The Kylie Ryans Series: Girl with Guitar, Girl on Tour, Girl in Love (extended edition) Read online

  “Thanks.” Kylie didn’t know if this woman was an angel or just a decent human being, but she really wanted to hug her. She resisted, but just barely. “So um, how much…I just mean, not that it’s a big deal or anything.” Kylie stuttered over the embarrassing question.

  “Enough,” Tonya answered with a wink. “Just be sure you tip out the bartender every night and all will be well.”

  Kylie had done that with the hostesses at Pam’s. But only like five percent. “How much do you tip out?”

  “Twenty percent is standard, thirty if you want to get your drinks to your customers before they grow old. Tips will be shitty tonight ‘cause some hotshot singer was a no-show, but most nights it’s pretty good.”

  “Got it. Anything else I should know?”

  “Yeah, until Clive puts you on the schedule, you’re just auditioning and this isn’t Oklahoma, honey. You were in the right place at the right time and I appreciate it, believe me.” Tonya cocked one hip and placed a hand on it. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “I have a two-year-old home with a babysitter, and if you hadn’t come along I’d be cleaning these rooms until three in the morning. But Clive…he’s, well, he’s a hard ass.” Kylie watched the woman shrug. “We open at two every afternoon. It’s appetizers only until four when they fire up the grill. Most acts go on at seven. We’re supposed to kick everyone out at midnight but most nights regulars stay till two. Sometimes the bands don’t leave until then and we can’t clean the rooms until they’re gone.”

  Her brain was working overtime to retain the information the woman was hurling at her. Basically she’d be working two in the afternoon until two in the morning. Should be a hell of a paycheck. The thought of an apartment of her very own appeared in the back of her mind.

  The waitress studied her for a second and then sighed. “Listen, if it’s too much, just finish out tonight and don’t come back. No hard feelings, I swear—this ain’t for everyone.”

  Kylie shook her head. “No, I’m good. Promise.”

  “Okay well, until he puts you on that schedule,” Tonya began, gesturing to a giant dry erase board just outside of a door she said led to Clive’s office, “you show up at one. Every day.”

  “Got it.”

  “And Kylie?” Tonya stopped and turned so abruptly they almost collided.

  “Yeah?”

  “Boots and jeans are good, but tomorrow wear a tighter t-shirt.”

  Kylie swallowed any worries this should cause. “Hey Tonya,” she said as she followed her back into the bar.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks…I mean it.”

  “For what?” the brunette asked with an arched brow.

  “Being the best cousin ever.”

  Tonya laughed out loud. It was the first time Kylie had seen her do so. She looked ten years younger. “Kid, you’re either crazy or desperate—and you have to be both to make it here. I think you’re gonna do just fine.”

  Both, Kylie thought to herself. I’m both.

  AFTER SHOWING up at twelve-thirty every day for two weeks, Clive stopped ignoring her. She’d worn the tightest shirts she owned. She’d even tied some up in the back because hey, a girl’s gotta eat.

  “Well, I guess you’re not going back to Idaho, huh?” the bar owner asked, clapping a big hand on Kylie’s shoulder. She briefly debated correcting him but thought better of it.

  “No, sir. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” she told him, shifting the enormous tray of wings and beer she was carrying to the arm he wasn’t clamped onto.

  “All right. Next week you’ll be on the schedule. Good work, kid.” He cleared his throat, and looked as if he was debating on whether or not to waste anymore time speaking to a random waitress. “I’m not easily impressed, but the hospitality rooms are lookin’ better than ever and Tonya says you’re a huge help. I got guys in the kitchen whose lives I’ve threatened if they try to ask you out and run you off.” He winked at her and she grinned up at him.

  “Thank you, um, for all of that.” She was surprised to see his cold dark eyes warm for a second. There was a flash of something fatherly about him that set off a deep ache inside of her.

  “Well get back to work before you make a liar out of me,” he huffed, releasing her. Back to business as usual, Kylie thought. “Oh, and get with Tonya and fill out your W9, make a copy of your license and all that.”

  “Yes, sir.” No more getting paid out of the cash register at the bar each night. Actual paychecks were coming soon. A daring sliver of hope settled in, causing her to grin like a crazy fool for the rest of her shift.

  BETWEEN WAITRESSING and setting up and cleaning the hospitality rooms, Kylie was exhausted. In the past two weeks she’d checked in with Lulu a few times, but mostly she just showered and wrote and worked out new songs with her guitar until she passed out cuddled up next to it each night.

  Stumbling through her morning routine of showering and getting ready while contemplating splurging on expensive coffee, she was half dressed when she remembered it was Amateur Night. At The Rum Room. Where she worked.

  She’d been so grateful for the tips that were keeping her housed and fed for the time being, she’d lost track of what day it was. How would Clive feel about this? And Tonya? Oh hell, it was entirely possible that there might be a rule banning employees from performing at these types of things.

  On her brisk walk to work, guitar case thumping behind her, Kylie tried to think of how to pose the question to Tonya. If there was a rule, she knew she should probably keep her job and sign up for open mic nights at other bars. No shortage of those. But damn. She’d already seen the list of managers and music execs that frequented The Rum Room’s Amateur Night. Not to mention the number of artists that had been discovered there. Talk about a blessing and a curse. It was everything she could do not to groan out loud.

  When she arrived at work, she heard voices coming from the kitchen so she skirted the bar and slunk into the employee lounge. The hum of the Coke machine was the only sound she heard as she tucked her guitar behind the couch. She’d practiced for hours last night, and she knew exactly what song she would perform. Goodbye Pride, the new one. It was her song, her town, and the place where her father would remain buried forever.

  Please God, do not let Clive fire me over this.

  KYLIE HAD tried twice already to pull Tonya aside, but the bar was packed. She wasn’t able to get her attention until almost seven, when open mic night would begin.

  “Hey, cuz, I need to ask you about something, like now,” Kylie whispered to her when they passed each other filling drink orders.

  Tonya unloaded the empty glasses from her tray, replacing them with full ones. “Um, kinda busy here.”

  “I know, me too, but it’s an emergency. Please, pretty please meet me in the lounge in five?”

  “Okay, but this better be good.” Tonya rolled her eyes and practically sprinted away to deliver her drinks.

  A few minutes later, Tonya found Kylie warming up on her guitar in the employee lounge.

  The waitress wiped her hands on her apron and folded her arms across her chest. “Really? Busiest night all week and you need me to listen to you play the guitar?”

  Biting her lip so hard she almost drew blood, she took a deep breath and confessed. “I’m signed up for tonight. Think Clive will be pissed?”

  Tonya sighed and dropped onto the couch beside her. “Well yeah, but only because the last girl who quit did the same thing. Met some big deal manager and is now on a hotel tour or something.”

  “But there’s no rule against it, right?”

  “No, there’s not.”

  Unable to keep the grin off of her face, Kylie let loose a riff on her guitar. “Thank you, Jesus!”

  “Well, I got Demonic Deb to watch my tables. She’s probably stealing my tips as we speak, so let’s hear something.”

  “Really?” Kylie could feel her soul lighting up.

  “Yeah, and hurry. We gotta get back out the
re.”

  Kylie took a deep breath and launched into her song. “Goodbye pride, it’s time I let you go. It’s hard to watch the place I love fade away, while holding on to what I know. But second chances and could’ve beens and things we should’ve said keep haunting me. Like ghosts of dreams passed with a grudge to hold, they just won’t let it be. It’s not like me to run away, to give up, or just leave town, but if I stay another day, this pride’s gonna drag me down.” Kylie let the last chord hang in the air before picking up the tempo.

  “Everybody’s got a story to tell, a friendly sin that they know real well. I ain’t ashamed to say that pride’s mine. Because the last time was the last time.” Swallowing hard to push down the emotions her lyrics stirred, Kylie closed her eyes and kept singing.

  “So goodbye pride, it’s time I let you go. Gonna let ‘em say what they’re gonna say, ‘cause I‘m the only one who knows. Pride’s a cheap shot in a tall glass, and if you drink it slow you think it’s gonna last, but I know better than that.”

  Even caught up in her music, she knew she was probably singing loud enough to be heard in the hall, so she lowered her voice. “Everybody’s got a story to tell. A love affair with a sin that they know real well, but pride’s not gonna be mine. The last time was the last time. This time I’m letting you go. This is the end of what could’ve been. Now I guess we’ll never know…”

  She cut the song off before the last chorus and opened her eyes. “Well?” she asked, looking up at Tonya. Who had tears in her eyes. “Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?”

  “That was beautiful, really. It was like you knew my whole life story, which you don’t, thank God.”

  “Thanks.” Kylie beamed.

  “But you can’t play that tonight,” Tonya said evenly, dabbing her tears away with a bar napkin.

  Her heart sank into her stomach. “I can’t?”

  “No.” Kylie watched Tonya’s eyes harden as she gripped her shoulder. “Listen to me, kid. I know a few things. Like for one, your life’s goal is probably not to be a waitress in a honky tonk. And for two, I know that all you really want is to make it big in country music like every other kid in this town, and that’s all fine and good and I’ll say I knew you when. Matter of fact, hold up, sign this napkin.”

  Kylie’s mouth gaped open at her friend’s blunt observations. And she was seriously holding out a napkin and a pen. Slowly, Kylie took it and scribbled her name across it.

  “But here’s what else I know. If you go play that sappy song that no one knows the words to, everyone will smile and nod and keep right on drinking. The managers and talent scouts that show will keep texting on their phones and someone somewhere might say, ‘That was a nice song,’ or ‘She was cute,’ and that will be it.”

  “Okay, so…” Kylie was still too stunned to say much of anything. Tears threatened behind her eyes. This was the song she’d worked so hard on, put so much of herself into. Wasn’t it a good thing to be original?

  “So you get your cute little butt out there, you sing some Taylor Swift or Kelly whoever cover, and you shake it up and make it your own so the audience can sing along while not comparing you to whoever really sings the damn thing.”

  “Oh, is that all? Well, that should be a piece of cake. Thanks for the advice.” Kylie rolled her eyes and left them focused on the ceiling so her tears wouldn’t fall.

  “Look, you can sing, you play good enough. You’re kinda sexy and all that stuff they want. I wouldn’t waste my breath or my time, Kylie, if you didn’t just blow me the hell away, but I know this town. If this was your first day of meeting with a label exec, I’d say bust that song out. But this is a bar, and you need to get their attention first. The guys who come in here are looking for one thing. Acts that bring in money. People want to hear that song that makes them stand up and sing along and stay up drinking and partying all night. Think you can do that?”

  Kylie swallowed hard, pushed her tears back behind her eyes, and forced a smile. She’d grown up without a mother. Buried the only man she’d ever loved less than a year ago. Lost everything in the blink of an eye. Surely she could do this. “Yeah. Yeah I can.”

  “Good, ‘cause no matter what they call it, this shit ain’t for amateurs.” Tonya stood, offering her a weak smile before leaving Kylie all alone to figure out what the hell she was going to do.

  GODSEND THAT she was, Tonya took over Kylie’s tables while she warmed up in the lounge. Kylie ran to grab a bottle of water from the media room and bumped into a man she didn’t recognize.

  “God, sorry,” she told him.

  “Women usually don’t call me that when I have all my clothes on.”

  Kylie arched an eyebrow and started to back out of the room with her water. No time for douchebaggery tonight, buddy. Tonya had warned her about slick looking guys who went around propositioning desperate waitresses in hopes of getting them naked in front of a camera.

  “Hey, I was kidding,” he said with a teasing grin. “Sort of. Michael Miller,” he informed her, reaching out a hand.

  Kylie eyed it as if it were a poisonous snake and he let it drop.

  “And your name?” he inquired, dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

  “Just a waitress. Excuse me.” Kylie bolted from the room. She’d heard Clive welcoming everyone and knew she was third on the list to perform. She wondered if he’d seen her name on it yet.

  Kylie darted to the employee bathroom and tried to freshen up. She wouldn’t have time to change clothes so she’d worn her best jeans and the black Rum Room t-shirt Clive had just given her. After splashing water on her face, followed by some mascara and lip gloss, she exited into the hall to chug her bottle of water and wait in line with the other performers.

  Leaning against the cool concrete wall, Kylie’s stomach clenched and sweat dripped down her back. Several of the male amateurs waiting to perform gave her appraising glances but she was too nervous to care. Or talk. The few other girls in line looked like a cross between Hollywood hookers and country Barbie. One lady looked old enough to be her grandmother. Dear God, please do not let me still be doing this at her age.

  No, she thought, shame on me. Good for her for not giving up on her dream. The possibility of homelessness and starvation had almost been enough to do her in.

  The act just before her went on and her ears filled with rushing fluid and a faraway ringing. She prayed that Tonya was right and that what she was about to do would work. She’d gotten a good look at the crowd—mostly early to mid-twenties and the few usual old timers.

  She wasn’t at all sure that this was a good idea, but they definitely wouldn’t be able to sit there and ignore her like they might have if she’d gone with her original plan. If this worked, and she made it anywhere in music, Kylie was going to send Tonya’s kid to college.

  “Next up! Well I’ll be, if it isn’t The Rum Room’s very own Kylie Ryans, ladies and gentlemen.” Nate, one of the short order cooks, introduced her and then stepped aside.

  Kylie stepped onto the stage, ignoring the blinding lights, and walked over to talk to the drummer in the house band. She whispered in his ear and he nodded. She leaned over to the lead guitar player and said, “Watch me for changes.” He gave her a thumbs up and waited. Here went nothing.

  “Evenin’ y’all,” Kylie drawled into the microphone. “I had a song I was gonna sing and then my friend Tonya, she might be your waitress, she told me it sucked—so I guess I’m just gonna play this here guitar and see where it takes us.” She grinned at the audience and then leaned closer to the mic once more. “Oh, and I go right back to serving after this, so if you don’t clap when I’m finished, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen to your drink between the bar and your table.” Kylie winked and strummed a few cords. “Okay, here we go.”

  Laughter? Did she hear laughter? She thought she did.

  I know you wanna tie me down, know you wanna put a ring on it, but I ain’t never been that kinda girl, not for all the money in the world
.

  Kylie launched into her modified version of Trace Corbin’s latest hit, Not That Kinda Man. It was the famous bachelor’s latest lovin’ and leavin’ single and she was attempting to turn the thing on its ear. He’d written and sang it as a sad break up ballad and Kylie had remixed and reworked it into the single girl’s party anthem.

  You wanna own me but you don’t know me. Guess what darlin’? When you wake up I’ll be gone.

  Kylie flashed her sexiest grin and wiggled a little at the crowd. Then she shouted, “Sing it with me girls!” into the mic and picked up the tempo, launching into the chorus.

  Several waitresses, Tonya included, stopped what they were doing to sing along. Not that Kylie could really see them, but the girls in the crowd joined in too. She sang to the guitar player, whose name she was pretty sure was Andy, and he played right along, smiling and winking at her the whole time. Well I’m not that kinda girl, don’t wanna play these games, not gonna wake up in your bed or take your name. She gave Andy a playful smack on the ass and he blew her a kiss. Shrieking whistles radiated from the audience.

  The music hummed and pulsed against her and somewhere in Kylie’s mind a little voice said, Holy shit you’re doing it!

  When the number was over, she practically flew off the stage, painfully aware of the pounding in her chest. Oh well, if I have a heart attack and die right this moment, I’ll die happy. The applause was loud enough to be heard over the ringing in her ears and she wanted it more than oxygen.

  Clive was leaning on the bar, shaking his head but smiling. Tonya shot her two thumbs up. Kylie let out a little squeal of happiness and sent a silent thank you up to her daddy, feeling certain she was higher than any drug could ever take her.

  She would let Tonya go home early tonight and do the rooms herself. She had enough energy to clean ten green rooms. When she told Tonya that, the woman hugged her. Hard. “You knocked ‘em dead, girl! That was amazing!”

  “Yeah, well, I got some really good advice,” Kylie told her, unable to keep the permagrin off her face.