In My Heart Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Other Books by Bette Hawkins

  About the Author

  Acknowledgment

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Synopsis

  “Dorothy leaned in, her velvety lips touching mine…”

  It’s the spring of 1958 and amateur guitarist/songwriter Alice Johnson feels like a stranger in her small Southern town. Everyone knows her business and is pushing her to settle down and marry like all the other young women in town. Only Alice’s love of music provides an escape from the stifling expectations of family and society.

  One night, Alice hears the mesmerizing voice of up-and-coming country singer Dorothy Long and is immediately entranced. Dorothy becomes Alice’s muse, inspiring her to write songs for Dorothy—even though she never imagines that Dorothy will hear them.

  But then she finally meets Dorothy and her life turns upside down. Soon Alice finds herself on the road, and not just sharing the stage—but sharing a hotel room—with her idol. Now what is Alice going to do with the unexpected desire that seems to consume her?

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  Other Bella Books by Bette Hawkins

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  About the Author

  Bette Hawkins is a social worker who hails from Melbourne, Australia. She lives with her long-term girlfriend and their very spoiled dog. In addition to writing, Bette’s favorite pastimes include playing the guitar, watching films, cooking, and reading.

  Copyright © 2019 by Bette Hawkins

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2019

  eBook released 2019

  Editor: Medora MacDougall

  Cover Designer: Judith Fellows

  ISBN: 978-1-64247-061-1

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

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  Acknowledgment

  Thanks to Bella Books and my wonderful editor Medora MacD. And thanks to my mother, who raised me on country music.

  Chapter One

  In the days when we spent all our time together, during the spring of 1958, Aunt May and I clung to certain rituals.

  On Friday after we finished work, we climbed into May’s car to travel along the dirt road to her house. This afternoon, she was letting me drive. She had taught me how and at first, she’d laughed at me from the passenger seat while I steered with white knuckles. By now I’d acquired her posture behind the wheel, loose and confident, the car an extension of my body.

  I dreamed about Friday night from the moment I punched the clock on Monday morning. Though neither of us had much money to spare, May and I put great care into gathering provisions for our little parties. There was always something good to eat like deviled eggs, cherry tomatoes, roast beef with mustard, or sliced pork.

  Though May’s house only had a few rooms and paint flaked from its exterior, we treated it like a palace. We laid a fresh white cloth on the table and set the food out on her chipped plates. We mixed gin and tonics and chilled a bottle of white wine in May’s silver ice bucket.

  After supper we sat on the front porch with full bellies, on kitchen chairs we dragged outside to cool ourselves down. May sipped her gin and tonic, rattling ice around in her glass so that it clinked against the edges.

  “Alice, why don’t you go on inside and get the guitar? Play me a song, will ya?”

  My guitar was propped against the wall in the hallway. When I ran my fingertips over the smooth wood, it felt like the first time I’d touched it, when I’d discovered how it fit perfectly into my hands. The instrument spoke a language I picked up quickly, as though it was my native tongue. I’d developed thick callouses on the fingertips of my left hand and when I was bored I ran my thumb over them, testing their firmness.

  I strummed an old song called “Grave in the Pines” while May sang with gusto, her voice made gravelly from cigarettes.

  “Why don’t you sing louder, Alice? You’re like a little mouse!”

  “I can’t get it to sound the way I want.”

  “Who cares? It’s like a stiff drink, it’ll make you feel good!”

  “I don’t think Mama would approve of that idea, would she?”

  May leaned back in her chair to look out at the stars. I played some chords, finding a pattern and repeating it. The edge of my thumb moved gently against the strings, the progression melancholy but pleasing. A melody suggested itself, and a song began to take shape.

  “What’s that you’re playing? It’s real pretty.”

  “Nothing. Just making it up.”

  “Just now? You could be famous one day. The next Kitty Wells. Just don’t forget who bought you that guitar when it happens, will you now?”

  I set the guitar down, laughing at her. The guitar had been a gift for my twenty-first birthday. I was twenty-five now, and I’d barely put the thing down since. When I peeled brown paper wrapping from the secondhand case, I was happy enough to cry. She said that she was sure I’d be able to do something special with it. I’d been making up songs since I was a kid.

  “I’ll be famous when hell freezes over. I’m going to be stuck working at the phone company forever,” I said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? You’ll be an old-timer like me. We can practically run the place together, keep everyone else in line,” she said, smacking her lips after a sip of gin.

  I plucked a couple of strings between my forefinger and thumb. “Sure, May. Sounds good to me.”

  “Stop being such a grouch. Now go and get the radio. Our country hour’s gonna be on any minute. I don’t want to miss the start.”

  “Okay,” I said, the chair creaking underneath me as I stood.

  May expected me to wait on her when I was at the house. I couldn’t get too mad about her asking me to fetch things, not when she’d done so much for me. I was working in a cannery when a position at the telephone company came up, and she put in a good word for me with the manager. After I was hired as a gofer, running errands and making coffee, she showed me the ropes.

  “Now don’t talk to Evelyn, Mr. Clark’s secretary. She’s bad news and she’ll
only get you into trouble. Mr. White’s girl is a good one though, she’ll help you out. You need to put your head down and just learn for a while, act gracious to anyone who talks to you,” May explained.

  I heeded May’s advice and after a couple of years, I moved up to work the switchboard alongside her. We passed our days working the lines, laughing together with the other girls. It bonded us so that May and I began to spend even more time together than we had before.

  A lot of the time at May’s it was just the two of us, but tonight when I came back outside with the radio there was a red car parked on the front lawn. Henry ambled up the stairs and took off his hat to greet me, revealing his almost-bald scalp. I looked away when he kissed May hello. Henry was nice enough, but I wondered how long he’d stick around.

  “Go fix yourself a drink, Henry. You’re just in time to listen to our show,” May said.

  She turned up the volume and the notes of the theme song rang out, making the speakers crackle. We’d been listening to Huck’s Dixie Hour together for years. Only a handful of stations were in range of Greenville, but we could pick up a few from over in Mobile. Huck was the best; we loved his rapid-fire announcing.

  “Welcome to the show, ladies and gentlemen! I’ve got a real treat for you tonight, a record that I just got into my hot little hands. It’s by a group of sisters, a wholesome family band that I think you’re all going to love if you don’t already know them.”

  It was a number about loving a beau who lived too far away. I could pick out three voices bending together in harmony. May tapped her foot against the ground in time with the beat. The chorus played, and then there was a solo.

  My arms broke out in goose bumps. That voice. It could make ships smash on the rocks, could make you weep with the beauty of it.

  Henry came outside with a glass of beer, stomping along the floorboards. “Hey, May, you want a smoke?”

  “Ssshhh!” I said.

  Henry sparked a match on his shoe, then cupped his hands around May’s to light her up. I closed my eyes and leaned against the back of my chair.

  The song faded out. I got closer to the speakers, crouching up next to the radio.

  “And that was the Stellar Sisters, with ‘My Country Boy.’ I may be a little late to the party, but I sure am glad I finally heard these gals, and I bet you are, too.”

  “Tell me all about your day, Henry. Alice and I had a boring old time at the office. I could use the excitement,” May said, grabbing onto Henry’s tie.

  “I’m going to head on inside, play my guitar for a while,” I said.

  “All right. I can see your fingers itching. We’ll come in a little later.”

  I pulled a chair up to the kitchen table, resting my guitar on my knee. The ballpoint pen and notebook I stored in my handbag were in front of me. I let the woman’s voice play over in my mind. Though I wished I could listen to it again, its ghost was still with me.

  The soloist had the voice of a caged bird, longing to take flight. The lonesome sound was searching for the right song.

  I positioned my fingers into the shape of the chords I’d been playing earlier. I worked for a long time, adjusting the melody and playing until it flowed like a river. The lyrics needed filling in, but it could be the start of something good. I was going to call it “Do You Miss Me?”

  When I was satisfied with what I had for now, I packed my guitar away, still humming my song.

  The next day I walked into town to Stone Street Records, having decided that it wouldn’t hurt to treat myself for once. Aside from the money I gave to my parents, I salted away every penny I earned. I’d been saving for a car since the day I started working.

  I opened the door to the record store, hearing the bell chime as I walked in. The man behind the counter hurriedly dog-eared his paperback and stashed it under the counter. He was younger than the guy who usually served me, though there was a resemblance. Like the other man he was well-dressed, and I wondered if he was hot in his collared shirt and tie. The room was broken up into lanes by the wooden display cases housing records.

  “Hello, ma’am,” the clerk said, when I’d weaved around them to reach him.

  “Hello. I was wondering if you had anything by a group called the Stellar Sisters?”

  “The Stellar Sisters? I know those girls. I’m sure I’ve got a copy of ‘My Country Boy.’ Let me see.”

  He led me down one of the little lanes to the country section, then quickly flicked through the stack labeled “S.”

  “This group is great… Did you hear one of them left the group not too long ago? It’s going to be a duo now, but there’s nothing new out for them yet,” he said, sliding the record out of the sleeve to check the label. “Not sure if they’ll have the same sound.”

  “Oh? One of them left?” I asked.

  “Dorothy. Great voice. She did a lot of the best solos with the Stellars… Did the solo on this one if I’m not mistaken. She’s gone out on her own now. Going by the name of Dorothy Long.”

  “Do you have any of her records?” I asked.

  “We sold them already, we only had a small batch. I bought one myself. You want me to order one in for you? I can have it in a few weeks,” he said, moving back behind the counter to pick up a book.

  “Sure,” I said. I wrote my details on the slip he handed me before giving it back.

  “You know, while you’re waiting for that record, she’s going to be playing out at Merle’s in a couple of weeks. The honky-tonk just out of town? You could go on out there and see her if you wanted to.”

  “I might just do that,” I said. “Thanks.”

  He scribbled down a note with the date, then tucked it into the paper bag with my purchase. Once it was inside, he folded down the top corner and sealed it neatly with his thumb, handing it to me with a grin. On the way home I walked faster than usual, clutching the bag against my side. Since the night before, the song was all I could think about.

  “Do you mind if I use the record player today?” I asked Mama. I found her coming out of her room, finger combing her hair. It had turned from red to a rosy-blond shade with age, and I wondered if mine would be the same color one day.

  “Aren’t you coming to visit your grandparents?” Mama asked.

  “I just got a new country record I want to listen to.”

  My parents only used their player to spin the handful of gospel records they owned. Sometimes we sat around to listen to them on Sunday evenings after dinner, Mama becoming misty-eyed.

  “You can use it, but I don’t know where you got your love of that stuff from. All that wailing and complaining about everything. At least it’s not rock and roll music like that awful Buddy Holly, I suppose.”

  When she and Daddy were gone, I got on my back next to the player to listen to “My Country Boy.” I’d wondered if I’d exaggerated something about the voice after I’d heard it, but it was just like I remembered.

  I flipped the record to check out the B-side. The opening notes of a ballad rang out and then Dorothy sang the lead vocals. There was a throb of sadness in her voice, the kind that grants a contrary kind of pleasure with its pain. I held the cover against my chest, letting it run over me.

  Afterward, I studied the photograph of the group on the cover. The three members stood in a row wearing identical red and white checked dresses, looking to be about the same age as me or a little older. They each had the same dark hair, but one of them had hair that was wavier than the others. I stared at the faces one after another, trying to guess which of the women was Dorothy.

  It was impossible to tell. I drew the needle back and dropped it again.

  On Monday mornings it was always hard for me to get going, but I liked being able to see May. We met in the breakroom to make coffee, then went to the switchboard to prepare for a day of taking calls. It was odd to sit in the room when it was still so quiet, the night shift girls on their way out, passing us with drowsy-looking eyes.

  “How’s that sister of mine?
” May asked. “Was she mad that you didn’t come home until Saturday again?”

  “Of course not. She knows I was with my dear old Aunt May. I told her I was trying to bring you back to the Lord,” I said, arranging headphones over my hair.

  May swatted at me. “Don’t you dare call me old. It’s no joking matter, you know. She wouldn’t be happy if she knew what we were up to. Especially if she knew there were men coming around. Even if it’s just skinny old Henry.”

  “Well, she doesn’t know, and she never will because you sure aren’t going to tell her, are you?”

  “I won’t tell her anything about anything,” May said. “I know she’s never going to forgive me for getting divorced from Ernie, even if he was a dog who ran around on me all the time. She thinks I’m bringing shame on the family.”

  “It’s coming up to nine. We’d better get ready,” I said, avoiding the matter of being stuck between Mama and May. I slipped into my professional tone, my words even and sharp. I’d had to work at it, having always been the type of person who mumbled or trailed off.

  “Good morning! Ladies, how y’all doing today?”

  Frank came in to visit us at least once a day. For a time, I’d thought Frank was sweet on May. When I’d grumbled to May about him she’d accused me of being blind, saying that it was as plain on the nose on my face that it was me he was after.

  I smiled genially at him, tucking my legs under the desk so he couldn’t leer at them. “We’re just fine, Frank, busy as usual, and how are you doing today?”

  He hooked his meaty hands into his belt, his foot coming down on the empty chair next to me. A button was popped open on his plaid shirt, white skin standing out where his belly strained against it. “Just the same. So busy you wouldn’t believe it. But I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here because I’m wondering…just when are you going to let me take you out, Alice?”