Georgia Clay

by KG Fletcher

  “That was really fun.”

  “Sorry she was so insistent that we stay for dinner. She’s not normally that clingy.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. She’s your mother and I’m sure she misses you like crazy and just wants to spend more time with you.” She clicked her seatbelt at her hip. “We can stay if you want to. I don’t have to be anywhere.”

  Clay shook his head and looked down at his hands that were planted on his thighs. A small smile tugged on his lips. “I know it’s selfish of me, but I really just wanted to hang out with you for a little longer before I head back to Nashville.” He shifted in his seat before looking at her with wide eyes. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you, Katie Parker.”

  She inhaled quickly and inadvertently reached her hand up to caress a small curl above his ear. She had wanted to touch him all afternoon, but held back in an effort to be respectful in front of his mother. He leaned into her touch. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you either, Clay Watkins.”

  Chapter eight

  Katie stood in front of the large office window, cupping her coffee mug in her hands. The blinds were open wide as she watched the sun rising on the east side of the property, the luminous, orange glow reminding her to be in the moment. She closed her eyes, the warmth penetrating the glass and highlighting her face. Her body tingled as she slowly inhaled, grateful for the past weekend with Clay. Mini-snapshots of them together flashed through her mind as she thought about him—bumping into him in the hallway at the reunion, kissing his full lips in the moonlight, feeling his skin against hers for the first time. If she had it her way, they’d still be naked in bed in a tangle of sweaty arms and legs, touching and thrusting.

  “What are you doing, Kathryn?”

  Startled, Katie quickly turned and had to squint in the bright morning light to make out her co-worker, Dale Dubsky who stood in the doorframe with his hands on his hips. Ever since the two of them sat next to each other at a local conference sponsored by their firm, he preferred calling her by her full name which he read off her name tag for the event. She didn’t mind. They became good friends over the years and were thick as thieves in the sometimes suffocating, micromanaged world of corporate America. He was a proud, successful gay man who made her laugh almost as much as her BFF, Stacey. Dale was instrumental in helping her find her sense of style when they were both newbies in the insurance biz. They would often shop together during their lunch hour in the midtown area stores and find beautiful pieces of clothing that she could mix and match. He was a fashionista himself and always dressed impeccably for work, standing out in the crowd from all the other poor businessmen chumps who didn’t have a clue. The distinct aroma of his Dolce and Gabbana cologne wafted into the small office, making her smile. Leave it to Dale to look and smell this good on a Monday morning.

  “You trying to get a tan with those blinds open?” He approached her, the frown line between his perfect brows evident as if trying to figure out what she was up to.

  Katie giggled. “No. I, uh… I was enjoying the sunrise for a change.” She nonchalantly flipped her hair over her shoulder.

  “Enjoying the sunrise for a change…. Hhmm.” He eyed her contemplatively before sitting in the spare chair across from her desk and crossing his leg at the knee. Katie noticed right away that he wore no socks with his designer loafers.

  “What’s his name?” His voice was low and insinuating. She was busted.

  Sighing, she set her coffee cup down before lowering the blinds and clamping them shut. She was going to stretch out the suspense as long as she could and took her time to sit in her office chair resting both elbows on the cherry wood desk. His eyes followed her every move, and he watched her as she held her chin in her hands, offering a naughty smile. He arched one eyebrow as if waiting with bated breath.

  “His name is Clay Watkins…”

  “I knew it!” he exclaimed, slapping his thigh and jumping up in the air.

  “And how did you know, Dale?”

  He approached the desk wagging his finger at her. The blue in his eyes sparkled. “You never wear your hair down, and you never watch the sunrise. In fact, this is the first time I have ever seen those blinds open! By this time every single morning, you’re halfway through your emails sipping your third cup of coffee with a pencil stuck in your bun!”

  Katie leaned back in her chair giggling. It tickled her to see Dale get so worked up and animated, which brought out his flamboyance.

  He sat back down in the chair while straightening his tie. “You may continue…” he said with a regal air, tilting his nose up like an aristocrat, crossing his leg again.

  Not knowing where to begin, she shook her head while absent-mindedly twirling a pen with her fingers. “We ran into each other at the reunion Saturday night. He asked if he could buy me a drink and we ended up sitting in the back of his pickup overlooking the Chattahoochee River till sunrise.” Blushing, she looked away. “I cooked him breakfast at my place and then we…we…”

  “We what?” Dale’s eyes were wide with anticipation.

  “We went and played bingo at his mother’s retirement home.” The look on his puzzled face made her laugh out loud. “After we have wild sex for hours!”

  Dale shrieked covering his mouth with both hands. “You harlot!” He grinned, leaning forward.

  “You can say that again!” They both erupted in laughter.

  When they finally calmed down, Dale dabbed the corners of his eyes. “Was it good?”

  Katie deeply inhaled as if smelling the most beautiful flower on earth. “It was incredible.”

  “Mmmmm,” he replied dreamily. There was a long pause before he sat up in the chair. “So, what does he do? What does he look like? Better yet, who would play him in a movie?”

  “Ha! Of course, he’s gorgeous. Who would play him in a movie? Hmmm…” She chewed on her bottom lip in thought. “Eric Dane.”

  “Oooh,” Dale sighed. “McSteamy.”

  She nodded in agreement. “And you’re never going to believe this, Dale. He’s a pretty famous Nashville songwriter. Ever heard of ‘Georgia Clay’? That’s what they call him in the music business.”

  “A real-life cowboy! I don’t listen to country music, so I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him.”

  Katie grabbed her mouse and quickly accessed a file on her computer. She had Googled Clay earlier in the morning, surprised to see how famous he was. “I’m sure you’ve heard of this song.”

  She turned up the volume on her computer monitor, and the melody of a familiar ballad seeped into the air, sung beautifully by a famous female pop artist. The song was aptly entitled, “Forever in Love” and had debuted initially as a country song. It had recently been picked up and featured on the soundtrack of a blockbuster movie. The song had crossed over into the pop world and had won Clay his first Grammy.

  “Oh. My. God. Did Clay write that? I know this song!”

  “Yes. He was even nominated for an Oscar because of the song featured in that movie…what was it called?”

  “The Watchman,” he sighed languorously. “I loved that movie. Brad Pitt was a God in that movie…” They were silent allowing the beautiful song to play out. “Did he win the Oscar for Song of the Year?”

  “Unfortunately, no. But he did win a Grammy. When the song first debuted on the country charts, he won a CMA and a Billboard Music Award too.” She started to read from the screen, excitement obvious in her voice. “He’s a two-time ASCAP Country Songwriter of the Year winner and picked up three CMA Triple-Play trophies for having three number one songs within a year. And he was recently inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame.”

  “Damn, girl! You’ve been doing your homework.” He crossed his arms in his taupe-colored suit.

  “He’s currently a staff writer for Warner Music in Nashville.”

  “Wow. You know with a hit song like “Forever in Love”, he could probably call it quits and live off millions for the rest of his life. Roya
lties, baby. When Whitney Houston recorded Dolly Parton’s song, “I Will Always Love You”, for the movie, The Bodyguard, it went straight to number one, the royalties from that one song alone setting her up for life!”

  Katie rubbed the back of her neck nodding in agreement. “He’s quite humble about it all. He doesn’t come across as incredibly wealthy. He wears old cowboy boots and drives a pickup truck.”

  “A real-life, musical cowboy. And my beautiful Kathryn fucked him…”

  “Dale!”

  He stood and straightened the lapels on his jacket. “For what it’s worth, you look ravishing this morning. It’s a good look for you.” He opened the door and turned around one last time, displaying a beautiful smile. “I have a conference call in five minutes, otherwise you’d be telling me way more about your new friend. Toodles, my lovely. We’ll talk more at lunch.”

  “Toodles, D.” She watched him walk out of the office and gently shut the door behind him. Collapsing back into her chair, she sighed and hit the play button again. Knowing that Clay had penned the lyrics and melody to the beautiful ballad coming out of her computer speaker made her heart swell.

  ***

  Clay tapped his foot and fidgeted while sitting in the large conference room of the Nashville offices of EMI Publishing. Because of the commercial success of his country crossover hit, “Forever in Love”, he was in high demand and had to hire a public relations team over the past year to help navigate the press who grappled for interviews. This was the part of the business he didn’t care for. The questions were always the same, relating to how he got started, what motivated him and the actual steps he took to write a song. He was doing a publishing buddy a favor today by attending an interview by one of the staff of Songwriting Universe Magazine. EMI was a hop, skip and a jump from Warner Music, and there was a Starbucks along the way, so he didn’t mind helping his friend out. He tapped the toe of his cowboy boot under the table as he sipped robust, black coffee and looked out the giant office window. He stared at the green leaves of a giant oak tree dappled with shimmering rays of the midday sun. His lower lip tugged upward into half a smile, the orbs of light in the upper boughs of the trees reminding him of the morning he and Katie woke up in the back of his truck together. If he hadn’t of agreed to this interview “favor” for his buddy, he’d still be back at her place, no doubt. He was smitten with Katie Parker and incredibly grateful that their paths managed to cross at the reunion. Deep down, he always knew that they’d cross paths again—she was someone he could never quite get out of his mind all these years. Maybe it was because she was his first crush and a muse for countless songs he had written in those early days in Nashville. It was easy to write about love when he thought of her—she had his heart a long, long time ago…

  “Mr. Watkins?”

  Clay looked up and noticed a voluptuous woman with the most astonishing purple hair. An intricate flower tattoo peeked out from under her short-sleeved shirt, and she had a small diamond nose piercing, which accentuated her rockabilly style. He met all kinds of artsy people in the business. It never ceased to amaze him how colorful some of them were.

  “Hey. You can call me Clay.” He stood and stuck his hand out. Her pale fingers wrapped around his hand, shaking it firmly and she looked up at him with a genuine smile. Caught off guard by her ice-blue eyes that looked at him from behind thick glasses, he thought she was quite beautiful—colorful, but beautiful.

  “Thanks, Clay. I’m Heather Spade from Songwriting Universe Magazine. Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice,” she said with confidence.

  “No problem,” he muttered. He watched her spread various items out on the large conference table and waited to sit back down until she settled.

  “So, our readers have been inundating us with requests to interview the Georgia Clay for some time now. You’re a real inspiration to so many up-and-coming songwriters. Congratulations on the Grammy.”

  Clay blushed, not knowing how to reply, so he nodded quickly before taking a swig of coffee.

  She flipped a notepad open to a page filled with writing and placed a mini-recording device between them. “I usually record the interview and go back later to write it all out. You okay with that?”

  “Sure.”

  Heather Spade clicked play on the recorder and dove right in. “Interview with Georgia Clay Watkins at EMI Publishing. This is Heather Spade.” She cleared her throat. “Georgia Clay, do you mind if I call you that?”

  “No, that’s fine.”

  “You’re among the top tier of Nashville songwriters and were recently inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame. Our readers want to know what inspires you to write. Where do you get all the ideas for your awesome songs?

  Clay shifted in his seat and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, palming his coffee cup. “Well, I don’t expect people to understand where the songs come from because I don’t understand it myself.”

  Heather laughed. “Do you mostly write alone, or do you have songwriting partners?”

  “It’s been mostly a solitary experience for me. I’ve dabbled with a couple of collaborations, but most of my songs come from my own heart.”

  He watched her nod with understanding. “You’ve catapulted several careers in the country music business with some brilliant songwriting. How does it make you feel to hear one of your songs being sung by someone else?”

  Clay scratched his chin mulling over his answer before speaking. “Well…it’s a beautiful compliment when someone wants to record something I’ve written. It’s funny though. Nine times out of ten we can hear the same thing but understand it very differently from one another.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, people are always trying to find some deep, hidden meaning in my songs—they’re just songs. I like a three-chord progression with a simple melody. My lyrics are simple too. I like lyrics that sound like a conversation. I think the best-written songs out there are the ones where the words find the melody; you know what I mean?”

  Heather’s brow furrowed. “So, would you say that your lyrics are your strongest asset as a songwriter?”

  Clay thought for a moment. “You could say that. I’m kind of like a ‘picture painter.’ It’s like if you listen to a high school football game on the radio. You can’t be there, and somebody’s got to paint a picture for you. It’s the same with a song. I try to paint the best picture and take that listener to where I want them to be.”

  “That’s a cool way to explain it,” Heather offered, scribbling something in her notebook. “Now, I’ve seen you play in the round at the Bluebird a couple of times. It’s always fun to see the audience react when you start strumming a familiar tune they had no idea you wrote. Have you ever considered going on the road singing and playing your own songs? You’re quite talented—you can play, sing, and write. A triple-threat in this biz. And you got that country swag going on too, I might add.” She looked over the rim of her glasses flirtatiously.

  Clay looked down at the table, shaking his head. There were numerous times over the years that Warner Music and other labels had tried to woo him into becoming a touring artist. He was adamant that he never wanted to be in the spotlight. “I have no desire to be on tour.”

  Heather shook her head. “It’s a shame.” She flipped her notebook to another page. “You won the Grammy for Song of the Year last year with your crossover hit, “Forever in Love”. And you were nominated for an Oscar. What is the magic ingredient for a country song to crossover like that?”

  Clay blew a puff of air out of his mouth and shook his head. “There was nothing commercial about that song when it first released on country radio. It wasn’t until it crossed over that it turned out to be the biggest hit I ever had. You just never know. If I knew the magic ingredient, I’d have more money than God.”

  Heather laughed out loud swinging her purple hair over her shoulder. “You write a lot about love. Is there someone in your life that you draw inspiratio
n from?”

  Clay could feel heat start to rise from his neck. Heather knew nothing about the last forty-eight hours he had spent with Katie, the very thought of her naked body on top of him causing his lower region to tingle. “I…uh…I have a special lady in mind. Yes…” His cheeks were warm, and his tongue felt larger than his mouth. If they continued down this path, he knew he’d be a stuttering, mumbling idiot for sure. Drawing in a deep breath, he willed himself to concentrate speaking very slowly. “All artists draw from their own experiences. It’s nothing new.”

  Heather was looking at him with wide eyes, her right brow perfectly arched as if she could see right into his heart. “Well, whoever she is, she’s one lucky muse.”

  Clay offered a friendly nod and watched her reach for the recorder. “One last question for you Georgia Clay. What is the best advice you could give to someone who wants to make it in the songwriting business?”

  Running his hands through his shaggy hair, Clay sighed. “We have to be honest and say what we set out to say. Just keep doing that.”

  Heather nodded and smiled. “Honesty. It sounds so simple.”

  “It really is.”

  “Well, congratulations on your commercial success, Georgia Clay. All your fans wish you nothing but the best. And good luck with your lovely lady.”

  “Thanks.” Clay shifted uncomfortably wishing the bulge in his pants would disappear. There was no way he could stand without Heather noticing. Darn that Katie Parker.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bored out of her mind on the third conference call of the day, Katie listened to one of her West Coast team members go on and on about the latest increase in insurance premiums. It was a precarious time in the industry, everyone noisily interjecting thoughts and concerns in the conversation. For the first time in her professional career, she wasn’t the loudest voice in the mix. She was laid back, her mind wandering the entire time to thoughts of Clay. She couldn’t help but imagine what he was doing, hopeful that he might reach out to her sometime soon. Leaning her head on her hand propped up on her desk, she closed her eyes and couldn’t help but fixate on their time together, going over every detail of their whirlwind weekend. Images of his muscular, toned body were branded into her brain, making her crave his warm skin next to hers. Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and shook her head. Clay had been pretty clear that he didn’t believe in long distance relationships. She begged to differ. After mulling it over, she decided that a four-hour commute was not a long-distance—it was a short distance. Yes, their relationship could be considered a short-distance relationship. She jotted down her quirky thought on a sticky note so she wouldn’t forget and noticed her muted cell phone lighting up.