Read Online DASHED DREAMS by Susan Worley-Bean - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Worley-Bean
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unlocked the door. The suite was lit only with starlight. Jillian walked to the panoramic windows. Moonlight sparkled on the lake like she’d never seen before.
RJ said, “I really love this lake. As many times as I’ve seen this view, it always amazes me and takes my breath away. Guess I should write a song for this feeling; it seems more special now.”
Jillian stepped back, feeling uncomfortable not knowing what to say or do. Tonight’s been a whirlwind, a fairytale, she thought: Yes, I did say I wasn’t star-struck, but….
RJ, picking up on her uneasiness, said, “Do you want a drink?”
“No thanks, but go ahead.”
He poured himself a bourbon on ice. Jillian excused herself and found the bathroom. When she came out, RJ said, “I phoned down. They’ll come and get us, when we need to go.”
As she entered the room, she yawned which surprised her, as it was only 11 p.m. and she was use to staying up late, especially when on call.
RJ chuckled. “Once we start laughing, you’ll wake up. Martin Howard’s really funny. We’ve probably 40 minutes or so.” RJ motioned towards the sofa, Jillian sat and he joined her -- close, but not too close.
He finished his drink, placed the glass on the coffee table, and said, “You know, this is a two-bedroom suite and if I remember right, you said your schedule is clear for a couple of days. You’re most welcome to stay, it’s going to be a late night. The show’ll be finished about one or so, and Lionel could drive you home tomorrow.”
Jillian yawned again, even though she tried to stifle it. Embarrassed about yawning, she said, “No thank you. I really need to get home.”
“Okay, but please think about it.”
While waiting until time to go, the subjects of conversation ranged from Iowa, Texas, horses, life as a entertainer, running RJ’s corporation, Country Heart Entertainment, medicine, and friends.
When the doorbell rang, RJ answered it. A tuxedoed gentleman stood in the doorway, “Mr. Montgomery, are you ready?” RJ looked at Jillian. She picked up purse and joined him at the door.
“Lead the way, my good man,” RJ said.
They rode the elevator down to the level below the main casino floor, walked down a quiet corridor to a door, that was almost invisible to the naked eye. The man escorting them reached his fingers under a railing, pressed a button. A buzzer sounded, as he opened the door. RJ explained to her that they were entering behind the showroom. The hallway walls were covered with pictures of entertainers that had appeared at Tucker’s in the past. Some of the photos were autographed. When they passed one of the photos, RJ smiled and pointed. Jillian looked at a picture of RJ taken a few years ago, amazed at how young he looked. She smiled, again reminded of where she was and who she was with. They were shown to a private booth in the darkened showroom. A waiter took their drink order, Jillian ordered a rum cooler and RJ ordered a double shot of Jack.
The announcer came on. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Martin Howard, one of the country’s funniest entertainers.” The audience roared with applause, as a spotlight appeared center stage. A wooden stool and a stand-up mike were the only items on stage. From the right curtain appeared Martin Howard. He tried to stop the applause by holding up his hands in a stopping manner.
“Good evening, everyone.” His monologue began.
Jillian and RJ laughed until their sides hurt. When the comedian described his golf game in comparisons of torture techniques, the audience roared with laughter. The story of the three-year-old battling her mother in a supermarket check-out line broke everyone up.
“He’s so funny. I haven’t seen him before in person, only from backstage. Have you?”
Jillian nodded no.
The monologue was about three-quarters finished when Martin said, “Could we have the house lights up? Thank you. I want to thank Tucker’s for giving me such a great audience and
RJ said, “I really love this lake. As many times as I’ve seen this view, it always amazes me and takes my breath away. Guess I should write a song for this feeling; it seems more special now.”
Jillian stepped back, feeling uncomfortable not knowing what to say or do. Tonight’s been a whirlwind, a fairytale, she thought: Yes, I did say I wasn’t star-struck, but….
RJ, picking up on her uneasiness, said, “Do you want a drink?”
“No thanks, but go ahead.”
He poured himself a bourbon on ice. Jillian excused herself and found the bathroom. When she came out, RJ said, “I phoned down. They’ll come and get us, when we need to go.”
As she entered the room, she yawned which surprised her, as it was only 11 p.m. and she was use to staying up late, especially when on call.
RJ chuckled. “Once we start laughing, you’ll wake up. Martin Howard’s really funny. We’ve probably 40 minutes or so.” RJ motioned towards the sofa, Jillian sat and he joined her -- close, but not too close.
He finished his drink, placed the glass on the coffee table, and said, “You know, this is a two-bedroom suite and if I remember right, you said your schedule is clear for a couple of days. You’re most welcome to stay, it’s going to be a late night. The show’ll be finished about one or so, and Lionel could drive you home tomorrow.”
Jillian yawned again, even though she tried to stifle it. Embarrassed about yawning, she said, “No thank you. I really need to get home.”
“Okay, but please think about it.”
While waiting until time to go, the subjects of conversation ranged from Iowa, Texas, horses, life as a entertainer, running RJ’s corporation, Country Heart Entertainment, medicine, and friends.
When the doorbell rang, RJ answered it. A tuxedoed gentleman stood in the doorway, “Mr. Montgomery, are you ready?” RJ looked at Jillian. She picked up purse and joined him at the door.
“Lead the way, my good man,” RJ said.
They rode the elevator down to the level below the main casino floor, walked down a quiet corridor to a door, that was almost invisible to the naked eye. The man escorting them reached his fingers under a railing, pressed a button. A buzzer sounded, as he opened the door. RJ explained to her that they were entering behind the showroom. The hallway walls were covered with pictures of entertainers that had appeared at Tucker’s in the past. Some of the photos were autographed. When they passed one of the photos, RJ smiled and pointed. Jillian looked at a picture of RJ taken a few years ago, amazed at how young he looked. She smiled, again reminded of where she was and who she was with. They were shown to a private booth in the darkened showroom. A waiter took their drink order, Jillian ordered a rum cooler and RJ ordered a double shot of Jack.
The announcer came on. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Martin Howard, one of the country’s funniest entertainers.” The audience roared with applause, as a spotlight appeared center stage. A wooden stool and a stand-up mike were the only items on stage. From the right curtain appeared Martin Howard. He tried to stop the applause by holding up his hands in a stopping manner.
“Good evening, everyone.” His monologue began.
Jillian and RJ laughed until their sides hurt. When the comedian described his golf game in comparisons of torture techniques, the audience roared with laughter. The story of the three-year-old battling her mother in a supermarket check-out line broke everyone up.
“He’s so funny. I haven’t seen him before in person, only from backstage. Have you?”
Jillian nodded no.
The monologue was about three-quarters finished when Martin said, “Could we have the house lights up? Thank you. I want to thank Tucker’s for giving me such a great audience and
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