For a second the step-sister looked at her as if she was seeing a real person for the first time. “Why are you doing this for me?” she asked. “You could have kept quiet and let the guards find the rubies and arrest me.”
“Because, dear sister, unlike you I was brought up to be a good person. Nothing can change that.” She walked toward the door. “But I will warn you of one thing. I have my ways of knowing what you do. I saw you at the ball last night. And I may not always feel so generous toward you. So I’d like to be treated with a little more respect in future.”
“All right.”
Cinderella smiled to herself. She had only just gone down the stairs when there came a furious knocking at the front door. She went to open it, her heart beating fast. Ermintrude was now trapped in the house. But outside stood a man in magnificent clothing. “I have been sent at the order of the prince,” he said. “To find the young lady who lost this glass slipper last night.”
He came out of the bar just as the clock on a nearby church was striking midnight. A cold wind was swirling up from the desert to the south, making him button his jacket. He needed to get going if he wanted to make Tucson by morning. He was about to get into his car when he noticed the girl. She was sitting in the bus shelter hugging a guitar almost as big as she was.
Their eyes met. “Nice car,” she said.
“Yes, isn’t it? Latest model,” he said with pride in his voice.
She continued to sit there, hugging her guitar to her body.
“You won’t find a bus at this time of night,” he said to her.
“I know that.”
“Shouldn’t you be at home, a girl of your age?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do — get home,” she said, defiantly.
“And where is that?”
“California.”
He gave an incredulous laugh. “Then you are a long way from home.”
“No kidding.”
“What on earth are you doing out here in this God-forsaken place? Going to college?”
She gave a bitter laugh. “I wish.” She paused. “I’m trying to get home from Nashville.”
“Tennessee?”
“No, Nashville on the Moon. Of course Tennessee.”
“You’re a brittle little thing,” he said.
“Yes, well, I haven’t exactly had it as easy as you.”
“What took you to Nashville? Dreams of becoming a country music star?”
“Why else does anyone go to Nashville?” she asked.
“And it didn’t work out?”
“I learned all I needed to know about the music industry and what goes on in Nashville.”
“And it wasn’t for you?”
“There was nothing there for me.” She hesitated. “Or at least I found out there was nothing there for me.”
“So you’re heading home. Have you hitchhiked this far?”
“No, I took the bus this far. But I’m running out of cash.”
“I could give you a ride as far as Phoenix, if you like.”
“That would be great.”
“Come on then.” He clicked open the car door. “Put your things on the back seat and let’s get going.”
She stood up, carefully laying her guitar on the back seat but keeping her small backpack with her in the front. The engine purred to life and the big car took off, leaving the lights of the city behind. There was an occasional truck on the road but otherwise they were driving through total darkness.
“So are you any good as a singer?”
“Not bad,” she said.
“You want to sing something for me?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Suit yourself, but you know I happen to be a big music producer.”
“Really?”
“Really. I used to be in Nashville, years ago, but now I’m based in LA. I do more film music these days. Where the money is.”
He had expected her to sing for him then, but she remained silent. After a while he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Jolene Kent.”
“Good name for a country singer.” He chuckled, “Was it really your name, or did you make it up?”
“It’s a real name.”
“Jolene. I used to know a girl called Jolene, years ago. She was good. Great voice. Really cute too. Looked a bit like you.”
“Really? What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t quite work out for her. She got messed up. Drugs. It happens a lot in Nashville.”
“What’s your name?” She countered.
“Hal. Hal Benson.”
“Is that your real name, or a made-up one?”
He had to laugh. “My real name is Harvey. Horrible name.”
They drove on, the headlight beams cutting swathes of light through the darkness. The girl dozed off. He glanced at her from time to time, looking incredibly young with her long dark hair falling across her cheek, clutching her backpack as if it was a stuffed teddy bear. And for a moment he felt a tenderness toward her — the daughter he’d never had. He had never married. Too easy to find women without being tied down to one.
The first streaks of dawn were in the sky when he pulled off into a deserted rest area. The girl woke up as cold wind swept into the car.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“A couple of hours from Tucson, I think. Rest area. I need to visit the restroom. You might want to use it too.”
“Okay.” She got out, taking her backpack with her. He noticed she never said thank you. Badly raised, he thought.
When she returned from the restroom she stopped, finding a blanket on the ground beside the car. “What’s this?”
He had a strange, predatory smile on his face. “You didn’t think you’d get to ride with me without paying your fare, did you? Come on. You’ve done it before.”
She took an involuntary step back. “I haven’t, actually.”
“A virgin. How delightful. That is a bonus. And you’re going to thank me for it. I’m an expert, you know. It won’t be with one of those clumsy and panting boys. Now take your jeans off.”
“It’s cold out here.”
“Well, there’s not enough room on the back seat. Come on. Let’s do this before we freeze.”
She looked around. He sensed her panic.
“I wouldn’t think of running away. There’s nothing for miles.”
“I wouldn’t leave my guitar, anyway.” She started to unzip her jeans, then tried to pull them down. They were tight. “I usually have to sit on the ground to get them off,” she said. “Aren’t you going to take your clothes off too?”
“Like you said, it’s cold.”
“What if I refuse?”
“Simple. I drive on. Leave you here. Hope someone finds you before the coyotes. Or I get impatient and rape you.”
She struggled with the last of the jeans. He sank to his knees on the rug beside her. In the first light of dawn his face was hard with desire. “You’re wasting my time. Come here, you little bitch.”
He grabbed at her ankles and brought her toppling down onto the blanket. He laughed as he tried to pin her in place. She grabbed his hand, sank her teeth into it. As he cried out, she scrambled to her feet.
“Oh, I love a good fight,” he said, getting to his knees.
“Stop. You might want to hear this,” she said.
He frowned. “No pleading to spare you because of your aged mother!” And he laughed.
“Not aged. Just dying.” There was a sudden silence with only the whispering of the wind through sagebrush. “I didn’t go to Nashville to be a music star,” she said. “I went to find my mother. She dumped me with my grandma when I was born. I never met her. I was curious.”
“Oh, spare me the sob story,” he said.
“You need to hear this,” she said. “I found her. She’s pitiful. A heroin addict. Skin and bone. Stringy hair, hollow eyes. But she told me about you.”