by Becky Wicks
‘This lovely lady helped me out once,’ Travis says now, cocking his hat at me. ‘And I know ya’ll came to hear Stars.’
The crowd claps harder. Some people whistle. E-beth’s at the front now, grinning wildly and sidling ever closer to Denzel. I study Travis. He’s beaming under the lights, all macho man in his black button up shirt, trademark tight jeans and polished boots. His biceps are bulging as he tweaks the top E-string. ‘If it’s OK by you,’ he says, ‘I’d be happy to stand in, repay the favor. How bout we start with Time Of Our Lives?’
I let out a sigh around my smile. The man has some moxie. He knows HotFlush turned him down once. He knows Denzel is here. He’s doing this for himself, not for me at all, but I guess he does know the songs. He’s started up already. ‘For those who don’t know me, my name is Travis Flynn,’ he says, and I force myself not to roll my eyes as he motions for me to come in with the first verse.
The audience claps to the beat as I move around the stage, playing along with Travis, who’s apparently a pro up here when he’s singing about anything other than condiments. I’m actually surprised. The smile stays glued to my face as he harmonizes like an expert on all the right parts, and I’m a little shocked when I realize it’s genuine. He’s making the song sound better than ever. He’s got stage presence, I can’t deny it; not that Conor doesn’t, but Conor’s a singer and songwriter, whereas Travis is just a born entertainer. He gets to his knees with the guitar, sings straight to the girl who’s standing at the front, clapping her hands.
What’s the rush, take it slow, take my hand and we’ll go
Say goodbye
We’ve got a lifetime
Now let’s have the time of our lives
When we finish, pressed up against each other’s backs, laughing and clutching our guitars, the audience are all on their feet, there isn’t a nerve left un-frayed in my body and people are whistling louder than I’ve ever heard them in this place, for any act, ever. Travis reaches for my hand and holds it up with his. ‘It’s all this woman here,’ he cries, ‘Give it up for Nashville’s newest hit, HOT songwriter!’
I feel my cheeks flare, but he nudges me before walking back to his mic stand and announcing Stars. I have no choice but to let him sing it with me, especially when I notice Denzel dial someone up on his BlackBerry and hold the gadget out at us. Is he recording us? Did he actually call someone and make them listen to us? I start to sweat, even as I switch my stage presence back on. This is the song people came to hear. Phones are pointed at us now, and not just Denzel’s.
What if we can’t choose
Every battle we win and lose
What if we decided years before,
To live this life, to fight these wars
And all the dreams we ever thought were ours
Were written in the stars…
This time as we sing Travis circles me, shares my mic for the chorus and stops to tip his hat at various people as I play and sing my parts. He’s all charm. He oozes it and I have to admit, he owns the song. He sounds and looks almost as good as Noah Lockton does with Courtney Lentini but with his husky, country twang he makes it sound emotional and raw in all the right places. Mel’s mouth is hanging open.
Once again when we finish, the crowd roars and Travis pulls me close. I feel torn. I feel awesome and alive and buzzing and loved, but I feel awful because I shouldn’t be up here with Travis Flynn. I should be up here with Conor. Conor’s the one who wrote these songs with me. Conor’s the one who helped me get this far and now Travis is totally stealing his limelight.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ I hiss at him over the cheering, but Travis throws me a look that tells me I’m being ridiculous.
‘It’s not like you’re cheating on your boyfriend,’ he drawls back into my ear. His breath is warm and makes my ear tingle and my hair move. ‘I should be so lucky.’
‘You’re unbelievable,’ I snap, lurching away. But Denzel’s phone is scanning the bar, apparently recording the crowd’s reaction to the two of us and Travis has seen. He pulls me closer, kisses the side of my head, even as I resist. I’m forcing the smile to stay on my face now. Just be cool. Just be cool.
‘If it’s OK with you, I have one more,’ Travis says suddenly. I raise my eyebrows at him as he searches for acquiescence. Panic floods me, as well as annoyance. He knows as well as I do that the last time he stood on stage and sang his own stuff it sucked. He wouldn’t risk that again in front of Denzel, would he?
‘I’ve got this. Just improvise,’ he says in a deep, low voice, pointing at my guitar. The room falls silent again as everyone sits down. ‘I wrote this song about someone… someone I miss very much,’ he says, softening his tone suddenly in a way that jolts my head in his direction. As he sings I realize he’s good. Really good.
You’re only almost here
A whisper in my ear
The moon when it’s half full, grinning down
Starlight in my coffee cup
The little mouth that won’t shut up
The half of me I have to live without
And I can go on
Write your smiles into a song
Sing it loud, I know you'd be so proud of me
But even so
All the world will ever know
All the world will ever see
Is half of me
You’re shadows in the morning light
The conscience telling me to fight
And equal fear that wounds just like a knife
You’re music wrapping round guitars
And melodies in smoky bars
All memories of another life
The half of me that lives without you
Never gets too far
‘Cause half my heart is out there
Screaming
Wondering
Pleading
Asking where you are
So crack me open, wreck me with the memories of us
If it doesn't break our hearts it isn't love
And I can go on
Write your smiles into a song
Sing it loud, I know you'd be so proud of me
But even so
All the world will ever know
All the world will ever see
Is half of me
‘Nice work mate, I see you’ve upped your game,’ Denzel enthuses when the cheering’s subsided and we’ve made it through the back-slapping masses to their table. He motions us to sit. ‘I had A&R on the dog just now, they liked what they heard.’
‘You’ve heard me before,’ Travis says, narrowing his eyes in spite of his wry smile. ‘Remember?’
‘Yeah but you were… well, let’s not concern ourselves with the past,’ Denzel says tactfully, signalling to the waitress, who’s squeezing through the crowd. ‘What matters now is now and you were fucking mint up there, mate. You too, love.’ He turns to me now, takes my hand. ‘As usual.’
Behind him I see E-beth approaching, adjusting her skirt, then her ponytail. She’s applied lip gloss. She’s incorrigible. I take it her other Brit, 'the quest' never succumbed to her charms. Either that or she's determined to score with every Englishman who comes to Nashville.
‘Look,’ Denzel continues, oblivious. ‘I know Conor isn’t interested from what Mel tells me, and that’s fine by me ‘cause he’s a bloody good songwriter, but you, you are a performer, like this one here. You need to work together. Two is better than one when it comes to country pop – there are no duos at the moment. No decent ones at least. Now, listen, I’ve got an idea...’
‘I don’t know,’ I cut in quickly as E-beth pulls a chair out next to me. I only half register her. I’m still processing what just happened; seeing half the audience wiping their eyes after Travis stole my spot and sang his heart out. I can feel him looking at me eagerly. ‘I write and sing with Conor,’ I press, but Travis puts a hand over mine.
‘Think about it. You can still write with Judge, but you can sing with me! You’re not just a song
writer, baby, you’re more than that and you know it. You're a star, I saw you on that island…’
‘You weren’t there!’
‘On the television then! Come on baby.’
I frown at him. I almost tell him to stop calling me baby but Denzel’s slapping his shoulder. ‘He’s right. You’re the package. Both of you together are the package, actually.’ He sits back in his chair. ‘Right Mel? Did you know he could write like that?’
Mel is smiling in a way I can’t quite read.
‘You should totally work together, you were amazing up there!’ E-beth says now.
‘Have you written anything together?’ Denzel asks, ignoring her.
‘She won’t,’ Travis tells him. ‘Trust me, I’ve suggested it.’
‘Well, you should,’ Denzel barks, slapping a hand affirmatively on the table and fixing me with vulture eyes. I don’t know what to say. He circles his BlackBerry round between us under one finger. ‘At least hear me out,’ he says when he senses my uncertainty.
‘We’re looking for an act to play before Lockton in each state of the U.S album tour. He wants to do this thing where we help expose local artists, you know, YouTube stars, pub singers and what not? He’s nice like that.’ He grins. ‘I think you and Flynn here would be the bee's knees for Tennessee and I can guarantee you a lot more than two hundred people will see your stuff. Play your cards right, who knows what could happen after that?’
‘Holy crap!’ E-beth shrieks, gripping my arm. Denzel looks at her. A spark of recognition crosses his face finally and he beams as his eyes start roaming over her cleavage.
‘You want us to play for Noah Lockton?’ Travis laughs now, running a hand over his clean shaven chin and taking off his hat. I’ve never seen him humbled before.
‘He’s already seen Stephanie, he’s already singing her songs. I’d say he’s a fan. And you won the songwriter of the year before your songs all turned to sh…’ Denzel stops, clears his throat again, tearing his eyes off E-beth. ‘You’ve improved. You have more songs like that up your sleeve I take it? Ones you can turn into duets?’
Sure have,’ Travis chirps. ‘Plenty more where that came from.’
‘Good. Keep it honest, keep it raw,’ Denzel says. ‘Get me a demo of three songs over by next Friday. Can you do that?’
‘We can’t afford…’ I start but Denzel waves his hand in front of me.
‘Doesn’t have to be professional. We’re just looking for talent and charisma. Prove to the top dogs you’re good enough and you’re in at The Ryman. I’ll have a word.’
My mouth falls open. I turn to E-beth as her eyes grow round as the beermats. The Ryman? What the hell is happening? The Ryman is the Mother Church of Country Music. It’s where Johnny Cash told June Carter he’d marry her someday. It’s where Hank frickin’ Williams took six encores on his Opry debut. I haven’t even taken the backstage tour yet, let alone stood on the stage with my own guitar.
‘Do we get paid?’ Travis asks. I hold my breath.
‘One hundred and fifty thousand each,’ Denzel answers. ‘And at the end of the tour, Noah’s audiences are voting on their favorite act to win a record deal. It’s guaranteed publicity if nothing else.’
‘Oh my God, Stephanie!’ E-beth is gripping my arm like a vice now. Holy crap. The money from the tour gigs alone would pay off the rest of the house. And with a record deal as well as song writing creds… I already know that could mean big money. My family could be safe and secure. I could even help Cory go to college. A headache threatens my temples and my throat dries out. I grab the Jack and Coke in front of me as Travis seizes his chance to bombard Denzel with a million questions and Mel hammers something into her phone that’s no doubt about my future opportunity to sing for Tennessee on Noah Lockton’s U.S tour.
As E-beth gushes a stream of excitement at me I think of Conor back at his house with his mom, going through god-knows-what while my world is being turned upside down. I check my phone quickly. He hasn’t called.
18.
Conor
Mom’s standing in front of the health shelf, studying the bottles and jars. ‘Mind if I have some of these?’ she asks in a small voice. She turns round to me and holds out a bottle labelled Herbal Calm. I shrug. It can’t do any harm.
I’m sitting on the couch, wringing my hands together as she paces and huffs and puffs and pretends to be OK and right now, now that she’s stopped her sobbing, I’m pretty sure I’m a bigger wreck than she is. ‘Will you just sit down and talk to me,’ I say eventually in agitation.
‘Sorry.’ She sits, empties two thick capsules into her hand and washes them back with water. When she goes to put the bottle down on the table I reach for it and do the same. I only hope they work. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says again, putting a hand over mine suddenly.
My stomach pole-vaults as I swallow the pills. I feel them, thick and heavy in my throat, sliding down with the truth as it spills from her mouth. ‘I’ve wanted to leave your father for a long time, even before he drove you away, too. But how could I? You know what he’s like. Conor.’ The tears spring back into her brown eyes. ‘It’s gotten out of hand, the accusations, the relentless quotations.’ She pauses, reaches for her calico purse on the table and pulls it onto her lap as I run my hands through my hair. ‘He’s not right in the head anymore baby, and I know you think I never fight back,’ she says. ‘I know you think I sit around and let him do and say what he wants…’
‘You do, mom, every time, you know you do,’ I say.
‘It’s not true. I’ve always fought for you, and Micah too. I just want you to be happy.’
‘So why did you let him banish him?’ I say, louder now, standing up and facing her. ‘Why did you let Micah leave? Why did you let dad make our lives a misery all this time? Yours too! I heard him there behind you when you were asking me what I was gonna do now Fret is out of my hands. He controls your every move…’
‘He’s just too strong!’ she cries as I face her.
Terror floods me. ‘Did he ever hit you?’
She mops at her face with her cardigan sleeve, looks away. ‘He’d threaten to leave me every time I spoke up. He’d threaten to turn the community against me. After Micah left, you were all I had! When you wouldn’t let me see you I… I got scared. I knew I had to change things, Conor, I couldn’t lose you too!’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘He hit you, didn’t he?’
'Just once! He did apologize, he said he was in pain...'
'Pain? Why?'
'I don't know.'
My fists are clenched to my sides. I want to drive over there and beat the living shit out of him. ‘He’s an asshole, mom,’ I say, folding my arms in case I punch a wall. She nods tearfully. Guilt and fury roll over me in waves. This whole time she’s been suffering just as I have, in silence. She’s been just as frightened to face him. ‘You should have talked to me sooner. Two is more powerful than one, mom. We could’ve done something.’
She shakes her head, sniffing. I sit back down again heavily, cover her hand with mine and bite my cheek to control my mouth. ‘You said back at the Bluebird you couldn’t lie anymore about Micah,’ I say after a moment. ‘What did you mean?’
She closes her eyes, inhales long and hard through her nose and opens her purse. She pulls out a sheet of paper and instantly my blood freezes in my veins.
‘I wanted to tell you,’ she says as I take it from her hands and read the unfamiliar scrawl.
Mom. Merry Christmas. I think about you every day and it breaks my heart that I can’t call you to tell you everything about my life and my job. I’m a teacher now, can you believe that? I want to hear about you too, but I know what dad will do if he knows we’re in touch. I’m fine, don’t come looking for me and please don’t tell Conor you’ve heard from me. He’ll try to find me and I’m afraid of what might happen if he does. I want him to have every chance at taking over Fret and getting what’s owed to him. I want him to make a life for himself
outside of the Hearts Community but not in a way that dad can blame me for. I’m sorry for everything I put you through but please just know that I’m fine now and try to let that be enough. Claire and I broke up but I have a new girlfriend who I met at the school. Her name is Jeanne and we’re happy. I’ll write you again next Christmas, but until then, know that I love you all and I wish you nothing but the best.
Micah x
‘He’s alive.’ The world is spinning. My fists are clenched. ‘He sent this last Christmas?’
‘Yes.’ My mom sinks back into the couch with her eyes closed. ‘Please forgive me,’ she says.
‘He thinks I care more about taking over the goddam store than having him in my life? That’s insane!’
‘He was doing what he thought was best to secure your future. He knows what Fret means to you, Conor, it always has…’
‘Having my brother means more!’ I say, as the letter blurs in front of me. ‘How could he not have known that? Where’s the envelope? Where did he mail it?’
Mom looks at me apprehensively before pulling it out of her purse. ‘Memphis?’ I read, turning it over in my hands. ‘Has he been there all this time?’
‘I don’t know, it’s the first I’ve heard from him since he left Tallahassee and stopped calling, except for one letter to tell me he got clean.’
‘So you knew, all this time? You knew the drugs didn’t kill him, you knew where he was…’
‘I’m so sorry! Your father insisted…’
‘I can’t believe this.’
‘Conor, I left him,’ she says now, resolutely. ‘I left your father so I wouldn’t lose you. I want you back, and I want Micah back.’ She reaches for my hand. ‘I want to be a family.’
‘It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?’ I retract my hand roughly. I feel a million things, fury and pain included, but the thought of my brother standing up in a classroom teaching strikes me. ‘He’s a teacher?’ I repeat, letting out a laugh suddenly, raking my hair with a hand. Mom smiles weakly and for a moment I wonder if the Herbal Calm is actually working.
