Joe Wayne took a sip of the bourbon to ease the tension that popped up in his jaw at the question. “I am a professional. Small-town bars and honky-tonks, mostly. No major gigs in a helluva long time,” he admitted. “But I make enough to eat on and to buy enough gas to move on to the next place.”
“You live out of motels?” Sol lifted his head and eyed him directly, looking like a raccoon with something on his mind.
“Not usually enough money for a motel room.” Joe Wayne shook his head, but he couldn’t hold back the grin. “There’s always a woman wanting to take the star home with her and take care of his needs.”
“Sounds like a lonely life.”
“Something else we have in common.” Joe Wayne strummed another chord, fleshing out a new song with a few plucks and the emotion weighing on his heart. “Lonely men...lonely women...settlin’ down...on Lonely Street. Not an end...not a beginnin’...just a hope...someday they’ll meet.”
“Never heard that one,” Sol said.
“Just made it up.” Joe Wayne fingered the tune playing in his head. It would probably be gone by morning. Alcohol was an effective eraser. He brought the song to a close.
Sol clapped a couple of times—high praise from Mr. Surly. “Ever play in front of a big crowd?”
That one took a swig to answer. “Ever heard of the Grand Ole Opry?”
Sol nodded and then hissed in pain and took another gulp.
“Eighteen years ago, me and EmmyLou shared that sacred circle.”
His companion sat up real quick-like and drew a sharp breath between clenched teeth. “You and EmmyLou performed at the Grand Ole Opry?”
“In the circle.” Joe Wayne couldn’t hide the pride even if he wanted to...which he didn’t. “Ever hear of The Fullers?”
He watched recognition dawn in his companion’s eyes. “Hell, yeah. I had some of their CDs.”
“Our CDs.” He tapped his chest with his finger. “Me and EmmyLou’s.”
Sol was all Mr. Interested now. He straddled the chair—maneuvering his artificial leg almost as well as his real one—and cradled his bourbon between his hands. “What happened?”
“Well, ya see, I was good, but EmmyLou was the draw.” Joe Wayne’s jaw was flapping loose as a goose now, his mind running through rationalizations that would justify giving up his sister’s story. “Hell, you saw the pictures of her in there on the wall. Beauty queen with the voice of an angel.” Sol would understand her better if he knew. And besides, EmmyLou... EmmyLou and Mama...had blown everything way out of proportion. What happened wasn’t that big a deal—hardly a deal at all, actually.
He tried to wash away the bitterness on his tongue with another sip. Nope, still there. He gulped, and the bourbon surrounded his anger, making it palatable and much easier to swallow. And it slowed him down. “But this ain’t my story to tell. Ask EmmyLou.” A few strums on the guitar, and the tension released in his arms and neck, his back and his hands. “What was that song I had going a minute ago?”
“Lonely men...lonely women,” his companion sang in a voice that wasn’t half-bad, but not half-good, either.
Joe Wayne’s fingers took off on a different tangent, the first tune lost in the marine fog in his brain. “Not half-bad...not half-good...life’s weird math just don’t add up. Not half-sad...not half-happy... ’less I’m sipping from a cup. Bourbon helps to fill the spaces...helps my mind to wander free. One good slurp and I’m expoundin’...on life’s geometry.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
