Return to Oakpin(107)

            The next band took a while to set up as they changed the drum kit to their own, with their name enameled on the facing, the Moonlight Gamblers. “Hey, we’ve got troubles,” Frank said. “I’ve seen these guys down in Laramie. They’re for real.”

            “I thought this was amateurs,” Craig said.

            “No, it’s all comers.”

            The room filled with the sinister prelude to “Hotel California,” and it got as quiet as it had been for an hour. It was clear these guys were good, and while the dance floor overflowed again, a group of three dozen adoring fans stood in front of the stage. Mason rolled his eyes at Frank. “Fate is speaking.” The song closed, and the ovation rocked with whistles and calls for two minutes.

            A woman came up to the varnished wooden lounge corral. She had on a tricolor cowboy shirt and snug white levi’s. She folded her arms, waiting for Larry, who was bent making notes on the jam-packed table. “Can I help you?” Marci asked her.

            “Not really, ma’am. Unless you want to dance. I’m waiting on this gentleman.” Larry looked up. “Yeah, you. Let’s just dance, if you will?

            “You go, boy,” Frank said. “We’ve got two bands to go.”

            Larry colored slightly and shrugged and lifted himself over the rail and said, “Okay then.”

            Marci watched the couple melt into the clog of dancers, as the lead singer of the Moonlight Gamblers lifted his hand for silence, which he received, and then sang the word, “Maybe,” as the soulful beginning of Willie Nelson’s song “You Were Always on My Mind.” Marci’s face bore a version of astonishment. “He’s underage,” she said.

            “This is Gillette,” Frank said. “No such thing.”

            “We’re dancing,” Marci told Craig, and she stood up.

            Craig smiled. “I think we’re on surveillance,” he told the table as he led his wife around to the floor. “But hell, I’ll hold you close, and you can spy all night.”

            Frank stood and took Sonny’s hand. “We’ll spy on them.”

            Kathleen and Mason were alone at the table, which was a landslide of glasses and bottles. “You know Shirley Stiver then,” Kathleen said.

            “She’s my realtor, but I’m letting her go.”

            “Why’s that.”

            “I’m keeping the house.”

            “What for?”

            “I need a place to take you to dinner.”

            “I’m not ready for dinner, Mason.” She put her hand on his elbow.

            “I know, Kathleen. But every day has a dinner, and there’ll come a day.”

            “You’re so sure?”

            “No, I am not. But I know what is good for me, and I’m going to stay up in Oakpine and work at it.”

            “Good luck,” she said, leaning to him to kiss his cheek. “Good luck to you.”

            Now a young woman in a blue cloth coat came up behind them, unbuttoning it. “Hello,” she said. “Have you played yet?” It was Wendy Ingram.

            “Wendy,” Kathleen said. “You’ve got snow in your hair.”

            The girl stepped back and brushed herself off. “It’s snowing. Somebody’s in the ditch a mile out. There was a backup.”