Music City Dreamers

by Robyn Nyx

  Louie returned to concentrate on the song Heather was reading. She would’ve been far less confident if it was one of her other songs. With Heather’s position, it would have felt too much like an audition, and more than that, it really mattered that Heather liked her words. But she was sure of Gabe’s story and the emotion the song evoked.

  Heather looked up, her eyes glassy with tears, and Louie grinned widely.

  “Why are you smiling? Do you like making women cry?” Heather asked as she closed the book and pushed it back toward Louie.

  “Only with my words, and only in joy.” Or in the throes of mind-busting sex, Louie wanted to add but didn’t. She imagined comments like that wouldn’t fit into the “being discreet” box.

  “That’s really amazing, Louie. You’re very talented.” Heather dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a napkin. “Do you have music for it or do you write that separately?”

  “We have it. I always write the music at the same time as the words, and Gabe is a great guitar player. But you already knew that.”

  Heather nodded. “Yeah, he’s a real talent. If I owned the label, I would’ve signed him the first night I heard him sing…one day.”

  The wistful tone in Heather’s voice was unmissable. “One day?” Louie asked.

  Heather glanced at her watch and gasped. “Oh, crap.” She stood abruptly and grabbed her coffee. “I’m sorry, Louie. I have to go.” She opened her handbag.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got this.”

  Heather pulled out money and placed it on the counter. “I can’t be…it’s fine.” She pushed the ten dollars toward Hayley.

  “Thanks, Heather.”

  “We’ll talk soon,” Heather said over her shoulder as she walked out of the café.

  Louie waved and smiled but didn’t feel the emotion she showed. “I can’t be” what? Seen to have a dyke buying her coffee? Louie clenched her jaw and tried to swallow the unpleasant feelings that bubbled up in her throat like bile. Is this what being discreet would mean? She picked up her song journal and headed into the back. Louie wanted to get to know Heather, but how much of Louie was Heather prepared for? She hadn’t been in the closet for nearly two decades. The thought of returning to it, to not being who she was, and not being proud of who she’d become, was unthinkable. Would dating Heather ask that of her?

  ***

  Seeing Louie on her coffee run brightened Heather’s day, but she’d left in a hurry and no doubt offended Louie when she wouldn’t accept her kind offer to buy her coffee. She’d been skittish—Emma would be mortified by her reaction. God, why did she need dating lessons from her straight friend? Maybe because she had no idea what she was doing. Why had she even agreed to try dating in the first place? Her life had been on hold for five years while she chased her dream of owning a record label. Why couldn’t she just wait another couple of years? Or choose a more suitable partner? Heather mentally slapped herself for judging how Louie presented herself. She was more comfortable in her own skin than Heather could dream of being. No, that wasn’t altogether true. Heather was perfectly happy with who she was. She had no self-loathing over her sexuality. It was Nashville’s problem, and Aaron being fired had proven that once again.

  But in the three days since they’d met at the Bluebird, and between long and mentally draining sessions with Savana and her manager, Joe, Heather had thought about Louie a lot. When she wasn’t entirely caught up in all things Savana, Heather had allowed her mind to flow toward Louie like a river to the ocean. She wouldn’t admit to a fascination, that would be too strong a word, but Louie’s lure did have her distracted from her work in ways no other woman ever had. Heather’s previous relationships hadn’t fulfilled her the way the lesbian fiction novels she’d read had led her to believe they would. Of course there’d been sex, and it was okay. Good, even. But it wasn’t “ladies, start your engines” kind of hot. And it definitely wasn’t the “I can’t breathe without you near me” sort of romantic fiction love.

  Still, her thoughts of Louie were different. How did she kiss? What would her skin feel like beneath Heather’s fingers? Where did she come from? How long had she wanted to be a songwriter? Heather was thankful her lustful questions were partially tempered with an interest in who Louie was as a person. After the way she’d acted outside the Bluebird, she worried that exposure to Louie had caused an instant personality transplant resulting in her sex making the decisions instead of her head. Seeing Louie again had only intensified her need to know everything about her…including the truth about Mia’s accusations of Louie being a violent drunk. They’d spent fifteen minutes together and they were drinking coffee not alcohol, so Heather had learned nothing of use in that department. Her subtle question about making women cry was met with a simple response, and Heather saw nothing lurking behind Louie’s eyes that contradicted the sweet sentiment. Emma’s advice to ask Louie about her relationship with Mia didn’t seem like the way to go. If what Mia said was true, what was to stop Louie from simply lying about it?

  A message chimed and appeared in the top corner of her screen: Donny wanted her in his office immediately. She checked the clock and quickly ran through the events of the morning. She couldn’t recall any issues. Joe seemed his usual disgruntled self, but Heather had become used to expecting that after Savana had explained he wasn’t yet on board with her change of direction. Savana was busy with auditioning the musicians Heather had gathered for her, and though she hadn’t narrowed them down to a long list, never mind a short list, she seemed happy enough. While Joe was in a hurry to get Savana back on the radio stations, Savana was determined to take her time making sure everything aligned with her new vision.

  Heather made her way to Donny’s top floor office and ignored the numerous glances thrown her way by colleagues still sore from her promotion in the wake of Aaron being fired. Mandie greeted her with a broad smile and a cup of milky coffee, their code to let her know she’d be in with him for a while.

  “Thanks, Mandie.” She raised her cup toward Donny’s closed door. “Anything I should be concerned about?” Longevity and certainty didn’t exist in this business for the execs as much as the talent. Donny had put her in the VP position, and he could push her right back down again if he wished it. That knowledge made Heather even more determined to run her own label one day, and she’d do things differently.

  “Of course not. He’s just booking his auditions in for tonight.”

  “Ah, I forgot it’s Wednesday.”

  Donny set aside the last Wednesday of every other month for a whirlwind of audition madness. With Savana, Joe, and Louie, she’d lost track of time, and this ritual had slipped her mind completely. She wished Donny would do it differently, but he seemed to like the power that holding the dreams of others in his hand gave him. Pick the talent, give them two hours’ notice to be at Rocky Top, put them all in the same room, and make them wait while he gave them his ear for a maximum of three songs.

  “Best get in there before he starts yelling,” Mandie said before going back to the pile of paperwork on her desk.

  Heather knocked, waited for an invitation, and entered Donny’s office. She was glad she’d grabbed her iPad because he’d expect her to remember every band, duo, and solo artist she’d presented to him over the past eight weeks. In that time, Heather had seen almost one hundred and fifty acts, but she hadn’t found anyone other than Gabe Duke that she sincerely believed in. He trusted her to narrow the field down to at least half that but always asked for thirty percent of what she’d listened to. Her final recommendations would usually number around ten. She had no idea whether or not he listened to the others. He’d certainly never offered up anyone from the discard pile in the years she’d worked for him as an exec, but she guessed it justified his claim to discovering the talent Heather found for the label.

  “Talk to me about Purple Fire,” he said as Heather settled into her seat.

  She carefully placed her coffee on a coaster on his glass desk, opened her iPad po
rtfolio, and tapped on her auditions folder. “A guy and a girl. Great harmonies. Interesting hooks and lyrics. Think Tucker Nails high on lithium.”

  Donny laughed. “Do we need another duo on our books?”

  Heather shrugged and flicked over her photos of the pair on stage. “I think they’re worth a listen. They’re already well polished with a clean image. They know who they are, and they’d be a good fit with the label.”

  “Do they excite you?”

  Heather knew what he was actually asking, and there was no point hiding it. “Honestly, it’s not been a great two months, Donny. There’s only one guy who got me twisted up. The other nine were top quality, but in this town, there’s a lot of top quality, isn’t there?”

  Nodding, Donny popped a handful of M&Ms into his mouth and leaned back in his chair. “Who’s your guy?” He looked at his notes. “Bridge, Duke, or Moore?”

  At least they were on the same stage. Donny had been responsible for finding all of Rocky Top’s talent until he was promoted to label head. Heather was relieved he still had the ear for it even though he now relied solely on her. Other execs gave him recordings, but this was her gig, and she knew she was lucky to have it. “Gabe Duke. Huge voice. A depth and maturity that reverberate your soul. Young and rough but moldable. He’s hungry for it.”

  Donny dragged his finger down the page headed by Gabe’s name. “His set was covers. Nothing original?”

  His tone was slightly accusatory: originality was make-or-break for Donny, and he was basically asking why she’d bring someone to him who was simply exceptional at karaoke. She suspected Gabe might already need all the help he could get. “I spoke to him after his set to ask him that exact question.” Technically not a lie. “He writes songs with his housemate.” His very sexy housemate. “And the lyrics are amazing.”

  “You already sound invested. Do you have a soft spot for him?”

  Heather sipped at her coffee while she quelled the indignation at his question. Donny had no idea she was gay, but even so, that he was questioning her professionalism stung. Playing the game was getting old. Didn’t her track record of seven Grammy winners garner her any respect? “Too young for me, but he’s offering something fresh that country doesn’t have in abundance.” Time to discover if Donny’s long list of character defects included racism.

  “Go on.”

  Heather flicked her notes to the photos she’d taken of his performance, laid her iPad on his desk, and leaned back in her chair. His eyes widened and his eyebrows raised, remaining there as if glued. He wiped his fingers over his mouth and chin before he grasped his jaw, the palm of his hand keeping his mouth closed. It wasn’t a good sign. Heather looked out the window and across the city, wondering where Gabe was right now. She hoped he was practicing his songs just in case she’d misread Donny’s body language, and he surprised her by inviting Gabe for a short-notice audition.

  She sighed and turned her attention back to Donny. Heather knew her place enough to know she couldn’t voice the directive to give Gabe a shot, but she could hope.

  He relaxed his hand and pushed Heather’s tablet back toward her. “The voice sure doesn’t match the face.”

  Heather tried to read his eyes to see if there was anything positive beyond his statement, but he stood and walked to the window, giving her nothing. She held onto the sarcastic retort that would probably result in her dismissal, gave him the benefit of the doubt instead, and waited for more.

  “If you were in my position, would you give him an audition?” he asked, still facing the window.

  Being in Donny’s position and being head of her own label were two entirely different things. Rocky Top was a big player, aimed at becoming the biggest on Music Row. The label Heather wanted to run would be indie and small-scale, at least to begin with. The artists she’d sign would always be different. She uncrossed her legs and smoothed out her skirt as she realized, perhaps for the first time, that the decision of who to audition and who to discard wasn’t quite as clear-cut as she’d thought it to be. Gabe was only the third black artist she’d come across in her time at Rocky Top, and she’d been quick to think it’d be a no-brainer on signing him. Faced with the hypothetical reality of being a big label head illustrated that sticking to the high moral ground perhaps wasn’t that easy. The country audience wanted a certain product. Hell, there were only two women in the top twenty artists in last year’s Billboard charts. What chance did non-white folk truly have? And what label head would be prepared to make such a huge financial investment on something their loyal customers might not even have the hunger for?

  “I would.” Heather wanted to believe that country music listeners were simply looking for top quality artists, regardless of ethnicity. Those artists just needed the exposure and faith, and Heather believed in Gabe.

  Donny returned to his desk without response. Heather closed her eyes and staved off the desire to grab him by the shirt collar and shake words from his mouth. She had to be patient. This wasn’t her label.

  He ran his hand through his thinning hair. “An audition at Rocky Top is a big deal, girl. It speaks of our intentions and future direction even if we don’t sign him.”

  She acknowledged his point with a nod. “Is that such a bad thing?” She so wanted Donny to be the good guy. If he signed Gabe, she could justify giving the less appealing aspects of his personality more leeway.

  “Let’s put a pin in Gabe Duke for now. Talk me through the rest of your list.”

  Heather pinched the bridge of her nose before reaching for her iPad and scanning through to the next prospect. It wasn’t a definite no. But if Donny didn’t take a chance on Gabe, she felt a responsibility to let him know. He was counting on this chance, and it seemed like a no might break his heart. Gabe was clearly a gentle soul, and Heather didn’t want to see this town toss his dreams in its mouth and spit them out like chewing tobacco. Having to deal with a situation like this was exactly why she made a point not to be spotted by the performers she was reviewing. She nibbled on the inside of her cheek and tried to put a positive spin on it. If she hadn’t spoken to Gabe, she would never have met Louie. And that would have been tragic.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “LOUIE!”

  Even over the sounds of Carrie Underwood at full volume, Louie heard Gabe shout her name. She peeled herself away from the California king-size bed reluctantly. Since its delivery yesterday, Louie had decided she would be orchestrating her run on Nashville from this amazingly comfortable mattress, and the only thing that might tempt her away from it would be to answer the door if Heather King came calling.

  She swung open the door to find Gabe jumping manically on the sofa with his phone in hand. Either he’d gone mad or…

  “Heather called?” Funny that one woman held both their attentions right now. Gabe’s head was like a nodding dog on a dirt buggy dashboard.

  “I have to be at Rocky Top in two hours.” He stopped, jumped down, and ran toward her. “Crap. I’ve got a shift to work in an hour.”

  She tilted her head and wrinkled her nose. “Not anymore. I could cover it for you.”

  “No way.” He grabbed her shoulders. “I need you with me. All three of your songs have two guitar parts, and I need your harmonies.” He released her and smacked his forehead. “I can’t do this. I should call her back and say I can’t do it.”

  Louie caught hold of Gabe’s upper arms. The size and solidity of his biceps made her want to find some gym time, and she wondered if Heather preferred a strong woman. Probably not. Lesbians with big muscles didn’t tend to pass well as straight girls. Louie pushed the unkind thought away. “No way, buddy. You’re doing this.” She motioned to his phone on the sideboard. “Call Clare and explain. She knows you’ve been waiting for this opportunity. I’m sure she’ll understand. You can tell her I’ll work for her free for a week to make up for it.” She smacked his arm playfully and released her grip. “Go. Call now. I’ll get my guitar ready.”

  He gave h
er a huge smile and went to do as he was told. Louie could almost reach out and touch his excitement, and she smiled in return. This wasn’t just the break Gabe had been hoping for, it was a chance for Louie to see Heather again. Their brief meeting at the coffee shop had been both exciting and worrying. It had reinforced Louie’s attraction, that much was certain, but Heather’s concerns about dating discreetly rang alarm bells. Couldn’t it just be as simple as a romantic meet cute in the movies? Louie could’ve visited a home store to furnish her bedroom. They’d both reach for a two-pack of mixed pillows: Louie would want the down feather one, and Heather would want the memory foam one. They’d split the pack, and lunch, and then get to trying the pillows out on Louie’s new cloud bed. Everyone lives happy ever after. No homophobia. Louie had seen too many rom-com movies to lose her deeply buried romantic side, regardless of Mia, and maybe her guard was slipping. It wasn’t much of a guard since it was already failing.

  Louie picked up her guitar to take her mind off Heather and sat on the edge of her bed. She closed her eyes and strummed the bottom E-string. She turned its peg a quarter turn to the left to tighten it, before fretting an A on the same string and picking the open fifth string. It was already in harmony so she moved on to the remaining four to complete the tuning process. She played the opening bars of the first song they’d written together, “Bronzed Baby Shoes,” and heard Gabe join in from the living room. He came to the door and Louie stopped when she saw Gabe’s chin tremble slightly. There’d been plenty of tears as they’d composed all three songs. They were all set in raw emotion and some distressing experiences. She wondered if Gabe would be strong enough to get through his audition without breaking down.