“What?” she finally said. “They’re just baby hats.”
“Here, like this,” Humphrey said, directing her attention back to the needles. She let him show her, but all the while she could feel Grant’s eyes on her.
“That doesn’t look that hard,” said Reggie, leaning in over her arm.
“It’s not hard,” Humphrey said. “You just have to have some patience, and be skillful with your fingers.”
“I got loads of patience, yeah? And everyone knows I am skillful with my fingers. You got any extra needles?”
Delaney chuckled. “Um, sorry, no. I have lots of yarn but only these needles.”
“I can fix that.” Humphrey grinned. He stood and went to one of the bags lying on a spare bunk and rifled around in it for a minute. “How about these?” He stepped toward them again, whipping out drumsticks from behind his back.
Snickering circled the bus. “Nice going, MacGyver,” Reggie said, then he tilted his chin at Finch. “Grab another pair of those. I challenge you, bro.”
“To what?” Finch arched a ginger brow.
“A knitting contest, yeah? This blizzard ain’t going anywhere and we got hours to kill before we get to the hotel. I challenge you. Honeybun here gets to be the final judge, and she’ll decide which one of us makes the best fucking baby hat north of Tennessee. You man enough to take me on?”
“You want me to knit. On drumsticks. Baby hats.”
“I’m in,” Humphrey said, going back and grabbing four more sticks. “How about you, Mr. Cameraman. You want to knit?”
Grant shook his head. “I’m more of an observer. Maybe I could just film the rest of you with my phone.”
A tremor went through Delaney at the suggestion. No filming. Not her. She pulled her bangs down.
“Shit, yeah. Film us,” Reggie said, bouncing a little on his seat. “A roadie documentary. We can post it to the band’s Facebook page. Like, look at us doing good. Think the chicks will dig that? Think these baby hats will score us some honeys?”
“The chicks will totally dig it,” Humphrey said.
“I’m in,” declared Finch.
And thus began the Paradise Brothers Best Fucking Baby Hat Competition.
Chapter 15
GOD ALMIGHTY, GRANT WAS GLAD to be climbing off of that Paradise Brothers tour bus. He was grateful for their hospitality, but the only thing more boring than knitting was filming someone knitting. And one more hour of listening to Reggie’s inane stories, followed by another night of lying next to Elaine without closing the deal, was going to give him a stroke—and not the kind of stroke he was looking for. It was close to eight o’clock in the evening when they pulled into Memphis, but at last, they’d arrived.
The lobby of the Heartbreak Hotel was like a 1960s movie set on psychedelic drugs. The walls were a purply blue. Red velvet curtains trimmed with gold fringe hung from fifteen-foot windows, and asymmetrical sofas of gold and silver filled up the area along with zebra-fur chairs. And perhaps not surprisingly, the lobby was chock-full of Elvis. Impersonators, that is, maybe thirty in all, wandering around, chatting in groups, or talking on cell phones. There was something inherently odd about seeing Elvis on a cell phone, but Grant’s brain was too tired to process the incongruity. All he wanted right now was a room with a view—a view of Elaine on the bed. He was making assumptions, of course. She might not share a room with him, but last night’s bout of restless dick syndrome made him hope against hope she’d be amenable to the idea.
Reggie walked in through the double lobby doors with a big duffel bag over his shoulder and did a slow 360 turn, pointing with his index finger. His lips moved as he counted. Then he looked back at Finch.
“Am I stoned right now? Did we get high on the bus and I just don’t remember, or does everybody else see a room full of Elvises?”
“I don’t see any,” said Humphrey.
“Me neither,” said Finch.
But Sammy pointed to the poster near the door. “That might have something to do with it.”
A bright red-and-pink sign with rhinestone letters sat on an easel by the front door.
This week in the Jungle Room Lounge—
Happy Birthday, Elvis Celebration!
“May I help you?” called out a woman from behind the tall purple counter. She was petite, with a tubular bun on the top of her head that looked like a stem. Not a good look.
Finch stepped around Reggie. “Yes, thanks. We’re the Paradise Brothers, here to check in.”
“Welcome to the Heartbreak Hotel. We’re glad you made it. My apologies for the weather. We’ve never had it so cold here in Memphis. By the way, the other two guests in your party have already checked in.”
“Other two guests?” Elaine asked, glancing at Humphrey.
“Our manager and his wife,” he answered. “Sissy won’t travel on the bus with us no more, not ever since Reggie proved you really can light ass gas on fire.”