Jude’s Song (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 7)

by Mary Crawford

  “Do you think so?” Tasha asks with a raised eyebrow. “I felt like the words were tumbling out of my mouth. I didn’t always know what to say. Hayden’s such a sweetheart to be going through so much pain.”

  “I agree, but Pennie was really grateful you handled it all so well.”

  “It kind of puts my broken suitcase handle in perspective, doesn’t it?” Tasha remarks with a shrug. “Hey… do you want to get out of here? As nice as Stella’s place is, I want you to see more of Nashville while we’re here. It would be a shame if you didn’t get to experience it all.”

  Grabbing my cowboy hat off the bed, I pick up Tasha’s purse and hand it to her as I ask, “Do we need anything else?”

  “No, this should do it. You just need to have an open mind, accepting heart and an adventurous spirit,” Tasha says as she tosses her hair over her shoulder.

  I suppose I should be worried about the challenging tone in her voice, but I’m too busy pinching myself that this beautiful woman who is walking out the door in front of me is my girlfriend and we’re on vacation in Nashville with no one to please but ourselves.

  By the time my good sense catches up to me, she’s already out by our tricked-out rental car. The guy behind the reservation counter took one look at Tasha and “accidentally” upgraded us to a convertible. Tasha claims she has absolutely no idea how it happened and that it couldn’t possibly be related to her legs which are a mile and a half long and gorgeous.

  She looks at me and asks, “You want to drive or do you want me to?”

  I toss her the keys. “Since you know the city, you can play tour guide this time.”

  “Sounds good. Are you ‘I want to look good in my jeans hungry’ or ‘Give me the best food on the planet that'll stick to my ribs hungry?’”

  “You have met me, correct? Since when do I care about how I look in my jeans?” I ask with a smirk.

  “I don’t know. I just thought I’d ask. Logan’s been showing me pictures of the amount of fan mail that’s come in for you since you started joining Aidan on the stage. You might be getting ready for your own fashion shoot or something.”

  “Yeah… right… I’ve done like three little gigs with him. I don’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t make me a star. That first night was fun, but those were unusual circumstances. I don’t know if we’ll ever repeat the magic.”

  “All your fan mail can’t be wrong. I think you have the makings of a huge star. There’s no one like you, and you’re an amazing artist. I think you’re being a little hard on yourself. There are a lot of people who hang around Aidan — have you noticed him throwing anyone else up on stage?” Tasha asks me with a serious expression on her face.

  “Well, there’s Mindy —” I say, letting my voice trail off.

  “Uh hmm,” Tasha responds, nodding her head, “and what have we established about Mindy?”

  “That she is ridiculously talented at everything she ever tries to do.” I concede.

  “Exactly. If you weren’t totally gifted at what you do, you wouldn’t have caught Aidan’s eye. I kid you not, he has tapes, DVDs YouTube videos and everything in-between being pitched at him, literally twenty-four/seven. He’s listened to thousands of voices so far this year. If Aidan says you’re good, you are good. You can’t escape that. It doesn’t matter if you’re shy about it or don’t want to make a big deal out of it. The fact remains, Aidan O’Brien and apparently several other people in your life have already come to the same conclusion: You are amazing.”

  I feel my face heat up as I blush. I’ve never blushed so much in my entire life. Before I met Tasha, I thought blushing was something mostly prepubescent girls did, but I do it on a fairly regular basis around her. I don’t even know what to say in response to all her praise. All along, Tasha has been my biggest supporter. I couldn’t have done it without her unyielding support and her constant cheerleading and sometimes poking and prodding my fragile male ego to goad me into believing better of myself than I ever have before.

  “Okay, I accept that Aidan thinks I’m talented. It’s weird — but I’m adjusting. The fan thing though, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it. I’ve been virtually invisible for so long, the fact that people think I’m sexy when I’m just standing around is beyond strange.”

  Tasha grabs my hand and leads me into the restaurant. “Oh trust me, people thought you were sexy when you were merely standing around before. They just weren’t bold enough to say anything.”

  I snicker. “All people, or just certain people? I’m not sure I’m exactly comfortable with everyone on our crew thinking I’m cute. I mean, I like Stella and all, but she’s more like my abuela. I don’t think I want to imagine her having a crush on me.”

  “Okay, maybe not all people, but I certainly noticed you a long time before we started dating.”

  As we enter the restaurant, I notice it’s full of music memorabilia and art, and absolutely packed full of people. “What’s so special about this place?”

  “I can’t really explain Puckett’s to you. It’s something you should experience firsthand — but trust me, you’ll be happy you did. The food here is amazing,” Tasha responds with a grin.

  “I sort of guessed from the size of the crowd.” I look around in dismay. “I wonder if we’ll even be able to get a table.”

  Tasha smiles mysteriously. “Of course we will. I made reservations two weeks ago.”

  “Sneaky! You made this sound like it was a spur-of-the-moment adventure,” I half-heartedly complain.

  “It’s an adventure for you, but somebody had to plan the vacation.”

  “Now, you sound like my mother,” I answer. “One time when we were little, she scraped up enough money to take Fernanda and me to Disney World, but she’d spent so much time planning the vacation that she couldn’t relax enough to just enjoy it.”

  “Well, after you strike a deal with Aidan, you’ll have to take your mom on an exotic vacation she doesn’t plan. Where do you think she’d like to go?”

  I pause to think about her question. “I don’t really know. There are so many places my mom has never been. I think she’d like Nashville a lot because it’s so pretty here and there are so many things to see. I think she’d like the scenery in Utah and Arizona. She’d love the trees we have in Oregon, but she’d also like to see the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC.”

  “That sounds like a great travel plan. It’s totally different than traveling with my mom. We used to travel all the time when we were on the pageant circuit. For my mom, it was all about impressing other people with where she stayed. As a kid, I found hotel rooms to be universally boring no matter what name they had on the outside of the building. Sure, some of them had better bells and whistles than others — but they were all pretty much the same. I could never understand my mom’s obsession with brand-name things. I’m not sure who she thought she was impressing with our travel plans. I can tell you, it wasn’t me.”

  “So, I take it you wouldn’t go on vacation with your mom if you had the opportunity?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “No, not right now. She’s too busy tearing down everything I try to do. Maybe someday, but the way our relationship is at the moment, I don’t think it’s possible.”

  “I’m sorry, Sirena. I wish things were better between you and your mom. I wish your madre was a better person and could see what an amazing person you are.” I pull her closer to my side and wrap my arm around her waist.

  Just then, the hostess calls us back to our table. Much to my surprise, there’s a stage a few feet in front of me. “Are we expecting entertainment?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it depends on the schedule.”

  After we study our menus and place her orders, I turn to Tasha and ask, “What’s it like for you to listen to other people sing?”

  She gives me a puzzled look. “If they’re not craptastically bad, I generally enjoy it. Why? Don’t you?”

  “I do, but since I’ve moved over t
o the performing side, my view has changed. I used to see songs from a songwriter’s perspective, but now that I’ve been on stage, I see it differently. I just wondered what you see when you watch other performers.”

  Tasha nods and smiles as she responds, “Oh, that… It’s why I prefer to listen to music on the radio. I’m not distracted by stuff and I can just listen to the music for the sake of the pure art of it. When I see someone perform live, I get distracted by the most benign things like ‘Gee, I wonder if her shoes are comfortable’ or ‘That was a really long note to hold.’”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” I explain. “I was listening to Aidan perform one of his latest releases. The band was going at it. I noticed he was getting very winded. I thought, ‘Man, the songwriter should’ve put a bridge in there somewhere to give the artist a chance to catch their breath.’ Before I actually performed onstage, I never realized how much energy we expend running around and interacting with the audience. I would’ve never thought of how important that was when I was only looking at it as a songwriter.”

  “I understand what you’re saying. The mechanics of singing are different than the art.” Tasha nods. “It's hard for me to hear my own voice on tape. You’d think by now I’d be used to it — but I hate watching myself on tape or hearing my own voice. This makes the recording process difficult for me because sometimes we have to record several takes of the same track and Aidan will want me to pay attention to a certain inflection in my voice he wants me to repeat, but all I can focus on is how pitchy I sound that day or if I’ve got nasal congestion or some bizarre artifact in my voice.”

  “That’s strange for me to hear because you seem so confident in all of your performances. It doesn’t seem possible to me that you’re ever insecure about how you sound.”

  Tasha gives me a grim smile. “That’s years of pageant training ingrained in me. It’s all about ‘fake it till you make it’ and never letting anyone see you break under pressure. I suppose I should call my mom and thank her for making me as tough as nails.”

  “Let’s not do anything rash. We’re supposed to be on vacation and having fun. Conversations with your madre are rarely fun.”

  Tasha wrinkles her nose. “You can say that again.”

  Tasha was right, the food here is delicious. The entertainment has also been phenomenal. Watching people perform music from every decade in every conceivable genre has been enlightening. Because this is Nashville, most of the performers have been related to country, but the wide variety of songs covered is astonishing.

  An alarm goes off on Tasha’s phone and she consults it briefly before grabbing my hand and announcing, “Come on, it’s time for the adventure to begin.”

  “What adventure?” I ask with trepidation.

  “You wanted quintessential Nashville, this is it. There’s no time like the present to make your dreams come true.”

  “Do I even want to know what you mean?”

  “Knowing you, you probably don’t want to think about it too hard.”

  “What did you do, Tasha?” I ask, a feeling of dread growing in my stomach.

  “Well, I may have done a little more than make reservations a couple weeks ago. Sometimes, being Aidan O’Brien’s tour buddy comes with some cool perks. He knows the manager here personally. I was able to get us a gig here tonight, and it starts in twenty minutes.”

  “You have to be kidding me!” I exclaim as my panic level hits the stratosphere. “I don’t even have my instruments with me, and I’m not even close to being ready to go on stage. Neither one of us has even warmed up.”

  “Jude, you know me better than that. I take care of you. Our gear is backstage, I had it delivered earlier while we were eating. We’ve got time to warm up there. You’ve got this. This isn’t anything compared to what we’ve been doing with Aidan. This is a small group of people eating dinner. They may or may not even pay attention to us.”

  “I don’t think you understand. I have to be prepared for this. I haven’t made a play list or anything. I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Just pretend it’s a jam session with the crew. You do great during those. You’re an amazing musician. You’ve done so well with Aidan on stage, you can do this too. I’ll be right up there with you. It’s no big deal.”

  I try to breathe in and out slowly to calm my nerves. I know Tasha’s trying to be helpful and understanding, but that’s not how her words sound right now. Her words sound like a challenge. A challenge I’m destined to fail.

  “Dammit Tasha. How do you always talk me into stuff like this?” I respond after a few moments, but my voice is shaky. This is a bad sign. I’m not even on stage and I haven’t started singing yet.

  Tasha winks at me as she says, “Just relax and have fun. That’s what this is all about.”

  As we’re about to go on stage, the manager claps me on the back and says, “I’ve heard great things about the two of you. Go out and kill it.”

  I know he means it as encouragement, but for me it’s like the last straw. My stomach tightens and the lump in my throat grows. Somehow I manage to choke out, “Thank you, it’s an honor to be here.”

  I’m sure Tasha can feel my hands are sweaty as we walk hand-in-hand to our stools on the stage. Tasha straps on her guitar and then introduces us to the audience.

  “Hello, Nashville! My name is Tasha Keeley. This is my friend, Jude Hernandez. We’re pretty unlikely country music fans — I mean I’m from New York and Jude here looks like a hunky movie star. Nonetheless, we’re here in Nashville and we’d like to sing you a few songs. I hope you enjoy what we’ve come up with.”

  With that, Tasha plays the introduction to Islands in the Stream. The campy duet is probably the perfect song to get the crowd on our side. For a few moments, I try to relax into the song — but I can’t. The sound of the patrons dining roars in my ears. It’s all I can hear. The tinkling of ice cubes in glasses and the scrape of utensils against plates is deafening. I dart a quick worried look at Tasha, but she doesn’t seem to notice anything is amiss.

  My nerves are getting the best of me and I miss a couple of chords. Tasha notices and tries to cover for me as she flashes me a quick concerned glance. I mentally curse myself. I haven’t played guitar this poorly since I first started learning.

  Tasha is quick to recognize my flub as a sign of my nerves. After we finish Islands in the Stream, she transitions into Wichita Lineman which is one of my favorite songs. I know it forward, backward, and inside out. I breathe a sigh of relief as I settle into my comfort song. I should be able to do it without any problems at all. I can do this one from rote memory, right? At least, that’s what I’m telling myself as my heart races and sweat pours down my back. I don’t understand this, I thought I had beaten this crap. I’ve been onstage with Aidan in front of an arena full of people and not had this much trouble. I can barely catch my breath. I can’t get settled into the song. I can barely choke the words out to a song I can sing in my sleep. My vision goes grey around the edges and I sway a bit on the stool.

  I shoot Tasha a look of panic as the song mercifully ends. She takes one look at me and places the card where we wrote our play list under her stool. That small motion has been our symbol one of us is going off script.

  Tasha steps up to the microphone at the front of the stage and says, “I don’t know how many of you remember me from what seems like forever ago, but I was actually the winner of a little TV show called America’s Next Star. I’m going to perform my winning song and then I’ll sing my current single, These Jagged Wounds.”

  I know what she’s doing; I totally get why she felt like she had to do it. Even so, it makes me feel even worse that I’m not able to be present and available to support her like we planned.

  I adjust my mic so the sound level is down in case I mess up again as I accompany her on my acoustic guitar. I want to disappear and fall through the floor at this moment. Not that I’m wishing for the apocalypse or anything, I just wish I
could vanish. At this second, it feels like everything we’ve worked toward accomplishing is gone. I’m back to being the guy who can write songs but can’t perform them. What if Tasha’s wrong and I’m not destined to be anything other than an equipment monkey?

  At the end of her songs, Tasha pauses and takes a drink of water. She glances over at me and whispers, “You ready to go get the song in a big way so we can finish on a high note?”

  I nod mutely as I struggle not to pass out right in front of the audience. My face feels so numb it’s as if I’ve been skiing the luge without protective gear. I’m frozen. The God’s honest truth is I have no idea what’s going to happen next. Breathing has become nearly impossible and I don’t know if any words will come out of my mouth. If they do, I have no idea what they’re going to sound like. It’s almost as if my hands are paralyzed and I can’t even play the guitar.

  Tasha plays the introduction to Imagine by John Lennon. This has become a quintessential favorite of ours and the fans seem to love my country twist on it. This should make things easier. Inexplicably, it’s not easier. After we play the introduction, Tasha waits for me to start to sing like I always do. When I miss my cue, she begins the introduction again.

  I open my mouth to sing and nothing happens. I look to her with abject terror and mouth the words “I’m sorry” as I lay my guitar across my knees. Gamely, Tasha finishes the song as if nothing was out of the ordinary. There’s a large swell of applause when we finish our gig and leave the stage.

  Tasha has her arm around my waist and is supporting nearly all of my body weight as she helps me to a beat-up leather couch. She picks up a napkin from a nearby table and wipes the sweat from my face. “What happened, Jude? I thought you had this. I intended this to be easy and fun. This wasn’t meant to be the tough stuff. We’re on vacation. It was supposed to be the stuff of fantasies and dreams, not your worst nightmare.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TASHA