Hillbilly Rockstar

by Christina Routon

  "Lisa Jenkins." Lisa shook his hand two seconds before her brain registered his name. "Herb Johnson? President and CEO of Johnson Records?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I'm here tonight to narrow down a couple of the performers I'd like to sign. I've been watching the show at home and I have to say I like quite a few of them."

  Lisa could help Molly if she could set up a meeting with Herb Johnson. "Who do you like?"

  "Well, I like the young girl, Molly. She's very fresh and personable. She could be an up and comer. And some of the other women, they're pretty good. She would be my top pick with Mary Lou Baskin as my second."

  "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson, especially since I happen to be Molly Sims' manager." This time she offered her hand for a shake.

  Herb took her hand, laughing. "Of course I'd sit next to a manager. Smelling blood in the water, huh?"

  Lisa smiled. "You have managers confused with agents. They're the sharks. We're more like those little fish that hang around the sharks." Lisa smiled as Herb chuckled. "I know Molly is talented and I believe she'll go far in this business. She has what it takes for the long term. She's learning, she's still naïve in some areas, but she has drive and that's what is needed to stay performing and stay popular. She has what it takes, I know it."

  Herb looked her over, nodded. "You don't have to sell me too hard on her, since I've seen her perform. How's next week for a meeting? I'll have my secretary call you with a date and time."

  "Next week would be perfect." Lisa reached into her purse and fished a business card from her wallet. "Here are my contact numbers. I look forward to hearing from you."

  Herb nodded and just as he did the lights dimmed. The show was starting.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Trace knew Lisa was in the audience. He'd seen her when she came backstage to see Molly. His feelings for her hadn't changed. She was beautiful, with her blonde hair up in the messy bun she loved, wearing a blue dress that hugged her curves. And she wore the boots. Why? Could it mean something, a message for him? Yeah, the message is the boots are comfortable. Not everything is about you. But he had missed seeing her wearing them.

  The idea he'd had Thursday morning had been growing, so much so that he couldn't get away from it. It occupied his mind most of the time. The only thing left to do was to take action, go along with the idea, see where it went, how it worked out. The big piece of this idea, though, included Lisa. She had to be a part of it, a part of his life, if it was going to happen.

  "Hey, Cowboy."

  Trace turned towards Michelle's voice. Since their talk Sunday morning things seemed to be much better between them. She'd dropped the flirting and they were back to being the friends they'd been ten years before.

  "Hey, Michelle. How much longer?"

  "Maybe fifteen minutes. You're not ready yet?" She walked over and helped him with his tie. "She's here, in the front."

  "I know, I saw her. It doesn't matter, though. I told her to go."

  "Trace, you are still being an idiot. Didn't you hear anything I said last week? There, finished."

  "Thanks." As he checked out the rest of his costume in the mirror, Michelle's words came back to him. He was an idiot. He shouldn't let her go. He didn't want to let her go. And like a vision, a path became clear to him. "Michelle, is fifteen minutes long enough to write a song?"

  "Write a song? Why?"

  "I don't have time to explain. Help me?" He turned toward her, placed his hands on her shoulders. "We were a great writing team back then. And I think you'll like the type of song I'm thinking about."

  Intrigued, Michelle dug a pad and pen from the cluttered desk in Trace's dressing room. Shaking her head, she uncapped the pen and made herself comfortable on the couch. "Let's write a song, Cowboy."

  ###

  "Five minutes, Mr. Harper," Mary, the production assistant called through the open door to his dressing room. "Oh, I didn't see you, Miss Nelson. You too, five minutes."

  "Thanks," Trace called out. "Well, what do you think?" He read over the words once more, strummed a tune on his guitar.

  "I think it's great. When do you want to do it?"

  "At the end, right after the last performer. Instead of doing our wrap up, I'll sing this. The problem is getting my guitar out there. The production assistants will be suspicious if I carry it with me."

  "I'll get the guitar there, don't worry about it. Now, let's get out there before Mary comes back and bites our heads off." They left the dressing room, Trace carrying his guitar, and headed backstage.

  ###

  Trace waited for his cue. Michelle had taken his guitar and gone to the other side of the stage to wait for her cue to enter from the opposite side.

  "Okay, Mr. Harper," Mary, the production assistant, told him. "When you're cued, you and Michelle enter and meet in the middle as soon as Molly's done."

  "Got it," Trace said, and Mary ran off to remind someone else of something.

  Molly finished her performance, bowing multiple times to the tumultuous applause. Once Molly left the stage, he heard his cue and he stepped out, walking toward Michelle. They met in the middle and nodded, acknowledging the applause from the audience, just like they were supposed to.

  "Trace, hasn't Molly done well this season? Despite a rocky start, she's become the show's most popular performer."

  "She's done well, Michelle." Trace stuck to the teleprompter wording for now, not wanting to take anything away from Molly. But he knew Michelle's next lines were going to change everything up.

  "Trace, before we say goodnight, I heard a rumor that you've been seeing someone. Someone special?" Michelle put her hand on her hip and faced him.

  "Yeah, she was pretty special. But we had a fight last week and I don't think she wants to see me again."

  What were they doing? Lisa wondered. She looked around, seeing confused looks on the director and crew, but the audience seemed to be loving the banter.

  "Why wouldn't anyone want to see you anymore? You're Trace Harper. You're gorgeous and talented and wonderful. Ain't that right ladies?" Michelle cocked her ear toward the audience and the crowd went wild. Lisa saw the director near the camera man on the front row, frantically moving his arms, trying to tell them to stop, cut whatever they were doing. Whatever it was, both Trace and Michelle were ignoring the man's gestures.

  The yelling from the women in the crowd calmed as Michelle walked to the side of the stage and returned with Trace's guitar.

  "Is there something you'd like to say to this special person?"

  "Yes, I believe there is." He took the guitar, and slung the strap over his back. As he hit the first chord, Lisa gasped as he started walking towards her, singing.

  ###

  "I loved you the first time I saw you in boots,

  I didn't tell you, didn't see the use.

  But now that you're gone, baby, my only excuse is --

  I'm an idiot."

  Trace walked to the edge of the stage and knelt, looking directly at her. Everyone around them was laughing and cheering. Lisa couldn't help but laugh as well as he sang to her.

  "I have to remember

  I've got a temper

  And sometimes it gets the best of me.

  I don't behave at my best,

  And run off pounding my chest,

  Not seeing what others can see --

  Babe, I'm an idiot."

  Trace reached out his hand and motioned for Lisa to come closer. She stepped towards to the stage, still laughing at the words to his song. Security closed around her, keeping the rest of the crowd back. Lisa looked up on the stage and everyone else faded from view. There was only her, Trace, and the music.

  "I'm an idiot in love,

  And I needed a shove

  So I could be a better me.

  I just needed some time,

  To dream up this bad rhyme."

  Trace paused, and the music stopped. The crowd roared in his silence. Lisa couldn't stop laughing. Happiness and joy bub
bled within, threatening to overflow.

  "Babe, will you be an idiot with me?"

  Trace finished the song with a slow strum on the guitar. The crowd went crazy, cheering and laughing and applauding. Trace reached out his hand and Lisa took hold, climbing up a large speaker before being able to reach the stage. Trace slung his guitar around his back, took her in his arms, and kissed her. Lisa's legs wobbled and she sagged against him. Her arms snaked around his neck, holding him tight. She kissed him back between spurts of laughter.

  "So is that a yes?" Trace asked.

  Laughing, she kissed him again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  With the crowd still going wild, Lisa and Trace exited the stage, not stopping until they reached a semi-quiet location in the hallway.

  "You still love me? Even after everything that happened." Lisa couldn't stop smiling. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she couldn't stop touching him. She caressed his face, ran her hands up and down his arms. She needed to feel him there, real and solid, in front of her.

  "I love you. God help me, but I do. I want you in my life and I don't know how to not love you anymore."

  Lisa laid a hand on his cheek, moved closer and embraced him. He hugged her tight, his arms around her waist. It felt wonderful to be back in his arms.

  "I love you too," she whispered in his ear.

  She felt Trace's grip tighten around her body. She rained kissed up and down his cheek, his neck, his shoulder, everywhere she could reach. It was wonderful to be able to hold him again like this.

  "I never want to let you go, Lisa Jenkins."

  "I never want to let you go, Trace Harper."

  They broke apart, but only briefly. Before she knew what hit her, Trace's lips covered hers, kissing her with abandon.

  "Ahem," a sound came from behind them. They broke the kiss at the noise, but stayed close to one another, their arms still wrapped around each others' waists. Herb Johnson stood behind them.

  "I'm sorry to interrupt. I'd like to speak to Trace for a moment."

  "Mr. Johnson, of course. Trace, this is Herb Johnson, CEO of Herb Johnson Records."

  "Good to meet you, sir. Anything you need to say, you can say to Lisa." Trace looked down at her and smiled. "She's my manager."

  "I am?" She laughed, unable to believe everything that had happened that night.

  "You are." He squeezed her hand.

  "Okay, then. I like your writing. I know that song out there was meant to be funny, meant to be a joke. But that's what seems to be resonating with people right now. A fun, honest song about something we relate to. I want to hire you."

  "I'm going to take a break from performing, Mr. Johnson." Trace said. "You should go after Molly or one of the other performers."

  "Take a break?" Lisa asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

  "I'm coming back to do the show again next season. I don’t want leave Nashville any time soon." He squeezed her closer.

  "I intend to speak to Molly, but I'm not asking you to perform. I want to hire you to write."

  "Write?"

  "Yes, write, for my studio." Herb took out a business card, handed it to Trace.

  "This was unexpected." Trace said, taking the card.

  "Call me when you're ready." He handed Lisa his business card. "Now, Miss Jenkins, I'd like to speak to Molly. If she signs, I'm thinking of doing a tour next summer."

  "Molly would love that. Trace, wait for me?"

  "Forever," Trace said, and lowered his head for another kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lisa sat in the driver's seat of the Gator watching Trace scoop out the horse feed. While she waited, she gazed down the hill at the pasture, enjoying the breeze on her face and the sunshine on her back. Their five horses stood at the fence line, eager for Trace to push the feed dishes under the fence. From the utility vehicle she could see down the rolling hills covered in grass, ready for the eager horses to eat, and the bright green shade trees that bordered the property. She shifted her gaze to the right and took in his grandparents' farmhouse, now completely remodeled.

  They'd added cedar siding, a metal roof, and had the chimney rebuilt using Tennessee river rock. The house didn't look much like the farmhouse it used to be as it did a log cabin on the hill. It had been a trying four months, but the house was done. The rest of the place was coming along.

  It's was peaceful and quiet, different from Nashville. She could hear the horses snorting and Trace's gentle words to them. It was a gorgeous evening in late April, and she could hear the sound of crickets and frogs as they began to sing.

  "It's been a beautiful day." Lisa watched Trace push the last feed dish under the fence.

  "Yeah, it has. And a beautiful view, too." Trace picked up the empty feed bucket and started back toward her.

  "You're not looking at the view."

  Trace smiled. "Honey, you're the only view worth looking at." She returned his smile and met his lips when he bent to kiss her. "Off to the barn, Jeeves," He joked as he swung up into the seat next to her.

  "Very funny, Mister. Let's just sit here a while, okay? It feels nice right now. It's been hot for spring."

  "Sure, we'll sit." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  Lisa settled close to him, continuing to stare past the horses and down the rolling hillside. Trace wiggled in the seat next to her, pulling her closer.

  "Moving out here was a great idea."

  "One of my better ones, I think, next to getting married." He lifted her left hand and fingered the gold band on her third finger.

  "Yes, that was a pretty good idea, too." Lisa thought back to their Christmas wedding at the farm. It was almost impossible to believe everything that had happened in such a short time.

  She heard a snore, and Lisa looked over at their Labradors, currently snoozing in the grass near the Gator. Trace had surprised her, bringing them home for her birthday in March. They weren't quite two months old and were like kids, playing fetch, swimming in the pond, discovering the world around them.

  Their five horses chewed their grain, intent on eating every bite from the dish. Lisa's favorite was Jasmine, a beautiful sorrel mare. She watched Jasmine finish eating, then try to steal food from the next dish.

  She couldn't believe this was her life. It was perfect.

  "Remember, Molly's coming to visit next week. We're meeting Herb and Patrick to talk about the new album and her tour with Michelle over the summer."

  Trace's words broke her from her reverie.

  "I remember, it's on the calendar. She's going to have fun."

  "I remember my first tour. Let's hope she doesn't have that much fun."

  Lisa sat up and gave Trace a playful swat on the shoulder, laughing, then settled back under the crook of his arm, laying her head on his shoulder.

  They sat in the stillness of the late April evening, lost in their own thoughts. Dragonflies buzzed past them, horses snorted as they finished eating, the puppies snoring and wiggling as they dreamed. The late afternoon sun blanketed the rolling hills in golden light.

  Not a bad life, Lisa thought, for two idiots in love.

  ### END ###

  About the Author

  Christina Routon is originally from Manchester, Georgia, and currently lives in Alabama with her family. She works from home as a general transcriptionist, which allows her time to write fiction and non-fiction as well as work on her general transcription website. A self-professed geek, she enjoys tabletop role-playing games, watching Doctor Who (David Tennant is her favorite, but Matt Smith is growing on her), and watching anything written or produced by Stephen Moffat or Joss Whedon.

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  A Note from the Author

 
After struggling with weight loss for most of my life, I have recently been diagnosed with a fat disorder called Lipedema along with secondary Lymphodema. This disorder affects millions of women and is typically misdiagnosed as obesity, although obesity can be present and could hide the disorder. Lipedema is genetic and causes adipose fat to collect in the legs. This fat cannot be dieted or exercised away. Usually a person with Lipedema is a smaller size on her upper body and a larger size on her lower body. Many doctors in the United States aren't familiar with Lipedema and treatments consist only of massage therapy, dietary changes and liposuction, although there is controversy over surgery for Lipedema patients. Due to lack of awareness of this fat disorder, I am donating up to 10 percent of the proceeds of all of my writing to CureLipedema.org, a foundation founded by Dr. Karen Herbst of San Diego, California, to help raise money for Lipedema research.