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Everything I know about success is because of something a woman taught me. It would be stupid of me to discount that now.
The next phase of the plan was having Kelsey call to interview Julian. She let him know that the job description was updated, and he agreed to the offer. Julian and his girlfriend, Layla, moved to town a few weeks ago.
Julian is in his element handling the acts eager to perform, except like the rest of us, he’s done more heavy lifting than managing. With opening night a ways off, that’s unlikely to change anytime soon.
Being on the road was an experience I won’t forget. Cris was right. No matter the venue, it’s the connection between the artist and the music. By converting the club into a concert hall, I’m able to feed my soul and start the journey for some pimply band geek with stars in their eyes on amateur night. The connections I made through Cris and Tom are paying off, though. A good number of country acts want to promote next season’s tours in more intimate venues before hitting the road for the summer. We’re booking big names for one night only. The amount of calls we field when they add Sweet Caroline’s to their website’s tour updates feels like we’re cashing in before tickets go on sale.
Aside from the stage, not much of the original Sweet Caroline’s remains. Dusty took the building down to the studs. The new walls are up in my office and backstage in the dressing rooms. The bigger restrooms with extra stalls—that the mill girls told me I had to budget for—are framed, as is the theater. Walsh is doing the security at the same time as the sound system goes in. All of it will tie into a central control room for crowd control.
It’s good to have friends.Period.
Not friends you can con into doing shit for you, but the kind who’ll show up and support you no matter how big an ass you’ve made of yourself.
I rub my neck, forgetting my palm has flaky bits of paste stuck to it. They crumble down the back of my shirt. Whatever, I’m a filthy mess. A little glue isn’t changing that. Although I slap my palms over my grubby jeans to brush off the rest.
I’m not sure what I thought I was getting myself into when I volunteered Carver and me to hang wallpaper in the dressing room. Owning a strip club is easier than manual labor. However, since the first sledgehammer made a hole in the dusty wall, I’ve been enjoying getting my hands dirty, building something special instead of being hateful.
“I’ve been thinking about doing something nice for Sloan,” I announce.
Carver moves aside the delicate wallpaper that’s flopped over his head. He turns, flashing a quizzical expression. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jake Ballentine?”
A throaty chuckle escapes me. “I’m serious.”
There’s a baby boom in town and Sloan sees Paisley often. On occasion, Sloan feeds me bits and pieces of how Paisley is doing.
I couldn’t stop loving Paisley if I tried. Every morning I still drop roses on her doorstep. Almost as often, I find a bag of withered petals on mine. I keep them. Some are so dried and brittle that the best description of their beauty is haunting. Sort of like the woman I’m keeping my distance from so that someday I may not have to anymore.
The connection is still there. Paisley wouldn’t fight back if it weren’t.
I grab a mallet, flip it and catch the handle.
“There is nothing you can get Sloan that she doesn’t already have.” Carver flatly denies my request.
“Ah,but does she?” I jab a finger in his direction. “Tell me, what’s the one thing your wife wants more than anything?”
“You’re not going to give her that, moron.” Carver finishes wrestling with the sheet he’s pressing to the wall.
The intricate pattern matches the last one he hung exactly. He’s pretty dang good at this.
“So, she still wants kids.”
Carver wipes his hand on a cloth and gives me the side-eye, waiting for me to make an inappropriate remark. He puts the towel down and I lower the mallet. It hovers over Carver’s left hand.
“What would happen?” I ask, “If you had an accident.”
“I’d be out of commission.” His voice is gruff.
“Why does that bug you so much when you want to be done? You’ve said it yourself that you’ve made enough money. That you’re tired of being tied to this outfit. Sick of the snobbery from collectors who’ve searched you out. The only reason you go back when they beckon is your gut questioning if they’d do the things we’ve done.”
“Thatyou’vedone, Jake. I just didn’t stop you from blackmailing anyone.”
Pa-ta-toe, Pa-tat-o.Carver’s as complicit as Trig.
His next thought is sentimental. I can see how the outcome of what I’m putting forth fills him with uncertainty. Carver has a picture in his head. If anyone gets how hard that is to shake, it’s me. But dreams are fluid. The precise point of their hazy ambiguity is that they’re supposed to change to fit the actual goals you have in life.
Now that I’ve set a new course, I wish I’d gotten my shit together sooner. Trig is the happiest I’ve seen him. Why can’t it be that way for Carver?
I also wish I had more misgivings about doing what I’m asking Carver to contemplate. But we both know I’m the only one who’ll do it without an ounce of regret.
