Her Wild Oats (19 page)

“That way you can ask all your questions to someone who has half a clue about the answers,” Bobby Lee said. “And Pete can see Oats and we can assess things more realistically ’cause we’ll actually know what the heck is going on. You in?”

“OK, I’m in,” Sarah Jean sighed. “Just let me make a call home and get us a room first. I have a feeling it might be a long night.”

They all stood around the dusky parking lot while Sarah Jean took care of business. She rented two adjoining rooms with a door that opened between them, one for her and Hank Wilson, the other for Oats and Eddie. She called Eddie’s house to make sure it was OK for him to stay over, and she called home to make sure everything was cool at the club. Finally, she came back over to the folks standing in a little clump near the ice machine.

“OK, gang, I’m ready to roll.”

The sun was setting and it was getting a little chilly, after the melting heat of the day. Arizona walked a little bit ahead and Oats saw her wrap her arms around her own shoulders. He untied the sweatshirt he’d had bunched around his waist and tried to slip it over her shoulders with gentlemanly panache, not easy because she was a lot taller than he was, and he had to stand on his tiptoes.

But she took the sweatshirt and smiled her thanks while punching him lightly on the arm. Suddenly it seemed like Oats didn’t have to worry about being embarrassed about the incident on the bus; she was over being mad or whatever it was she’d been. They were friends again.

*

The Central California Medical Center was a series of square buildings located between a prison and a cow pasture. Emergency-room nurses mostly handled farm-related accidents and the occasional barroom brawl, in addition to the endless minor health needs of farm workers with no regular health insurance. Pete’s stroke had caused a bit of a stir; the medical staff wasn’t used to ministering to traveling country-western tour members, and the handsome band leader who kept popping in to check on Pete had not gone unnoticed. Bobby Lee Crenshaw might have been a mere opening act on the summer festival circuit, but he was a full-tilt rock star in the Central California Medical Center ICU.

The rock star stepped out of a cherry-red hybrid minivan with his ragtag crew: Oats, of course, and Arizona. Eddie, Hank Wilson, and Sarah Jean Pixlie were next. The car Bobby Lee had rented pulled up in a cloud of dust right behind them, and Bus Driver Dave, Gary G., Billy, Rascal, and Jeremy joined their band leader in the parking lot. The whole gang marched up to the front door of the hospital and walked inside. A sign on the wall said: “Visiting Hours: Noon – 6 PM.” A pretty, dark-haired nurse sat behind the desk, writing something on a notepad.

“Oh man, we’re screwed,” Eddie whispered. “It’s, like, six-thirty.”

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Jennifer,” Bobby Lee said to the nurse. “How are you doing this evening?”

Jennifer blushed and giggled. “Just fine,” she answered, “now…”

“Oh, give me a break,” Arizona whispered, nudging Oats in the side. He looked up at her, beaming. His mother noticed, but chose not to acknowledge the exchange. She busied herself by taking a comb out of her purse and trying to tame Hank Wilson’s wild mane of long blond hair. He shot her a dirty look and squirmed away.

“Why Miss Jennifer, I’m hoping you can help me out with a little problem,” Bobby Lee whispered as he leaned over the nurse’s desk. “We know that visiting hours are officially over, and heaven knows we respect and abide by rules as much as possible, but…well…my friends here have come a long, long way to see Mr. Rawley. In fact, my sisters here…” he pointed at Arizona and Sarah Jean “…they’re from El Salvador and don’t speak very much English. They have to leave in the morning, and I was hoping that maybe we could poke our heads in for just a moment and have a look at our dear friend.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Jennifer sighed. “Mr. Rawley needs his rest, and there are an awful lot of you…”

Then she turned to Arizona and Sarah Jean.

“¿Tu eres del Salvador? ¡De alla es mi familia! ¿Por casualidad conoces a la familia Martinez de San Francisco?
”

Sarah Jean looked at Bobby Lee, then Arizona, then back at Bobby Lee. Why was he always putting her in impossibly awkward situations? Paralyzed, she heard Arizona say, “
¿Los Martinez que tienen un negocio cerca del centro?
”

“
Sí, esos,
” Jennifer answered excitedly.

“
Bueno, no los conozco bien…pero se quien son. Muy buena gente,
” Arizona said with a smile.

“In that case, how can I say no? You can all go in now. Just keep it short,” Jennifer said. Bobby Lee winked at her but she ignored him. She was beaming at Arizona instead.

“How did you do that? How did you know what to say?” Sarah Jean asked as they walked down the hall toward Pete’s room. “That was amazing—fabulous, really.”

“Oh, let’s just say I’ve been around,” Arizona answered, “as well as around some world-class bullshitters. It was nothing. I like to think of myself as a problem-solver.”

“Yeah, but…your Spanish is perfect. I’m really impressed.”

“I lived in LA for a while. Everyone in Southern California needs to know a little Spanish, right? It’s nothing.”

“It’s hardly nothing,” Sarah Jean answered, “but whatever you say.”

As the boys searched the doorways for Pete’s room number, the adults in the entourage looked at each other and shrugged. Who was this Arizona person, anyway?

*

For a moment Oats was convinced they had been sent to the wrong room. Pete looked half his usual size, very pale, and much, much older. His hair was the only feature that remained unchanged; somehow it had managed to stay glossy and stylish despite tubes going in and out every which way and all the weird, beeping machines around his bed.

The most disconcerting thing was that the doctors had tied him up so he couldn’t move his hands very much. A nurse came by and explained that the arm restraints were because stroke patients often tried to unhook themselves from the machines without realizing it. She assured the group that he wasn’t uncomfortable, but you couldn’t prove that by Oats. Pete looked like a guy having a pretty bad day.

Sarah Jean rushed over to Pete’s bedside and held his hand for a while, saying soothing little clucky things that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. It was hard to tell whether or not Pete could hear her, or understand anything she was saying, but the nurse said to talk to him as though he could; that no one really knew how much comprehension he had at this point but it didn’t hurt to assume he could understand. Either way, he would enjoy having company and find voices soothing.

A couple of times it sounded like Pete was trying to say something, but it was impossible to understand him, impossible to tell if he was making sense or just talking gibberish. Each visitor took a turn at his bedside, saying a little greeting and a brief recap of the day. Oats went after Bobby Lee and before Billy.

“So,” he said, “this guy has a rash on his arm and he goes to the doctor.” He waited a beat or two for dramatic effect and noticed that Pete seemed to be struggling to say something.

With great effort, the patient mumbled soft words that sounded like “Wha? Qui shobiz?” Oats smiled and made room for Billy to take his turn. He didn’t know if anyone else had heard or understood, or if they would even believe him, but he privately decided at that moment that Pete was going to be OK.

A nurse came in and said she was sorry, but it was time to leave and let the patient rest. The group clustered around in the parking lot and talked things over. It was obvious that Pete wasn’t going to be going anywhere for a while, and Bobby Lee didn’t know what to do about his tour. He would feel awful leaving Pete in the hospital and the doctors didn’t think it was wise to move him quite yet, but Bobby Lee was losing money, fans, and (nobody actually said this, but it was obviously implied) record label support with every missed gig.

“I’ll stay here with Pete until it’s safe to move him,” Sarah Jean offered. “He was there for me when I started my career, and it seems like the least I can do. You all can go on with your tour…”

“Yippie!” Oats shouted.

“Well, not you, sweetie,” she said. “You’re not going out with these guys with no supervision. I just can’t let that happen. You’ll stay here with me and Hank Wilson and Eddie. In fact, that reminds me. Eddie, you’ll have to call home. I’d love to have you along but of course if your people need you we can make arrangements. Let me know if you want me to talk to someone.” She tossed him her cell phone and he wandered off to make his call.

All Oats could think was that he had to not cry. So he went and sat in the car and sulked instead while the grown-ups continued working things out. A few minutes later he heard the back door of the minivan slide open.

“You OK?” asked Arizona. Oats couldn’t actually see her in the dark back seat, but he could recognize her by her smell and a kind of electric charge in the air when she was nearby.

“No. And why are you talking to me, anyway, after I busted in on you on the bus?”

“Oh, that?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Hey look, it was embarrassing, OK? And I was pissed off at you right at first. I mean, how dare you invade someone’s privacy like that, right?”

“I didn’t know…” He didn’t know how to say how dare you mess around with an asshole guitar player instead of me? So he stopped talking.

“But,” she said, her voice softer, “on further reflection I think you helped me dodge a bullet. Anyway, that’s not what I came in here to say.”

“Really?” It was amazing how much better he felt.

“I bought you a little time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bobby Lee said the next gig is pretty close to here, in Bakersfield. The band is going to keep their motel rooms and do it as a day trip. Your mom will go along so you can play one more show and then say your goodbyes. Sorry, it was the best I could do. Even that wasn’t easy.”

“I’m surprised you got that much out of her.”

“Hey, Oats, you’re worth fighting for. Don’t ever forget that.”

He heard the car doors open and his mom and brother and Eddie all slipped into their respective seats and fastened their seat belts. Just as Sarah Jean was about to drive away, there was a tap on the side of the car and she opened her window. Bobby Lee stood there alone.

“What’s up, cowboy?” she asked.

“I just wanted to say thank you. You know what’s at stake here. Without your help I never would have been able to keep the tour going. I really, really appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, buster,” she said. “I’m doing this for Pete, not for you. But you’re welcome.”

She closed the window and gunned the engine. Soon they were back at the motel with Oats, Eddie, and Hank Wilson arguing over the remote control and zero access to junk food. It looked like the big summer tour adventure had come to an end.

On the Road Again

15

The Hell Bent and Whiskey Bound band boarded their bus for the two-hour drive to Bakersfield with some additional personnel. Sarah Jean, Hank Wilson, and Eddie were all coming along to see Oats play his last gig. At the very last minute, Oats spotted Arizona walking down the stairs from her second-floor room to the ice machine.

“Hold up,” he shouted as he bounded off the bus. “Hey, Ari! How come you’re not in the gift shop?”

“Yo, Oats. One of the other girls needed to trade shifts, so I’m not back on till tomorrow.”

“You’re off today? Why don’t you come with us?”

“Well, I’d love to. But things might end up being a little awkward with you-know-who. I think I’d better pass.”

“You mean Dickie?” Oats planted himself in front of Arizona and gazed straight into her eyes. It was amazing how much more empowered he felt knowing that she wasn’t crazy about Dickie, that in fact she felt he’d helped her dodge a bullet. “Who cares about him?”

“Um, I think you do. And I don’t need to be groped at for two and a half hours there and back. Hey, they need you on board. Scoot now, I’ll see you later.” Bus Driver Dave had started honking the horn and the others were waving and yelling out the window.

“They can wait a minute. Listen, it would be your only chance to hear me play, at least for the foreseeable future. Come on.” Oats did that thing where he made his eyes really big and sad. Most grown-up women (other than relatives, of course, who knew what he was up to) could not resist his “puppy dog eyes.” Arizona was no exception.

“Oh, I guess I can handle a little interpersonal discomfort for a good friend. And I would love to hear you play. Tell them to hold on a minute while I get my purse.”

Five minutes later the band bus took off with Arizona on board. She made a point of plunking herself down next to Sarah Jean at the front table, where she stayed wedged next to the window for the entire ride. She needn’t have worried, though, as Dickie Jaspers never left his bunk.

“All present and accounted for,” Gary G. said to Bus Driver Dave as he saw Oats throw his harps up onto his bunk. “Let’s roll.”

“Yippie ti yi yo,” Dave answered in his customary reference to some old TV show long-forgotten by everyone but Dave. He shifted the bus into gear and headed toward the highway. For Bus Driver Dave, it didn’t matter so much where they were headed. It always felt good to be hitting the road. He turned on the radio, found Connie Conman’s show on KRUM, and shot Gary a big, toothy grin.

Gary G., pinch-hitting for Pete in addition to all his other duties, was not in a great mood. Usually even-tempered and flexible, he found himself getting annoyed at the band members’ unrealistic expectations and general helplessness. Now in addition to the regular crew, he had to arrange for extra backstage passes for their guests. He also had to advance the show, supervise monitor mixes while overseeing the house mix, tune everyone’s instruments, and keep an eye on Dickie to make sure he didn’t drink too much and wander away, just for the sole purpose of being an asshole, minutes before downbeat. Gary had no idea why Bobby Lee kept Dickie on the tour—there were plenty of guitar players who were just as good and actually nice—but whatever the reason, Dickie didn’t seem to be going anywhere. They were all stuck with him.