by Burke, Dez
When the band runs out on stage, the crowd stands and breaks into loud applause. I’ve been to enough concerts to know we won’t be sitting down for the rest of the night. By the time the evening is over, I’ll probably be cursing my high-heeled cowboy boots.
Before the applause dies down, the lead singer immediately goes into the first of the band’s many top ten country music hits. He wows the crowd by singing one popular song after the other without taking a break in between. The crowd sings along every word with him, including me and Levi.
“Isn’t this great!” Levi leans over to yell in my ear. “Having the crowd sing back to you is the best feeling in the world. Look at that guy’s face up there. He’s in heaven.”
I love seeing Levi so happy and relaxed. Ever since he’s been back in town, he’s had the weight of the world dropped on his shoulders. He’s in his element here with the fans and the sound of country music filling the hot Georgia night.
To the crowd’s disappointment and after two amazing encores, the show comes to an end well after midnight. The spectators wait in their seats for a few minutes to be certain the show is over before giving up and heading for the exits.
“Wasn’t that fantastic?” Levi says, grabbing my hand and squeezing. “I don’t want to go home. Maybe they’ll come back for one more encore?”
“Now you know exactly how your fans feel when the show is over,” I tell him. “They would gladly stay and listen to you sing all night.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way. See, this is why I need to get out more and do these kind of events. It gives me a different perspective.” He pulls me closer against his side as the crowd surges around us. “Hold on tight to me and don’t turn loose. It would be easy to get separated in this group.”
He begins to lead me through the crushing sea of wall-to-wall people moving toward the exit.
“The concert was great,” I say. “I imagine your performances are ten times better. I can’t believe I’ve never seen you in concert. Your fans must be so sad when the show is over.”
“I don’t know about that,” he says. “I know I’m always disappointed when the show is over. I would stand up there on stage and sing the whole damn night if they’d let me.” He drapes a muscular arm around my shoulders. “I love this business. The sounds, the lights and yes, even the smells of a concert on a hot summer night under the open sky.”
“You love the smell of sweat and stale beer?”
“Is that what I’m smelling? Well, damn! Now you’ve gone and ruined my beautiful fantasy.”
We almost make it outside the gates before we’re spotted. From behind us, someone calls out Levi’s name.
“Levi! Hey! Levi Hamby!”
Curious heads start turning around trying to spot Levi. He grips my shoulders tighter and pulls me close to protect me. It’s dark and we’ve both removed our sunglasses so we can see where we’re walking. He’s easy to recognize without them.
“Keep your head down,” he warns me.
“Levi! Wait up!”
One of the band members waves to us from the other side of the crowd. He tries to squeeze his way through the crush of people toward us.
“That’s Johnny Blue,” Levi stops walking and says. “He was one of my favorite musicians back in the day. Come on. Let’s go over. I’d like to speak to him.”
We turn and try to push our way back through the crowd moving in the opposite direction. When we reach him, he thrusts out his hand to Levi.
“I’m Johnny Blue,” he says to Levi, holding out his hand. “The band’s guitarist.”
“I know who you are,” Levi says, giving him a firm handshake. “I’ve always been a fan. It’s an honor to meet you. That was one hell of a great show you fellows put on tonight. I didn’t want it to end.”
Johnny stares at Levi, almost starstruck. “I can’t believe you’re here to watch us play. The stage manager spotted you in the crowd. I’m glad he didn’t tell us until it was over.”
“Are you kidding?” Levi asks. “You guys were huge before I even cut my first song. I’m the one who’s honored. I would never have believed a few years back that anyone from Bama Boys would ever know my name. I bought everything you released.”
“The other guys would love to meet you if you have time,” Johnny Blue says. “They were hoping you’d join us for the after party.” He leans closer to Levi and drops his voice. “We call it an after party, but it’s only cheap takeout pizza and beer. Our party days were over a decade ago.”
Levi glances over at me and lifts his eyebrows. “What do you say, Annie? Is that okay with you?”
“Sure,” I say, giving Johnny Blue a quick smile. “I don’t have to work early in the morning.”
We follow Johnny backstage to a room where the band members are gathered around three large pepperoni pizzas and a cooler loaded with bottled beer.
“Guess who I found in the crowd?” Johnny says, waving us into the room in front of him. “Levi fucking Hamby. Can you believe it?”
The lead singer walks over to shake Levi’s hand, followed by the other band members. They’re all at least in their mid to late thirties or early forties.
The lead singer, Bill, is tall, with dark hair and a thick mustache. Johnny Blue is younger and has a tattoo of a curvy woman on his bicep. Zack appears to be the oldest; he’s wearing a worn tan cowboy hat and a gold chain with a cross around his neck.
All three members of the band welcome us warmly and invite us to sit with them among the worn furniture. After serving us pizza on paper plates and uncapping a couple of beers, the conversation quickly turns to country music.
“I still can’t believe you’re at our show,” Bill says, shaking his head slowly. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on a national tour these days.”
“My dad is sick,” Levi explains. “I was needed back at home for a while to help out.”
“Wow, I hate that for you,” Bill says in a sympathetic voice. “I bet your manager was thrilled about you taking time off right in the middle of a concert tour.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Levi says.
“Your manager is Harry Nix, right?”
“Yep, the one and only.”
Bill takes a long swig of beer before speaking. “I’ve done a little business with him over the years,” he says. “He was the promoter for a couple of concerts where we were playing. I can’t say I cared much for the man. No offense to you, of course.”
Levi holds up his hands and laughs lightly. “No offense taken. I know Harry. There’s nothing anyone can tell me about him that I don’t already know.”
“The man seemed a little too cutthroat for my taste,” Bill says. “I was afraid to turn my back on him in a dark room. He was always trying to work a better deal for himself and cut into our earnings. He’s a shark.”
“That’s a fairly good assessment,” Levi says. “He’s ruthless when it comes to cutting a deal. I guess that can be good or bad depending on what side you’re on. He takes care of me, so I can’t complain too much. I wouldn’t be where I am now without him. I would hate for him to have it in for me though. Being on the dark side of Harry would be a nightmare.”
I frown at the turn of conversation. I never realized Levi’s manager had that kind of reputation in the country music world. It makes me wonder what else I don’t know about Levi’s life in Nashville.
Johnny Blue raises his bottle of beer toward Levi. “Harry’s brought you a long way, though. You’ve got to give him credit for that. A national tour at this stage in your career? That’s something to be damn proud of.”
“I remember our first United States tour,” Zack says with a sad smile. “A different city every night, five-star VIP treatment everywhere we went, and the endless girls. Damn! Those were the good old days.”
“It was something back then when we were topping the charts,” Bill agrees. “It’s been a long time since we’ve experienced true fame. As you can see, now we’re lucky if we’re a
ble to book shows at county fairgrounds or annual peanut festivals.”
“What do you mean?” Levi says, frowning. “You guys are legends. Everyone knows the Bama Boys.”
“Not anymore,” Bill says, shaking his head. “For example, seven years ago on New Year’s Eve, we played a sold-out show in a stadium in Atlanta. This year we’re booked at a country western bar somewhere in lower Mississippi that I’ve never heard of. Let me tell you, it’s a damn hard hit to your pride when your time in the spotlight is up. The reality is bills need to be paid and we didn’t put aside enough of our earnings. We thought the good times would never end. That’s what happens when the money is flowing. It ends in an instant.” He snaps his fingers for emphasis.
“You guys should be able to play anywhere you want,” Levi says. “And name your price too.”
“Unfortunately, no. That’s not the way this business works.” Bill takes a long swig from his beer and shakes his head. “When you hit the top and start down the other side, the fame goes away fast. Going up the hill takes forever, coming down talks only a split-second. Nothing lasts forever. Let us be a lesson to you.”
“I miss the wild days,” Mike says. “Life on the road was worth it for the parties alone. Booze,” he lowers his voice conspiringly, “drugs…anything and everything we wanted.” He turns back towards Levi with a wistful smile. “You know what we mean. You’re living the high life now. Ride success while you can. If you blink, it’ll all be gone in a heartbeat.”
Johnny Blue nudges him. “I don’t think Levi is quite ready to be hung out to dry. He’s not even thirty years old yet. He’s in the prime of his life.”
“And so were we at one time,” Mike reminds him with a faraway expression in his eyes.
An uncomfortable silence fills the room. The men reach for another slice of pizza without speaking. Levi takes one last sip of his beer to finish the bottle and stands. He reaches a hand down to me and pulls me to my feet beside him.
“I hate to eat and run, fellas,” Levi says. “This pretty lady needs her beauty sleep. Thank you for the pizza and the beer. Along with the very good advice. I’ll be sure to take it. I’ve enjoyed meeting you all.”
He reaches over to shake each of their hands again.
“If you’re ever in Nashville, give me a call,” he tells them. “I would love to have you out at the house. We could pick a few tunes together. I mean it. Come by, anytime.”
The men automatically nod at us. Something tells me they’ll never call or drop by Levi’s place.
“Sounds good!” Bill says. “We’ll do that if we’re ever in town.”
We let ourselves out and walk down the short hallway that leads to the exit door. I wait until we’re out of earshot of the band before speaking.
“You were in a big hurry to get out of there,” I say. “What’s up?”
“The mood was turning dark and uncomfortable in a hurry,” Levi says. “I didn’t know the band was having rough times. I always thought of them as superstars. I guess I haven’t given much thought to what happens once the music stops selling.”
I stop walking and glance up at his face. “Are you worried that the same thing will happen to you one day?”
“You mean being forced to play in smoky bars again to make a living? Of course, the same thing could happen to me! The reality is, it probably will happen. It happens to everyone eventually unless you’re a lifetime superstar. The thought scares the shit out of me.”
“Maybe they were overexaggerating,” I say. “You saw all the fans there tonight to support them. The place was packed.”
“Fans are a fickle bunch. And I wonder how many people buy their current music. I bet not many. They’re all fans of the older songs the band recorded years ago. A few hit songs can’t keep a music career going forever. You have to keep feeding the beast in this business or you’ll die a painful death.”
We slowly make our way back to the truck, being careful not to trip on any of the deep holes in the dirt path along the way.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t let it worry me,” I say. “Just be careful with the money you’re making now. Those guys kept talking about the wild life they had on the road. Maybe they weren’t responsible with their finances and now they’re having to make up for it. If you spend every dime you make on whiskey, drugs, and fast women, then what can you expect? By the way, I need to ask you a question. Is life on the road really that wild and crazy?”
Levi grins and tightens his grip on me. “Why? Are you worried about sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll?”
I elbow him hard in the ribs and he yelps.
“Maybe. Is it that way for real? Should I be worried?”
“For some bands, it is,” he says. “When I first started, there was a party every night. I thought it was fun for a while. The glitter wore off quickly for me when I realized none of it was real or had meaning. Before long, every party felt the same. I couldn’t tell you who was at most of them or anything that happened. Not because I was drunk. Only because they all ran together into one big, hazy blur.”
We reach the truck. He quickly unlocks it and helps me step inside.
“The funny thing is, none of our time spent together is a blur,” he continues once we’re inside. “I remember every moment with you as clearly as if it happened yesterday.”
“You’re just saying that,” I tease.
“Why do you always doubt my feelings for you? Even when I’m on tour, I sing about you every single day. Don’t you recognize us in my music?”
“Your song is about me?” The question slips out before I think. I’d sworn to myself never, ever, to ask him directly about Blue Eyes of Heaven
“Who else has blue eyes the color of an October Georgia sky?” he asks. “C’mon Annie, you’ve always known the song was about you. There are lines in the song only we would know the meaning to.”
He’s telling the truth. Deep inside, I’ve always known.
“I know. I tear up every time I hear you sing it. The memories come flooding back so vividly that it rips me up every single time.”
“If you want to do something difficult, you should try singing it on stage with a broken heart,” he says. “It’s a killer. I’ve done it too many times to count.”
“When did you write the song?” I ask, now wanting to know every detail of the famous song.
“Not long after we broke up. I was sitting alone in a fleabag hotel on the outskirts of Nashville. Feeling alone and brokenhearted. I poured out everything onto a tattered piece of hotel stationary. It was several months later before I played the song for the first time in public. Harry was sitting in the back of the bar that night and the rest is history.”
“It’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard,” I tell him.
“Written about the most beautiful girl in the world.”
We sit there in the truck a long time without speaking while watching the rest of the concertgoers wander to their cars and slowly drive away. I lean my head against his shoulder and sigh contentedly.
After a while, he turns his head sideways and kisses my hair. “What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” he asks. “You’re awfully quiet. Is something wrong?”
“I was just wondering if when this summer is over, if all we’ll have left to show for it will be another sad song.”
“Ah…Annie. Who says the song will be sad?”
39
Levi
Way out on the farm’s back forty acres…
“Are you ready to switch out yet?” Cole sticks his head out the open truck window and yells to me. “If you’re getting tired, I can do it for a while.”
We’re taking turns loading hay bales into the bed of the Cole’s truck. It’s a damn hot and dirty job. One of us drives, while the other picks up fifty-pound bales of hay and throws them into the bed of the truck. Once we’re done with this field, there’s another one just beyond.
I’ve lost count of how many bales I’ve loaded in the p
ast two hours in the fucking ninety-five-degree heat.
One of the many reasons I hate this shit.
Tomorrow, I’ll be hurting like a son of a bitch for sure. My muscles are screaming from the strain. Lifting weights and working out in the gym must use a different set of muscles because I’m sure as fuck feeling the burn of pain today.
Not that I’ll let Cole know.
No way in hell.
He’d never let me live it down that I couldn’t keep up with him on the farm. He would tease me about going soft up in Nashville.
And he might be right.
“No, I’m good,” I yell back. I’ll pass out before I complain to Cole. “Keep on driving. We’ll switch out when we head to the next field.”
Cole lets out a loud chuckle. He knows I’m hurting.
Bastard.
“Whatever you say, city boy,” he replies. “I’ll keep driving then. Be careful with your pretty boy hands and don’t cut them on the hay strings. Those things can slice your hand open before you know it.”
Thirty minutes later, he takes pity on me and stops the truck. Climbing out, he walks over and hands me a water bottle that’s warm to the touch. I take a big swig and sit down on the tailgate of the truck to rest a minute.
We’ve both stripped off our shirts, and sweat is streaming down our backs. I take a handkerchief out of my jeans pocket to wipe the sweat threatening to drip into my eyes. My jeans must weigh a hundred pounds.
“Why don’t we call it a day?” he suggests. “Isn’t Annie supposed to be coming over soon? We can finish this in the morning.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I tell him. “There’s things we need to get done before I head back to Nashville. Making sure all the hay is cut and stacked in the barn is one of those things. I can’t leave you with this mess. How the hell did you do it before?”
“Sometimes I’d trade off with helping other farmers,” he replies. “They would come over and help me put up my hay and I’d do the same for them. Other times I’ve hired someone for a day or two. Either way, it always gets done. One thing about farming is that you’re on nature’s schedule, not your own. I can’t leave crops in the field to rot just because I’m having a bad day. Or let hay burn up in the summer sun.”