Rich Groom (The Dirty Thirty Pledge 1)

I sit in the driveway of my parents’ house, pull out my cell phone, and call a number back in Nashville. I’m an asshole for doing it on a Sunday, but I don’t have a choice. We’re a great label, but we’re small, and everyone knows everyone really well. So when our lawyer, Charles, picks up his personal number, his voice is friendly. “Hey Frankie, what’s up? I thought you were in the back hills somewhere digging up more talent for us.”

I laugh. “It’s true, I am, but that’s not what I’m calling for. And I’m sorry to bother you on a weekend.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” he says, laughing. “You do pay the bills. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if it would be a conflict of interest for you to do some personal work for me that’s not directly connected to the label. I’ll pay, naturally, I just need someone I can trust.”

His voice turns serious. “You’ve only been gone for two days, what the hell happened?”

“Well, I can say that you’re not going to believe it,” I sigh, running through the events of two nights ago. And when I finish, Charles bursts out laughing. “Not exactly the reaction that I was hoping for.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, still chuckling. “That’s just fucking funny. But yeah, of course I’ll represent you. It’s not a conflict of interest, given that protecting you is protecting the label.”

“Even for personal stuff?”

“Yeah. I waited to tell you ‘cause I wanted to see how badly you fucked up, but we can take care of this.”

I lean my head back against the seat. “Thank God. I’m sorry this is so idiotic.”

Charles practically snorts. “Remind me to tell you about some of the nonsense lawsuits that my friends have argued and you’ll feel a lot better. Trust me. I’ll look into this, see if there’s some kind of ulterior motive for him to do this and get back to you.”

“Thanks, Charles. I have one other thing.”

“Sure.” I can hear the sound of his pen scribbling.

I take a deep breath. “I have an old friend here, Annabelle Hughes. I think she’s in some financial trouble, and I want to help. But I need to know how much trouble she’s in first.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” he asks.

“Yeah, I really want to help. She’s a good person, and—”

“Not that,” Charles interrupts me. “Looking into her finances without asking.”

I swallow. “There’s a history there, and I don’t want to embarrass her, or make her think that I’m judging her.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “That’ll take me a few days.”

Laughing, I push away the feeling of unease that his words have left in me. “I’m here for a while, you have some time.”

“All right. I’ll keep you posted. Have fun in hillbilly heaven,” he says before hanging up.

There’s no point in arguing that Green Hills is actually a pretty large and diverse city with a great art and music scene. People in Nashville are always going to think that any place outside of Nashville is basically a trailer park. I’m used to it. I’ve actually had to remind myself not to think that after living in Nashville for so long.

I see a flicker of the curtains in the front window and try to clear my head. They know I’m here, so I should go in. But I’m glad I made that call. At the very least, I can go through the rest of the day without a thousand pounds of dread sitting on my chest. I step out of the car and head up to the front door to knock. It only takes a few seconds for my mom to open the door, and she’s smiling.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, as she pulls me into a hug.

“We saw you were outside, but we didn’t want to rush you.”

I squeeze her a little tighter. “I just had to make a quick phone call, but I’m here. It smells amazing.” It really does. I can smell pancakes and bacon and probably her famous cheesy potatoes. My dad comes upon behind her and claps me on the back, but I hug him anyway.

“Good to see you, son,” he says.

“You too.”

I follow them into the kitchen where the small table where I ate every breakfast as a kid is piled high with food.

“Was the trip okay?”

I shrug. “Long drive, but the weather was nice, so it wasn’t too bad.”

My grandmother is already seated at the table. She’s ninety this year, and her memory isn’t all there, but she’s the sweetest woman there is. I bend down in front of her chair. “Hi Grandma.”

Her eyes light up when she sees me. She was focusing on the food in front of her and didn’t notice me come in. “Frankie Jr.!” she exclaims, reaching out and putting her hands on both sides of my face. “It’s been too long, young man. I swear, that school makes you stay longer every year.”