Grady is unaware of any errands needed, but he has been stuck in the bubble of this house as his career crashes around him. Later in the day, Grady gives Amy and Ken a more detailed tour of the house. They stop in the garage when Ken expresses interest in the Superbird.
“It’s not a complete lost cause,” he declares, which seems like high praise to Grady. “How did you learn to fix cars? Self-taught?”
The hood of the car clangs loudly closed in the humid garage. “Ah, my grandfather’s old Cadillac was always breaking down. I learned how to replace a hose, rig a starter, and jump a dead battery before I could crawl.”
Ken gives him a solid pat on the back. “You’ll fix it, then,” he says, with total confidence. Grady glows with pride.
After lunch Ken decides to take a nap, and Amy isn’t any better at sitting still for more than a minute than Grady is, so they take a walk in the woods. The heat hasn’t backed down any; even the wind is hot. But Amy marches along at a quick pace, decked out in a tennis dress with a pink sun visor and matching pink fanny pack.
“So, what are your options?” She slows her pace a little as they talk about his legal troubles.
“Well, I can agree to what they want: a new song, or maybe a whole new album. Start all over with my contract, we’re talking several years of commitment, best-case scenario. Worst-case scenario is they refuse every album, and I’m stuck in limbo for good.” Grady jumps to avoid a muddy patch; it must have rained a bit last night. “Or I can keep fighting them and risk losing a whole lot of money and everything I’ve worked for and bring Nico down with me. That’s why it’s just too much, carrying on with the wedding and all.”
They reach the end of the dirt trail, where it connects to a paved pathway that’s busy with bikes and joggers and people walking dogs. “And Nico wants to fight them and keep the wedding on track,” Amy says. They’ve talked about that plenty, and Nico has probably discussed it with her, too. “What about what you want to do?”
Grady is lost in thought as they walk back, because he hasn’t much considered what he wants. He’s been so worried about what Nico wants and what the label wants and what his fans want and— No, he does know. “I just want to make music,” he finally decides.
Amy looks up at him sternly, a mom-look if he’s ever seen one, “Then make music. Nobody gets to take that from you. That’s in here, that’s yours.” She stops to poke at his chest, over his heart. Then she unzips her fanny pack. “I brought protein bars and water, if you need it.”
He takes one of each; he really did need it, as it turns out.
Back at the house, Amy goes upstairs, and Grady heads down, texting Nico: Pick up chicken thighs and ingredients for a tare sauce, she says you know. And eggplants and mushrooms and honeydew melon. And why don’t we have skewers? And be home soon.
He texts back when Grady is settled in the studio and is already at work with his guitar and a notebook and with a pencil set in his teeth.
Nico: Ok. We do have skewers. Somewhere. I don’t know the ingredients for tare but Google does. BTW now who’s bossy?
And because Grady can never resist flirting a little he sends: still you ;)
His first memory of Memaw is her singing him to sleep. He doesn’t know how old he was, but he remembers being in the twin-size bed that was Lillian’s and became his the more time he spent there and the less she did. It was something Memaw did a thousand times: sit on his bed and rub his back and sing to him in the dark until he finally gave in to sleep. In this memory, she says the words she said hundreds of times, words he believed and then didn’t, wouldn’t believe again until it was too late to tell her that he knew and he felt the same way.
Goodnight, angel. Do you know special you are? You are so special to me.
He doesn’t know why that night sticks out in his mind’s eye; if something else significant happened that day it’s lost to time now. It’s always been a comfort to him, though, just like music is. So he starts with that memory, and begins to write.
Would you sing me one more lullaby?
In the dust of your taillights.
Tell me the story of the man you shoulda been
Words in cracked windshields sayin’ this is why you ran
Mama, Daddy
Sing me one more lullaby before you go.
When Grady finishes the song, he’s surprised to see the sun setting, and when he emerges from the studio he sees that Nico came home; his keys and wallet are in the copper dish and the mail’s been dropped on the counter. Grady finds everyone gathered on the patio sitting on benches surrounding the cold fire pit.
“There he is! We were under strict orders to not bother you,” Amy says.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I get a little lost in my head when I’m writing a song.” There’s food prepped on a tray next to the grill; meat and mushrooms and chopped eggplants on skewers and brushed with a dark sauce, corn wrapped in foil, melon cut into triangle slices. “Y’all didn’t have to wait for me.”
Ken picks up the plate of meat and motions for Grady to follow him with the corn. “We didn’t fly all the way out here to eat family dinner without you.”
The grill is hot, and Grady stands by with the tongs while Ken slides the food onto the grate. “Nice grill,” he says. It’s the highest of manly compliments.
“It’s the only type of cooking I know how to do, so I figured I oughta do it right.”
Ken nods wisely. “A good choice.” And then asks, bluntly and without segue. “Why are you thinking of postponing the wedding?”
“Oh.” Grady pushes the sizzling skewers around, just to give himself time to change topics. “It’s— There’s a lot going on. I don’t want Nico to have to deal with so much at once. I don’t know long I’ll be dealing with it. May be a long, long time.”
“You’re giving him an out, if he doesn’t really want to go through with it. Is that right?”
Grady can’t deny it, not to that stern face. “Yes, sir. I suppose that’s true.”
And then it’s quiet again, save for the noise of the food cooking and the cicadas’ unceasing buzz in the trees. Grady checks the meat, turns the corn. Then Ken speaks again. “I’ve been married for almost thirty-seven years now and what I know for certain is that it’s a complete crapshoot.” Grady nearly drop the tongs right onto the ground; he has no clue how to respond to that. “And I also know,” Ken continues, “that if you find someone who is willing to hang on through all the crap, you don’t let go of them. Now, I’ve known my son longer than you have, but I’d say you’re a little closer to him these days.” Ken turns a no-nonsense look on Grady. “Have you ever known Nico to do anything he doesn’t really want to do?”
A grin tugs at Grady’s mouth. “No sir, I can’t say that I have.”
“Mmhmm,” Ken replies. He nods at the grill. “Better go ahead and flip those, they’re ready.”
28
The second to last day of the visit starts with waffles and Nico announcing that he’s taking Amy and Ken to all the tourist stops in Nashville: The Country Music Hall of Fame, The Ryman Auditorium, The Parthenon, Cheekwood Botanical Gardens, and, if they have time, the art museum. Worried he’ll attract too much attention and ruin the day, Grady declines to go, despite Ken and Amy’s protests. He’s itching to get the new song laid down on something other than his primitive recording equipment, so, once they all leave, he sends a message to Clem: Can you find me some studio time?
Clem: Gimme a couple hours.
Ten minutes later she texts again.
Clem: Okay, I got it.
The address she sends him is up in north Nashville in an area with storage facilities and big warehouses, and the studio itself is tucked away in a massive gray concrete building. “These places get more random every time,” Grady comments when he finds her waiting at the front door spinning a key ring around one finger.
&n
bsp; “You ever hear the phrase ‘beggars can’t be choosers,’ Mr. Dawson?” She slides the key in and shoves the door open with a hard jut of her hip. Despite the rough outward appearance, the studio inside is done up very nicely, with brand-new equipment and state-of-the-art boards; the booth is outfitted with top-notch soundproof panels.
“This place is great, Clem. Thanks.” He sets his guitar case on the black leather couch and flips the latches open. “How do you find these studios?”
“A magician never reveals her secrets,” Clem says. She sits at one of the high-backed chairs at the soundboard. “You know, I’ve been worried about you giving up on all this.”
The strings squeak beneath his fingers as he lifts the guitar from the case. “I thought about it,” he confides. “I thought maybe I’d have to give it up. Be a music teacher or take up handyman work to pay the bills. I dunno. Wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” He strums a few chords to check the tuning. It never stops being something of a miracle, even now, making music with his own hands, creating something that didn’t exist before, and if only he hears it or if it hits number one on the radio doesn’t really matter much. It still exists; it’s still music, and he still has something that no one can take away from him.
“I’d give you a month before you found yourself on a stage again. And that’s being generous.” Clem flips her cascading golden hair over her shoulder and starts to bring the soundboard to life. “By the way,” Clem says, “I have another magical surprise up my sleeve for you.”
Then, as if indeed by magic, the door opens and four familiar people make their raucous way into the studio. “Grady! My man!”
The backing band he’s had on his last two tours and all three albums surrounds him: Brad, the seasoned silver-haired drummer; Mongo, the giant teddy bear bassist; skinny loud-mouthed Billy on banjo; and Mandy, fiddle player and saint who puts up with all of them. They’re all free agents, so they aren’t his exclusively, though nothing bonds a group of people like living on a bus together and spending months making music while crammed in tight spaces for hours and days at a time.
“Sorry to hear about all your troubles,” Brad says. “Wish I could help somehow.”
“Buncha crooks,” Billy adds.
“It’s all right,” Grady reassures them. “I’m here still, ain’t I?”
Mongo slings a huge arm over Grady’s shoulders and tugs him against his side. “A little lawsuit won’t get our Grady down, no, sir.”
“Forget about all that,” Mandy says, getting her fiddle out and starting to tune it. “Congrats on the engagement!”
Billy and Mongo chime in with their congratulations, and Billy says, “The lone wolf has been leashed. Listen, Grady. I have a speech for the reception all set—” He props his elbows on the top of his banjo case and pretends to be holding a microphone. “I’ll never forget the night I met Grady, or the women we took ho—”
He’s interrupted by a sharp jab to his ribs from Mandy followed by a glare that makes him snap his mouth shut. “What is wrong with you?”
Grady grins anyway; he’s just so happy to be here with these guys. “Maybe keep working on that speech, and, for now, how about we make some music?”
The day passes quickly, and by evening Grady has vocals and his lead guitar track laid down, as well as some of the band’s tracks and a backing vocal appearance from Clementine on the chorus. The mix is basic, quickly done and not ready for anyone else to hear. Grady’s really got something here, though, rough as it is. The band leaves, and then it’s him and Clem at the boards, putting final touches on the recording.
“Thanks again,” Grady says. “I don’t know why you do all this stuff for me, but I really do appreciate it.”
“Grady.” She turns her chair to give him one of her calculating stares. “You know why I decided to help you build your career?”
Grady turns his chair, too. “Hmm. It’s a strange hobby of yours?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “No. Because I saw something special in you. And I knew that you had what it takes. I still do. What is the point of having success, if I don’t use to it pull other people up and give them a chance, too?”
She may be mysterious and take-no-prisoners, suffer-no-fools driven, but, “You’re good people, Clementine Campbell.” He kisses the top of her head, and she leans her cheek on his shoulder.
“You know this is why people think we’re dating, right?”
Grady nuzzles against her silky hair. “Nah, it’s because we make beautiful music together.”
Clementine tsks; a laugh puffs into Grady’s neck. “I know you know exactly how that sounds, mister.” They listen to the last few stanzas of the rough-cut song while the download finishes, then Clementine asks in an unusually trepidatious voice, “You gonna be okay?”
He always is, somehow; by crook or by hook, he’ll manage. “Yeah, darlin’, I’ll be okay.”
It’s dark when he gets back to the house. He didn’t plan to be so late and he regrets that he missed dinner with the family. The place is dark and quiet; seems he missed them altogether. The guest bedroom door is closed; the light inside is turned off. There is a light coming from the crack below their office door, so Grady opens it a sliver to let Nico know he’s home.
“No, I need to cancel it completely.” Nico is on his phone, at the desk with his back to the door, dressed as if he was on his way to bed in a snug gray T-shirt and thin linen pants, so soft and beautiful that Grady wants to curl up against him and touch him everywhere. Grady moves to close the door and wait for him in bed as a surprise, when Nico says into the phone, “The venue is wonderful, no, it’s not that. We’re just cancelling the wedding. Well, thank you for the condolences but that’s not— Yes, I understand the deposit is nonrefundable.”
Somehow Grady moves from the door, somehow his feet carry him to the bed, somehow he gets undressed and under the covers and stays perfectly still with his eyes closed when Nico comes to bed and turns on his side facing away from Grady. And then all he can hear is his own panicked breathing and the frantic pump of blood through his aching heart.
Grady was right; Nico did want out. He was right, too, that he’d have to choose in the end, Nico or his career, and now it’s too late—he’s losing both. This is what he’s been sneaking around about then, but why didn’t he say? Why not take the outs that Grady offered to him instead of telling him to hang in there and that he’s not going anywhere? Grady flew too close to the sun again, let himself believe that everything was bright and beautiful and he couldn’t get burned, not again, not this time, not with Nico, no. He’s different. He was different, Grady really thought— Why does he never, ever see it coming?
29
Grady Dawson Gets Real About Doing Things His Own Way
by Hannah Jordan
It seems as if controversy follows Grady Dawson around like a hound dog in a clichéd country song, but for a guy who can’t seem to keep his name out of the tabloids, he is remarkably laid-back. On a hot late summer day out on the covered porch of his Nashville hills home with that trademark half-cocked grin, Grady greeted me with a hearty handshake, requested that I remove my shoes if I don’t terribly mind, then invited me in for iced tea and banana bread.
While he was in the midst of dealing with a breach-of-contract lawsuit by his label, Stomp Records, a countersuit, and an upcoming day in court, I sat down with Grady not long after the news first broke to discuss his career, his personal life, and what he hopes will happen moving forward.
ENN: I know you can’t legally discuss the details of the lawsuits, but what, for you, has been the most difficult part?
Grady Dawson: At first it was the waiting around, not knowing what would happen, like I’d just hit this huge, impossible roadblock after working so hard. But the worst part really was not being able to make music, like I wasn’t allowed to.
ENN: Would you say you’
re bitter about what went down?
Grady Dawson: The thing about country music as an industry is that it is a business. I’ve never really wanted to mess around with that whole side of things, which is partly why I’m dealing with all of this now. A contract is a contract. I do understand that much; I understand the record company has a lot at stake as well. To my mind, I met my obligations. I gave them an album; I fulfilled that contract. I’m not bitter. I’m disappointed more than anything.
ENN: Can you tell us about the album?
Grady Dawson: It’s very personal, even more so than my first two albums. The people on the business side of music maybe don’t quite understand what it takes out of you to bare your soul on a music track, but I do it because that’s my church, that’s my salvation, and I always hope that anyone listening might connect to that and take a little bit of comfort for their own struggles or know that someone else is celebrating their triumphs along with them. I didn’t set out to be controversial; I just wanted to be honest.
ENN: This is isn’t the first time you’ve had disagreements with Stomp, but has it gone this far before?
Grady Dawson: No. The thing is, I’m grateful to Stomp Records for signing me and for standing by me when I was determined to keep making mistakes until I hit rock bottom. They weren’t often happy with my behavior, and for good reason. That’s why [the lawsuit] is so upsetting; I never expected the point of no return to be me falling in love, finally being happy and at peace, and just wanting to share that with everyone who has shown me so much love and support over the years.
ENN: So let’s get the official word, instead of Internet rumors. You are engaged.
Grady Dawson: Yes.
ENN: Why not talk about it?
Grady Dawson: I want to be really, really clear on this: I am not ashamed of my relationship with [stylist fiancé] Nico and I am not hiding it. In fact, it’s been important to both of us to be open and visible and proud, but to still maintain some privacy. It’s a hard balance. We wanted a quiet, simple, private wedding, and then we would share the news with everyone. The point was to avoid rumors and speculation, which we obviously did not succeed at. It is what it is, though.
Blended Notes Page 16
