The Making of a Gigolo (13) - Misty Compton

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Chapter Three

Amanda looked across the table at Rodney.

"So, is everything taken care of?" she asked.

"No problems," said Rodney firmly. "We got her a room at the Prairie Star Bed and Breakfast."

"Why not the hotel?" asked Amanda.

"It was booked up," said Rodney. "Everything is booked up. I had to call in a favor from Mattie, at the Prairie Star. I told her we'd work in some commercials for her."

"Is it a nice place?"

"For a hundred year old stone house, it's gorgeous," said Rodney. "Plus it has lots of history, and it's right near the fairgrounds."

"We want this girl to be happy, Rodney," warned Amanda.

"Quit worrying. I looked at her bio. She's from back in the mountains, in North Carolina, for pity's sake. She's only hit it big in the last three or four months. She probably hasn't even broken in her new shoes yet. She'll be happy."

Misty Compton was not happy.

The airline had lost her suitcase. Every stitch of clothing she had for the trip, except what she was wearing, was in that suitcase. Her three performance outfits, two pairs of jeans, and three T shirts were in that suitcase, along with her toothbrush and all her fancy new underwear.

They claimed that it accidentally went to Cleveland, Ohio, and she just couldn't understand how anybody could think that her suitcase should be sent to Cleveland, Ohio.

The man who had picked her up didn't make things any better. Instead of yelling at the airport people, he just grinned and said everything would be okay. He'd been insolent about it too.

"Hey, don't worry about it," he'd said, looking her up and down. "You're about the same size as my twin sisters. You can borrow some of their clothes."

Now, as she hurried along behind the long-legged insufferable cowboy, she was fuming. She was Misty Compton! She didn't wear other girl's clothes! Not any more. She'd thrown out all her hand-me-downs when she got her first royalty check, and bought all new things.

She'd tried to argue with him ... put him in his place. But he wouldn't listen. He just grinned that stupid grin, and looked at her with those impossibly blue eyes, and told her to come along ... that he'd get her all fixed up.

And now she was stuck. She had no idea where she was going, or how to get there. He was her only source of information, and he wasn't talking. He was just speeding ahead of her, like they were in some kind of race!

"Slow down!" she yelled, suddenly.

Then she ran into his back as he suddenly stopped. She bounced off, her thoughts going immediately to her precious guitar.

"I didn't say stop!" she yelled.

"Sorry," he said, with that insolent grin.

"Don't tell me you're sorry!" she snapped. "You're not sorry. You don't look one bit sorry!"

"Look," he said, the smile fading, finally. "I know this probably isn't what you're used to, what with you being a famous singer and all that. But this is the best we can do right now. Let's just get you out of here, and get you to Hutchinson, and everything will work out. I promise."

"Get me to Hutchinson!?" She gave him a blank stare. "We're already in Hutchinson, you idiot!"

She hated the look of pity he laid on her then.

"This is Wichita," he said, the corners of his mouth curling up just a fraction. "Hutch is forty miles away."

It got even worse as he led her to a rusty old pickup truck, an early sixties Chevy, just like the one her Uncle Zeke had, right down to the same rusty holes above the rear fenders, and behind the cab.

"Where is my limo?" she asked tersely.

"This is your limo," he said, that maddening smile back.

"You came to get me in a pickup?" Her voice rose higher with every word.

"I didn't know how much luggage you'd have," he said calmly. "If I'd have known how light you traveled, I'd have used something else."

Misty Compton, for whom crowds roared and stamped, wanted to cry.

"I'm not putting my guitar in the back of this truck!" she snapped, using her anger to keep from crying.

"There's room in the front for it," he said.

"I want a limo!" she screamed. "I want my suitcase and i want a limo!"

People were staring at them. That didn't really bother Bobby too much. When Amanda had called him, and asked him to go get the star performer for the Harvest Festival, he'd agreed to do it because it was Amanda asking him to. He didn't listen to the radio much, and the twins didn't play music at the house as much as they had in the past. Part of that was because they were at work during the days, and some evenings, and part of it was because, as they grew up, they weren't as fixated on celebrities as they had been in their younger days.

From Bobby's perspective, the only reason for worrying about Misty Compton at all was because Amanda was expecting him to bring her back.

"Look," he said. "I'm sorry your luggage got sent to Ohio. I can't do anything about that right now. I was sent to pick you up, and that's what I'm here for. If you don't want to ride with me, that's fine. You're a big recording star, from what little I know about you, so I'm sure that if you call somebody, they'll find a limo and send it to get you. I'll just wait until I'm sure somebody else is going to take care of you, and then I'll go on home."

"You don't even know who I am?!" squealed Misty, outraged that her burgeoning success was being ignored by this ... this ... this cowboy!

"Amanda told me," he said, looking a little uncomfortable. "I ... um ... don't listen to the radio much. I'm usually working. I'm sure you're very good. They wouldn't have asked you to come to the Harvest Festival if you weren't."

Misty quivered with indignation. This was the last straw. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

That impression was disabused almost immediately as a big raindrop splatted onto her cheek. She looked up to see thunderheads above her. Where had those come from? The sky had been as clear and blue as could be when the plane was landing. Three more raindrops hit her. The insufferable man started to walk around the front of the stupid truck.

"I'll just wait in the truck while you take care of things," he said.

It was her guitar that made her get in the truck with him. She told herself that, as she jerked open the door and pushed the case, with its precious cargo, to the middle of the bench seat, and scrambled in behind it. She was just in time, as the sky opened up and the windows of the truck suddenly became wavering peeks at a surreal world outside.

"Want me to drop you off at the terminal?" asked the man, as he got in the driver's seat.

"Just get me the fuck out of here!" she snarled.

"Okie dokie," he said, his voice light, as if he didn't have a care in the world. He almost sounded like one of her cousins, back home.

Twenty minutes later, just as the constant squeak from one of the truck's old windshield wipers was about to make her scream, the rain vanished as quickly as it had appeared. All that was left were a few torn clouds, staining a blue sky and the road went from having puddles on it, to bone dry within a mile. Misty glanced over at the driver. He hadn't said a word since he'd started the truck, and seemed to be paying attention only to the road ahead.

She felt irritated that he looked handsome. In another time and place, she'd have been intrigued by that strong jaw line, and that little lock of hair that fell on his forehead. His eyes were as blue as the sky, and that faded checkered shirt bulged with the muscles it tried to hide from view. She suddenly imagined this man wrestling with cattle, in a rodeo.

"So," she said, more to break the silence, than anything else, "are you in the rodeo a lot?"


He stared straight ahead. He was ignoring her. That made her mad too. Nobody ignored her. She was famous! She decided to remind him of that.

"Which of my songs do you like the most?" she asked.

He looked over at her, but just for a second. She remembered that he had said he only knew what that woman from the radio station had told him, and felt stupid for asking. That made her mad too.

"I don't know that I've heard any of them."

She was beginning to wish she'd just stayed in the rain.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"They got you a room at a Bed and Breakfast place, in Hutch," he said. "I'm supposed to take you to the station first, to meet Amanda and the rest of them. Then I'll take you to the bed and breakfast, or anywhere you want to go."

"I don't have anything!" she wailed. "I need clothes ... I don't even have a toothbrush!"

"There's plenty of stores in Hutch," said Bobby. "You can get whatever you need."

"They won't have the kind of clothes I perform in, you idiot!" she snarled. "Not in Bumfuck Kansas!"

She was startled as the truck started slowing down, and he pulled to the side of the road.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Why are you stopping?"

He turned to her. She stared into those awful blue eyes.

"You don't like me," he said, his voice level. "That's not surprising, because I don't much like you either. Maybe it's just a personality difference. That doesn't really matter. What matters is that I was hired to take care of you, and when I take on a job, I take it seriously. You don't have to yell, or curse. All you have to do is tell me what you need, and I'll try my best to arrange it. That's what I'm being paid to do. Now, if that isn't suitable to you, that's fine too. I'm taking you to see Amanda right now. You can tell her you don't like me, and that you want another driver, or whatever they call this, and I'll go on about my business. You don't have to put up with me much longer. In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you didn't foul the air like a drunken sailor."

He said it all so calmly, like he was just explaining something to her. All she could concentrate on, though, was his comment "I don't much like you either." Nobody talked to her like that. Nobody had talked to her like that since she left Hog Holler! To top it off, he didn't even wait for her to respond. He just started the truck rolling again, and pulled off the shoulder onto the road.

"Why don't you like me?" she asked, and then wished instantly she hadn't opened her mouth.

"You're spoiled," he said.

"I am not spoiled!" she argued.

"I want a limo!" his voice was high, like that of a child.

"Well?!" she objected. "I'm a star!"

"You're a girl," he snorted. "You apparently have a gift, and people like hearing you sing. They're even willing to pay to hear you sing. That doesn't mean anybody owes you anything except the price of admission."

"You're a horrible man!" she squealed.

"And you're a spoiled brat," he said calmly. "Now we know why we don't like each other."

The rest of the trip was completed in silence.

Amanda looked up for the twentieth time, and felt vastly relieved as she saw Bobby and a young blond woman coming through the door between the reception area and the station office suites. Her relief lasted only a few seconds, though. The girl looked mad, but it was the look on Bobby's face ... grim was the only way she could describe it ... that made her sit up and take notice.

"What's wrong?" She stood up and walked around the desk. Her normal urge was to hug Bobby, but she resisted.

"They lost her luggage," said Bobby. "She's not happy about anything."

"That's not true!" shouted Misty.

Both the man and the woman he had brought her to see stared at her. She realized that, if asked, she might not be able to come up with something she was, in fact, happy about. Her outburst had just been intended to strike back at this maddening man.

"Uh ... I'm Amanda Griggs," said Amanda, holding out her hand. "I'm sorry about your luggage. I'll get someone on it right away." She had prepared a speech ... or at least gone over how she wanted to greet a woman who had sold almost half a million records. Now, thought, everything she'd though to say seemed out of place.

She looked at the girl. That's really what she looked like ... a poor unhappy girl. Somehow Amanda had a hard time thinking of this poor unhappy girl as a recording star, even though she was clutching a guitar case to her chest.

"Why don't you sit down and rest a bit," suggested Amanda, adopting a solicitous attitude. "Tell me all about it. We can take care of anything that's wrong."

"Can you get me a band that's not sick?" asked Misty. "Can you get me a limo, with a driver who is polite and has at least heard of me? I need clothing. I need makeup. I need everything!" She got more and more agitated as her voice rose.

"She's a spoiled brat," said Bobby calmly. "She seems to think that the world should revolve around her."

"See?!" shouted Misty. "See what i had to put up with?"

Amanda felt ill, but the administrator ... and politician in her ... took over.

"Bobby, why don't you go fix something," she said, her voice level. "I'll take care of Misty. You and I will have a little talk later."

It took almost an hour, which, to be honest, Amanda did not have. But she spent that time anyway, because she needed Misty Compton, and she needed Misty Compton to be happy and ready to provide the kind of entertainment that everyone footing the bill for her was expecting.

Initially, she just let Misty rant. The girl ran out of steam, eventually, and slumped. Then Amanda started soothing her, explaining that every obstacle could - and would - be overcome. She didn't go into detail. She just reassured the girl that, when she went on stage the next night, things would be perfect.

Then she directed the conversation toward the program. Amanda was well versed on the album this girl had put out. She'd listened to it half a dozen times, so she would be completely familiar with all the tracks, titles and styles. Once she got Misty talking about what songs she wanted to sing, the girl perked up.

"I have a couple of new songs that I haven't recorded yet," said Misty. "Do you suppose it would be all right to sing them too?"

"That would be fantastic!" squealed Amanda, meaning it. "The crowd will love it. You're going to be a smash hit here, Misty, I just know it!"

She'd spent too much time with this girl already, and needed to get back to work.

"Why don't we get you to the B&B and you can relax and change clothes ... Oh! You can't! Of course! I'll have Bobby take you shopping!"

"Him!?" snorted the girl. "I don't like him!"

Amanda wanted to moan. It had never occurred to her that Bobby's charm might actually fail when it came to a woman. If anything, she'd been a little worried that Bobby might be too charming. She was unprepared for this eventuality, and had no one else to shepherd the girl.

"I think you just got off to a bad start with him," said Amanda, soothingly. "He's really a delightful man. I chose him specifically to take care of you. He's very resourceful. I'm sure if you give him another chance, you'll change your mind. Give it until tomorrow, okay? If things still aren't working out, I'll try to find somebody else to take care of you."

In fact, the reason Misty decided to agree, was because she had in mind plans to teach this cowboy a few lessons.

"I'll do that if you tell him that what I want ... I get," she said.

Amanda felt something like a warning bell jangling her nerves. But she was already late for an important meeting, and she had no one else.

"Within reason," she cautioned. "There is no limo in Hutchinson, for example. He can't get you what can't be had."

"Oh, all right!" snorted the singing star. "But you tell him to be nicer to me, or I'll just get back on the plane and go back to Texas!"

"I'll talk to him," agreed Amanda, beginning to understand, perhaps, why Bobby might not have responded well to this slip of a girl. "Why don't you go introduce yourself to the staff, while I do that. They're all so excited to meet you. Would that be okay?"

"Sure!" yipped Misty. The thought of getting to meet fans was attractive to her. Most places she went, she was overshadowed by the bigger more well-known stars and, in any case, security kept her far far away from the fans. She'd signed a few autographs, but even that was a tightly controlled situation. Maybe someone would even ask her to sing a song.

"We need her, Bobby," said Amanda. "I'm late. I have to go. Please just get her what she needs, and try not to upset her. It's only for three days. Then you'll never have to see her again, okay? I don't have anybody else to do this. We need her ... and I need you, Bobby."

"You haven't needed me for over a month," said Bobby, admiring her, like he always did. This was a woman he liked spending time with.

"Yes I have," said the mother of one of his children. "I was just too busy to have you."

She touched his hand, and, again, resisted taking him in her arms and kissing him.

"And I expect you to make some time for me while you're in town, too."

"Are you on the pill yet?" asked Bobby, smiling.

She looked at him and felt the flutter in her belly that he always made her feel.

"No, I haven't had time to do that either."

"Good," said Bobby, stepping forward.

His intent was clear, and she barely got her hands up to fend him off.

"You're terrible!" she said. "I can see why that poor girl can't deal with you. Now, go on. I have things to do."

"I will make some time for you," he said softly. "I'm already looking forward to it."

"Go on!" She turned him and pushed him.

She couldn't resist, though, one quick feel of his right buttock as he headed for the door.

Misty, basking in the attention of a very attentive radio station staff, didn't just happen to be in a position that allowed her to see into Amanda's office. She had adopted her stance specifically so that she could see the slump of that irritating man's impossibly broad shoulders when he was put in his place by the station manager.

She took a split second to be mildly irritated when his shoulders didn't slump as he was dressed down for his impertinent behavior.

She took several splits of a second to be mildly astonished when that Amanda woman reached out and copped a feel of his butt while he was leaving. That he didn't respond to that copping of a feel ... that he didn't jump ... was mildly interesting.

He didn't seem to have learned his lesson, though. When he approached her, he said "All right, I'm ready," like him being ready was important.

"When I'm finished talking to these nice people, I'll let you know," she said, unaware that her chin was sticking out, and that she looked just like what she was - a young woman pouting.

"I'll be in the truck," he said. He made it obvious that he didn't care how long it took, and that he had better things to do than stand around watching fans adore her ... even if that meant just sitting alone in a truck.

She wanted to scream.

She almost did when, as he walked by Amanda's office, she stopped talking on the phone, momentarily, and blew him a kiss!

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