He drops his arm, but I don’t think he caught me noticing. “You shouldn’t be doing that,” he says.
“You know I’m not actually a queen, right? I know how to do household chores.”
He gives me a tired look. “Are you capable of talking without fighting?”
“Not with you, I’m not.”
He lets out a low, exasperated breath. “Clean away.”
Jimmy comes back a moment later. “Can’t tell for sure what’s wrong beyond the blown tires. I already called for a tow truck. Alicia, can you find a car to take you three into town?”
“What town?” I ask.
“We’re right outside of Branson, Missouri. About forty minutes from Springfield,” Jimmy says.
“How long is it gonna take to get the new tires?” Patty asks.
Jimmy shrugs. “No clue. These are specialty tires. No local mechanic will have them in stock.”
Patty turns to Alicia. “The Kansas City show isn’t until Friday, right?”
Alicia nods. “Yeah. The next couple of days are recovery and promo. But we were stopping in Springfield tonight, anyway, because the Country Soul Sisters are doing a “life on the road” piece tomorrow where they tour the bus for their fans. They have like twelve million followers, so this is kind of a big one.”
“They can still do the tour,” Jimmy says. “The tow truck will be here soon, so you’ll be able to send them the address of the mechanic who fixes it up.”
Alicia nods. “I’ll call a driver and a hotel in Springfield to come get you.”
I startle. “Come getme?”
Alicia blinks. “Uh, yeah. You and Patty.”
I look from her to Jimmy. “Aren’t you guys coming with us?”
“Are you kidding? No. I hate hotels. I’m staying inyourbed tonight, and Jimmy has to be here for the bus, anyway. You guys will go to Branson, and by the time you’re there, I’ll have a hotel room for you.”
I expect Patty to protest, to offer to stay, but based on the way he’s looking out the window, he’s taking his bodyguard role very seriously.
I’m not sure whether to hug him or punch him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LOU
Branson, Missouri.
A place where musicians and novelty acts live out a quieter kind of fame once their A-List days are over. A place where aspiring acts chase a spark of recognition, hoping it will ignite and launch their careers.
A place where, thanks to the three-day Ozark Heartstrings Festival, every single freaking hotel is booked solid.
“You’re serious?” I tell Alicia, eyeing Patty. But he’s looking out the window of the Honda Civic that picked us up. “There’s nothinganywhere?This is a big city!”
“Hey, the festival is a big deal. Manny almost bookedyoufor it, but they prefer more classic country to your blend of outlaw-indie-pop-folk.”
I snort. “Gotta keep ‘em guessing.”
Alicia doesn’t laugh, clearly in business mode as she scours the internet for an open hotel. “The headliners are some bignames. And all those small stages will be packed with every would-be and wannabe musician in the South.”
The driver has a green, yellow, and blue soccer team emblem dangling from his rearview mirror, and he’s listening to what sounds like a soccer match, given the way he’s yelling in Portuguese at the radio every minute or two. I’m relieved that he either didn’t recognize me or didn’t care.
