The High Note

by Harmony Jones

  “False,” said Lark. “It was a radio broadcast called the WSN Barn Dance. WSM AM still broadcasts live from the Opry.”

  Jackson let out a long whistle. “Dang, girl. You really know your stuff! So how about you give me a question?”

  “Okay.” Lark thought for a minute. “Here’s one. When they built the new Opry House way back in 1974, what did they bring along with them from the original Ryman Auditorium?”

  “You mean besides some of the greatest country stars of all time?”

  “Yes, besides that.”

  Jackson furrowed his brow and pretended to be stumped. “Gee, Songbird, I don’t know. Can you give me a hint?”

  “Daddy! I know you know this one!”

  “Hmmm … could it be … a six-foot circle of hardwood flooring cut from the original stage, which was placed dead center in the new stage, so performers can stand on a little piece of Opry history?”

  “That would be absolutely right!”

  “Of course it’s right. And do you know what else?”

  “What?”

  “We’re here!”

  Lark let out a squeak of delight as Jackson pulled into a parking space.

  “Let’s go!” she cried, leaping out of the truck’s cab like a jackrabbit. “Holly’s waiting!”

  She was waiting in the Women of Country dressing room, to be precise.

  “This is it!” Lark knocked.

  “Come on in!”

  She opened the door and there was Holly, looking stunning in a long sequined green dress that reminded Lark of mermaid scales. On her feet were a pair of battered cowboy boots. Lark ran over and gave her a hug.

  “I’m so glad y’all could make it,” said Holly, in her rich, melodic voice.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Jackson, leaning down to place a fatherly kiss on top of Holly’s blond head.

  “Let me look at you, little one!” Holly held Lark at arm’s length and studied her with big, brown eyes. “You’re gorgeous!

  “Hope my outfit’s all right,” said Lark. She was wearing a denim jacket she’d pulled from the closet of her Tennessee bedroom over the sweet little dress she’d purchased that afternoon on a shopping trip with Aunt Delilah. Just like Holly, Lark had paired the dress with her old boots to achieve the perfect, breezy country girl look.

  “It’s fabulous” said Holly. “And your hair!”

  “Y’all like it?” Lark’s hand went to the long, loose side braid draped over her shoulder. “My friend Brandi did it for me.”

  “Give me her number,” joked Holly. “I might be able to use her … if my hair ever grows in!”

  She was referring to the fact that her once long corn silk–colored curls were now cropped into a cute little bob.

  “I love your hair,” said Lark. “It looks great on you.”

  “Thanks, but I miss my long hair.” Holly rolled her eyes. “That’ll teach me to listen to stylists instead of following my own instincts. And speaking of instincts, how’s the songwriting going?”

  “Unfortunately, our Songbird’s in the throes of a nasty case of writer’s block,” Jackson explained. “I told her she’d get over it soon enough.”

  “Your daddy’s right. Happens to all of us, but it passes.” Holly’s eyes sparkled as she leaned close Lark’s ear. “By the way, I’ve heard music business people talking about a pretty little country singer who’s becoming a YouTube sensation. They say she calls herself Songbird. I’m guessing it’s you.”

  Lark bobbed her head, feeling an odd mixture of pride and embarrassment. “No need to whisper. Daddy knows all about it. So does Mama.”

  “Well, I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear it, baby doll,” said Holly. “You’ve got talent and it’s time the whole world knew it. Because music, especially country music, exists for one reason—to make people happy! It puts them in touch with something deep and human and real they can’t always find on their own. The best music makes people feel.”

  Again, Lark nodded. She believed what Holly was saying, every word, to the depths of her soul.

  “It’s a gift to be able to do that,” Holly said. “And I’d hate to see your gift go to waste.”

  “I know. But I don’t think I have the guts to be a star. All the attention, and the gossip and the expectations.”

  Holly laughed. “Let me ask you something. What was the last bit of gossip you heard about me?”

  “Well … um …” Lark bit her lip, thinking. “I don’t reckon I’ve heard any. I mean, there’s always news, like about your songs being in the charts or your concerts being sold out. But never anything nasty or personal.”

  “That’s right. Because I’m doing the fame thing on my own terms. I don’t misbehave, I don’t prance around in skimpy little outfits, and I don’t pitch a hissy fit if someone brings me the wrong coffee order. I keep it all about the music. So that’s what people focus on.”

  Jackson cleared his throat. “Hate to interrupt all this secret girl talk,” he teased, “but Songbird, we’d best be on our way. Holly Rose has got a job to do. And we’ve got front-row seats.”

  Lark gave Holly another big hug. “Thanks,” she said. “And knock ’em dead out there.”

  “I always do, darlin’,” said Holly, snapping her a wink. “I always do!”

  Holly Rose’s set was amazing! She sang all her current hits, and even a couple of crowd-pleasing classics—“Here You Come Again,” by Dolly Parton, and “I Fall to Pieces,” by Patsy Cline.

  “Thank you, everybody!” came Holly’s voice over the thunder of cheers and applause. “Gosh, it is just so exciting for me to be here! I’ve got one more song to perform for y’all tonight. And because the Opry is all about being part of a family, I’m going to invite a couple of very special people who really are like family to come on up here and join me onstage.” Shading her eyes against the glare of the spotlight, she scanned the front row. “Jackson, Lark, where are y’all?!”

  Lark’s eyes flew wide open.

  Jackson was already on his feet, extending his hand to his little girl. “Let’s go, darlin’.”

  “No!” Lark shook her head hard. “Daddy, no! I can’t!”

  “Sure you can!”

  “But … but … it’s the Grand Ole Opry!”

  “All the more reason,” said Jackson, laughing as he pulled her gently to her feet.

  “What if I faint?”

  “Then I’ll catch ya.” He was guiding her toward the steps at the front of the stage.

  “What if I’m off-key?”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Daddy, I’m scared. I’m shaking.”

  “I know, darlin’. ’Cause that’s what people do before the greatest moments of their lives. Holly wants us to share her big night. We can’t very well say no, can we?”

  “I guess not,” Lark murmured, trembling as the soles of her boots hit the hardwood of the legendary stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Holly, “please join me in welcoming my dear friends the Campbells. This is Jackson—”

  Jackson waved to the cheering crowd with one hand, while holding Lark steady with the other.

  “And this here is his little girl,” Holly went on, reaching out to take Lark’s hand and draw her into the circle made of pale wooden floorboards. “Her name’s Lark—and she’s a real little songbird.”

  The minute Lark heard Holly strum the acoustic intro, she knew exactly what song they were going to sing. It was one Holly had sang for Lark, Donna, and Jackson in their Tennessee backyard on a starry night. The first song she’d ever written, it was called “Reaching,” and both Lark and Jackson knew it by heart.

  Reaching higher than the moon,

  I know it’s gonna happen soon.

  And on some country night like this,

  I’ll reach for the stars and I won’t miss.

  The voices of the three old friends melted together like butter on a biscuit. When Holly stepped back from the mic to let Lark
sing the second verse solo, the music came from somewhere deep within her. From some secret spot that was part of her soul. And with it came the courage.

  When the song finished, Lark felt a rush of pride and joy. The crowd was on their feet, whooping and whistling.

  “That’s for us,” Lark breathed, astonished.

  “No, darlin’,” Holly whispered in her ear. “That’s for you.” Then she stepped up to the mic and said, “You saw her here first, folks. Lark Campbell, Nashville’s little songbird! And something tells me this ain’t the last time she’ll be gracing this stage!”

  Judging by the reaction of the crowd, they were in complete agreement.

  Much later that night, as the moon spilled silver ribbons through Lark’s bedroom window, she slipped out of bed and picked up her guitar.

  Opening her songwriting journal, she turned to the page labeled “Holding My Hand.” Reading what she’d written on the page, she hummed the melody and strummed a few chords.

  Nothing wrong with the tune, she thought, smiling. Then she reached for a pencil and made a small but significant change to the title.

  Holding My Hand Own

  It was as if she’d just struck musical oil! The lyrics came in a gush, and the notes were like sparks shooting between her fingertips and the guitar strings. Her voice brought them together:

  Whatever fate has got in store,

  This girl ain’t afraid no more.

  It’s time to face the great unknown,

  And you can bet I’ll hold my own.

  Lark heard clapping and looked to see her father leaning in the doorway.

  “Looks like you got over your writer’s block,” he said softly.

  Lark sighed. “Standing in that circle tonight, holding my own on the most famous stage in country music and getting a standing ovation …” She shook her head in amazement. “It was like I was a part of something way bigger than myself.”

  “I get that,” said Jackson, coming to stand beside her bed and ruffle her hair. “After all, when you stepped into that circle, you were literally walking in the footsteps of all your musical idols. You were standing where your heroes stood before you.”

  “I guess so. But you know what, Daddy?”

  “What’s that, Songbird?”

  She smiled up at him through the moonlight. “My biggest hero is standing right here.”

  Lark bounded off the plane and ran all the way down the jet bridge. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother about her night onstage at the Opry, and what she had decided in its wake.

  The ride from her daddy’s house to Nashville International had been bittersweet and tearful, but once the plane had taken off, Lark was surprised to discover just how excited she was to be going back to LA. After all, in addition to her mother, Mimi, and the boys, there was a future in show business to look forward to now.

  “Lark!” cried Donna, waving from the gate.

  “Mom!”

  “It’s so great to have you home, baby. We’ve missed you so much!”

  “Missed you too!” She felt a twinge of disappointment that the boys weren’t there to greet her; she hadn’t expected Teddy, but she was a bit surprised that Max and Ollie hadn’t come along. Donna explained that they had a dance session with Jas and couldn’t cancel it.

  They made quick work of retrieving her luggage and getting to the car. Once they were on the highway, Lark turned to Donna in the driver’s seat and said, with absolute certainty, “Mama, I want to make music!”

  Donna gave her a sideways look. “Are we talking professionally?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Lark with an emphatic nod. “No more hiding in the wings or keeping to the shadows. I want to perform! Live! And record, and write my own songs, and make music videos.”

  There was a brief moment of silence, then Donna let out an enthusiastic “Yeeeee haw!” that seemed to come up from the tips of her toes.

  “Careful, Mom,” said Lark, giggling, “Your Nashville is showing!”

  “I can’t help it! Oh, Lark, I am so happy!”

  “Me too. But there’s more.”

  “Okay …”

  Lark couldn’t think of a better way to explain her feelings about pursuing a career in music than by showing her mother the lyrics to the song she’d written the night before. So she waited until the SUV was stopped at a traffic light, then opened her journal to the page and handed it to Donna to read.

  I’m gonna choose what works for me,

  And become the star I want to be.

  With your love, I’ll never be alone,

  But now it’s time for me to hold my own.

  When Donna finished reading, her eyes were filled with tears.

  “Oh, Mama, if I’m going to sign with Lotus, you can’t just start bawling every time I sing a song. If you do, you’ll end up dehydrated!”

  “I know, I know,” said Donna, laughing as she wiped her cheeks. “It’s just that you’re so talented. That song is beautiful, and your voice is amazing. And most of all, you’re such a great kid!”

  “That’s exactly what I want everyone to remember,” said Lark, her tone serious. “I’m a kid. I don’t want anything to happen overnight. I want to take my time and do it on my own terms. Okay?”

  “Definitely,” said Donna, hitting the turn signal and guiding the car onto their street. “In which case, you should sign what’s called an artist development deal.”

  Lark raised an eyebrow. “Development? Does this have anything to do with me wearing a training bra?”

  Donna laughed. “No, honey. An artist development deal allows you to move at your own pace. No crazy deadlines, no exhausting schedules. It’s the best way to nurture a young artist. You’ll have the chance to move at your own speed and learn from older artists, like Holly. Local gigs only, no national tours.”

  “So I don’t have to take a leave of absence like Teddy? I can stay in school?”

  “Of course. Teddy’s career is already in motion, and he has an obligation to his bandmates. He inherited the velocity of Abbey Road when he joined. But you’ll have the luxury of going at your own pace. And as a solo act, you only have to answer to yourself.” Donna gave her a sly grin. “And me.”

  Lark smiled. She wondered if it was weird that a twelve-year-old girl actually wanted to go to school; she suspected most kids would welcome the chance to put lockers and lunchrooms behind them in exchange for a whirlwind concert tour.

  But Lark Campbell was not most kids.

  “That song, ‘Holding My Own’ …,” said Donna. “It sounds suspiciously like the track you were writing for Abbey Road before you left.” She shot Lark a grin.

  “You’re right,” said Lark. “It was originally called ‘Holding My Hand.’ But don’t worry, I’m not going to let you down. In fact, I already started writing a new song on the plane. It will be perfect for Abbey Road’s next album.”

  “What’s it called?” asked Donna.

  Lark smiled as Donna guided the car toward the driveway. “It’s called ‘Right Back Where I Wanna Be,’ ” she said. “And I think you’ll love it.”

  To Lark’s surprise, there was a crowd gathered in the street where their driveway met the road.

  “This is new,” Lark observed.

  “Well, a lot can happen in a week.” Donna carefully maneuvered the SUV around the strangers loitering by the driveway’s entrance. “The boys did tons of media while you were gone, and there’s a really great buzz about the album.”

  Lark nodded. “Daddy and I saw a few of their appearances. They were great on Entertainment Access. Ollie was so funny.”

  “He always is,” said Donna with a grin. “But in retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea to have you return on album launch day. We’ve got a lot to do before the party tonight. And the tour is only a couple of weeks away!”

  Lark frowned as a photographer tossed a gum wrapper into the azaleas Fitzy had planted around the mailbox. “Isn’t this illegal?”

  “It
would be,” said Donna, “if they were actually on our property. Technically, it’s not trespassing if they stay in the street.”

  Girls were holding signs that said I LOVE YOU OLLIE and TEDDY 4-EVER. One girl wore a sweatshirt on which she’d airbrushed the words MARRY ME MAX.

  “Hope this doesn’t change your mind about a music career,” said Donna, sounding as if she were only half teasing.

  “What would be the point?” said Lark. “If I’m dealing with crazy fans outside my house anyway, a few of them might as well be there for me.” She laughed, but in truth she wondered how it would feel to have people loitering outside her house carrying signs with her name on them. Would it be exciting? Or scary?

  She guessed it would probably be a little of both, and she’d just have to figure it out as she went along.

  Inside, Max and Ollie greeted her with hugs. Teddy hung back and waved, but he was smiling ear to ear. Seeing him made Lark’s heart skip a beat; she hadn’t realized how much she missed him, and it was clear that he’d missed her, too.

  “Welcome home, Lark,” said Max. “How was the trip?”

  “Great!” said Lark. “And I actually have some news …”

  “So do we,” said Ollie. “Julia just called. British Invasion’s only been officially released for a few hours and it’s already gone to number one on the iTunes chart!”

  CHAPTER 14

  After a lightning round of congratulatory hugs and toasts of sparkling cider, Donna shifted into party-prep mode. She called Julia and started issuing reminders about the night’s menu and double-checking the guest list, which read like a who’s who of the music industry’s power players.

  The bash to celebrate the release of British Invasion would be taking place at a very trendy club called Dusk. Lark couldn’t help but feel a bit of personal pride about the album’s success. After all, two of the songs on it, “Homesick” and “Wounded Pride,” were written by her.

  Lark joined her mother and the boys in the kitchen, where Fitzy had set out a feast of snacks—chips and salsa with homemade guacamole, and a plate of chocolate-covered cherries.