Synopsis:
Gloria Carlisle filled every article she wrote for Anthem magazine with her penchant for classic rock and her passion for storytelling. When her editor assigns her an interview with the lead singer of the country’s number one rock band, it’s Gloria’s chance to establish herself as a Black female writer in a white man’s world of rock journalism.
When the singer cancels the interview and refuses to reschedule it, Gloria must return to L.A. to face her editor with no story.
After hours on the road, Gloria finds herself at the Silver Cactus, a small bar and grill in the middle of the desert, owned by the former bass guitarist of the all-female rock band Crimson Fox. That pitstop leads to a journey across the country and back to the desert in search of the story that was never told—the story Gloria was meant to write, and the one that will show her who she was always meant to be.
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Crimson Fox by Anne Eston
Gloria iii
As Gloria reached for the handle on the entrance door, she felt her thoughts reorder themselves. She had the sensation of an invisible zipper on the back of her head being gently cinched up and the pull tab being folded down into place. She pulled the door handle and exhaled with relief but couldn’t quite remember what she’d felt panicked about.
The door was much lighter than it looked, and Gloria whipped it open faster than she intended. She frowned and formed a silent “why . . .” with her mouth, in a final attempt to recollect what she’d just experienced. But when she stepped across the threshold, hunger wiped out this effort and the memory of her journey from Kip Rippers mansion to wherever this was scattered and flew out of the open cantina door in her wake.
Gloria’s stomach gave an indignant growl—the place was empty. The lights were on, but there were no customers. Management, such as it might have been, had probably called it a night and forgot to lock up. Or more likely the owner was probably in the back putting cash in the safe.
Clunk.
The instant after Gloria heard the noise, a voice said “Welcome in.”
With a sharp intake of breath, Gloria jerked her head to the right. She gulped air thinking she needed to swallow her heart back down into her chest. A slender woman with dark hair, silver streaked in the front, stood behind the bar drying whiskey glasses. She wore a black tee shirt, and a leather cuff bracelet with studs on her left wrist.
Clunk.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said as placed another dry glass upside down on the bar. “Honestly, you gave me little scare. Kind of late for customers.”
Gloria took another breath and pressed a hand to her belly to get herself together. “Sorry. I guess I missed last call.”
“Pfft. Last call is when my work’s done. Clearly, I’m still working. Grab a stool—what can I get you to drink?
As Gloria stepped up to the bar, she could see the woman’s faded jeans that were torn in places. But those rips were from life itself, not done on purpose like teenagers wore.
“I’ll have a Corona . . . and actually, I’ve been on the road a long time. I’m starving—can I get some pretzels or something?”
“I’ll do you one better than that,” the woman said with a wry smile, as she slapped the towel onto her right shoulder. She reached under the bar to what must have been a low fridge and pulled out a Corona. “You’d think the place had been mobbed tonight with how long it’s taken me to get my chores done around here. I haven’t eaten either.” She knocked the cap from the bottle on the edge of the bar and handed the beer to Gloria. “Earl!” she called as she turned her head toward the hallway behind the bar.
The man who rounded the corner from the bar was a dead ringer for Sam Elliot in “Mask.” Graying sable hair hung down to his shoulders. His leathery skin looked like it would never shed the tan. His worn face hinted at a thousand tales of the rugged ride life had taken him on, but there was a twinkle in his gray eyes. He nodded at Gloria and turned to the woman.
“You summoned?” he asked and stood in front of her with his arms crossed. “I’m guessing you want dinner since you didn’t eat when it was dinnertime, and I bet this young lady could eat too.”
She turned to Gloria: “Burger and fries work for you? I’ve got steaks, but they’re not thawed.”
Gloria’s stomach growled, but she answered anyway. “I won’t say no to that.”
Earl nodded at Gloria again, and raised an eyebrow at the woman that told Gloria she probably wasn’t the first hungry stray to wander into this joint.
“I’ll get to flippin’. Burgers’ll be out soon,” said Earl as he headed back down the hall.
“Now, that we’ve settled that,” said the woman as she leaned on the bar with her elbows, “where’d you blow in from?”
The woman’s eyes pinned Gloria. Her gaze was intent and curious, but not unkind.
“Vegas.” Gloria involuntarily held her breath and hoped the woman would finally reveal where in the hell this bar was located.
“Well, you must have taken a mighty long detour to have been driving for such a long time,” she said and picked up one of the remaining three glasses to dry it.
Gloria’s heart sank.
“What?”
“You’re kidding, right? You must have driven halfway to L.A. and then doubled back, ‘cause we’re only about an hour and a half from Vegas.”
Dear God, . . . think, Gloria. Think!
“I was—kidding, that is,” Gloria laughed. “I just didn’t want to admit how long I’d gotten, shall we say, distracted, on the strip.”
“We’ve all been there,” said the woman, and then suddenly raised her eyebrows. “Wait a minute, you didn’t drive drunk, did you?”
The tone in the woman’s voice made Gloria feel like her own mother was questioning her. She answered accordingly: “No ma’am.”
“Glad to hear it. I was always on the girls about—” she interrupted herself and set the glass down. “Never mind. I’m Faye, by the way.” Even though her hand wasn’t wet, she rubbed it with the towel anyway and extended it to Gloria. Relieved, Gloria took it.
“I’m Gloria.”
Faye had a firm, friendly grip. When she released Gloria’s hand to pick up another glass, Gloria reached for her beer again, and took a swig. It was cold and smooth going down her throat, and when it settled in her stomach, the tickle reminded her that she needed the bathroom. Badly.
“Sorry Faye, but I need to pee like a racehorse.”
Faye grinned and nodded toward the hallway again. “It’s just down on your left.”
Gloria noted the “Restroom” sign hanging perpendicularly from the wall above a door on the left. The pay phone just before it reminded her that she would have to call Jeremy. A second door on the right was probably an office. And the smell of burgers cooking from the kitchen at the end of the hall made Gloria’s stomach tighten with hunger pangs again.
When she came out of the bathroom, the sight of the pay phone presented Gloria with a hard truth: she had to call Jeremy. She might have already lost her job, but better to find out now. Then she’d soothe herself with a good burger, maybe another Corona or two, then she’d get a large, strong coffee to go before she hit the road again.
She fished some coins out of her change purse and fed them into the slot. As she punched in Jeremy’s number, Gloria ignored the possibility screaming inside her head that the same insanity might overtake her and her car on the way back to L.A. just like it had when she left Vegas.
Jeremy’s girlfriend Marie picked up after three rings. She and Jeremy insisted that everyone refer to her as his assistant. She answered the phone and performed minimal administrative tasks. But the truth was that Jeremy just wanted to have her at his beck and call—or rather his dick’s—for as many hours of the day as possible. He hired a temp employee every other week or so to pick up the slack, so the magazine didn’t fall apart completely.
“Hey, Marie, it’s Gloria. Can I speak to Jeremy?”
“Oh, honey, he is piiiiissed.”
“So, he heard?”
“Girl, everybody heard.”
“Shit. I was going to call him . . . but what could I do? Ripper’s house boy refused to reschedule the interview.”
“I know. It wasn’t your fault. Listen, we’re heading out for drinks with some record execs. Let him calm down. Call him tomorrow—but Glo, you’d better have a backup plan.”
“I’ll do my best. Thanks, Marie.”
Gloria clutched the phone in a vise grip for a long moment before she slammed it back down on the hook. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she saw Earl in her periphery. She turned to find him staring at her from the kitchen door with a spatula in one hand, and the other on his hip. Sorry, she mouthed, and pivoted to walk away.
Back at the bar, Gloria found Faye sipping her own beer, having finished drying the last two glasses.
“Everything okay?” Faye asked.
“Yeah,” said Gloria, clearing her throat. “I just had to check in with my boss.”
“It’s way past quittin’ time isn’t it?”
“For normal people, yes,” Gloria said as she stepped close to the bar again. “But trust me, my boss’s day is far from over. He was on his way out to do some after-hours networking though, so he didn’t have time to talk to me. I guess I’ll have to call him tomorrow. Or just see him when I get back to L.A.”
“Huh,” said Faye, and took another thoughtful pull on her Corona. “What do you do?”
Gloria realized that she was drumming her fingers on the bar and stopped.
“I’m probably unemployed at this point.”
Since dinner wasn’t yet there to distract them, Gloria strolled away to avoid any further questions. Faye took a different tack.
“So, what brought you all the way out here?”
Crap. Gloria faltered and decided on a version of the truth.
“I . . .I’m not really sure.” She continued to amble toward the wall of photos with proverbial fingers crossed that Faye didn’t kick her out for being a lunatic.
“Not the first time I’ve heard that, actually. This isn’t exactly a vacation destination.” So, Faye’s empathy hadn’t run out after all.
As Gloria stood in front of the photos on the wall, her attempt to avoid Faye’s questions turned to genuine curiosity. And when her eyes found a small, glossy black-and-white photo of an all-female rock band, something clicked in her mind.
“I know this band . . . yeah, Crimson Fox.” And she’d just discovered something else, too. Gloria whipped her head around and squinted at Faye. “Wait, this is you. You were in Crimson Fox?”
Faye opened her mouth to answer, but Earl appeared with their food. Faye sighed, and reached for two more beers, knocking the caps off on the edge of the bar. The question might have to wait. Gloria gave the photo a backward glance as she crossed back over to the bar.
“To answer your question, yes. Grab your plate, let’s go out back and eat.” Faye eyed Earl. “You okay to eat by yourself tonight?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll turn on the game in the office. You okay with this?” He gave Gloria a wary glance that made her realize that Earl could toss her out just as easily as Faye could. Damn, but the food looked good, though. The burgers were thick, and the fries were thin-cut and golden. Flatware was wrapped in a napkin and laid on the edge of each plate, and each one had ramekins of mustard and mayo. Earl had thought of everything.
“Got nothin’ better to do,” Faye answered reluctantly. She took up her plate in one hand and the beer in the other.
Gloria chugged the rest of her first beer, then grabbed her own plate along with the fresh beer. She tried not to worry about how late it might actually be getting, or what her next move would be as she followed Faye down the hall and through the kitchen to the back door.
Faye balanced her open beer in the crook of her elbow as she opened the door. Uneasiness seeped into Gloria’s mind again, and for a split second, she considered turning around and running for the car—with the burger and beer, of course. But when Faye flipped the switch on the outside wall, the scene dispelled Gloria’s uncertainty.
Stepping outside was like entering a whole new world that felt nothing like the inside of the Silver Cactus. Several strands of lights formed a haphazard canopy over a cement patio furnished with a round wooden table and five chairs painted in different bright primary colors. There were potted and in-ground desert plants and succulents everywhere. The lights themselves were strung from various points along the roof’s edge and across to the top of a school bus of all things.
Gloria tried to take it all in as they made their way across the patio. The bus had seen better days, but when Faye pushed the door open, the inside lights came on and another wave of pleasant surprise washed over Gloria.
The interior of the bus had been completely repainted, and all the bench seats had been removed except for one left in place at the back, and two strategically placed against either side of the aisle. A low round table about halfway down was flanked by two round ottomans for seats. At least a dozen more cushions were scattered about over various layers of rugs that covered the floor.
But it was the amp near the back corner flanked by two bass guitars on stands that sent a thrill of excitement through Gloria. She reminded herself to play it cool as Faye sunk down on a pile of cushions. With her plate balanced on her stomach and one hand on her beer bottle, Faye leaned back and closed her eyes with a sigh.
“Damn, I’m tired.”
“Nice that you have your studio here to come and relax,” said Gloria as she sat on one of the bench seats. She instantly regretted using the word “studio” when Faye cracked her eyes open and stared at her.
“Hardly a studio. I do crash here sometimes. Saves the trouble of driving home. Earl and I got a place about ten miles from here, but there’s a couch in the office, and my little hovel back here. Sometimes we don’t get back to the house for a few days—when sponge baths in the john aren’t cutting it,” she laughed.
Silence returned as hunger overcame both of them. Gloria bit into her burger and juice slid down her chin. She barely swallowed her first bite before shoving a handful of fries into her mouth. Faye sat up and took a big bite of her burger with another sigh of contentment.
As Gloria allowed herself to believe that Earl wasn’t going to barge in and snatch her plate away, her confidence returned.
“That’s a Fender Jazz bass guitar back there,” she said. “And the other one is a Gibson EB-3.
“Um-hmm,” Faye answered with a mouthful of fries, and shot her a cautious look.
“It’s also the same one you’re holding in the picture.”
Faye said nothing, but instead took another big bite of her burger. She chewed slowly and washed it down with a swig of beer before she spoke. “Some other rockers swear by Fender, but that Gibson—she’s been my favorite bass for a long, long time. I get a better sound out of her. Plus, if it was a good enough model for McCartney, it’s good enough for me.”
This was the moment that would determine how the rest of this evening would go. If Gloria started in with more questions, Faye might shut down, or tell her to leave, or both. But if she said nothing, Faye might think she wasn’t interested at all. She had just about formed her next sentence when Faye stood up and stepped over to the Gibson. She lifted it off the stand and ran her hands over it as if she was seeing it for the first time in forever.
“How you been old girl?” she said to the guitar. Then without looking at Gloria, she said to her “those were the fucking days, you know? Epic, beautiful, tragic days.”
When Gloria took her next bite, all but two thoughts left her head. First, this was the best goddamn cheeseburger she’d had in her entire life; and second, maybe it was okay that she had no idea how she’d gotten here—that didn’t matter, because maybe she’d just found her new way forward.
