Dinner comes to an end and I shake Jeffrey’s hand, kiss Scarlet on the cheek and wrap my arm around Savannah’s waist as we leave.
“Thanks for coming,” she says.
“I guess you’re no longer mad that I didn’t notice your hair?”
“Oh no, I’m still pissed. I just didn’t feel like being angry anymore.”
“Alright, good to know.”
The valet brings our car around and I drive us back home. I make a mental note to try Kenny again in the morning.
~~~
“Hey Blake.”
I'm glad to finally hear Kenny Lawson’s voice over the phone the following morning. Kenny’s voice is rich and rugged with weariness about it; the voice of a man who has seen a whole lot of shit in life, but still manages to convey confidence.
“Kenny! Damn! I’ve been trying to reach you all weekend.” I say excitedly.
“I see that now. Sorry," he sounds sincere, "I had some personal matters I had to take care of this weekend.”
Personal matters. I can’t help thinking about Paige.
“Okay, well, I hope everything is alright.” I don’t want to come out and ask directly, but I’m curious.
There’s a long pause and I hear Kenny clear his throat.
“Everything’s fine,” he says gruffly, “what can I help you with?”
The subject change doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Well, I needed to ask you about the gig we have Tuesday night. You originally told us that we needed a four-song set list, but I talked to the owner of the club and he told me he wants seven. I know that changes our pay.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Kenny says sounding unusually distracted. “Hang on.”
I hear some shuffling and then a door close.
“Alright, I’m in my home office, but I’m not sure if I have those papers here. I can get Becky to call the club later when I get a chance and sort it out.”
Becky is Kenny’s assistant, and a damn hard worker.
“Alright." I say. "We just have to know how much to prepare.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll handle it later.”
There’s some more shuffling on the other end.
“Look, Blake, I’ve kinda got my hands full here right now. Can I get in touch with you later? I know we need to talk about the tour, too.”
“Yeah, Kenny, that’s fine. I’ll be around later man.”
“Great. I think the tour is a definite go, and I’m making some headway on finding you an opening act, too.”
“Sweet!”
I hear a door open and close on the other end and there’s more shuffling. Then, clear as day I hear a female voice call out “Dad.”
My heart stops.
The voice is older, silkier, but I swear it’s the same voice.
Kenny quickly talks over the sound, raising his voice more than necessary.
“Alright, it was great talking to you! I’ll be in touch.”
The line goes dead.
Someone called Kenny dad.
Kenny only has one child, one daughter.
I sink down on the couch, burying my head in my hands. It’s almost too much for me to take in. Is it possible that Paige is back in Nashville? How could that even happen? After Paige moved back to Bristol, I tried so many times to contact her, tried so hard to get answers.
She had only responded to me once, just before we both graduated from high school. I’ll never forget the email:
I’m sorry Blake. Everything hurts too much. I can’t ever come back to Nashville. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
-Paige
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
She was sorry.
She had gone through horrors I couldn’t even imagine, and there she was, apologizing to me.
I need to get a fucking grip. It was thirteen years ago. We were both adults now, and here I am about to get married. For all I know, Paige was married. Maybe she even had kids.
And before I can even push the thought away, I feel the pain cut through me like a knife.
I need to get over these crazy thoughts. Whether or not Paige was back, shouldn’t concern me. We were nothing but high school sweethearts. Barely even, she left before junior year.
I have Savannah now and that's all that matters. And even if Paige is in Nashville, I can’t imagine she'll be staying here long. Maybe she and Kenny have finally reconciled and she was just down for a short visit.
I force myself up from the couch and busy myself with trying to fix one of our kitchen cabinets. I’m can't stop thinking of Paige, so I curse out loud and head back to my studio to work on some music.
I sing a song that I wrote about Savannah, strumming at my guitar as the lyrics roll off my tongue from memory. I sing about her long legs and rich brown hair and the way she makes me feel in the hot summer.
But it’s Paige’s legs, and her blonde hair that I’m picturing, and the way I felt when I was fifteen, crazy in love. The way I felt in the hot summer when Paige and I were just kids.
FOUR
Paige
Second Chances
I pad into the kitchen and flip on the fancy coffee machine. I wait for the blue light to tell me it's ready and then pop one of the tiny cups into the top. I roll my eyes, it’s so typical of my dad to have this brand new Keurig machine - he doesn't even drink coffee.
I’ve been in Nashville for two weeks and I’m slowly starting to adjust to being back in town.
Though, I may have some issues once I actually leave the house. I’ve stayed on my dad’s grounds since the moment I’ve arrived.
I know it’s not exactly the healthiest choice, but it’s the best I can do right now. I still can’t believe that I’ve actually come to Nashville and agreed to live with my father. While I do want to repair my relationship with my dad, I know that I still need to come to terms with the anger and resentment I feel for him. The emotions are so much stronger and confusing when I’m actually in my dad’s presence.
The good thing is that my dad wasn’t lying when he said I could have my own wing; I literally have my own side of the house. My dad has done extremely well for himself and this gorgeous house is a direct reflection of that.
His house is situated like a horseshoe, on one end there's literally a separate house with its own kitchen, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, an office and a living room. I can technically stay in my part of the house and never see my dad – which is both good and bad.
My dad has an amazing backyard, with a lavish patio; cabana, pool and hot tub nestled inside the horseshoe. My wing of the house opens up directly to the patio, and in just a few steps I can be in a super plush lounge chair relaxing poolside.
I’ve promised my dad that I would work on my music while he goes into the office and I mostly have. But sometimes I just need a break from the reality of being back in Nashville. That’s when I head out to the pool, lay in the sun and float around with an ice cold Coke. It’s not very productive, but it clears my mind.
My dad wants me to play a few local bars and I know he’s starting to get worried that I haven’t left the house yet. Part of my fear is that I don’t want people to know that I’m back. I don’t want to have to see my old friends.
People in this town know what happened to me; it was splashed all over the papers. While I imagine no one would be crass enough to bring it up, I still don’t want to risk the possibility that my attacks could come up in conversation.
I head back to the office, which I’ve converted into my music room. I sit in my pajamas, facing the pool and start working on a new song I started this week. Of course I lose track of time, and my growling stomach makes me check the clock. It’s after eleven.
I take a quick shower, slip into my bathing suit and make my way into my kitchen. I throw together a quick sandwich, grab a Coke and head out to the pool. After I eat my lunch, I float around in the water, gazing up at the brilliant blue sky.
All I can think about is Blake.
I’ve always thoug
ht about Blake over the years, wondering what he's doing, what he looks like now, even if he's still in Nashville or if he's moved on. I’ve also worked hard to not think about him, what could we possibly have in common anymore? We aren't fifteen anymore.
But being here in Nashville, during the summer – it’s like Blake is everywhere. Sometimes I feel as if I’ve never really grown up.
~~~
My poor dad is trying, and I’m working hard to try too. I know that I’m going to have to give in and play my music somewhere public. And after all, I didn’t come to Nashville to stay holed up in my dad’s lovely house, floating away in the pool all day. Though, I have to admit that my skin has turned a warm golden shade that I haven’t seen in years.
I feel fear knot tightly in my stomach, and I worry that my lunch might come back up. I need to tell my father tonight that I’m ready to play my music somewhere. It’s like a band-aid – I need to just rip it off. I can’t expect to have a music career if I don’t leave the house.
I roll off the float and do a few laps in the pool; just enough to loosen up my limbs and clear my head. I feel so good afterwards that I make a mental note to swim laps more often. I feel calmer already.
I spend the rest of the afternoon working on some music, and I decide to cook my father dinner. My dad told me I can have free reign of the house but I haven't explored his side much yet. I wander over to the main wing to get started on dinner.
The rest of the house is just as beautiful as my part, if not nicer. My dad’s kitchen is massive with every state-of-the-art appliance you can imagine. Though, I’m sure he never uses any of these things himself.
I rifle around his fridge for some items, and find the right ingredients for spaghetti with meat sauce and a Cesar salad. He only has jarred tomato sauce, but it’s a good brand, and I find some fresh herbs and some diced tomatoes that I can add. I hum to myself as I heat the ground beef and boil the water for the spaghetti.
I’m not sure who stocks my dad’s fridge, but they do a pretty good job, and there’s plenty of fresh lettuce, tomatoes, carrots and cucumbers for our salad. I even manage to find a jar of nice olives in the back of the pantry.
I should have predicted my dad’s shock when he arrives home. The genuine joy on his face when he sees me working in the kitchen makes me want to weep. Even after everything that's happened, this man is still my father and I know that he loves me. And I’m proud that he's been sober for three years.
“Mmm, smells delicious,” he says, grinning at me.
“Thanks. I figured I owed you a home cooked meal after letting me crash here.”
“Sweetie, you are always welcome here. This house is as much your house as it is mine,” he pauses, overcome with emotion. “I told you when you were a little girl that you always had a home with me in Nashville.”
I’m touched. I turn away so I don’t get teary, and busy myself with adding the ground beef to the sauce.
“Do I have time to take a quick shower and change?” he asks, setting his keys down on the counter.
“Absolutely. I need about twenty more minutes.”
“Perfect.”
He disappears down the hall, and I set the kitchen table for two people. My dad’s new choice of beverage is Fresca, which I find funny, but I take out a fancy glass, crack open a Fresca and fill the glass.
My dad walks back into the kitchen just as I’m setting the salad on the table.
“Wow. It looks and smells delicious.” He says, with a smile.
“Thanks,” I say shyly.
We each fill a plate with spaghetti and meat sauce, and save our salads for afterwards.
“This is delicious,” he raves, digging in.
I have to admit, it does taste pretty good. And Momma said I couldn’t cook.
I clear my throat after I finish about half of my plate.
“So, I was thinking that it’s time for me to leave the house. I think I’m ready to play somewhere.”
My dad puts his fork down and dabs at his mouth. “Are you sure, Paige? You can have as much time as you need. I can only imagine how difficult all this change must be for you.”
His concern touches me. “It is difficult,” I admit. “I’m still trying to come to terms with you being back in my life, and the fact that I’m in Nashville. But hiding out here isn’t going to help me overcome my issues or get my career started. I need to jump in you know?”
My dad takes a deep breath. “Well, if you’re ready, I can get you a gig playing this Friday night.”
Wow. It was already Tuesday.
My face must look shocked because my dad quickly jumps in.
“Too soon?”
“No, no,” I say, “It’s just – wow, that’s really fast. You must have some serious connections.”
“It’s my job,” he says modestly, shrugging. He picks up his fork and takes a big mouthful of pasta, chewing it thoughtfully. “You know,” he says, “and this is just an idea, but you may want to get out on the scene a little bit before you get out there and sing. It might be nice for you to check out a few of the music bars ahead of time.”
The thought makes my stomach turn, but I know that my dad is right. I really should go out and get a feel of the Nashville music scene this week before I suddenly step out on stage.
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“I could go with you,” he offers.
“Okay. Let’s make a couple stops tonight. Before I freak out and try to back out of it.”
My dad looks pained at my words, at first I wince, sorry that my words made him feel guilty, but then I feel a righteous pang of anger. Sometimes I’m glad that he's upset over what happened to me. It was partially his fault.
We finish our dinner and then decide to leave the house at seven-thirty. My dad has two clubs in mind for us tonight.
I head back to my room and look in my closet for inspiration. What does one wear to a club when they first venture out into a city they used to love? I don’t know Nashville as an adult. I have the urge to call my momma, but I resist because I don’t really feel like having this conversation with her now. The last thing I need is to over think this situation.
I finally settle on a pair of jeans, flats and a dark blue top. I debate putting my cowboy boots on, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that, as ridiculous as it seems. I apply makeup and flat iron my hair so it’s sleek and smooth. I haven’t had to use a purse since I’ve arrived because I haven’t gone anywhere, and I dig around in my closet until I find one of my smaller bags.
If I did start playing in clubs in Nashville, I was going to have to add to my paltry closet. I had a few nice things to wear in Bristol, but I feel like Nashville would require me to step up my wardrobe game.
I head back to the main kitchen to meet my father, and I find him on a kitchen stool, drinking another Fresca.
“Ready?” he asks, standing.
My dad looks handsome, he's dressed in blue jeans, worn boots and a button down black shirt. He looks laid back enough to be a customer, but there’s just enough swagger to show he’s in the know.
I nod, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
We climb into my dad’s car and he pulls down the driveway. Within a few minutes, the familiar town is flashing by. I take it in, remembering the happier days when I lived here. I’m surprised to find that I’m not as freaked out as I feared I would be.
We arrive at the first club, and my dad parks the car, and ushers us inside. I like the intimate feel of the place, and we take a seat at one of the only high-tops left. I realize that I’m not bothered by the clubs, because they remind me of Bristol, and I was too young for the Nashville clubs when I still lived with my dad. I have no memories of any Nashville bars or clubs, it's a clean slate.
My dad orders us two root beers and the waiter obviously knows who my dad is because he’s not annoyed by our non-alcoholic order, and is back with our drinks in record time.
Just then, the sing
er, a pretty young woman, walks out onstage.
“She’s good,” my dad whispers, “but not nearly as good as you.”
I smile back at him.
The girl takes the mic, introduces herself as Ally Nickels, and starts crooning her first song. Her voice is pretty and clear, but she doesn’t have a big range, and her lyrics are a bit too simple for my taste. But she’s gorgeous, with long brown hair and big doe eyes, and she’s dressed in a tiny jean skirt, high boots and a strappy top. She’s obviously making up for her average voice.
The crowd likes her, they cheer and clap and she plays into their hands, blowing them sexy kisses when she’s finished.
Someone comes onstage announcing another act will be out in twenty minutes.
“Are we staying?” I ask my dad.
He shakes his head, and pulls out his wallet, and lays down a twenty.
“Nah. The band coming up is pretty good, but I want to make another stop. I actually have some business to do at the next bar, and there is a great guy and girl duo that I think you will like.”
I nod and follow my dad out to the car.
“Are you okay with me doing some business?” he asks once we’re in the car.
“Sure, it’s not a problem.”
“I’m going to step into an office, so I won’t be out on the floor. I don’t want to put you in any situation that makes you feel uncomfortable.”
I gulp, because I admit that I’m a little nervous about being left alone in a bar, even though I was alone in plenty of bars in Bristol when I had to play.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure my dad.
He’ll be in a room nearby. I will be fine, I remind myself.
My dad glances sideways at me. “If you're sure.”
The bar isn’t too far away and when we walk inside, it’s like my dad is a celebrity. People immediately come up to him to say hello, shaking his hand and smiling.
“Wow, Dad. Everyone knows you here.”
He grins. “This is one of my favorites. I’ve found a lot of great acts in this bar.”
Daddy gets us situated at another high top, and the duo comes out and starts to play. My dad is right; they are great. The girl has a soft, unique voice and the guy’s voice is like warm honey.
Damaged But Not Broken Page 4