On the Run by M Zeigler (online e reader txt) 📕

Instead of ordering the entire menu for myself, I skim down to the third row, left column, and find a rather appealing dish the eatery calls The Southern Slam. This particular burger has four different kinds of meat as well as three types of cheese, not to mention avocado, onion, and the rest of the makings for a tasty burger.

Almost as if she were a mind reader, the waitress nervously approaches, her face is redder than a tomato which really gives away the fact she’s nervous or has her mind in the gutter, or both.

“Are you ready to order Mr. Green?” The waitress stutters out with such a determination she is almost yelling, the young woman must be incredibly nervous that I am here. Knowing her unnerved state, and being the tricky individual that I am; a huge and very devious smile spreads across my face that is quickly wiped away by a verbal warning from Marcus.

“Barrette, you behave yourself now, ya hear?” Marcus mutters under his breath using his own southern slang.

Let me brief you on mine and Marcus’s connection, eight years ago Marcus was the leader of four detectives in my home town of Christianson Georgia. The old timing retired sheriff spent much of his time arresting me from age fifteen to eighteen, and then on and off again after eighteen. A few days after my twentieth birthday I was in a nearly fatal car wreck that Marcus was witness to. After the accident Marcus had no choice but to charge me with reckless driving, and driving under the influence of alcohol. I was at an age where, in my eyes, I was invincible, I would never become another statistic of drinking and driving. After the accident is when I really became insightful and started living life the way a proper man should. I gave up drinking myself into oblivion and really started focusing my efforts on music. Marcus was hired as my unofficial band manager, after many years of hard work we made it to music row where I was quickly offered a signing.

Deciding Marcus is right about me not harassing the waitress, I place my order, The Southern Slam seems to be the most appealing item on the menu so I will order that.

“I’ll have the southern Slam with the works.” I sigh tiredly through a yawn not really paying much thought into the way of manners. My mother, June, has always lectured me about the importance of manners; she was especially stern about yawning while you are trying to talk.

The waitress, Adrienne, jots down the order then looks up at me with a timid smile, she’s blushing again, this poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself in my presence and it’s kind of cute. Does she not understand that I’m just as average as she is? Yes people listen to my music and just about everyone who listens to country music knows who I am, but I never act like a rich country star.

 “Your order will be up shortly.” Adrienne manages to say before walking away, she’s so nervous that I can visibly see her body shaking while she walks away.

“Barrette, how does it feel being country’s biggest star already?” Clint, the band pyrotechnic designer asks with a huge smile on his face. His bright red hair, as normal, is all kinds of messed up sticking out in every direction with his even brighter green brown eyes beaming sarcastically.

“Oh come on now, Clint, I’m not that big of a star yet. So I’ve had a few number one hits but that doesn’t classify me as George Strait or Merle Haggard.” I announce giving the example of two major country legends, Clint gives me a grin matched with an amused head bob; he’s focusing on rolling a straw wrapper into a ball.

“No you’re name isn’t that major, yet, but given some time and effort you’ll be the biggest, greatest, rhinestone cowboy Casanova to ever step foot into country music! You are most definitely going places in this world!” Chelsea gushes excitedly whilst removing her thin jacket, a thin pink frilly wind breaker with a defective zipper. Though the jacket is defective Chelsea still wears it quite often I think this clothing article might be her favorite. Clint gives a wicked grin the moment he sees her low cut top and pitches the wadded straw wrapper into her shirt.

“Ten points!” Clint announces proudly doing some goofy dance move in chair; Marcus gives a disgruntled and much appalled scoff at Clint’s behavior. Marcus and Clint don’t get along very well, mostly because our stage fireworks expert is so much of an overgrown child that we often wonder if it’s even safe to leave him in charge of the stage explosives.

“Okay children, need I remind you that we are in a five star restaurant and there are other guests here?” Marcus says warning everyone that he is not about to be thrown out of yet another establishment like we were in Colorado after Clint and I got the bright idea to see if we could get the lobsters in the tank drunk off beer. In my defense I’d already had way too much to drink that night, which was one night of few that someone could’ve convinced me lobsters had wings and came from mars.

“Barrette is a bad boy, if you put rhinestones on that leather jacket of his; the fans might start having an issue.” Clint responds ignoring Marcus completely, Chelsea grimaces at Clint, her lips move as if to speak but instead of hearing her voice I hear a new waitress speaking.

“The food is ready! I am Lesley, and this is Lisa she’s will be bringing out your drinks here momentarily. Please enjoy the food, and if you need anything else feel free to flag down any of the waitresses.” She says merrily while really emphasizing the words ‘if you need anything’ her remark was aimed towards me. If that exact phrase isn’t the oldest, cheapest waitress pick up line in the books then I don’t know what is.

Looking at Lesley I take notice that she is indeed not  the same waitress who took my order, I also note that she has her uniform skirt pulled up much higher than appropriate for working here, and she’s undone the top five buttons of her shirt exposing most of her cleavage. With her lack of professionalism, I’m amazed that she is still working here.

“Where did Adrienne wander off to?” I chuckle sounding a bit evil, Marcus gives me a disparaging look, Chelsea giggles, and Clint starts to speak. “Say nothing, Clint or so help me God.” Marcus warns, I often times feel bad for the old timer, he signed on to be my manager, but he didn’t sign on to be the band baby sitter and parent. He had enough babysitting back home in Christianson Georgia chasing after me in his patrol car.

“She was due for her break, why would you prefer her to serve you?” The blonde standing before me asks sounding even more inappropriate and coy, giving the woman my best charming look I come up with the perfect reply.

“She did seem less anxious to be serving this table, so let her stay on break I’m sure she is exhausted.” I reply really emphasizing the word anxious just to get my point across. The blonde frowns deeply at my emphasis as she slams my plate down on the table making her new found irritation with me perfectly obvious. After plating the rest of the team, she storms away seeming angry as can be, Clint begins clicking his tongue while his hands work to cut the steak he ordered. The sound gives away the fact he is about to make one of his more vulgar remarks, and most likely get himself scorned by Marcus later on for being unprofessional as well as rude and vulgar.

“Barrette, that was a fine woman, you shouldn’t be such a heartbreaker.” Clint teases, to my surprise instead of Marcus making an immediate comment, the bands stage equipment operator, Rick, chooses to call Clint out on his miscreant behavior.

“Barrette wouldn’t be here right now if he still acted like you! So quit encouraging him to spiral out of control.” Rick snaps at Clint giving a firm scowl to our beloved borderline pyromaniac. Now, don’t take Rick the wrong way, he’s a good guy and he only means well. His problem is that he’s pushing sixty, sixty is pushing back, and he has arthritis something terrible, so he’s grumpy all the time because he’s in pain from his medical problem. Although your first impression of him might say that he’s entirely crazy! He one of those men that doesn’t have a single hair on his head lying flat, and he is always looking off into space muttering to himself, normally his ramblings are self reminders of tasks that need to be done. Either way he’s a much appreciated team mate and I couldn’t imagine that we would be the same without his presence.

Giving no more attention to the banter at the table I take hold of my burger eager to finally eat, just as the food reaches my mouth my cell phone rings, ‘again!’

It’s the concert hall owner calling me this time, I know Roy very well and it would be rude to ignore a phone call from him. On the contrary side of manners, I’m thoroughly livid with the fact I’m being interrupted yet again when all I want is to eat and go to bed!

“Hello?” I answer the phone through gritted teeth trying to sound and remain calm; Roy’s voice comes through the other end sounding as leathered and worn as the man looks in person. He may own a concert hall, but he’s as home grown country as they come, he owns a farm that he grows Barley on, and he is out there plowing those fields all on his own complete with his straw hat and a piece of wheat hanging from his mouth.

“Sorry to disturb you Barrette but there is an urgent problem out here by your bus. Did you per chance order Chinese food for dinner and give the meal to a stray dog?” Roy inquires sounding genuinely concerned about my safety.

“Uh, yeah? Chelsea ordered the food close to two hours ago. Why do you ask?” My tone has taken a turn to worry and curiosity, worried about the dog, and the situation, and curious as to why Roy is worried about me.

“Well, that dog ate the food and he’s now down at the pet hospital having his stomach pumped. The darn mutt nearly died, Lucy Fletcher found the dog outside the bus seizing and foaming at the mouth. So the vet tested the stomach contests and it came back positive for Strychnine, someone poisoned that food. There are two cops out here wanting to talk to you immediately.” Roy explains, my jaw goes slack upon hearing what I have been told, Chelsea as well as everyone else here gives me a wondering look.

“Um, tell the officers I’ll be back in about forty five minutes, I’m just finishing up here at the diner.” I inform deciding that I’m eating dinner