Page 2 of Cleats and Pumps

I had fifteen hits under my belt, and more than a few of the top names in country music had asked me to write songs for them. My agent was the only thing keeping me from saying yes to all of them. "You’ve got to keep yourself exclusive. Make them wait for it.”

I swear, I didn’t have a clue what it was with these Nashville divas and their need to play hard to get. Shit, I grew up in the country, on the western side of the state, and at least there, if we wanted something, we asked for it. If we wanted to sell it, we said, “Sure, here, give me your dang money.”

I guess I’d never get used to Nashville. My thoughts went back to the soothsayer’s advice. “Write a musical, a full musical, and make most of the characters drag queens, then you’ll exorcise the man from your thoughts.”

If I thought Nashville was bad, I could only imagine what Broadway would be like. Insane, that’s what. How would I even market a Broadway show? Who would buy it? It’s not like a country bumpkin river rat who grew up hanging out with the rednecks of the Hatchie River would know how to write a drag queen musical.

It was all too much.

When I got home, I thanked Jesus I could afford a nice place in the most expensive area. I tossed my keys into the Venetian glass bowl stupid Gregory had talked me into buying and threw my clothes on the floor as I walked back to my hot tub. It was too humid and hot to use tonight, but my muscles were tight as guitar strings.

When I was done soaking, I went directly to the shower, letting the cool water wash off the chlorine and the thoughts of the times I took Greg’s ass against these tiles. No, I didn’t want to think about that at all.

I quickly dried off, went to my bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed. “Fuck,” I said to myself, and thank all that’s good, I fell straight to sleep.

2

Chapter 2

Thedreamwasinstantand intense.

I was falling. Falling deep into a dark hole. Then, I was on the ground looking down an earth tunnel toward an opening at the far end. “What is this, a hobbit hole?” I asked as I stared out of the opening.

I crawled toward it, but the closer I got, the narrower the tunnel grew. Finally, I noticed a door and a small, intricately designed key on a wooden side table. “Okay, that’s weird,” I said.

I reached for it, but the narrow tunnel elongated, and the door and table were too far for me to reach. Just then, I noticed a handwritten sign next to a bottle of my granddaddy’s favorite whiskey that said, “Drink me.”

“Fuck is this?” I asked. No one answered. I figured it was a dream, so I might as well have a swig or two. I picked the bottle up and said, “Bottoms up,” before taking a drink.

“Blah, that’s bad, not whiskey, not whiskey!” I yelled, trying to spit out the disgusting licorice, mud-flavored liquid.

I backed away, only to find I had suddenly become smaller, and the key looked miles away. “What on Earth?” I asked, butagain, no one answered. “There’s no way I’m going to get to that key, is there?”

I backtracked, thinking maybe I'd figure something out if I went in the other direction. I had only walked a few steps before I stumbled upon a piece of cake. I didn’t need to read the note. I had already figured out where the dream was headed.

I’m in Alice in Wonderland. I’m freaking Alice!

I popped the cake into my mouth, and sure enough, I grew twice the size, having to rush to the broader part of the tunnel. I barely remembered the story since it’d been a decade or more since I’d read the book.

I looked around and immediately saw a path I knew would be there, and quickly began following it, letting the dream take me.

Of course, I met the rabbit, Mr. Hendrix, my old primary school teacher. I’d always thought he was gay, totally high-strung, and tough as freaking nails. “Mr. Chris, you're late, always late,” he said, checking his watch, tutting, and disappearing down some bizarre rabbit hole.

Of course, he’d dropped his gloves. It was amazing I remembered any of the story, but I remembered that part and tried putting them on—only one fit.

I wandered the path, met a mouse, found a house, and threw pebbles at the house, only to have Mr. Hendrix in rabbit form come out and chastise me. “Now, why do you have my glove, and where’s the other one?”

I’d completely forgotten about the glove. But I pulled it off and handed it to him, even though it was now twice the size it had been when I put it on.

“Young man, you’ve ruined my glove with those enormous hands. Where’s my other glove?”

“Um, sorry, I lost it in all the commotion,” I said, feeling every bit as young as I had when I was a kid.

“You’re a naughty student,” Rabbit Hendrix said. "Late, always late!”

He turned and waddled off, and honestly, I’d forgotten how much Mr. Hendrix had fussed at me until the dream. Unfortunately, I also remembered how much trouble I had during those tumultuous years getting to class on time.

At that point in the dream, I was convinced the soothsayer had drugged me. She had to have. That explained her making me feel so weird when she touched me and her warning about bizarre dreams.

---