest.  The laughter started way down low in her belly, where the coffee sat, then bubbled up like a fountain of caffeinated humor.  “Anybody ever tell you you’re plumb nuts, honey?”

“Not in those exact words.”

“Fucking moron he hears a lot.  I can vouch for that personally,” Obie threw in.

These men from New Jersey were going to be the death of her.  If they didn’t drive her as crazy as David first, she would ultimately die from laughter at their audaciousness.  Tonight, she appreciated that  more than she could express.

“Alright, alright.”  She wiped the tears from her eyes and swallowed one more chuckle.  “How about you get me outta here in two hours or less and I wash my own unmentionables?  Think we can do that?”

“Done,” David promised.  “And I’ll teach you how ‘In These Arms’ should really be sung.”