DASHED DREAMS (7 page)

Richard Fielder, president of Mammoth Records, was in the audience of that award show. He contacted RJ the following Monday. Robert John Montgomery flew to Nashville the next Friday to meet him, and the rest is history. That was seven years ago, one wife and seven gold records ago. He’s now doing exactly what he always wanted to do: Write songs, sing, and perform. His family hasn’t seen many of his concerts. Robert John Montgomery asks them to come, but they always make the excuse that they have too much farm work to do. Sometimes RJ feels his parents don’t realize how famous their son has become.

Jillian nodded. The suite faced the lake, the living room situated across the front corners of the building with windows surrounding all sides of the room. The view was amazing even at night. She could only imagine what the view would be like during the day.

Jillian’s always considered herself strong and focused, but at this moment, she felt so star-struck that all she could do was just nod. As they sat in the living room, RJ said, “Our reservation at the Seafood Cove is in about 20 minutes. Would you like something to drink?”

They sat on the sofa, sipping their drinks. “We have reservations for the late show, if that’s okay? I don’t know if you noticed the marquee when you arrived, announcing that Martin Howard’s appearing.”

“I’d heard he’s here. I’d love to see him. I’ve seen him on Letterman and Leno and when he hosted Saturday Night Live. His expressions really are funny.”

“I thought we might like a laugh tonight.”

They arrived a few minutes early at the Cove, only being stopped twice by fans asking for autographs. RJ was very polite to the ladies who told him they were his biggest fans. Jillian thought: He’s really gracious to these ladies.

When they opened the doors of the Cove, the aroma of garlic and seafood was delightful. The matre’d showed them to a corner table, handed Jillian and RJ menus and the wine list to RJ. He asked if she would like a to drink with dinner.

“A margarita would be nice.”

When the waitress arrived, with the margaritas, she composed herself long enough to recite the daily specials.

Jillian ordered the soft-shell crab as an appetizer and halibut as her entrée. RJ ordered oysters on the half-shell and for his entrée, swordfish.

When their drinks arrived, RJ toasted: “To many more evenings like this.” Jillian blushed, as they touched glasses.

Jillian looked around the restaurant and noticed that they were being watched by almost everyone. The two ladies who’d stopped them earlier were standing waiting for a table. They had their heads together and whispered while looking their way.

“Doesn’t it bother you… all the attention?” Jillian asked.

“Nah, sometimes it’s inconvenient, but most of the time I just figure these people pay my salary through buying my music and coming to my concerts, so I owe it to them. I guess you could say that basically I’m a show-off. I enjoy it.”

“Do you ever get tired of all the concerts?”

“I have one simple philosophy: The day I dread going on stage is the day I quit.”

Robert finished his margarita, hailed the waitress and ordered a “Jack on the Rocks.” He asked Jillian, “Another drink?” She shook her head no.

When dinner was finished, both Jillian and RJ declined dessert. “You should eat up, as since I’m the headliner, it’s all complimentary. The matre’d had RJ initial the bill and asked, “Would you mind signing a couple of autographs?”

“Why don’t I have Gary Johns, my road manager, call you first thing tomorrow and we’ll be happy to sign as many as you need.”

After leaving a sizable tip, RJ looked at his watch, “We have an hour or so before we need to be in the showroom. Shall we go back up to the suite or what would you like to do?”

“That’s fine. Let’s go back.”

Alone in the elevator, his fingertips touched hers. She wondered if his touch was deliberate or not. Standing so close to him, she could smell his cologne, the same scent she remembered. She felt weak in the knees. Jillian was afraid of what might be expected of her.

RJ unlocked the door. The suite was lit only with starlight. Jillian walked to the panoramic windows. Moonlight sparkled on the lake like she’d never seen before.

RJ said, “I really love this lake. As many times as I’ve seen this view, it always amazes me and takes my breath away. Guess I should write a song for this feeling; it seems more special now.”

Jillian stepped back, feeling uncomfortable not knowing what to say or do. Tonight’s been a whirlwind, a fairytale, she thought: Yes, I did say I wasn’t star-struck, but….

RJ, picking up on her uneasiness, said, “Do you want a drink?”

“No thanks, but go ahead.”

He poured himself a bourbon on ice. Jillian excused herself and found the bathroom. When she came out, RJ said, “I phoned down. They’ll come and get us, when we need to go.”

As she entered the room, she yawned which surprised her, as it was only 11 p.m. and she was use to staying up late, especially when on call.

RJ chuckled. “Once we start laughing, you’ll wake up. Martin Howard’s really funny. We’ve probably 40 minutes or so.” RJ motioned towards the sofa, Jillian sat and he joined her -- close, but not too close.

He finished his drink, placed the glass on the coffee table, and said, “You know, this is a two-bedroom suite and if I remember right, you said your schedule is clear for a couple of days. You’re most welcome to stay, it’s going to be a late night. The show’ll be finished about one or so, and Lionel could drive you home tomorrow.”

Jillian yawned again, even though she tried to stifle it. Embarrassed about yawning, she said, “No thank you. I really need to get home.”

“Okay, but please think about it.”

While waiting until time to go, the subjects of conversation ranged from Iowa, Texas, horses, life as a entertainer, running RJ’s corporation,
Country Heart Entertainment,
medicine, and friends.

When the doorbell rang, RJ answered it. A tuxedoed gentleman stood in the doorway, “Mr. Montgomery, are you ready?” RJ looked at Jillian. She picked up purse and joined him at the door.

“Lead the way, my good man,” RJ said.

They rode the elevator down to the level below the main casino floor, walked down a quiet corridor to a door, that was almost invisible to the naked eye. The man escorting them reached his fingers under a railing, pressed a button. A buzzer sounded, as he opened the door. RJ explained to her that they were entering behind the showroom. The hallway walls were covered with pictures of entertainers that had appeared at Tucker’s in the past. Some of the photos were autographed. When they passed one of the photos, RJ smiled and pointed. Jillian looked at a picture of RJ taken a few years ago, amazed at how young he looked. She smiled, again reminded of where she was and who she was with. They were shown to a private booth in the darkened showroom. A waiter took their drink order, Jillian ordered a rum cooler and RJ ordered a double shot of Jack.

The announcer came on. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Martin Howard, one of the country’s funniest entertainers.” The audience roared with applause, as a spotlight appeared center stage. A wooden stool and a stand-up mike were the only items on stage. From the right curtain appeared Martin Howard. He tried to stop the applause by holding up his hands in a stopping manner.

“Good evening, everyone.” His monologue began.

Jillian and RJ laughed until their sides hurt. When the comedian described his golf game in comparisons of torture techniques, the audience roared with laughter. The story of the three-year-old battling her mother in a supermarket check-out line broke everyone up.

“He’s so funny. I haven’t seen him before in person, only from backstage. Have you?”

Jillian nodded no.

The monologue was about three-quarters finished when Martin said, “Could we have the house lights up? Thank you. I want to thank Tucker’s for giving me such a great audience and such a great paycheck.” The audience laughed. “There’s a couple of people in the audience that need to be mentioned. First of all, please welcome Nevada’s Governor Kenny Guinn and his lovely wife.” The applause was generous, as the spotlight found the Governor. Martin continued, “Please acknowledge last year’s Oscar winner for Best Supporting Actress in the flick,
Days and Nights in Venice,
Miss Lena Foster.” The spotlight searched. A waif of a girl stood up, smiled, and waved to Martin.

RJ leaned over and whispered to Jillian, “She needs some meat on her bones.” Jillian suddenly felt that RJ was checking out her figure.

“Last but not least, folks, please return to this showroom next Saturday night, as Robert John Montgomery will be appearing for a charity concert. He’ll also be playing in the charity celebrity golf tournament. You know, I’ve seen him play golf, and trust me, you don’t want to be around him after a double-bogey hole.” The audience laughed.

“He’s one of the greatest country singer-songwriters Iowa’s ever produced. You know, that’s another thing. Why sing about Texas, when you’re from Iowa? Are you confused?” The audience again laughed.

“Please welcome Robert John Montgomery.”

The spotlight found the targeted person. RJ nudged Jillian, as he stood and waved to the audience.

“What’s with your name Robert John Montgomery? Makes you feel more important to have three names? Think people will notice you?” The audience laughed. The comedian went on. “Who’s that gorgeous woman with you? How do you rate someone like that, you dog?”

More laughter followed. Jillian blushed, and RJ shouted to Martin, “None of your business!”

The spotlight again focused on the entertainer on stage. Jillian leaned over to RJ. Again, she could smell that wonderful cologne; she closed her eyes and drank it in, “If the offer’s still open, I’d like to stay. I’m really tired.”

“Great. I’ll call and let them know. They’ll take you back in the morning. That is, if you want to go then.” RJ motioned to one of the wait staff and whispered in his ear. The man nodded and walked away.

Martin continued. “Make your reservations before you leave tonight for his show, as it’ll be sold out, if not already. It’s a high-energy show. You won’t be disappointed.”

Jillian felt that some audience members were still looking at RJ, when the house lights dimmed and Martin continued, then finished his routine. When Martin Howard exited the stage, the showroom was darkened; RJ, Jillian and the other dignitaries were shown out before the lights came back on. They were escorted backstage, where Martin stood, puffing on a giant cigar. RJ introduced Jillian.

They returned to the suite, and RJ started to mix another drink. He held up a glass. She shook her head no. They had a couple of drinks during the show. She’d drunk more alcohol tonight than she’d consumed in months.

“I’m really fading fast. Would you please excuse me? I’d like to say goodnight, or is it good morning. I really had a great time.”

RJ showed her into a bedroom. “There are items here like toothbrush, toothpaste . . . in the dresser’s a nightgown and other things. Now don’t get the wrong idea, but I was hoping, so I got Bertie to pick up a few things. Now, there’s a lock on the door and I’m across the living room with a lock on my door, so you need not worry. I’ve enjoyed your company tonight.”

“Goodnight. You’re a dream come true.” Jillian said moving towards the opened door. She stopped, and RJ leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then turned and walked into the living room.

Jillian quickly closed the door and paused before pressing the button to lock it, hoping the click didn’t make too much noise. Through the sitting room, she walked into the bedroom. The bed linens had been turned down to form a point in the center of the bed. On each pillow, sat a gold-wrapped chocolate. In one of the drawers she found a black silk nightgown with pink straps. The next drawer held underwear. In the closet was a pair of jeans, close to her size.

“Huh, pretty good guesser that Bertie.”

Also in the closet was a Tucker’s logo tote bag and on the shelf a beautiful cashmere turtleneck sweater in a baby-blue color. There were new running shoes along with a pair of new socks stuffed inside. She pulled out the nightie and went into the bathroom, finding all the items she’d need for several day’s stay.

Jillian cleaned her teeth, washed her face, and returned to the bedroom. She knelt, said her prayers, climbed into bed, and turned out the bedside light. When all was quiet, she heard the muffled sound of a guitar in the living room and a hushed singing voice.

“I wonder how often he does this, and how many end up in his bed?” She snuggled down into bed pulling up the bedcovers. Once again she thought: What am I doing here? Why do I feel so content? She closed her eyes and dozed off to the sound of muffled music.

After working on the song about the lake that took their breath away, being together, smell of her perfume, RJ went into his sitting room and started looking at some paperwork his road manager had given him. It was about four, so he decided to get some sleep. He crawled into bed, turned out the light, and was asleep in a matter of minutes.