Rock Star (6 page)

They’d been re-merchandising the store, moving the stock around to keep it fresh and interesting. Callie didn’t want customers to become too familiar with the location of their favorite items. If they had to search a little, they might find new things to buy. Better yet, they might actually have to ask, and that would give Callie an opportunity to make recommendations. Bryan shook his head; he’d never realized that there was so much strategy involved in retail. In the midst of this marketing sleight of hand, he had complained about the insipid music she had playing in the store. She’d responded with a pained look and a direct jab. “Look Bryan, I know that to you if it’s not about death, mayhem, eviscerated fowl, and oozing wounds, it’s not music. But the rest of us aren’t looking for music to murder by.” He couldn’t help laughing. She wasn’t the first to say that his music was a bit dark. Storm Crow was frequently compared to Alice in Chains. But no one else had ever put it in those terms or dared say it to his face.

Watching her make business transactions had become one of the highlights of his life. She’d sit perched on her little office chair, the telephone held to her ear by her shoulder as she perused the lengthy printout sheets the publishers sent. He’d sit there breathlessly waiting for that inevitable moment when she would place her pencil behind her ear. Somehow that little gesture was guaranteed to send his sexual impulses into overdrive. Damn, who would’ve thought he could get so turned on by a woman in business mode? He even enjoyed the little tsking sound she made whenever he did something particularly annoying. That was her most frequent reaction to his seeming inability to keep up with any of his personal belongings, especially his keys. Once when they were again delayed by the need to search for them, she’d made a wry comment that in his “other life” he probably had “people” to do that for him. He hadn’t said anything, too embarrassed to admit that indeed he did. Before meeting Callie, he’d never questioned the self-indulgence of having assistants do for him what he as a grown man should be doing for himself. It wasn’t as if he were to the manor born. He’d spent a considerable amount of time living on the streets. But the seductive lifestyle could grow on a person rather quickly.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met such a genuine person. Since their trip, he felt bound even more closely to Callie, whereas she seemed to only tolerate him. He wondered cynically if she would dismiss him entirely if he didn’t spend a fortune in her bookstore each week. He chuckled softly at the thought, causing Callie to raise her brow quizzically as if to inquire what he found so amusing. Bryan shook his head negatively, deciding to keep the source of his amusement to himself.

On this particular day, they’d been fortunate enough to find Granny’s open and were enjoying another excellent bowl of soup.

“Okay, I’ve told you about me. When are you going to tell me your story?” Bryan was surprised that he was so curious about her background. Normally women revealed far more information than he was interested in. But he had learned in the couple of months that he had known Callie, that she was nothing like the women he commonly encountered.

“What do you mean? I don’t have a story.” Callie furrowed her brow, puzzled by his question.

“Come on, Callie, everybody has a story. I’ve told you all about my angst-ridden existence and my self-destructive bent. Now it’s only fair that you tell me how you came to be a rising tycoon,” Bryan stated emphatically.

“Actually, Bryan, there’s nothing much to tell. I’m just a small business owner in a small town.”

Bryan raised his brows. “Give it up, Callie, I want to hear about it.”

Callie sighed, “Well don’t blame me if you fall asleep in your soup.”

Bryan chuckled. “Hell, I’ve already decided I want to be buried in it. Now come on, were you born here? Is this your hometown?”

Callie nodded. “I was born and raised here in Maple Fork. I know just about everybody.”

“That must be pretty cool. I mean, I grew up in East L.A. Most of the people I knew growing up are either dead or in jail.”

“It has its good and bad points,” she mused.

“What do you mean?”

Callie reflected for a moment, “There have been times when I would have preferred a little more anonymity. Instead, from the time I was a little girl, people have been watching me. If I did something bad, I knew somebody would call my mama before I even got home. Actually, they still call my mama if they think I’m acting up.”

Bryan gave a snort of disbelief.

“Oh, you think I’m kidding?” Callie asked insistently. “Let me give you an example. Last week I walked into Wal-Mart and didn’t speak to the greeter. My mama called to ask me about it that night!”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, that’s small-town life. It’s like a cocoon, all nice and safe, but if you’re not careful, a cocoon can smother you.” She sighed philosophically.

Bryan nodded his understanding. “Yeah, and what is this ‘speaking’ thing? Everywhere I go people nod and smile. At first, I thought they’d recognized me, but then I realized they didn’t know me from Adam. They were just being friendly. Is that a Southern thing?”

Callie nodded. “Definitely a Southern thing and especially a Southern black thing. If you don’t speak, folks label you as siditty.”

“Siditty?” He tried the word out. “I like that. Spell it,” he demanded.

She gave him a speaking glance. He had to be joking. There were some words that were for speaking only. Siditty definitely fell into that category.

“But what the heck does it mean?”

“Snobbish, stuck-up.” Callie took a sip of soup.

“Oh, siditty, I like that. It’s sort of like Yiddish. It sounds exactly like what it means.” Bryan nodded thoughtfully. “So you’ve never been away from Maple Fork?”

“Yeah, I left to go to college and business school.”

“But since you came back here, it must not be too bad.”

Callie leaned back in her chair and thought about that for a moment. “You know, when I left, I really missed it. Tuscaloosa is a much larger town than Maple Fork and has a lot more conveniences. I also spent a lot of time in Birmingham, and it’s really big. Most folks thought I’d relocate there or go to Atlanta. You know, it seems to be the law these days that all young black professionals must live in Atlanta.” She smiled wryly. “Both places are full of opportunities for small business, but all I could think about was coming back home and opening my bookstore. That’s all I ever really wanted to do.”

“But why a bookstore, Callie?”

Callie pursed her lips, drawing Bryan’s eye to that unconscious gesture as she contemplated the question. “Well, I’ve always loved books. I worked in a bookstore all through high school and college. I always wanted one of my own.”

Bryan wondered if she had any idea how lusciously tempting her lips looked when she pursed them like that.

He raised a brow. “Just one bookstore, Callie?” he asked suspecting her imperialistic dreams.

Callie chuckled. “Okay, you sussed me out, chain of bookstores.” Bryan raised his brow higher as he smirked at her response. Callie giggled helplessly at his expression. “All right, chain of bookstores, boutiques and day spas, but that will be in my new five-year plan. I’ll start working on that next month.”

Bryan shook his head at the oddity of sitting down and deliberately making a five-year plan, let alone actually trying to adhere to it. B.T. developed those too, and Bryan’s refusal to pay it the slightest attention was an unceasing bone of contention between them.

He continued his questions. “How long have you known Tonya?”

Callie smiled. “It seems like all my life. Tonya’s been my closest friend since kindergarten. She denies it, but she used to eat glue.”

Bryan chuckled at the visual of the two bookstore owners as little girls doing fingerpaints and glue art together.

“We’ve been tight ever since. We went off to college together and when I decided to start Books and So Forth after grad school, I asked her to be my partner.”

Bryan nodded. “How long have you two been living above the store? Doesn’t that get annoying after a while?”

“We’ve been there for five years, since we opened the store. At first it was convenient, but now it’s a bit impractical. We’re in the black now, and I hope we’ll be able to move soon.”

“So where did you guys go to school?”

“The U.A.” At Bryan’s puzzled look, she clarified, “The University of Alabama.”

“Oh yeah.” Bryan nodded. “Roll Tide.”

Callie chuckled. “I guess you’ve seen those signs up around town. The Alabama-Auburn game is this weekend.”

“I guess it’s a big state rivalry, huh?” Bryan wasn’t much of a fan of spectator sports, except for the Raiders. He generally watched sports only when he was stuck in a hotel room while on tour.

“Oh yeah, the biggest.”

“This sounds like fun. Tell me more about it.”

“Let me put it this way. It’s the only day aside for major holidays that we close the store.”

Having spent a great deal of time in the store, Bryan was quite familiar with Callie’s capitalistic tendencies, so he knew that was an incredible statement. “You close the store for a football game?” he exclaimed in disbelief.

Callie nodded. “You have to understand that this is more than a mere football game, it’s absolute war. Everybody in the state chooses sides. Newcomers are given a few months to decide, and once they’ve chosen one, there’s no going back. Folks around here take it that seriously.” She smiled. “A few years ago a friend of mine married an Auburn fan. All of our friends call it a mixed marriage, and they aren’t talking about the fact that they are of different races. There’s nothing Alabamians love more than football, and to us the Alabama-Auburn game is the Holy Grail of the sport.”

Bryan had heard about huge state rivalries in the past, but had never really paid them any attention. But this sounded like it could be a lot of fun.

“But why do you close the store? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a time when you don’t have any customers. I can’t believe business falls off that badly because of a football game.”

“Believe it!” Callie exclaimed emphatically. “We tried to open the store the first couple of years and got no customers. Tonya and I decided that it would be more profitable to simply close the store and enjoy the game with our families.”

“Oh, you guys have a big party or something?”

“Oh yeah. My parents are the world’s biggest ’Bama fans. They have a huge party with all our family and friends.”

“That sounds interesting. Do you think they’d mind if I came?” Bryan asked. Somewhere deep inside he had to admit that he longed for something vastly out of his range of experience, a normal family life. If nothing else, there was bound to be barbecue involved. It seemed that Southerners took any and all opportunities to throw something dead and unhealthy on the grill. During his stay in Alabama, he had become addicted to the stuff. Grilling was a trendy thing in L.A. where everybody was into the quick and easy meal. Barbecuing, Bryan had discovered, was a totally different experience. Southerners definitely had a lock on the long, slow process. It seemed there was a barbecue restaurant on every corner. Even a tiny town like Maple Fork boasted three, and he’d sampled each one of them. His personal favorite was a little no-name dive about twenty minutes outside of town. It was a ramshackle place with a slamming screen door, plank floors, and a tin roof. He doubted it had ever seen a health inspector. A monument to the benefits of specialization, they served only barbecue ribs, no sides. Everyone knew better than to ask for such niceties as baked beans or coleslaw. Service was nonexistent; the staff was curt at best. Soft drinks were in a drink box under the counter. Yet, despite all the drawbacks, the place was always standing room only, no matter what time of day or night, and served the best barbecued pork ribs he’d ever tasted. Undoubtedly his arteries were already in a state of shock, but he enjoyed indulging his new vice. Now the idea of a gathering of family and friends, something he’d always avoided passionately, was strangely inviting.

“Bryan, you don’t want to come to a party at my folks’ house. I know you’ve been to much bigger and certainly better parties.” Callie laughed.

“No, seriously, Callie, it sounds like a lot of fun. I’ve never been to a party like that,” Bryan insisted earnestly.

Callie shook her head. “I’m sure my folks wouldn’t mind another person in the madhouse they have. Sure, why don’t you join us?” she asked dryly.

“Gee, thanks, I can’t remember when I’ve had such an enthusiastic invitation,” Bryan answered equally dryly. “My pride notwithstanding, I won’t turn you down because I really want to come.”

Callie laughed heartily. “Bryan, please come to our party. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun,” she said with mock enthusiasm. Callie was somewhat breathless. Bryan would enjoy the party; everyone always had a good time at the Lawson’s annual event. But how would all this affect her? Up until this point, they’d managed to keep their relationship casual. Two people enjoying lunch and an occasional outing together—nothing more, nothing less. Meeting her family put a wholly different complexion on the matter, adding a layer of uncertainty and anxiety that could wreak havoc with an already tenuous situation.

Callie continued to stare sightlessly into her soup, puzzled as to how she had been maneuvered into inviting Bryan to her parents’ home. She couldn’t understand why such a huge celebrity would want to spend a Saturday afternoon watching a football game with a bunch of strangers. Somehow the man had managed to infiltrate almost every aspect of her life. He had a boundless energy level, and he seemed to fill her every spare moment. They’d gone hiking several times, and had made that road trip up to Chattanooga to see the Civil War battlefield. Sometimes she’d accompany him to the library, though she taunted him for borrowing books when he could so easily buy them at her store. He’d laughingly responded that he spent enough money in her store to equal the gross national product of a small Caribbean nation. She’d been thrilled to find that Bryan shared her passion for fishing, an interest that none of her other friends enjoyed, leaving Callie with few opportunities to indulge her mania. They had gone several times and bonded over the thrill of yet another shared activity. A consummate fly-fisherman, Bryan had never been bass fishing before and enjoyed the challenge of landing the feisty, small-mouthed bass.