When Last We Loved by Fran Baker Read Free Book Online Page B

and can make some rational decisions, the ‘Dallas Hayride’ is going to have to go on without you.” The television producer nodded in Allen's direction. “I don't know what brand of bull he's been feeding you, but there's no way we can meet the price he's demanding. We've got a budget and the station won't let us go over it by one penny.”
    Cassie glared at her glassy-eyed manager. Allen weaved around a camera and stumbled toward the exit door.
    “I'll see what I can do to straighten this out,” she assured the producer. “The ‘Hayride’ has been good exposure for us. Half of our bookings tell us they saw us here first.”
    “You're a fine drawing card, Cassie. I'd be tickled pink to have you back in the lineup. See if you can talk some sense into him and give me a call next week.”
    “It won't do any good to lash into him tonight.” Scrappy laid his fiddle in the instrument case and snapped it shut.
    “He's been messing up our bookings something awful,” Cassie muttered. “He promised he was going to be more careful.”
    “He does a good job when he's sober; even you have to admit that.” Scrappy was always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. “After all, it can't be easy to run a restaurant and bar, and keep our gigs straight, too.”
    "I run the restaurant and he's the bar's best customer.” Cassie was tired of the apologies and excuses. “Don't you realize that sooner or later his reputation is going to rub off on us?”
    “For better or worse, he's the only manager we've got.”
    Scrappy took her arm and led her out of the studio. “We never even would have had a crack at the ‘Hayride’ if it hadn't been for Allen.”
    “We never would have been fired, either, if it hadn't been for Allen,” she reminded him.
    “Just call it one of those dues-paying days and forget about it.” Scrappy helped her into the van.
    “At least he didn't punch anybody this time.” Cassie shook her head, remembering the night she'd spent trying to scrape up enough cash to bail Allen out of trouble. “Next time I'll just let him rot in jail.”
    “When you've kicked around as long as I have, you'll learn to expect things like this once in a while.” Scrappy started the van and backed out of the parking space.
    Cassie rubbed her temples in frustration. No matter how many times it happened, she would never get used to the idea that this was the normal way to get ahead in the music business.
    * * * *
    “I'm cutting your hours in the restaurant.” Allen sipped his drink the next morning as he flipped through the time cards he used to write the weekly payroll.
    “You need more rest.” His frog-in-the-throat growl cut her off before she could voice her protest. “I've booked a barbecue for Saturday night— a real society gig— and we're scheduled solid for the next three weekends. Besides, I think it's time for us to drop the ‘singing waitress’ gimmick and develop your professional identity.” He nodded at the sepia-toned photographs splattered on the poster that he'd taken out of the picture window.
    “Allen, we've got to have a serious talk.” Cassie knew this was the best time to approach him, while he was still relatively sober.
    “All right, spit it out.” He drained his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
    “We can't go on like this, with the drinking and the messed-up bookings. Allen, people are starting to talk— ”
    “Who?” His dark eyes were hooded with suspicion.
    “Just... people.” She wasn't about to endanger anyone by revealing names.
    “If you don't trust me, Cassie, say so now. It will save everybody a lot of time and trouble.” He scowled. “Nobody's going to hand you the brass ring. Hell, there are plenty of singers who'd slit their own mothers’ throats for the kind of opportunities you've had.”
    “I know that, and I appreciate everything you've done for me. But we're on the verge of something good, and I just want all of us to remember