by KG Fletcher
“I love you, Dale – my sweet work-husband! I love you so much!”
“I love you too, Katie!”
***
Backstage at the Ryman teemed with media, label executives and famous country music artists, eagerly awaiting the Nashville Warner Music televised anniversary special. Buddy was leading Clay down a wide hallway adorned with giant photos of country music royalty, taking him to his private dressing room when he recognized a familiar face.
“Hey, Heather!” he yelled over the top of the crowd milling about in the corridor.
Heather Spade turned toward him and smiled brightly with appreciation.
“Buddy, give me just a sec.” Weaving through the mass of people, Clay approached her and gave her a quick hug. “Hey, how are you?”
“Hey yourself, Georgia Clay. Damn! I’m diggin’ the new look!” Her ice-blue eyes were still an amazing contrast to her vibrant purple hair as she grinned at him from behind her thick glasses. “You went and signed a record deal after telling me that would never happen.”
Clay nodded. “Yeah. It kind of happened pretty quickly. I’m part of the Warner Music family now. I’m performing tonight.”
“That’s what I heard and one of the reasons I’m here. There’s a lot of buzz about you in this town. A ton of people are stoked that you’re gonna sing and play your own songs. It’s about time.” She fingered the guest pass attached to a lanyard of media credentials hanging around her neck. “I’m gonna have to do an addendum to the article that just came out in Song Writing Universe Magazine.” She raised a thin eyebrow playfully.
He laughed, running his hand quickly through the short wave on top of his head. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. Once things settle down, I’d be more than happy to hook up with you again and give you the lowdown.”
“Awesome!”
“I gotta run. I saw you and I just wanted to say ‘hey.’ I hope you enjoy the show.”
“Oh, I will. Is your muse here tonight?”
Clay shyly looked at the floor for a split second and grinned bashfully. “Yeah, she’ll be here.”
Their eyes locked for a moment and they smiled knowingly at each other.
“Break a leg, Georgia Clay. I’m truly thrilled for you.”
“Thanks.”
A few minutes later, Clay was safely behind the closed door of the Stars and Stripes dressing room, relishing the brief quiet before the chaos of the show started. The room was an homage of sorts to the American flag with one entire wall adorned with a faded mural of it. He let his body free-fall onto a worn leather sofa with two American flag crocheted pillows on each corner. Mirrors edged with lighted bulbs, and a sink with a mini-fridge completed the room. One of Clay’s guitars sat in a stand on the tan and red oriental rug next to an upright piano across from the couch. Large vintage posters of old Ryman advertisements decorated two of the walls, and he noticed right away an assortment of colorful flower bouquets and a couple of bottles of top-shelf whiskey displayed on top of the piano and dressing table with little notes from friends, and family across the nation.
“You need anything, you just holler. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed until show time. Turn on that flat screen right there and you can watch the live feed from the stage.” Buddy put his hands in his pants pockets and sighed. “This is it, son. This is your debut. I couldn’t be more pleased.”
Clay looked around the room, taking it all in before nodding at Buddy. “It’s surreal. I never thought this would happen. But here I am.”
“Here you are.” Buddy looked at his watch. “You got about two hours before your slot. What time is Katie getting here?”
Clay had been so busy attending last-minute interviews with an entourage of Warner Music execs that he hadn’t had time to reach out to Katie all day. “Anytime, I think. She texted a couple of hours ago letting me know she was on her way. I haven’t had time to get back with her. She’s on the stage door guest list. Can you do me a favor and keep an eye out for her?”
“Sure thing.” Buddy started to leave and stopped at the door. “Enjoy every moment, kiddo. This is epic.”
Clay nodded, watching the door close behind him. He stretched out with his hands clasped behind his head and smiled. He was more than ready to make his debut.
An hour and a half later, after watching the impressive intro to the show and several famous country artists perform effortlessly on the Ryman stage, Clay nervously paced back and forth inside the small private dressing room. He had wandered the halls earlier chatting with several artists, trying to pass the time while anxiously keeping an eye on his phone. The guy handling the backstage guests still hadn’t checked Katie’s name off his clipboard, which was worrisome. He had to keep moving, pacing the backstage area before finally relenting and heading back to his dressing room to change into his new, black denim jeans and a skin-tight t-shirt. He was still getting used to the handmade bracelets and thick leather belt with large silver embellishments on it. Several times, he stood in front of the rectangular mirror and didn’t recognize himself. In his worried state, his eyes looked too googly and his hair was definitely too short. It was unfortunate that he wasn’t enjoying himself, preoccupied with Katie’s lack of response. He couldn’t fathom what had happened. The excitement he had felt earlier faded, replaced with tension and anxiety. For the most part, he was left alone except for the stage manager who periodically poked her head in giving the countdown in fifteen-minute increments. She had just closed the door after letting him know he had thirty minutes before his introduction. Checking his phone for the one-hundredth time for a message from Katie, he fretfully shook his head. He had called and texted several times, begging to know where she was. The last thing he needed was to be worried about her. She had promised she’d be there. He shouldn’t have been out of pocket for so long and reprimanded himself for not being more available. Picking up his guitar for the umpteenth time, he tried to play a familiar melody but was discouraged with fumbling, edgy fingers. This was a bad sign.
The door opened, and he eagerly looked up, anticipating Katie’s arrival.
“Did you just see Brett Eldredge kill it out there? Damn! Kenny Rogers is up next. The audience is loving every minute of it.” He stopped in his tracks as if noticing Clay’s panicky demeanor. “You doin’ okay? You need anything?”
Clay gripped the back of his neck. “She’s not here yet. I can’t get in touch with her.”
Buddy chewed on his lower lip. “Katie?”
“Yeah, Katie.” He brushed past his friend and twisted off the cap of a costly bottle of whiskey; a gift from his friend Dierks Bentley. Pouring a small amount into a glass, he downed the brown liquor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where the hell could she be?”
Buddy scowled. “I thought she was already out in the audience, Clay. You sure she didn’t come in? Maybe she didn’t want to disturb you before the show?”
“No… no, I asked her to please let me know when she arrived. That was hours ago. I also checked with the guy myself who is letting in the guests backstage. He hasn’t seen her.” Shaking his head, he furrowed his brow. “What if something happened to her, Buddy? What if she became ill or was in a car wreck or something? I gotta find out where she is. Buddy, this can’t be happening. Not tonight of all nights!” A familiar tingling pulsed through his body—he was on the verge of a panic attack. Swallowing hard, he collapsed on the leather couch and leaned his elbows on his knees, taking in quick breaths. Buddy was kneeling next to him in an instant.
“Calm down, Clay. I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I’ll find her. She’s probably just stuck in traffic is all. Maybe her phone died. Don’t jump to any conclusions, okay? Whether she makes it or not, you gotta get a hold of yourself ’cause there are a lot of folks out there waiting to see you.” He placed his large hand on Clay’s shoulder reassuringly.
Clay lifted his head, his vision blurred by tears. “Find her, Buddy. Please.” His voice was ragged with fear.
>
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The traffic on the Interstate was bumper-to-bumper due to construction and it being a Friday evening in the city. What was supposed to be a quick ten-mile jaunt from the Nashville Airport to the Ryman Auditorium turned out to be a commuter’s worst nightmare. The Nashville-bound plane in Atlanta had taken off later than expected and Katie was pushing it, knowing she had just about run out of time. The worst part was, she had left her cell phone in the front seat pocket of the first plane and had no way of getting in touch with Clay. She hoped and prayed Dale would notice it and send him a message on her behalf.
Guessing which rental car place Dale had corresponded with, she lucked out finding her reservation on the second try. Without her precious Google Maps App, she depended on the polite attendant who was a Nashville native to give her explicit directions on how to get to the Ryman quickly and efficiently. She was now mere fifty yards from the exit sign which seemed to taunt her as the minutes on the digital clock on the dashboard ticked by. Traffic had only moved a foot in the last five minutes and she couldn’t take it anymore. Glancing over her shoulder, she swerved the car to the right pulling into a small enclave that wasn’t barricaded by orange construction cones and turned the hazard lights on. The sun was finally setting and the wind had picked up, blowing wisps of hair out of her tight bun. Grabbing her purse and locking the door, she started toward the exit, bypassing stand-still traffic all-together, hoping and praying she would make Clay’s performance on time.
The asphalt was unforgiving as she walked in her high-heeled, pointed shoes and she stumbled several times, cursing under her breath. Tears pricked her eyes and she swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, trying to maintain her composure as she thought about how stupid she was for putting herself in this situation. When she finally made her way to the bright red stop sign at the bottom of the ramp, she could hear the rumble of a motorcycle come up from behind. Keeping her head down, she continued on the side of the road, knowing she was several blocks from the auditorium. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see a big, burly man on a Harley Davidson twisting the throttle and grinning from ear-to-ear. He wore a bowl-shaped black helmet and shades, a long braid trailing over his shoulder and full, graying beard hiding most of his face. He was obviously following her. She stopped in her tracks.
“You trying to scare me?” Her hands were on her hips as she shouted over the loud rumble of the cycle engine.
“No, ma’am. Trying to find out if you need a ride somewhere. Saw your car pull over on the freeway. Can I give you a lift?”
Chewing on her lower lip, Katie knew she was out of time and this scary-looking lumber-jack-of-a-man was her only hope. Flipping her purse strap over her head and across her chest, she hiked up her pencil skirt and hopped on the back of the man’s bike, surprising him.
“I need to get to the backstage door of the Ryman. It’s a matter of life or death,” she yelled into his ear.
He nodded eagerly. “Hold on!”
Gripping the man’s ample waist, she held her breath as he took off with a jolt. In less than two minutes, he pulled up to the backstage door and she hopped off, pulling her skirt down to the tops of her knees and adjusting her purse over her shoulder.
Looking desperately at the stage door and back at the motorcycle man, she hesitated long enough to thank him. “You just saved my life. Thank you!”
He pulled off his shades revealing gorgeous blue eyes. “You’re welcome darlin’. Glad I could be of service.”
“Could you leave your contact info with the door guy so I can send you a thank you gift or something?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“At least tell me your name.” She was interrupted when Buddy appeared in the open doorway frantically waving for her with his hands.
She looked at Buddy, then turned one last time to the man on the cycle.
He revved the bike hard before quickly taking off in a cloud of exhaust leaving a skid mark on the ground. Her mouth gaped. The vanity plate on the back end of the Harley spelled the words, “Big Daddy.”
***
“Five minutes Mr. Watkins,” the stage manager said through a crack in the dressing room door. Clay looked in the mirror and shook his head. Tonight was supposed to be special; tonight was supposed to be a night he would never forget. He was numb; his heart broken, plagued with the unknown. As much as he tried to calm down with breathing exercises and playing his guitar, he felt like he had lost his mojo and was ready to forfeit his last ember of hope. He was at a loss and was about to let a whole bunch of folks down, including his mother and Big Daddy.
Standing in front of the lighted mirror with his palms on the dressing table, he sighed and bowed his head in submission. The door creaked open again and he was frozen in his stance not able to turn around to tell them he couldn’t go on. Lifting his head and looking at the reflection in the mirror, he saw her standing in the shadows. Her hair was a mess and tears streamed down her cheeks as her chest heaved with emotion. His eyes widened, and he turned around with a flourish as she propelled herself into his arms.
“I’m here…I’m here. Oh, God. Clay, I’m so sorry.” she whispered hoarsely, peppering his cheeks and neck with kisses.
His heart started to flutter, the numbness dissipating as his limbs slowly came back to life as he tried to figure out what was happening. Pulling back, he looked at her face, gripping her by the arms. “Where have you been?” he struggled to ask, his expression a mixture of concern and jubilation. Katie was as real as the stars in the sky. He smoothed the wild strands of hair back from her face and wiped her tears with the pad of his thumb. “Are you okay? Why are you dressed like that?”
Before she could answer him, they were interrupted by Buddy and the stage manager who stood in the doorway. “Places,” the manager said, her expression thoughtful.
He nodded before looking Katie in the eye, cupping her face tenderly with his hands. “I have to go, baby. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded eagerly placing her own hands over his. “You have to know something before you go, Clay.”
“What is it?” He watched her doe eyes shut briefly before she took a deep breath.
“I love you. You need to know that. You need to feel that while you’re out there. You have no idea how much love is covering you tonight by all your friends and family. Big Daddy is here… and I’m here. And…and I love you.”
Shocked, Clay was at a loss for words. All he could do was pull her in for one last hug and kiss her hard on the mouth. Grabbing his guitar, he walked out of the dressing room in a daze, following the manager to the lighted stage entrance. Katie Parker had just confessed her love for him. His heart was pounding out of his chest and he wanted to sob with relief. His body was coming back to life as his blood pumped to the rhythm of the crowd chanting his name.
Buddy was by his side watching the live feed on a monitor in the wings. “You got this?” he asked, a worried countenance paling his face.
“Yeah,” he whispered. A long intro was playing, showing photos from Clay’s past, the smooth voice of a narrator explaining the journey of Georgia Clay. From his humble, stuttering beginnings to his numerous awards, highlighting some of the most significant songs in American music, one couldn’t help but watch and be mesmerized by the songwriter’s journey to this moment in time. The band was in place looking over at him with broad smiles, anticipating the count off.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Warner Music’s newest country artist… Georgia Clay!”
The crowd was on their feet in an instant. He hesitated, caught off guard by the bright lights and the noise, Buddy pushed him gently forward onto the stage. The drummer played the downbeat of the first song, the audience quickly clapping along. He waved to everyone and smiled, his eyes frantic to find his focus, which was standing on her feet in the front row. Their eyes locked and a calmness swept over him. Shifting the acoustic guitar across the front of his body, Clay approached the micr
ophone.
“Hey, Y’all. I’m Georgia Clay.”
Another, thunderous eruption of screams and applause swelled in the famous auditorium like a giant wave in the ocean as he looked up into the heavens and started to sing.
*
Katie had managed to let her hair loose out of the corporate bun, wipe her face and put on lip-gloss before being escorted to her seat on the front row. Knowing Stacey would approve, she unclasped the top three buttons of her blouse and held her chin high, looking up at the man of her dreams doused in bright light. He commanded the stage, sending the audience into a tizzy with his upbeat, catchy first song about a hard-working cowboy partying with the boys. His transformation was jaw-dropping, and he looked like he belonged in the elite group of male country music mega-stars.
His talent seemed to fascinate everyone in the audience as he segued into a sexy ballad, painting a picture of a couple exploring each other in the darkness of night. She watched him close his eyes several times, his strong jawline clenched during the musical interlude, his head rocking to the sensual beat. He had to wait several seconds for the crowd to pipe down as the last note rang out in the ambient space. The smile on his face was infectious as he looked down and winked at her.
“Thank you,” he said into the microphone. “Thank you so much to Warner Music for…for bringing me on as a new artist. Thank you to the fans out there…” He paused and chuckled, allowing the screams of several women to dissipate.
Katie watched him shift nervously and wondered what was going through his mind. A stagehand brought out a stool and the bright lights dimmed, except for a lone spotlight on Clay and his guitar.
He sat on the stool and swallowed hard looking at the floor. “M…my daddy is the reason I’m here tonight…” His chest rose with a deep intake of air. “Ever since I was a young boy, he always believed that I’d sing a song on this stage one day. I’d like to dedicate this song to him. It’s called, ‘Big Daddy.’”
