Chapter Three

Jesse

Two years ago

Another show, another hotel, another fitful night’s sleep.

That’s what I had to look forward to, and while I could acknowledge that it was the least enjoyable part of the lifestyle, at least I was able to enjoy the other parts too.

My brothers were surprisingly supportive of this eight-week tour, pitching in to cover my responsibilities and encouraging me to focus on the tour. Even Luke, which surprised me the most. He was always pretty unimpressed by my music career, and often I got the impression he thought I was just going through a phase. But now that I’d been rocking and rolling and honky-tonking for over a decade, he seemed to be a little more content with knowing it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

Still, this might be my last good shot.

At thirty, I was pushing the edge of the window for superstardom to come. Either it was going to happen soon or it wasn’t going to happen at all. Not that I really needed superstardom, since I was happy just to be able to get paid to play music, but it seemed to be all anyone else used as a barometer of success. That included my fellow bandmates.

Only Kevin stuck with me through all the different changes since The Hitmen . Now known as The Jesse James Galloway Band , the change had come gradually but completely over the last few years, pushing the guys who wanted to be the star or wanted to work less out. Kevin, who had recruited me for The Hitmen , stuck by me, though. He said he wanted to be there when I hit it big.

It was Kevin who set us up with our manager, Flynn Moody. Flynn was an excitable city boy through and through. Born and raised in L.A., Flynn promoted himself as a legacy manager, whose family had managed multiple major acts, enough to impress us all, at least. We’d signed with him four months ago, and he’d immediately set up this tour.

Flynn was calling me as I pulled into the hotel, driving my trusty Ford truck the entire eight weeks rather than ride in the equipment bus like a couple of the guys did to save money. I liked the peace and quiet of my car after a show, where I could go over the performance in my head and if I had my phone set up, listen to it and critique myself as I drove.

“Howdy,” I said after swiping the call button right.

“Jesse, how are you, bud? Have you gotten to Tulsa yet?”

“Just pulling into the hotel,” I said. “Looks pretty swanky.”

“Oh, it is,” Flynn said. “I was just there myself last week. Absolutely top-notch place. The boys are staying on the fourth floor, but I couldn’t get six rooms together, so you got moved. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Ah, well, it’s only for the night,” I said. “I don’t have to do a bunch of stairs, do I?”

“Oh, God, no,” he laughed. “You’re going to take the private elevator. You’re on the top floor.”

“The top floor?” I asked. “Like the presidential suites and stuff?”

“Only the best for the star of the band,” Flynn said. “Get used to this kind of treatment, bud. This is how things are going to be.”

“Sure, sure,” I said. I’d heard that before. Plenty of times, from two other managers, in fact. Both of them flaked on us at various points, usually after they had sapped all the money they thought they could from us before providing anything of value.

“Just head on in and give them the name Jesse James Galloway.”

“So I tell them my name?”

“Wait, you mean to tell me your middle name is really James?” Flynn asked, sounding shocked. I rolled my eyes.

“We’ve talked about this before,” I said. “Yes, my dad named me Jesse James. It was his brother’s name, so it wasn’t really about the gunfighter…”

“Right, right, I remember now,” Flynn lied. I knew he was lying because he’d said that before as well. “Well, tell them your name then, and they will direct you up. You have a per diem of $100 so whatever you want on the late-night menu is up for grabs. I suggest their turkey sandwich, though.”

“A hundred-dollar turkey sandwich?” I asked.

“You don’t have to spend all the per diem, Jesse. It’s not like you won’t have it again tomorrow in Arlington.”

“Right, right. I think I might just get a drink and call it a night, actually. Kevin brought in some sushi before the show.”

“Great,” Flynn said, and I got the impression that absolutely none of this information was registering with any importance whatsoever. “Have a good night, Jesse, I heard you killed it in Springfield, and Arlington is going to get a hell of a show tomorrow. Good night!”

I didn’t even have a chance to respond before he hung up. I’d love to tell him what I thought of stopping in Tulsa without playing a show there, or how the venue in Springfield was packed but as rundown a place as I had ever played, and how Arlington was going to be a hot drive tomorrow and the six- thirty start time for the show seemed awfully early, but he was already gone.

At least it was just a four-hour drive. I could wake up late, go to a restaurant for lunch, then hit the road and be there in time to warm up before the show. That was something, at least. Stopping in Tulsa made sense when I thought about it that way. I just hated being in a town and not doing a show. It felt like a waste.

The drive from Springfield, Missouri had been particularly better than the drive from St. Louis to Springfield, with a lot less traffic and fewer accidents and construction sites. I was able to make it in just around two hours, which despite not being long at all, still seemed to do a number on my back. Maybe it was just turning thirty that was doing it, but a hundred and eighty miles in a car after performing my heart out was just difficult.

I parked in an open space near the lobby door and grabbed the only two bags that were going to go in with me. One had toiletries, a pair of socks, a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes, and the other had my guitar, extra strings, picks, and some sheet music. Everything else could stay in the car for all I cared. If it wasn’t electronic and would melt, it would survive.

Shouldering the guitar and carrying the other back low, I walked into the lobby to find it quiet and empty. In the distance, I could see the bar area, which also looked empty, with a bartender wiping things down as he was clearly closing for the night. I pick up my pace and get over to him as he looked up with a faint recognition in his expression.

“You’re not closed, are ya?”

“Do I know you?” he asked with a genial smile.

“Depends. Will that help me get a drink before you shut up shop?”

He laughed genially and leaned back against the bar.

“Maybe,” he said, craning his neck toward the main desk and then looking back at me, searching my face. “I know I’ve seen you before. You a regular here?”

“First time, actually,” I said. “My band is all here already. I was the straggler because I wanted to eat before I got on the road.”

“Band, that’s it! You’re that Jesse James fella, aren’t you?”

I laughed. “I am. Jesse James Galloway. Do I know you?”

“Nah,” he said. “I was just at the show you boys did in Oklahoma City last month. Surprised to see you in Tulsa.”

“Did a loop,” I said. “Started in Dallas, ending in Arlington. Just went right up the highway, up to Chicago, Detroit, then back down through St. Louis. I’m actually headed to Arlington tomorrow morning.”

“Aw, man, no show in Tulsa?”

“Despite my attempts to get it booked, no,” I said.

“Well, hell, for you, I can stay open for a few more minutes. Legally we don’t have to close ‘til one, but I shut things down early if it’s dead.”

“I see,” I said, scanning the completely empty bar. “Seems pretty dead.”

“It’s a Tuesday.” He shrugged. “Most of the businessmen were gone by eleven. No one else comes to drink after that except people who really shouldn’t be. And people like you, I guess.”

“Hah.”

“What’ll ya have?”

“Whatever you can give me. Just make it strong.”

“Whisky man?”

“Hell yeah.”

He nodded knowledgeably and reached for a bottle behind the counter. I pulled out my wallet and grabbed a handful of cash. The per diem was going to good use tonight. How much did I have in there? Three, four hundred? I had barely used it last week, blowing it all at the bar on Sunday. I’d left a hundred-dollar tip there. Might as well leave one here too.

“Here ya go, Jesse,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to make it look like I shut down before the boss sees me.”

“Be my guest,” I said, sitting down on a stool that was just out of the way of the office doors, so if someone came out and glanced, they wouldn’t likely see me.

A whisky and Coke was just what the doctor ordered, especially with how heavy on the whisky it was. It was a hell of a pour, but the ice and soda made it more refreshing than I expected, and I felt myself perk up after the heat and long drive. The bartender made his way around the bar, shutting things down, and when I finished my drink, I placed it on top of two hundred-dollar bills.

“Thanks, boss,” I said, passing by the bartender before he could get back and see what I’d left him. I didn’t want to be around for the attention.

“Good night, sir,” he said, clearly having seen his tip but not knowing what it was.

As I made it back to the desk, I could hear him whisper-shout something exclamatory, and I smiled. Still, there was no one at the desk, but I noticed a bell, so I gave it a ring. When no one arrived after a few seconds, I rang it again.

Weird. For such a swanky place, you would think they would have much better service than this, I thought. Maybe the person that was supposed to be at the desk was in the back. The bartender had mentioned something about the boss, so it was possible they were in the back doing some kind of performance review or something. I honestly wasn’t really sure how all that worked. My only two jobs in life had been working on the ranch and singing for cash. The mysteries of retail and hospitality work eluded me, and because of it, I had a tendency to tip probably far more generously than others.

The whisky and soda was just what I had needed, however, and I wasn’t cranky or upset as I waited, tapping my thighs to a beat of a song I was tinkering with in my head. I knew the hook but was still struggling on the rest of it. Surely it would come to me soon. Too late for this tour, but soon.

I rang the bell one more time, and then shrugged. If they were too busy to come out, maybe I should just go see them. No one would be able to blame me if I walked in on a meeting if I was a guest who needed help.

Checking the area to make sure no one was around, with the bartender having long ago left through some back door, I crossed through the little swinging door leading behind the counter. A light was on in a room facing away from me, and I headed toward it. I was prepared to meet some middle-aged manager and give him a friendly review of their customer service when I rounded the corner and came face to face with the manager.

Only it wasn’t a middle-aged man.

It was Charlotte.

And she looked just as shocked to see me as I was her.