Part of the thrill of playing guitar was the opportunity to meet pretty women. After only a week home from the Air Force, I was playing for the Cook Brothers Cowboy Band at the Saddle & Spur, a honky-tonk on Sylvania Street in Fort Worth, when one young lady caught my eye. Who was the “drug store cowboy” she was two-stepping with? What a klutz. He was pushing her around the dance floor like an old Buick.
As she turned and passed in front of me, our eyes embraced. The twinkle in her brown eyes and warmth of her smile brought a pitter-patter to my heart. I gave her my best you-need-to-know-me smile. When the song was over, the cowboy stumbled over to the bar, and she drifted like an angel to the pool and foosball tables on the far side. Good. She had danced with him, but they weren’t a couple.
Charlotte had the complexion of a China doll. Each time she turned, her long brunette hair bounced in waves across her shoulders. She and her three girlfriends became regulars at the club, but they seldom ventured to the dance floor. They liked foosball.
When Charlotte did accept someone’s invitation to dance, I watched her from my place on stage until we made eye contact. Each time, she passed a quaint smile my way as she danced around the floor. As soon as the band went on break, I went to the side room, looking for a chance to get into the game.
She was really good at foosball, a lot better than I was. Sometimes we played each other and other times we played partners against another pair. She didn’t seem to mind that my skills were marginal at best. While I was on stage, she looked up from her game and gave me a smile.
Charlotte was from Georgia and had been living in Texas for almost a year. She spoke with a butter-smooth Southern drawl that reminded me of Melanie in Gone With the Wind, the perfect Southern lady. I asked her out on a date. She said no.
The next time I saw her, I asked again.
“No,” she said, “but thank you for asking.”
After she turned me down for the third time, I wondered if she was married. She wasn’t wearing a ring. After a few more times hanging around the foosball table and hearing her talk with her friends, I became certain she wasn’t married. She didn’t even have a steady boyfriend.
She was driving me crazy. We would be talking, laughing, and having a good time. We were connecting. I knew we were. The circumstances were perfect to ask for a date, but each time the response was the same: “No, but thank you for asking.”
One day, she said, “I love the way you play your guitar and sing.” That look in her eyes. The approving smile.
My heart leaped. This was my golden opportunity. “Would you like me to show you how to play guitar?”
She smiled like I was a pet puppy, not a candidate for a date. “No,” she said in her sexy Southern accent, “but thank you for asking.”
Under the stage lights every Friday and Saturday, I had little trouble finding a date, but I couldn’t get the one I wanted most. I understood how cool I was. Charlotte was impressed with my playing and singing, but not enough to go on a date. Why?
I needed a new strategy. She didn’t appear to be the jealous type. Hitting on one of her friends wouldn’t work. She would wish us well. I just needed to find the problem and fix it. Maybe she didn’t like guys with curly hair or musicians. Her friends would know. I waited for the moment when I could talk privately with one of them.
On the next Friday, the band had completed our sound check when I saw two of Charlotte’s friends at a table. One of them headed toward the juke box, leaving her companion alone.
I jerked the plug, dropped my guitar on its stand, and took a seat at her table. “I need to ask you something. Every time I ask Charlotte out, she turns me down. She seems to like me okay. What’s the deal?”
She didn’t say anything, but looked toward the juke box.
“Is she afraid to be alone with me?”
“That’s not the reason. Charlotte is a Christian. She only dates guys who are Christians.”
I sighed in relief. This was less a problem than I had thought. “I believe in God,” I said. “I’m a Christian.”
She smiled like she wasn’t sure she believed me. “Charlotte should be here in an hour or so. Excuse me.” She left for the juke box as if her friend was
desperate for help in picking out a good song.
I wasn’t lying. I had gone to church with Granny. I remembered the dog tags I wore in the Air Force. The imprint listed my name, Social Security number, and blood type. The fourth line said, American Baptist. That made it official. Even the government understood I was a Christian.
Somehow I needed to prove my eligibility. I couldn’t show her my dog tags to change her idea about me. Maybe she thought musicians were too much about sex, drugs, and Rock and Roll to be Christians. How could I show her I believed in God?
On Sunday morning, I noticed a newspaper ad from Edison’s Jewelers, an exclusive jewelry store in downtown Fort Worth. After seeing the pictures, I
immediately knew what I needed to do. It was so simple. Christians wear crosses. Charlotte would see the cross hanging on the chain around my neck. She would know I was a Christian, and she would want to go out with me. This would work, but first I needed to buy the cross.
I might have found a cheaper cross at another store, but I needed to impress Charlotte. I couldn’t
afford to mess up this opportunity. An expensive cross worn around my neck at all times was essential to demonstrate that I was a bona fide Christian.
On Monday, I went to Edison’s with a wad of cash. “I’m looking for a cross,” I said to the sales lady.” The display case was in the middle of the store, filled with a hundred different sizes and styles. The newspaper had shown only five. I had no idea there would be this many crosses to choose from. I scanned the
sparkling array, wondering which one would impress Charlotte the most.
The sales lady laid a display pad on the counter and placed one cross after another on the black velvet so I could inspect them. “Do you see anything you like?” Some were adorned with colored gems and others were smooth with beveled edges. They came in both ten- and fourteen-carat gold. Another spread of sterling silver crosses were on the other side of the display.
Amazing. I could see that crosses were a major part of being a Christian. “Well, yes. I see several I like. I’m not sure whether I want gold or silver.”
“Take your time. Just let me know when you’ve decided.” She left to help another customer.
I thought about the album cover with the Texas Blues man Johnny Winter. One of his band mates wore a sterling silver cross that must have been impressive or I wouldn’t have remembered it. Sterling silver. That’s what I wanted. And besides, the color would match the chrome tuning keys and volume knob on my Fender Telecaster.
After paying for the cross, I couldn’t leave my parking space until after I had removed the cross from its box and slipped the chain around my neck. I tilted the rear view mirror down so I could see. How did I look? Perfect. Definitely Christian. The sun reflected off the cross and made a circle on the headliner. I
imagined how Charlotte’s kiss would feel after she saw me wearing it.
I slipped the cross under my shirt and enjoyed the drive home. It had been a good day. In all the times we had talked, Charlotte hadn’t known I was a Christian. She would now.
On Saturday night, the band was halfway through the first set when Charlotte and her friends came in. How would I show her my cross? I missed a chord while I was thinking about what I should do. If she was involved in a foosball round when I walked up, I would wait until the game was finished. I didn’t want any distractions when she saw my cross. I would ask if she and I could talk for a minute. We needed to be alone. My plan was set.
The wait seemed like an hour. Finally, the band took a break. I kept my eyes on Charlotte while I leaned my guitar against my amp. She was sitting at the table in the foosball area. As I walked up, the lady talking with her said she would see her later and walked away.
Perfect.
I pulled out the chair next to her, sat down, and inched a little closer.
She smiled a warm welcome. “You guys sound
really good tonight.”
“Thank you.” My heart was pounding. “Guess what. Did you know I was a Christian?” I reached
under my collar and hooked the chain with my index finger. Out popped the cross from beneath my shirt. I slowly slid my finger under the chain stopping three inches from the cross and level with my chin. I let the lights above the foosball table reflect off my cross. I waited for Charlotte to be impressed.
She watched the cross dance back and forth on the end of the chain but said nothing.
“Charlotte,” I said, “I’m a Christian.” I wasn’t sure she heard me. “It’s important to me that you know.” I waited for her joyous outburst with a hug and a kiss. Her eyes hadn’t left the cross, so she must like it. Why wasn’t she smiling like before? Surely I should see something in her eyes to indicate her approval.
With cold eyes she looked at me like I had made a serious error in judgment. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I tried to overcome the tension with a smile. “Seriously. I’m a Christian.”
She spun to her left and saw her friends standing at the pool table. “I’ve got to go.” She got up and walked toward them without saying a word.
I was dumbfounded. I expected her to be swept off her feet, but not this way. At worst, I thought her knowing I was a Christian would allow her to go out with me at least once. What had happened?
The sound of a guitar being tuned. Break time was almost over.
When I picked up my guitar, I saw Charlotte at the foosball table. As we began our first song, I hoped she would return my gaze, but she was engrossed in her game. She never looked toward me. During the next three songs, I often glanced toward Charlotte, but she never looked my way, not once.
My disappointment turned to resentment. Who did she think she was, anyway, treating me like that? I was a Christian, and I had laid down serious cash to prove it. I looked toward the foosball table. Charlotte and her friends were nowhere in sight.
I knew I wouldn’t see Charlotte for a while. The band had a wedding reception scheduled for the next weekend, so we had arranged for another band to play at the club in our place. Why had she reacted to what I said? Maybe it would be good for her not to see me for a couple of weeks. From the beginning, she made it clear she had no interest in dating me. Now she seemed to resent being around me. Given time, maybe she would appreciate the fact that I was a Christian. Then we could go on a date.
Two weeks later, when the band returned to play at the Saddle & Spur, the club owner and one of the bouncers met us in the parking lot. The owner told us they had hired the band that had filled in for us. Our band was no longer needed.
The same week, the band leader, drummer, and bass player quit their day jobs so they could play five nights a week. Their new keyboard player liked top-forties dance music, so I needed to read music. Since I had never taken time to learn how, I was fired.
In two weeks, I had lost my weekend gigs, my band, and my connection with Charlotte. All I had left was a shiny cross and a wallet that was lighter than it should have been. That was okay. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a Christian anyway.
Three weeks later, the keyboard player called me about his new band. They were looking for a guitar player who could also sing a few songs with each set. After an audition, I was hired. I was back in business.
My shiny new cross was left to tarnish in my dresser drawer.