Traffic on the I-440 West into Nashville was a nightmare and Katie started to panic, thinking she might miss the eight o’clock start of Clay’s show. She pulled into the unassuming strip mall where the Bluebird Café was located and found a parking space relatively close to the entrance. It surprised her that the famous club was situated in such a common area and not downtown where the tourists flocked. Quickly, she glanced in the vanity mirror of her car and smoothed her hair before exiting. She jogged to the entrance sheltered by a navy-blue awning with the white, cursive lettering of the Bluebird logo.
“That’ll be twenty dollars,” a large, grizzly-looking man muttered. She couldn’t see his lips because of the shaggy beard that covered most of his face.
“Yeah, I’m on the list. Katie Parker?”
The man grabbed a clipboard and scrolled the paper with his fingertip. “No, ma’am. No Katie Parker on this list.”
She blushed, totally embarrassed by what she was about to say. “Is there a ‘Hot Mama’ on your list?” He scrolled again, this time landing on the nick-name. His bushy eyebrow peaked with humor, and he chuckled. “Enjoy the show.” He motioned with his arm toward the front door.
Katie offered the man a polite smile and adjusted the straps of her purse over her shoulder, tilting her head high with dignity. “Well played Georgia Clay,” she muttered, touched by his teasing. She’d get him back, eventually.
The room was smaller than she had imagined. Tiny tables and rickety chairs were crammed into every nook and cranny around a small stage area flush with the floor, the room looking like it could only hold a few dozen people. The place was packed, the buzz of conversation and tinkling glasses prevalent. Faded, autographed posters of famous artists decorated the walls along with cheap, white Christmas lights haphazardly strung in a zigzag formation as if someone used a stapler to tack them up. The distinct smell of fried food wafted in the air and from the looks of the small plates on some of the tables, typical bar food appeared to be on the menu. Canned music was playing softly, and she noticed a trio of casually dressed musicians already set up and ready, but no sign of Clay. A couple of gorgeous guitars stood upright in stands making her wonder if they were his.
“Hot Mama…”
Katie jumped as Clay’s arms came around her waist from behind, his warm, husky voice floating over her ear. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned back into his embrace exhaling.
He turned her around in the dimly lit area of the club, his smile at one hundred watts. “You made it.”
His handsome, no-fuss looks took her breath away, and she could only nod in response, all thoughts of getting even for listing her as “Hot Mama,” gone. His eyes sparkled as he tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingertips sending prickles down her spine. “I have a special seat reserved just for you. It’s kind of near the back. The acoustics are better from there.”
“Okay,” she replied, her entire body reeling being in such proximity to him.
He looked to the left, then to the right before pulling her into the tiny hallway next to the bathrooms. Pushing her up against the wall, he rested his palms on either side of her head and stared into her eyes. She watched him lick his upper lip before moving forward and grazing his mouth against hers. A small moan escaped her lips as she closed her eyes, allowing him to kiss her in the shadows away from the crowd. His tongue darted in and out of the seam of her mouth, and she felt his hands cup her face. There was a hint of peppermint on his breath as if he had recently chewed gum or sucked on a mint.
“I’ve been dying to do that since I left you on Sunday,” he whispered. Katie nodded, wide-eyed and wanting from the kiss, aware that her knees felt rubbery. For some reason, she felt tongue-tied and couldn’t speak.
Clay hugged her quickly before stepping back and grabbing her hand. “Come on then. Let me show you to your table.” Leading her into the crowded listening room, several patrons eyed them curiously. One lone, tiny table with a reserved sign was vacant in the packed house. “Jeanette will take care of you. Order anything you want.” Katie nodded and sat in the rickety chair that he pulled out for her. “I hope you enjoy the show.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her. She could tell he was excited.
“Break a leg!” she said exuberantly, finding her voice which made his grin wider. He kissed her on the head and ambled his way through the tables and chairs, his denim-covered backside a lovely sight to behold.
“Hey darlin’, what can I get ya? Anything you want, on the house.”
Katie looked up and smiled at the waitress named Jeanette who would be taking care of her during the show. She was a pretty little thing dressed casually in faded jeans, a Bluebird Café t-shirt, and cowboy boots. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
“Ginger ale if you have it, please.”
“You got it, girlie.”
Katie didn’t want to drink any alcohol. She wanted to concentrate fully on Clay and his music, uninhibited and totally focused. She watched him banter with the other musicians as they tuned their instruments. All of them seemed relaxed and totally in their element. A big guy wearing a distressed trucker cap grabbed a microphone out of the stand and started to speak. Katie couldn’t help but notice that he wore cowboy boots too. As she looked around at different patrons, it seemed like everyone was wearing boots. She randomly thought that maybe she should re-think the whole shoe situation while in Nashville…
“Welcome everyone to the Bluebird Café. How many first-timers we got out there?” A few hoots and hollers echoed in the space among a smattering of polite applause.
“Well then, y’all need to remember this is a listening room. Talking is strictly discouraged. We want y’all to focus on the music and connect with the emotion of the song and its creator. This is a songwriter’s mecca, and you are in the presence of greatness tonight.” The whole room suddenly erupted in applause as the big man was about to introduce Clay.
“Back from his recent Grammy award and Oscar-nomination for his hit crossover song, “Forever in Love”, the Bluebird is proud to introduce to you, two-time ASCAP Country Songwriter of the Year and recent Nashville Songwriter Hall of Fame inductee—Mr. Georgia Clay!”
The audience went nuts as the house lights surrounding the performance area dimmed. Clay didn’t miss a beat, immediately strumming an up-tempo tune on his acoustic guitar. The crowd noise dissipated as a fiddle, second acoustic and banjo player joined in the melody. Katie had a perpetual grin on her face and had to remind herself to breathe while taking it all in. Clay’s jaw clenched as he concentrated on an intricate riff going into the first verse, his reverberated voice catching her off guard when he started to sing into the microphone. The pureness and tone of the sound echoing in the room surrounded her like a warm embrace. When she had arrived at the Bluebird, she seriously thought she was going to watch a handsome, award-winning guy perform a few of his original songs on a Thursday night with a backup band. She had no idea he could play an instrument or sing like that, and hearing him now, in real time, his effortless singing and playing blew her mind. He was the star of the show, no doubt.
Watching his long fingers move along the frets of the neck of the guitar and listening to his deep, sexy voice made her entire body tremble. She couldn’t take her eyes off him or take it all in fast enough. The way he tapped his left boot while sitting on a chair, his legs open wide with the body of his guitar resting on his right thigh. The way he and the other musicians tapped in time, as if they were in the center of someone’s living room having a jam session. The way his strong jawline naturally moved as he sang about picking up a girl in his truck wearing dirty boots and a smile, the memorable tune making her bite her lower lip so she wouldn’t break her face with an enormous, ear-splitting grin. The way his dark curls bounced over his ears as his entire body got deeper into the pulsing, country rhythm. This was not what she expected. The announcer was correct—she was in the presence of greatness. Why Georgia Clay Watkins wasn’t on the road in his own sell-out tour was beyond her comprehension.
When the song ended, the entire room erupted in a frenzy of applause and vocal adulation. Katie clapped her hands together as fast as she could and looked around at the fans who must have realized they truly lucked out on this random Thursday night at the Bluebird. Her hand shook as she brought her drink up to her dry mouth to take a sip, reeling from the live experience of a single Georgia Clay song.
Clay performed several more familiar songs without any banter in between. She recognized radio hits made famous by Keith Urban, Tim McGraw, and Blake Shelton. Clay’s success as a writer was unfathomable. Katie drained her beverage and began to wonder if he was ever going to speak to the crowd. As that thought crossed her mind, he started to talk.
“Thanks so much…for being here tonight,” Clay slowly said into the microphone, his voice deep and smooth. He was much more reserved when he spoke as opposed to his singing. This took Katie by surprise.
“You might recognize this next song. Sung originally by the great Brett Young, it recently crossed over into pop music featured in the movie, The Watchman…” The crowd started to get amped up as if knowing he was about to segue into his Grammy-award-winning song. He paused biting his lower lip, shaking his head and smiling at his bandmates, waiting for the noise to die down. “Here’s ‘Forever in Love’…”
Katie almost covered her ears with her hands because the shrieks and clapping of the audience were so loud. It only lasted a moment, the silence in the room immediately so prevalent you could hear a pin drop as the audience hung on every note and every word. The haunting melody was stripped down in the unplugged version Clay played. Moved to tears, Katie listened as he told the story through music about a love that he would never get over. She looked around the room at the mesmerized faces of his fans, tears streaming down more than one person’s face in the crowd. She could see the emotions the song conveyed and the profound effect it had on people. It was a captivating experience hearing the song performed by the creator himself. This was a moment she would never forget. It was pure magic.
When Clay strummed the last note in tandem with the haunting, sustained, single note of the fiddle player, it was as if time stood still. His head was bowed as if in worship, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took. Katie couldn’t imagine the exertion his entire body had gone through in conveying the emotions of the incredible story told through music. The roar of the crowd startled her as she watched every man and woman stand, offering Clay a heartfelt ovation. When he looked up and into the crowd, his eyes locked in on hers. She didn’t realize she was on her feet too, clapping with everything she had and nodding with pride, staring back at him through glistening tears. He absolutely took her breath away.
*
Clay had given it his all, putting every emotion and every ounce of energy he had into his songs that night. Looking around at the clapping crowd on their feet, he took in deep breaths through his nose while feeling sweat trickle down his back and cheeks. His eyes locked in on Katie who was nodding and clapping, noticeable tears streaming down her face. Pure joy erupted in his being, knowing that he had moved her through his music. He offered her a genuine smile, thinking to himself she was the most beautiful girl in the room. The trio of musicians stood and bowed, then Clay stood slowly to another deafening eruption of the crowd roaring. Exhausted, he held his hand up and waved. The house lights came on, and the room was abuzz with excitement, audience members swarming the small stage area for autographs. Typically, he didn’t mind meeting fans of his music, happy to sign whatever they shoved into his face. Tonight was different. He was anxious to be with Katie and get her take on all of this.
“Oh, my gawd,” an over-zealous, twenty-something girl vocalized dramatically when it was her turn to have Clay’s attention. “Can I get a selfie with you? Please?”
Clay smiled casually. “Sure.”
The girl immediately got into his personal space, clinging to his waist and leaning her face against his shoulder. He stood stiffly as she held up her phone wrapped in a sparkly pink case and clicked a button several times before kissing him quickly on the cheek. “You’re my favorite country artist, Georgia Clay!”
Embarrassed, Clay shrugged. He had never gotten used to the star-struck fans who fawned all over him. “Thank you so much.”
“She’s right you know.”
Clay looked to his right, his face lighting up with recognition. “Hey man! Good to see you!”
He bear-hugged his friend Buddy Collins. Buddy was a bigwig at the Warner Music Group overseeing new talent in the Nashville division. The huge record label conglomerate was the third largest recording company in the global music industry next to Universal and Sony, its headquarters located in New York City. It humored Clay that he and Buddy had hit it off when one of his very first songs hit the charts several years ago. Buddy was just a good ole boy, the two of them bonding over several fishing trips on his property outside of Nashville in the prestigious Brentwood area. Clay made it very clear from day one that he was not interested in being a touring artist—that he was a songwriter and had no intentions of going out on the road to perform as a solo act. Buddy begrudgingly accepted Clay’s choice, but because they had become such good friends over the years, every so often he would broach the subject, especially after another Georgia Clay song would make it into the top ten.
“How many times do I have to try to convince you that you’re a true country artist, Clay? I mean, did you not see the reaction tonight? Imagine what that would be like in an arena tour!”
Clay laughed, running his hand through his disheveled hair. “And how many times do I need to remind you that I’m not interested in a world tour.”
The two friends laughed, Buddy conceding and shaking his head. He put his hands on his hips as a serious expression crossed his rugged features. “Seriously, that was incredible tonight. You had the entire audience captivated with every note and every word. I’m proud of you.”
Clay blew a puff of air out of his nose and shrugged. “Thanks, man. I enjoy the intimate setting of the Bluebird. It’s a pretty special place.”
Buddy nodded in agreement. “It’s where you were discovered. I get it. Some of the greatest country artists of all time played here. Garth, Taylor… Clay Watkins.”
“Good try, Buddy,” Clay laughed.
“Let me buy you a drink. We need to compare calendars and get us a fishing trip lined up.”
Clay handed off his guitars to one of the tech team. “I got company tonight, bro.”
“Company?”
Clay sheepishly smiled, shoving his hands into his denim pockets. “Yeah. A girl from my old high school in Atlanta drove up to see me.” He looked over at Katie’s table and noticed her chatting with the waitress. “I’m kind of busy tonight.”
Buddy nodded with a smirk on his face. “A girl drove all the way from Atlanta to see you?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, are you gonna introduce me?”
Clay rolled his eyes. “Real quick, then you need to go.”
“Such a bossy country artist,” Buddy teased, making Clay laugh again.