Coming Undone

CHAPTER SIX

"WELL, LOOK WHO'S HERE," said a familiar voice as P.J. strode onto the stage in the Portland venue later that afternoon. "Hey, little girl. Early as usual, I see."

She grinned at Hank Hartley, who stood a short distance away tuning his banjo, his fiddle carefully nestled in its open case at his feet. He gazed at her with warm hazel eyes from beneath the brim of his ever-present leather bush hat, a small return grin playing around his lips. "Sound check's not for another twenty minutes, babe," he informed her.

"What can I say, H.H.? Promptness is a hard habit to break." She raised her eyebrows at him. "But I don't have to tellyou that. You got here even earlier than me."

Laughing, he crossed the short distance still separating them and hauled her into his wiry arms. Strong as a bear at forty, he gave her a big hug that left her feet dangling off the floor and the neck of his banjo digging into her spine. She drew in his familiar scent of tobacco, aged leather headgear and wrist straps, and Drakkar Noir cologne. The top of her head bumped the underside of his hat and, reaching up to hold it in place with one hand, he set her gently back on her feet.

"I'm sorry about your mom and all the shit with the press," he said gently.

"Aw, thanks, Hank." She touched the little sandy-brown soul patch beneath his bottom lip, the single silky surface in a hundred-miles-of-bad-highway craggy face. "It's been a:challenging few weeks."

"I bet." Gently he hooked one of her curls behind her ear. But several strands snagged on fingertips callused from years of playing stringed instruments and pulled free again. With a whispered curse, he smoothed it back to join the rest. Then, looking beyond her, his eyes narrowed. "Who's this?"

She knew who she'd see before she turned. But she glanced over her shoulder anyway. Jared stood several feet away, hands in his pockets and his posture relaxed, observing them.

Sighing, she turned back to Hank. "My watchdog," she admitted and briefly explained Wild Wind's burning desire to insure their investment.

"Thehell you say!" Easygoing eyes gone hard, he stepped around her and, pausing only long enough to lay down his banjo, strode toward Jared. "Listen, pal-"

Alarmed, she sprinted after him. While Jared might be a full head taller and didn't appear particularly worried, she'd once seen Hank flatten a man a good deal beefier than Mister Oh-so-nonchalant Hamilton would be even if he supersized his meals for the next ten years.

Idiot that he was, Jared looked completely unruffled as he faced the irate musician-his only concession to the approaching threat to pull his hands free of his pockets. "You're taking issue with the wrong man," he said evenly as Hank rocked to a halt in front of him. "Take it up with Wild Wind. I'm just doing the job they hired me to do."

"Good for you." Hank gave Jared a flat stare. "But she's right where she's supposed to be, isn't she? So you can take a hike."

For a second Jared's posture lost its easy slouch and a dangerous expression flared in his eyes. Then he shrugged and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the left wing.

P.J. watched him go, telling herself she didn't feel disappointed. Hell, no-that would be just plain ridiculous. Shesaluted Hank for routing him-she should have thought of that whole I'm-here-so-now-you-can-go-away deal herself. As for the big hollow space in her stomach, she just wished she'd grabbed something to eat was all. The sound check could take quite a while depending on how good the acoustics were and how well the new backup band meshed with her way of playing.

Joining Hank, she slipped her arm through his. "My hero," she said, batting her lashes at him.

He snorted.

"Have you seen Eddie or Nell yet?"

"Last I saw Eddie, he was romancing the front-office girl. Haven't spotted Nell."

"I'm here," a soft voice said and they both turned. A plump, medium-height woman materialized from the shadows of the right wing, where her medium-brown braid and medium-dark clothing had rendered her invisible.

"Nell!" P.J. dashed across the stage to give her only real female friend a fierce hug. "I'm so glad to see you." Stepping back, she held Nell at arm's length. "Now, are you sure you want to do this again this year? I mean, why be tour manager when you can make more money and work less hours as a songwriter?"

"What, and give up all this glamorous travel?" Nell looked around the stage, bare of everything except Hank's instruments and pieces of the bandstand that the roadies were setting up for the extra musicians Wild Wind had hired for the tour, then out at the empty theater.

Following her gaze, P.J. saw with a jolt that Jared hadn't left at all. He sat in the front row, one ankle propped on his opposite knee. The only other person out there was the sound man in his booth at the back of the main floor. Having introduced herself to him earlier, she dragged her attention from the last guy she'd expected to see front and center and returned it to her friend. "Is the bus here yet?"

"Yes. I just spoke to the driver and he's pumped. Apparently he's a huge country-music fan and is looking forward to driving you. Thinks you're darn near as good as Patsy Cline."

"Get out. Nobody's as good as Patsy." Then she laughed. "But whataya say we go check out our new ride as soon as we finish the sound check? We're going to have to make a decision about buying our own bus after this tour, I suppose. I'll have to run it by Ma-" Renewed pain was a razor in her throat and she cleared the clogged tissues gingerly. "Um, Ben, I mean."

Nell squeezed her hand. "I'm real sorry, Peej." She hesitated, then straightened her shoulders. "But I have to say something that I've been biting back for years."

"What's that?"

"Your mama's a bitch."

P.J. choked, stared at her friend for a frozen moment:then laughed like a coyote. Hank howled, too, and she saw that he was closer than she'd realized. They exchanged delighted glances.

It wasn't the sentiment so much as the sentiment coming from Nell's mouth. Because she was soft-spoken, eschewed makeup and wore clothes that made her blend into the woodwork, people often assumed she was a mouse. She wasn't; she had a wicked sense of humor and usually didn't hesitate to state her opinions.

At the same time she was genuinely nice and a good friend, and P.J. didn't doubt for a moment that Nell loved her. "So, how long have you been keeping that to yourself?"

"Pretty much forever," Nell admitted. "I know how much you wanted to have a made-for-TV family relationship with her."

"Yeah, pretty desperate, huh? On one level I've always known the person she is. Damn, she kicked me out of the house when I was thirteen years old. And I have a feeling it took some pretty strong threats on the part of a woman named Gert to get her to take me back again."

"Is that why you made her your manager? Thinking that if you gave her carte blanche over your career she'd love you the way you deserve? Because, I gotta tell you, I never understood that."

"No-that would have been halfway understandable at least." A roadie wheeled past part of the risers that would elevate the backup band at the rear of the stage, and P.J. got out of his path then moved to the front of center stage where she wouldn't have to keep dodging the crew.

Nell and Hank came right along with her, and she gave them a look. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope." Hank reached into his shirt pocket where his smokes resided, then apparently remembered where he was and let his hand drop.

"Not a chance," Nell agreed. P.J. sighed her defeat. "Okay, then. The real irony here? I never set out to make her my manager at all. She began showing up at some of my shows back in my bar-singing days when I first started to draw crowds. And one night Ron Brubaker stopped by to check me out."

"Mercer Records Brubaker? That was your first label, right?"

"Yeah."

"So Jodeen was there the night Brubaker came in," Nell prompted. "What'd she do?"

"Sashayed straight to him and started talking me up. After the show Ron came over, introduced himself and told me how proud of me my mama was. The next thing I know I'm being offered a contract to play in a much larger venue while-are you ready for it?-I cut my first record."

"It was your first big break," Hank said.

"With Ron Brubaker, who's famous for not tolerating problem clients. What was I gonna do? You know how hard it is to break into this business and I was bending over backward trying to look as professional as possible. Mama had charmed his pants off. So I let the fact that she was written into the contract as my manager slide. And then, of course, I was stuck with her." She looked at her friends. "And I know what you're thinking. After I split from Mercer over those widely publicized 'creative differences,' I could have dumped her. But-I admit it, okay?-I liked having her like me for the first time in my life. And right up until she started helping herself to my money, she actually did a pretty decent job of representing me."

Then she raised her chin. She knew she'd been needy and had shown poor judgment, but the last thing she wanted was their pity. "Long story short, I was an idiot. So I guess I'm getting what I deserve."

"Bullshit," Hank growled.

"Complete and utter BS," Nell agreed. Reaching out, she gave P.J.'s arm a comforting rub. But her expression was serious-and perhaps a little bit hurt-as she said, "Why have I never heard about this before today?"

Because she hated, hated,hated anyone realizing what a chump she could be when it came to her mother. Hell, she'd just as soon not admit to it now, but Nell was right. They'd been friends longer than P.J. had ever had the opportunity to be with anyone else. And friends deserved the truth.

"It happened before we met," she said carefully. "And in truth, Nell? I'm not exactly proud of how easily I've let Mama manipulate me over the years."

"Ah, hon, that's notyour shame. That rests entirely on your mother's should-"

"Hey, tiny thang!" a cheerful male voice interrupted. "How's my best girl?"

"Hey, Eddie," P.J. replied without turning around. She'd know the voice of her guitarist anywhere-not to mention the dreamy admiration she could see forming on Nell's face and the exasperation on Hank's. Then she was swooped up into strong arms and whirled in a fast, tight circle. Slinging an arm around Eddie's neck, she hung on until he slowed down, then gave his handsome face a friendly pat. Eddie Brashear was charming, talented and not to be trusted farther than you could throw him when it came to the fairer sex. P.J. had helped clean up more of his messes than she cared to remember.Someone had to pick up the pieces when his woman of the moment learned that fidelity wasn't part of his vocabulary, and God knew it was never Eddie.

But he was the perfect diversion from having to chronicle more of her dysfunctional relationship with Jodeen and she was happy he was there.

"You're late," Hank snapped as Eddie set P.J. back on her feet.

"Chill out, old man. Some of us have better things to do than show up half an hour early for sound check. Besides, the roadies are just now finishing setting up." Turning to Nell, he chucked her under the chin. "How are you, sweet thing? Glowing as ever, I see."

She blushed, Hank snarled and P.J., deciding it was pretty much business as usual, said, "Whataya say we get this show on the road?" She walked over to the musicians who were tuning up their instruments in the bandstand and introduced herself.

"We're going to be working hand in glove for a lot of shows for the next several weeks," she told them once she had their names semistraight in her mind. "So let's get started finding out how we sound together." The stage lights came on with a series of loud clanks and she shielded her eyes from the glare as she turned to look out into the theater. "Billy, you ready out there?"

"You betcha."

"Then let's give this a whirl." She looked over her shoulder at Eddie, who'd plugged in his electric guitar and was fitting its strap over his head, and at Hank, who had picked up his fiddle, and said, "We'll start with 'Let the Party Begin.'"

For the next hour and a half they ran through song after song, making adjustments and finalizing the order of the playlist. When they finished the final number P.J. danced around to face the backup band. "God, I love this business! You guys rocked! Beer's on me in my dressing room after the show." She glanced over at Nell, who nodded and wrote on her clipboard. Then, after waiting for the cheer that had greeted her announcement to die down, she said, "Let's bring 'em to their feet out there tonight."

Collecting Nell on her way offstage, she decided to forgo checking out the new bus in favor of heading straight to her dressing room for some downtime before she had to get ready for the show. When she caught another glimpse of Jared sitting by himself in the front row, however, her steps slowed.

He looked so:alone. When she stopped to think about it, in fact, healways seemed to be alone.

Well, duh. She picked up her pace again, striding offstage toward the corridor that led to her dressing room. What did she expect-for him to behave like the Grand Poo-bah of Party Central? He was here to do a job that he clearly took seriously.

Still:

Not once in any of the bars the two of them had hit this past week had she seen Jared chat up a woman or dance with one or even exchange small talk with a bartender. He'd simply sat off by himself. Even jammed shoulder-to-shoulder on a stool at the bar he'd projected an unapproachable manner that was every bit as effective as a neon No Trespassing sign.

Sounds like a personal problem to me, girlfriend.

Damn tootin'. She began walking so quickly that Nell had to ask her to slow down.

She complied, but her friend's request barely even registered. It just didn't sit right to exclude Jared from the after-show party when she'd invited everyone else. She didn't like the job he was hired to do, or him for taking it. But if anyone knew what it felt like to always be left out of events everyone else in the world seemed to be invited to, it was her.

Crap.

Stopping, she reached for Nell's arm to bring her to a halt, as well, and leaned to murmur in her ear. Then, feeling like the world's biggest chump, she stalked down the corridor to her dressing room.

"MR. HAMILTON?"

Jared looked at the woman making her way down the center aisle that he was walking up. "Yes," he acknowledged, stopping when they met at Row 14. He peered through the dim lighting at the unadorned brunette in front of him. "Nell, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir." She blinked up at him. "How did you know?"

"The acoustics in here are outstanding."

"Yes, isn't this a fabulous theater?" Then alarm widened her eyes as two and two belatedly added up to a sum that told her he'd overheard P.J.'s private conversation with her and the fiddle player. "Ohmigawd."

She looked so stricken that he reached out to give the hands she'd begun wringing a pat. They were ice cold beneath his fingers. "I don't make it a practice to gossip about my clients," he assured her gently. "And I never talk to the press. Consider me your priest. P.J.'s business is her own."

Fingers stilling, she gave him a dry look. "Yes, I'm surepriest is the first word that pops into women's minds when they look at you."

Surprised by her sass when he would have thought she wouldn't say boo if she'd been born a ghost, he missed the beginning of her next question.

"-call her P.J. when she's more widely known as Priscilla?"

"Huh? Oh. P.J. and I knew each other for about five minutes a long time ago."

"Didyou? Funny, she didn't mention that."

"As I said, it was a long time ago-lot of water under the bridge since those days."

"Interesting, though." Then she seemed to collect herself. "But that's neither here nor there. You're probably wondering why I stopped you."

He merely regarded her with polite attentiveness.

"Yes, well." She shifted her weight. "I wanted to invite you to the after-show party. It's in P.J.'s dressing room, which is down the hall that leads from backstage."

He stared at her in surprise. "I'm invited to the party? I would've thought I'd be the last person she'd want there."

"And you might be." Eyebrows performing a lightning up and down equivalent of a facial shrug, she looked him in the eye. "But P.J. spent her entire childhood being left out of things because she was rarely in one town long enough to get to know her schoolmates. So she sees to it that the same doesn't happen to others. She's the most inclusive person I know. And speaking of the party-" she glanced at her watch "-I have some refreshments to order. So we'll see you later, right?"

"I don't know. It doesn't sound like my kind of thing."

"Well, you'd know that better than me. But if you decide to attend, it's in the room with the tinfoil star on the door." Thrusting out her hand, she gave him a firm shake when he extended his own. "See you later, Mr. Hamilton."

"Jared," he corrected.

"You really should try to make it tonight, Jared. It's a great way to get to know the people you're going to be traveling with for the next month."

To his surprise he found himself wanting to grill her about some of those people-particularly the two band members who'd been so fast to manhandle P.J. this afternoon. He couldn't help but wonder if the hints of animosity he'd witnessed between them were due to a rivalry over her.

But he shrugged it aside as unimportant, wished Nell a good day and watched as she walked back up the aisle. Then he turned his attention back to the conversation he'd inadvertently eavesdropped on.

Contrary to what he'd let Nell believe, he hadn't overheard more than a snippet here and there of the conversation between her, P.J. and the fiddle player until they'd moved to the center of the stage, almost directly in front of him. Then the talk had suddenly turned crystal clear, even if it had been conducted in low tones that he doubted carried to the sound man's booth in the back of the theater.

Apparently he wasn't the only one who'd wondered why P.J. had made Jodeen Morgan her manager. He wasn't quite certain, however, how to reconcile her explanation with the girl he used to know. The old P.J. would never have allowed that manager clause to be included in her contract.

Or, shit, maybe she would have. He was the product of a seriously screwed up father/son relationship himself, so if anyone ought to know what it was to constantly hope for a parent's affection-even though the fact you'd never received it should've knocked the need right out of you-he was the one. And what the hell did he know about what it took to break into the music business anyway? The chances of getting a record deal at all had to be mighty slim, never mind having reached the heights P.J. was beginning to enjoy.

So who was he to second-guess her decisions? They'd led her to hiring an undeserving mother. Big deal. He'd once made a decision that had left him standing accused of murdering his father.

During which time P.J. had stood by him even though she, like everyone else, had believed he'd committed the crime.

He'd reserve judgment until he had some actual facts. And he'd go to her frigging after-show party, as well.

If only to find out what the story was with those two bickering band members of hers.