as they walked toward the front door.
Christy pulled into the packed parking lot of the Blues Club at twenty minutes after nine. She had changed clothes twice, then taken two phone calls, which made her run late. She circled the concrete block building decorated with blue neon musical notes running around the front and sides of the club. She parked in the only empty space and hopped out, locking her car. As she hurried across the parking lot, music drifted through a side window. Blues music. Then she heard a woman’s voice, clear and rich, floating on the soft September evening, and almost stopped in her tracks. She remembered her aunt always humming a tune, usually a sad one, but hadn’t realized her voice was so beautiful. What had happened to Bobbie to bring out the sad songs?
Christy had asked her mother once, but Beth had shaken herhead and said, “I don’t know. When we were growing up, she sang all the time, and it was fun, lighthearted music.”
Christy climbed the steps, glancing up at the words “Blues Club” in blue neon script over the front door. She entered and looked around. More elegant inside, the club’s walls were covered with framed photographs of blues singers from Memphis and New Orleans. A bar ran along the left wall, and on the right a row of booths stretched to the rest rooms. A narrow aisle led straight to the back, where a raised stage enclosed in a brass rail held the band.
From the ceiling, three spotlights beamed down on Bobbie, dressed in a black pantsuit, elegant in its simplicity. Her blond hair shone silver in the circle of dusty white light. She held the microphone in her hand, staring off as though the song had taken her to a special world. “When I hear the blu-es call my name…” Her voice drifted away, leaving only silence and the low wail of a trombone.
Everyone in the club stood, applauding wildly, and Bobbie bowed low. “Thank you so much. Enjoy yourselves,” she said, smiling across the crowd. “I need to take a break.” She turned and thanked the band behind her as they picked up their instruments and filled the room with music. Feet shuffled, chairs scooted back in place, and people began to talk among themselves.
Christy’s gaze followed Bobbie to a round table directly in front of the stage, where Jack pulled out her chair. Christy blinked through the low light, her eyes widening. On the other side of the table, Dan sat beside a striking brunette she had never seen.
Her heart plummeted. How could Dan humiliate her like this? Why had he and his date chosen to join her aunt and Jack?
Furious, she turned and bumped into a woman in a sequined denim shirt.
“Hi, I’m Donna,” the woman said. She was pretty, in her early thirties with a friendly smile. Was this Christy’s new competition? If so, she didn’t seem to mind that she had been replaced as Dan’s date tonight.
Christy remembered her manners and extended her hand. “Christy Castleman.”
Donna smiled warmly. “Christy! I’ve heard a lot about you. Your aunt is very popular with everyone, and I can see why. She has a terrific voice, and she’s a very sweet person. Come on, I’ll take you to her table.”
Christy hesitated. Donna seemed nice, as Dan had said. And he did have a right to see anyone he wished. But who was that with him tonight, if it wasn’t Donna? She glanced over her shoulder. At this point, she couldn’t sneak out the door, and she wasn’t about to let Dan and his date stop her from saying hello to Bobbie and Jack.
She forced a smile. “Thank you.”
Gripping her handbag tightly, she squared her shoulders and told herself she could do this. She could be so polite that Dan would see she was indifferent to his dating.
“Look who’s here,” Donna said as they reached the table.
“Christy!” Bobbie called, pleased to see her, but a tense expression strained her face.
Christy hugged Jack, then turned with a casual “Hello, Dan.”
He had stood as she approached,
Back in the Saddle (v5.0)