“My mom, um, told me you went through some hard times,” I say delicately.
Bonnie runs her hand through her feathery bangs and nods. “I sure did. Bird, honey, I saw some dark days. If it wasn’t for Jolene, I might not be sitting here today.”
“Really?” I say, completely shocked.
“She drove me to rehab,” Bonnie says with a sad smile, “and helped me through a very depressing time. Jolene and I wasted a lot of time hating each other, only to find out that our differences made us a pretty good fit. You know, Bird, sometimes people are only flashy because they’re insecure.”
I nod, not knowing what to say. The Jolene Taylor I know is certainly flashy, but also self-centered and in love with herself. I don’t think she has an insecure bone in her body. I definitely can’t imagine her going out of her way to help someone she didn’t like, but that’s not for me to comment on, so Bonnie and I sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the sweet tea and watching the stormy ocean.
“I saw you and that Ford girl got into it again,” she finally says. “Some New Year’s Eve spat?”
I feel my cheeks flame. Bria and Bridget’s reality show crew caught it all, and the promos for that episode have been airing nonstop this week.
“I should’ve walked away,” I say regrettably. “I let her goad me, and I shouldn’t have.”
Bonnie nods. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”
“Devyn and Bria and Bridget were supposed to be my friends, you know?” I say, still smarting. “But looking back on it, it’s like the whole thing was this big setup for ratings or something. I’m dreading the episode. I should have risen above it. Troy, my manager, is trying to see what he can do to have it cut.”
“What’d you say to her?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I was so mad that it’s like I blocked a lot of it out. I was just trying to defend myself and say how everything’s gotten blown out of proportion, but then I got really angry and—” I sigh mightily. “That girl hates me. She’s hated me long before she ever had a reason to.”
“What do you wish you’d said?”
I pause and look at her. “Huh?”
“If you could do it all over, what would you say?”
I chew my lip and think about it. “I guess I’d tell her I’m not against her the way she thinks I am. And I’d want to know what makes her so hard. Like, why does she hate me? Why isn’t there room for both of us to succeed? Bonnie, the girl is beautiful and, honestly, her songs are catchy even if they aren’t anything I’d sing. I mean, we’re nominated for the same Grammy, so it’s not like she doesn’t have talent.” I shake my head and look down at my pink toenails. “I even tried to write a song about it, but it came out all wrong… bitter.” I sigh.
“So why don’t you say that?” Bonnie suggests.
“Because every time we see each other, it’s like everybody around us starts fanning the flames,” I say. “And I think Kayelee actually enjoys the rivalry.”
“There’s nobody here now,” Bonnie says. She leans over and grabs her guitar from the corner. She starts to strum, and I find myself bobbing my head. Once she has something she likes, she looks up at me. “Okay, Bird. Tell her. Say it in a song.”
I feel my heart swell, my brain connect in a way that it hasn’t since writing Wildflower. I think about the way Adam described Kayelee, about the pressure she feels from her label and her family. I try to put myself in her shoes, close my eyes, and sing:
“You’ve got a light, a light that’s kinda hidden now,
Don’t let it fade, let it paint the sky.
It could shine so bright if you’d let it.
I see you tryin’, come on, let’s fly.”
When I look up at Bonnie, she is grinning from ear to ear. She picks out a fun instrumental solo and then stops. “I think you’ve got more to tell her,” she says, her crow’s-feet deep as she smiles. “Go grab your guitar. You’ve got a pretty bright light inside, too.”
33
“BIRD, YOU LOOK fabulous,” a fashion correspondent on the red carpet says. “Who are you wearing?”
Without missing a beat, I smile at her and say, “Catherine Malandrino. I wanted something glamorous, of course, but still me. When I saw this dress, I knew it was the one.”
My brothers snicker beside me, more like little boys than grown men, but I totally get it. This life really is light-years away from the one we were living a little over a year ago, and as much as this has become old hat to me, they are totally out of their element. “And these goofballs are in Burberry,” I tell her.
“It was so hard to choose,” Dylan says with a straight face. “Sequins, lace, something with a high slit? In the end, I played it safe with a standard tux.”
The correspondent actually giggles. I glance over at Dylan and can see why. He may be my brother, but even I see that he’s a really handsome guy.
“And I went with James Bond,” Jacob says leaning into the mic with his best attempt at debonair. We all laugh.
“Well, Bird, our readers will love the ruffles,” the woman gushes. “And guys, the classic tuxedo is never a miss when worn with confidence, so we give you both A-pluses as well.”
The guys fist bump each other, and we continue down the press line, stopping here and there to pose. I’m so glad that Anita let me bring both of my brothers tonight. I’m the only girl here with two dates.
Getting ready was fun, too. At my fitting last week, Amanda showed up with a rack full of the most beautiful designer gowns and shoes I’ve ever seen, iconic labels like Armani, Christian Dior, and Gaultier, but the Malandrino took my breath away and we all agreed it was the perfect red carpet choice. To top off my fairy-tale evening, Vera Wang designed a second gown especially for my performance later, the delicate lace and light pink color absolute perfection. Tammy pulled my hair back in a loose bun while Sam kept the makeup classic. I don’t know how my styling team manages it, but I feel more glamorous every time we do an event.
“Oh, there’s Caitlyn’s Cradle,” Jacob says as we near the trio on the red carpet. His tastes have always gone beyond the boundaries of bluegrass and country, but this band was one of Kai’s favorites, too. I feel a sudden stab of longing when Jacob points them out. “I can’t believe you’re nominated in the same category as those guys.”
“Come on,” I say, walking toward the group. “Let’s say hi.”
Jacob is clearly starstruck as we make our introductions, but the best part for me is when Caitlyn herself says that she loves “Sing Anyway” and listens to it on days when she doesn’t feel like working. And although it doesn’t matter what Kai or anybody else thinks, it feels good to have an accomplished artist appreciate my music. “I love your album,” I say truthfully. “Good luck tonight.”
Her publicist pulls her toward Mario Lopez, and we say good-bye as Anita and Troy direct us back toward the press line.
“That was so insane!” Jacob says, turning around. “How are we even at the Grammys right now? Tonight is, like, inconceivable. Bird, thank you.” He gives me a big hug and when he pulls away, his eyes pop. “Oh my God, there’s Kanye West.”
“When you win tonight, don’t let that man take your microphone,” Dylan says protectively.
I throw my head back and laugh, loud and happy. The night is young, but I’m already having the time of my life.
Once inside, an usher escorts us toward the stage, where I know we have prime seats in the fourth row. Troy, Dan, and Anita have already taken their seats, but I stop cold when I see they are directly behind the on-again couple Devyn Delaney and Jason Samuels. And down the row from them, laughing obnoxiously at something Bruno Mars is saying, is none other than Devyn’s new BFF, Kayelee Ford. Of course.
“Bird, you are a vision,” Anita calls as she stands from her seat in our row. She walks quickly over and embraces me as if we didn’t just spend the last half hour on the red carpet together. I freeze. The woman doesn’t hug—it’s not in her DNA—
but she can read me like a book and must see that I am unnerved because she whispers in my ear, “The cameras will be on you all night. Smile, wave, shine.”
I pull away a little. “You heard the new song?”
She nods, smiling wide. “Dan played me the demo. It’s my favorite so far.”
“Barretts!” Dan booms when he turns away from a conversation with a GAM exec in front of him. “Bird, you look beautiful as always, and boys, you clean up well.”
“You don’t do so bad yourself, Dan,” Dylan says as they shake hands.
We take our seats, and briefly, Kayelee looks over her shoulder at me. I smile. She rolls her eyes. When she faces forward again, I catch Dylan’s eye. He gives me a wink, which makes me feel better. A moment later Devyn holds up her iPhone to take a pic of Jason and herself, and Jacob leans over for a magnificent photobomb. I cover my mouth to suppress a laugh. My brothers should be nominated for Best Grammys Dates Ever.
The show is spectacular. Jay-Z and Justin totally destroy it, Imagine Dragons brings the house down with their new hit, and Adele’s performance gives me goose bumps from head to toe. Jolene Taylor is clearly reading from the teleprompter when she introduces “an exciting new artist who deserves to win a slew of Grammys,” and then she looks pained when Kayelee takes the stage. I think about what Bonnie said and wonder if maybe Jolene is insecure under all those rhinestones. Kayelee performs “Be Like Me” on a revolving stage with mirrors everywhere, and although the effect is cool, I personally feel that one Kayelee Ford is more than enough for this world.
Soon, it’s my turn to perform, and as I go backstage to change, my stomach is in knots. Right before the cue for my three-song mash-up, I send out a tweet:
Birdies! Wish me luck. This one’s for you! #singanyway #noticeme #yellowlines #grammys
I throw my phone down on a pile of my stuff as Sam touches up my lips, but then I bend down to double-check once more that it’s on SILENT. That’s when I see the text from Bonnie:
Live this moment, girl. Fly!
I smile and take a deep breath, ready to get out there. With Bonnie’s help, I made a demo of “Shine Your Light,” and we even wrote a couple more together. It was totally different than writing with Shannon. Bonnie was full of funny stories and had me cracking up the whole time. She’s adamant about not receiving songwriting credit, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without her. I’ll get back in the studio Tuesday morning, and I’m finally pumped about my album. We’re calling it The Road to You, which I love. It’s the real me: the country girl, the California girl, the girl who messes up, the girl under the microscope, the girl who falls in love, the girl with a broken heart. It’s the pretty and the ugly. It’s everything.
Anita and Dan suggested I play my fiddle tonight to differentiate myself from Kayelee, who doesn’t play an instrument, although she sometimes holds a guitar for promo pics. With Maybelle in my hands, I feel like the old Bird again—the one who got discovered at the Station Inn a year and a half ago—the one who deserves this nomination. I grip my fiddle in one hand and my lucky rock pendant that I put on for the performance in the other. I bow my head, whisper a super-quick prayer, and when Martina McBride begins my introduction, it’s go time.
With the stage lights low, I follow the glow-in-the-dark marks on the floor. For more good luck, I’m wearing the custom Justin boots that my stylist gave me at my very first promo shoot last year. I take my place on a bench at center stage and prop my legs up. As I listen to Martina talk about my incredible year, I get chills. “So it’s easy to see why this New Artist was nominated. Please put your hands together for Miss Bird Barrett!”
The room swells with applause, and a small spotlight finds me. I tilt my head as though I am daydreaming about the guy of my dreams, when in reality, I am keenly aware of cameras on long booms zooming near me around the stage. I have sung these songs a thousand times this year, but I am suddenly as nervous as if it were the first time.
The music starts and I look up at the crowd forlornly, just like in rehearsal. I’ve found that being “in character” really helps calm my nerves.
“I shake the sleep from my head, I drag myself out of bed, you’re still gone,” I sing sadly. “My heart can’t handle this pain, how do I sing in the rain? The mic’s on.”
I kick my legs off the bench and slowly walk up the T of the stage, marveling when I see Nicki Minaj singing along to “Sing Anyway” in the front row. I clutch Maybelle to my stomach as I sing the chorus, focusing on the fans at home when the cameras pass by, and giving every part of my heart with this performance. As I sing, I think about mega fans like Bex, my parents who moved to California to support my dream, and my granddad, who started an Old Farts Love Bird Barrett Facebook group. I marvel at the hit makers in the room and the fact that they are rapt over my performance, singing along.
I still can’t believe this is my life.
When I finish the chorus to “Sing Anyway,” I smile broadly and walk backward toward the band. As the slower song picks up pace, it morphs into something more upbeat, and the energy in the room kicks up a notch when the instrumentals for “Notice Me” fill the theater. A fan blows my hair back from my face, and all kinds of wildflower images flash onto the floor and the massive screens behind me. I sing:
“If I’m a wildflower,
Then you’re the blowin’ breeze.
I could get swept away,
Don’t know where you’d take me.
And maybe we could shine
So bright in the sunlight.
Is it real? Do you see?
Say—you notice me.”
Flower petals float from the ceiling like confetti. I tilt my head back and raise my arms, Maybelle out to one side, my bow to the other. “Notice me,” I sing again. “Oh notice me.”
Then I look at the audience with a playful smile. I tuck my chin and pull my bow across Maybelle’s strings, finally giving her a moment to shine. She is a thing of glory in the spotlight, her tone pure, her liveliness catching. At first I play sweetly, but as the instrumental break goes on and the petals fall all around me, I give more, take more, push the solo. The music morphs into the melody of “Yellow Lines,” and I play like a woman under a spell, like my fiddle and I are the only two things in the room, in the entire world. I play with passion, almost in tears when I finally fling the bow back and look up at the ceiling. My chest heaves. The band stops, too, barely long enough for a few people to start clapping, but then I look back at the crowd and sing a cappella, just one slow phrase that sums up my entire journey to this very moment:
“Adventures wait and life unfolds,
Along these yellow lines.”
The lights dim and the room erupts in applause. I breathe it all in, feeling their love and filling my lungs with it, before I take a humble bow.
“I love this category,” Fergie says, holding the envelope for Best New Artist. I am still riding my performance high, just barely having had time to grab my acceptance speech notes and tuck Maybelle into her case before Fergie starts the introduction. “It’s a glimpse into the future of music. So, to all the nominees, congratulations. And if you don’t win, don’t worry. I was never even nominated for this award, so you already beat me!”
I watch the audience laugh from where I stand in the wings, a cameraman right in front of me to capture my reaction, win or lose. I try to keep my expression calm, just like Anita coached me, but none of this postperformance adrenaline was coursing through my veins when we practiced.
“The nominees for Best New Artist are…” Fergie looks into the teleprompter and announces, pausing slightly between each name so that we can smile at the fans at home. “Kayelee Ford. Bitter Boyz. Caitlyn’s Cradle. Bird Barrett. Calusa.”
Here we go. Here we go. Here we go.
“And the Grammy for Best New Artist goes to…” She opens the envelope and quickly puts me out of my misery. “Bitter Boyz!”
Immediately, I clap and smile even broader into the ca
mera. I am momentously disappointed—I really wanted that Grammy—but I have to look unruffled on TV. As the rappers take the stage, the cameraman finally moves away, and I find myself grateful for one thing as I head back to a dressing room: I didn’t lose the Grammy to Kayelee Ford.
Unlike the other nominees, I get the opportunity to hide from the world for a few moments. As Amanda zips me out of my costume, my styling team gushes backstage about how much they love me and how much I deserved to win. Still, I am disappointed. I go from the extreme high of giving the performance of my life to the ultimate low of losing a greatly coveted award. I suddenly have a headache.
Once I’m in my gown again, we return to the auditorium. I make sure to keep a big smile on my face, determined to show the world how happy I am just to be at the Grammys. When I take my seat, Jacob squeezes my knee and Dylan puts his arm around my shoulders. I know they are proud of me, and I abruptly remember that they would give anything to be in my place.
So I cowgirl up and clap as Jimmy Fallon and the Roots take the stage and do a hilarious bit mocking the Bitter Boyz’s music video. I look at the bright side: my next album will be from a Grammy-nominated artist, which isn’t half bad.
34
“I KNOW YOU’RE exhausted,” Anita says as she paces the greenroom of Good Day LA. They just switched to a live-audience format so I need to bring my A-game, but I keep yawning, and I think it’s setting Anita on edge. “And Bird, I know you wanted to win that Grammy last night, but this talk show is a perfect way for you to show your fans how grateful you are for their support and the nomination.”
The Road to You Page 22