Ashes

Chapter 17

The picture of fifty-something Maverick challenging a producer half his age to a fistfight in the schoolyard gave Bryce the snicker snorts.

I work out every day; Mav lives on beer and moonpies. I don't think he's seen the inside of a gym since highschool.

"Are you trying to ruin us?" the boss began, ushering Bryce into his office. "We don't have the money for all those changes you suggested. And if we carried them out we'd lose what fans we have."

"Wrong. You're about to have more money than you can paper your swimming pool with, and the only fans we'll lose are the ones we can do without."

Maverick plopped his ass into his chair. "What do you mean?" He gestured for Bryce to take a seat in the chair in front of the desk.

"Just what I said. The only fans we'll lose are the ultra-conservative, the quiverfulls, and the Klan members. The people who think alt country and cowpunk are of the devil. They give country a bad name anyhow, so what's the loss?"

Maverick gaped a moment, then snapped his jaw shut.

"Mav, a girl fell into our laps the other day. She has a voice like Patsy Cline on fentanyl. Beautiful face, interesting stage presence, four-octave voice. Plays acoustic, electric, steel and resonator guitars, and she's enrolled at the university on a music scholarship. I've scheduled an audition so you can see for yourself. We need to sign her yesterday."

Maverick sighed and leaned back in his chair, then planted his cowboy boots on the desk. "What's her name?"

Bryce tried to remember. "Uh, Ashanté Stephenson."

"Ashanté?" Mav's eyes bulged. "Sounds African."

Bryce nodded. "She is."

"What? You know our board of directors will never go for that."

"We can always change her name. Tammy Wynette was originally Virginia Pugh."

"You know that's not what I meant." Maverick was about to explain further, when his phone suddenly played The Grand Tour.

"You ought to pick that up," Bryce said. "Might be Jennifer."

Maverick looked up in alarm. "Jennifer?  W-what are you talking about?"

"Isn't your mistress named Jennifer? Or was it Leslie? Sheila? Darlene? I can't keep track."

Maverick looked like he might have a heart attack, and for a moment Bryce considered calling his secretary in here for assistance. "H-how do you know about them?"

Heh. Well, let's see, Mav. Back when I dated LuAnne ─ oh, and I guess you were too ─ she got drunk one night and told me everything I never wanted to know about your damn love life.

Bryce leaned back in his chair. "It doesn't matter. Does your wife know?"

Maverick put his feet down and his hands together as if praying. "What do you want in exchange for your silence?"

Bryce rose from his chair. "Nothing. See you around, Mav. I'll tell Ashanté she's got a contract."

Once Bryce left the office, Maverick answered his phone. "Hey, Jen. Do you know someone named Bryce Walker?"