by KG Fletcher
“Clay,” she whispered excitedly. Reaching across the desk to her office phone, she quickly muted the conference call so she could answer her I-Phone without her co-workers knowing.
“This is Katie Parker.” She didn’t mean for her voice to come across as business-like as it did.
“Hey… Katie. It’s Clay. Clay Watkins.”
The wide grin on her face was almost clown-like. “Hey, Clay. I was just thinking about you.”
“Really? Well, that’s a nice thing to say…”
They talked on the phone for the next few minutes, Katie having to put him on hold a few times to interject an agreement or two on her conference call. When she finally ended the business call from the West Coast, she relaxed, kicking her heels off under the desk and let Clay know he had her undivided attention.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you during your workday.”
“No! It’s totally fine. I’m so glad you called me, Clay. When can I see you again?” There were a few seconds of silence as her bold question must have caught him off guard.
“You know, I’d really like that,” his voice rumbled, making her insides stir.
She smiled, licking her lips. “Well, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think I’d like that too.”
His baritone laugh made her blush. She was a goner.
“Well…one of the reasons I was calling was to ask…if you wanted to join me on this thing I have going on Thursday night.”
He seemed hesitant and nervous trying to ask her to go to something with him. “Oh? What kind of ‘thing’?” she asked gently.
“It’s a songwriter’s showcase at the Bluebird Café in Nashville. I do it every other month. I don’t know if you can get away early on Thursday and take Friday off, but I’d love for you to be my guest and stay… through the weekend?”
Katie covered her mouth with her hand so she wouldn’t squeal out loud. Clay Watkins was inviting her to Nashville for the weekend. Of course, she could take Friday off. Being a bona fide workaholic, she hadn’t taken a random day off in years. The company owed her numerous vacation and personal days. The time had finally come for her to cash in. The thought of spending quality time with Clay on his home turf something she wasn’t about to miss.
“Katie? You there?”
She blinked several times coming down from her thoughts. “Yes! I’m here, and yes, I’ll be there!”
He sounded relieved, and they talked for another minute before saying goodbye. When she pressed the end call button on her cell, she immediately hit the speed dial on her office phone that went directly into Dale’s office.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m heading to Nashville on Thursday!” she shrieked excitedly.
“Oh. My. God. The cowboy called, didn’t he?”
“Yes!”
Dale purposefully talked with a thick Southern accent making her laugh out loud. “Well, darlin’, aren’t you the luckiest little cowgirl this side of the Mississippi?”
“I’m going to a songwriter’s showcase at the Bluebird Café that he’s performing in.”
“Wow! That sounds cool…”
“Dale, would you wear cowboy boots if you were me or would that be weird?” Nervously, she tapped the end of a pencil on her desk already contemplating her weekend wardrobe.
“You wear whatever your little ole Kathryn Parker heart desires.”
***
The sunroof was wide open on Katie’s Beemer as she steadily climbed Interstate-24 toward Monteagle. The past two days had been excruciating, anticipating seeing Clay again. As she made the journey to Tennessee, it was fun watching the temperature drop on her dashboard thermometer as she gained altitude up the mountain. The protruding rocks and formations on either side of the highway were magnificent against the perfect summer sky. Scrolling through several radio stations, she landed on a contemporary country broadcast and wondered if some of the songs she was humming along to were Georgia Clay originals. She couldn’t wait to see him in action, playing the songs that made him a famous songwriter. Stacey insisted that she borrow her flaming-red cowboy boots for the occasion, coaching her in appropriate Nashville attire.
“You’ll fit right in if you wear the boots,” her best friend stressed. “All his Nash Vegas buddies will think you’re one of them if you’re sportin’ these!”
Katie smiled and shook her head. She really wasn’t the cowboy boot wearing type but packed them to appease Stacey, knowing deep down that she probably wouldn’t even take them out of her suitcase. She liked the fact that she could be herself around Clay, unhindered and honest. There was something about his music that projected honesty as well. She knew they’d get along just fine, with or without cowboy boots. Her ringing cell phone interrupted an Eric Church tune about Springsteen. Clicking a button on her steering wheel, the Bluetooth kicked in leaving her hands free on the dangerous highway.
“Hello? This is Katie.”
“Hey, Pretty Girl. It’s Clay. How are you holding up?”
She pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head to hold her hair back and blushed. The word “pretty” coming out of his sexy mouth made her pulse race. “I’m doing great. The traffic is minimal, and the day is gorgeous. I just wish there weren’t so many big rigs on the road. Kind of scary going up this mountain.”
“Well, stay back from them,” he urged, his voice filled with concern. “That stretch of Interstate is notorious for heavy-footed drivers that end up using the runaway truck ramps, especially on the decline.”
“I’ll be careful…” It touched her that he was checking up on her. “Maybe I should come up with my own trucker name?” She giggled.
“Now, that’s not a bad idea. My daddy was a trucker. Everyone called him ‘Big Daddy.’”
“Yes, you told me.”
“I could call you… ‘Hot Mama’?”
Her cheeks were growing warmer. “Okay, if I can call you ‘Firecracker.’”
His laugh was infectious as it came over her car speaker. “‘Firecracker’? Where’d you come up with that?”
Katie bit her lip gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Well, every time we made love I saw fireworks…”
There was silence for a few seconds before she heard him sigh. “Damn, Hot Mama. You sure know how to make a guy blush.”
She imagined him on the other side of the line with his tousled hair and caramel eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so forward. It’s just that…”
“It’s just…what?” His voice was low and sexy.
Words suddenly tumbled out of her mouth in a steady stream of consciousness. “It’s just that you’re an incredible lover, and I can’t wait to see you again, and you’re all I’ve been thinking about day and night, and I’m so glad we ran into each other at the reunion, and I don’t usually go all-the-way in the first twenty-four hours of meeting someone and… whoa!” Jerking the wheel quickly to the left, she barely avoided sideswiping a big rig that was barreling into her lane.
“Katie? Katie! What happened? Are you alright?”
Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest as she looked in the rearview mirror at the giant truck that almost caused an accident. “Yes. I’m okay. These truckers are dangerous,” she whispered out of breath.
“Keep your eyes on the road, Pretty Girl. You need to get off your phone so that you can concentrate.” She could hear him exhale on the other end. “And for the record, you’re all I’ve been thinking about too. I can’t wait to see you in a couple of hours,” he reassured.
She groaned, not wanting to say goodbye.
“I’ll see you at the Bluebird. Your name will be on the VIP list. Just be sure to tell them your name is, ‘Hot Mama,’” he teased.
She laughed, finally relaxing again. “Okay, ‘Firecracker.’”
“Mmmm. Why is it so damn hard to say goodbye to you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I feel the same way.” They let the moment linger.
“Be safe Katie Parker. We’ll watch the fireworks together tonight.”
She was counting on it.
chapter ten
Traffic on the I-440 West into Nashville was a nightmare and Katie started to panic, thinking she might miss the eight o’clock start of Clay’s show. She pulled into the unassuming strip mall where the Bluebird Café was located and found a parking space relatively close to the entrance. It surprised her that the famous club was situated in such a common area and not downtown where the tourists flocked. Quickly, she glanced in the vanity mirror of her car and smoothed her hair before exiting. She jogged to the entrance sheltered by a navy-blue awning with the white, cursive lettering of the Bluebird logo.
“That’ll be twenty dollars,” a large, grizzly-looking man muttered. She couldn’t see his lips because of the shaggy beard that covered most of his face.
“Yeah, I’m on the list. Katie Parker?”
The man grabbed a clipboard and scrolled the paper with his fingertip. “No, ma’am. No Katie Parker on this list.”
She blushed, totally embarrassed by what she was about to say. “Is there a ‘Hot Mama’ on your list?” He scrolled again, this time landing on the nick-name. His bushy eyebrow peaked with humor, and he chuckled. “Enjoy the show.” He motioned with his arm toward the front door.
Katie offered the man a polite smile and adjusted the straps of her purse over her shoulder, tilting her head high with dignity. “Well played Georgia Clay,” she muttered, touched by his teasing. She’d get him back, eventually.
The room was smaller than she had imagined. Tiny tables and rickety chairs were crammed into every nook and cranny around a small stage area flush with the floor, the room looking like it could only hold a few dozen people. The place was packed, the buzz of conversation and tinkling glasses prevalent. Faded, autographed posters of famous artists decorated the walls along with cheap, white Christmas lights haphazardly strung in a zigzag formation as if someone used a stapler to tack them up. The distinct smell of fried food wafted in the air and from the looks of the small plates on some of the tables, typical bar food appeared to be on the menu. Canned music was playing softly, and she noticed a trio of casually dressed musicians already set up and ready, but no sign of Clay. A couple of gorgeous guitars stood upright in stands making her wonder if they were his.
“Hot Mama…”
Katie jumped as Clay’s arms came around her waist from behind, his warm, husky voice floating over her ear. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned back into his embrace exhaling.
He turned her around in the dimly lit area of the club, his smile at one hundred watts. “You made it.”
His handsome, no-fuss looks took her breath away, and she could only nod in response, all thoughts of getting even for listing her as “Hot Mama,” gone. His eyes sparkled as he tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingertips sending prickles down her spine. “I have a special seat reserved just for you. It’s kind of near the back. The acoustics are better from there.”
“Okay,” she replied, her entire body reeling being in such proximity to him.
He looked to the left, then to the right before pulling her into the tiny hallway next to the bathrooms. Pushing her up against the wall, he rested his palms on either side of her head and stared into her eyes. She watched him lick his upper lip before moving forward and grazing his mouth against hers. A small moan escaped her lips as she closed her eyes, allowing him to kiss her in the shadows away from the crowd. His tongue darted in and out of the seam of her mouth, and she felt his hands cup her face. There was a hint of peppermint on his breath as if he had recently chewed gum or sucked on a mint.
“I’ve been dying to do that since I left you on Sunday,” he whispered. Katie nodded, wide-eyed and wanting from the kiss, aware that her knees felt rubbery. For some reason, she felt tongue-tied and couldn’t speak.
Clay hugged her quickly before stepping back and grabbing her hand. “Come on then. Let me show you to your table.” Leading her into the crowded listening room, several patrons eyed them curiously. One lone, tiny table with a reserved sign was vacant in the packed house. “Jeanette will take care of you. Order anything you want.” Katie nodded and sat in the rickety chair that he pulled out for her. “I hope you enjoy the show.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her. She could tell he was excited.
“Break a leg!” she said exuberantly, finding her voice which made his grin wider. He kissed her on the head and ambled his way through the tables and chairs, his denim-covered backside a lovely sight to behold.
“Hey darlin’, what can I get ya? Anything you want, on the house.”
Katie looked up and smiled at the waitress named Jeanette who would be taking care of her during the show. She was a pretty little thing dressed casually in faded jeans, a Bluebird Café t-shirt, and cowboy boots. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
“Ginger ale if you have it, please.”
“You got it, girlie.”
Katie didn’t want to drink any alcohol. She wanted to concentrate fully on Clay and his music, uninhibited and totally focused. She watched him banter with the other musicians as they tuned their instruments. All of them seemed relaxed and totally in their element. A big guy wearing a distressed trucker cap grabbed a microphone out of the stand and started to speak. Katie couldn’t help but notice that he wore cowboy boots too. As she looked around at different patrons, it seemed like everyone was wearing boots. She randomly thought that maybe she should re-think the whole shoe situation while in Nashville…
“Welcome everyone to the Bluebird Café. How many first-timers we got out there?” A few hoots and hollers echoed in the space among a smattering of polite applause.
“Well then, y’all need to remember this is a listening room. Talking is strictly discouraged. We want y’all to focus on the music and connect with the emotion of the song and its creator. This is a songwriter’s mecca, and you are in the presence of greatness tonight.” The whole room suddenly erupted in applause as the big man was about to introduce Clay.
“Back from his recent Grammy award and Oscar-nomination for his hit crossover song, “Forever in Love”, the Bluebird is proud to introduce to you, two-time ASCAP Country Songwriter of the Year and recent Nashville Songwriter Hall of Fame inductee—Mr. Georgia Clay!”
The audience went nuts as the house lights surrounding the performance area dimmed. Clay didn’t miss a beat, immediately strumming an up-tempo tune on his acoustic guitar. The crowd noise dissipated as a fiddle, second acoustic and banjo player joined in the melody. Katie had a perpetual grin on her face and had to remind herself to breathe while taking it all in. Clay’s jaw clenched as he concentrated on an intricate riff going into the first verse, his reverberated voice catching her off guard when he started to sing into the microphone. The pureness and tone of the sound echoing in the room surrounded her like a warm embrace. When she had arrived at the Bluebird, she seriously thought she was going to watch a handsome, award-winning guy perform a few of his original songs on a Thursday night with a backup band. She had no idea he could play an instrument or sing like that, and hearing him now, in real time, his effortless singing and playing blew her mind. He was the star of the show, no doubt.
Watching his long fingers move along the frets of the neck of the guitar and listening to his deep, sexy voice made her entire body tremble. She couldn’t take her eyes off him or take it all in fast enough. The way he tapped his left boot while sitting on a chair, his legs open wide with the body of his guitar resting on his right thigh. The way he and the other musicians tapped in time, as if they were in the center of someone’s living room having a jam session. The way his strong jawline naturally moved as he sang about picking up a girl in his truck wearing dirty boots and a smile, the memorable tune making her bite her lower lip so she wouldn’t break her face with an enormous, ear-splitting grin. The way his dark curls bounced over his ears as his entire body got deeper into the pulsing, country rhythm. This was no
t what she expected. The announcer was correct—she was in the presence of greatness. Why Georgia Clay Watkins wasn’t on the road in his own sell-out tour was beyond her comprehension.
When the song ended, the entire room erupted in a frenzy of applause and vocal adulation. Katie clapped her hands together as fast as she could and looked around at the fans who must have realized they truly lucked out on this random Thursday night at the Bluebird. Her hand shook as she brought her drink up to her dry mouth to take a sip, reeling from the live experience of a single Georgia Clay song.
Clay performed several more familiar songs without any banter in between. She recognized radio hits made famous by Keith Urban, Tim McGraw, and Blake Shelton. Clay’s success as a writer was unfathomable. Katie drained her beverage and began to wonder if he was ever going to speak to the crowd. As that thought crossed her mind, he started to talk.
“Thanks so much…for being here tonight,” Clay slowly said into the microphone, his voice deep and smooth. He was much more reserved when he spoke as opposed to his singing. This took Katie by surprise.
“You might recognize this next song. Sung originally by the great Brett Young, it recently crossed over into pop music featured in the movie, The Watchman…” The crowd started to get amped up as if knowing he was about to segue into his Grammy-award-winning song. He paused biting his lower lip, shaking his head and smiling at his bandmates, waiting for the noise to die down. “Here’s ‘Forever in Love’…”
