03.

“Wake up, you lazy ass.”

The voice on the other side of his door was unmistakable, and Jon groaned as he rolled from his bed. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched his chest as he padded across the floor to the door and pulled it open.

“I love waking up to your sorry ass,” Jon mumbled, sleep still evident in his voice.
“I know, right? What a way to start your day, you lucky son of a bitch.”

Richie looked good, having finally put the past behind him. He’d cleaned up his act for real and for good, and all for his little girl. He still indulged in a drink now and then (hey, he was a rockstar), but he (and the rest of the band) had learned how to keep things in check. He’d even started working out, more or less as a way to pass the time than to actually get in shape. He’d found that he had a lot of free time without a woman on his arm, and there was only so far a guitar could go.

Richie made himself at home on the edge of Jon’s bed, looking around the room with mild interest.

“What’d you do last night?” he asked, standing and crossing to the dresser where a few magazines had been left. He thumbed through them all, glancing at a few headlines and pictures. Jon, who’d heard the call of nature, answered him from the bathroom to the right.

“Went to Benny’s. You remember that old bar down the corner?”
“Oh, right. The cheap one?”
“That’s the one,” Jon laughed.
“And what’s on the itinerary for today then, Boss?”

Jon came to the doorway, a toothbrush shoved in his mouth. “I figured we’d hang around town, see what we came up with. I’ve got a couple ideas already,” he said, though it sounded more like gibberish as he spoke while brushing his teeth. Richie, however, had known him long enough and understood him perfectly.

“Sounds good to me. I got a couple ideas myself. Would you hurry up? I’m hungry, and nobody eats breakfast like these damned Southerners.”

Richie had a point. Southerners ate like no other. Portions were huge and full of grease and butter. And there was always more. Ten minutes later, Jon and Richie were walking down the street to a place the woman at the front desk had recommended, Arnold’s Country Kitchen. Stepping in, Jon scanned the main wall. It was full of black and white pictures of several artists – some he recognized, others he didn’t. All were autographed and framed, and a couple even commented on the food here. The look of the place itself was something else, and he knew Richie was thinking it too. It looked like they’d stepped straight back into the seventies. Richie grinned and raised an eyebrow, but took a seat in a booth.

“Christ, Sambora, why do you always gotta pick a table by the bathroom?”
“What? It’s clean,” he argued with a shrug.
“Yeah, and we get to listen to people flushing their shit while we eat.”

Richie laughed and Jon rolled his eyes, though Richie knew better than to think Jon was genuinely bothered. An older woman came to take their orders, and she smiled a little longer at Jon and Richie than she had at anyone else. “I liked that song of yours’, boys. Real nice,” she said, filling their cups with coffee and nodding approvingly. “’Course, you two’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” she added, tipping her head to the wall. Richie and Jon both laughed as she disappeared back into the kitchens. Jon had the distinct feeling that Maggie – he’d read her nametag – had no idea who Bon Jovi was, other than the band that had put out a single with Sugarland.

Half an hour later, Jon and Richie were both leaning back in their seats, Richie running a satisfied hand over his stomach. “I need to find me a Southern woman,” he said with a grin. “So I can get old and fat.” Jon nodded and wiped his fingers idly on a napkin, “I hear ya, man. Ready?” Richie nodded and left a tip on the table as Jon stuck one last piece of bacon in his mouth.

The pair then headed to the studio, playing around with a few songs they’d come up with prior to arriving in Nashville. Jon had a song almost pounded out that Richie realized instantly was about him and the battles he’d found in the previous year and a half. He acknowledged it with a simple shake of his head as he picked up the guitar, but Jon understood.

“These trinkets were once treasure
Life changes like the weather
You grow up, you grow old, or you
Hit the road ‘round here…”

All in all, it was a good session. Richie and Jon had managed to crank out a couple more quality songs before calling it a day. Jon could have spent twelve more hours in that room, but he could sense Richie was growing restless. Heading out the back door, they both stretched and scanned up and down the street.

“We calling it a day?” Richie asked, looking over at Jon.
“Nah. Let’s head over to Benny’s. There’s something there you oughta see.”

Richie cocked his head back in interest, but Jon waved his questions off. They got in the car and headed that direction, listening to a country station on the way over. Big N Rich came across the speakers, singing a song unlike any Jon had ever heard them sing…8th of November. Before the song had finished, however, they were at Benny’s. Jon pulled in and killed the headlights as they stepped out.

Given the fact that it was a Wednesday night in Tennesee, Jon assumed the place wouldn’t be that crowded. He was right. He guessed he counted a little over twenty – maybe twenty-five -- heads as they stepped through the double doors. He and Richie settled in at the same table Jon had sat the night before.

“Well?” Richie asked, looking around. He hardly saw anything spectacular, nothing he hadn’t seen before.
“See that girl behind the bar?” Jon asked, dipping his head toward her. Richie followed his gaze and was unimpressed.
“What about her?”
“You gotta hear her sing.”
Richie looked at her again, not wholly convinced that this was worth the trip. He glanced back at the stage, and it didn’t look set up for anyone to sing. There was a woman on stage in a plaid shirt telling (bad) jokes.

“It doesn’t look like she’s going to be singing tonight. Looks to me like she’s manning the bar,” Richie said, shifting in his seat.
“She’ll get up there. Someone has to make her, but she’ll do it. She sang last night…sang three or four songs. I’m telling you, man, she’s good. She’ll make you feel it.”

Richie snickered and looked back at the woman again. She looked young, and he looked back at Jon in time to see him roll his eyes once again. “Jesus, you’re such a fucking teenager. She’ll make you feel the music, Sambora.” Richie laughed, having been teasing Jon, and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Jon asked, tilting his head up at his friend.
“To get us some drinks. And to see if I can’t persuade little miss songbird onto the stage,” he glanced back at said stage, “and little miss Martha May off of it.”

“Hey there, baby,” Richie said smoothly as he leaned against the splintered wood. The lady behind the counter surveyed him over black rimmed glasses.
“Hey there,” she answered, though it was clear in her tone that she wasn’t interested in playing games.
“Can I get one beer and a water?” he asked, straightening and reaching in his pocket for some cash.
“Sure can, that all?”
“Actually, no,” he answered, handing her the money and taking the drinks, “Can I get you up on that stage over there?” he asked, jerking his head in that direction. The woman glanced at the stage and back at him before laughing.
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked, wiping the bar in front of her.
“No, baby, my buddy says he heard you sing last night and we were hoping for an encore. What do you say?”

To the woman’s left, another one froze and turned around. The woman in the glasses laughed again and motioned at the other one.

“You’ve got your girls backwards, Mister. Natalie here is the one that sings. I’m afraid I’d make your ears bleed.”

Richie was far too full of himself to let his mistake be a blow to his ego, and he laughed at himself along with the woman in the glasses. Natalie, on the other hand, looked at Richie like he had two heads.

“What do you say then, Natalie? Will you sing for us?” Richie asked, taking a gulp of his drink.
“I don’t know—“ she began, but he interrupted her.
“C’mon. A little birdie told me you’re good,” he pressured. The woman in glasses had joined Richie in his effort and took the cloth from Natalie’s hand.
“Stop being such a baby, girl. Get up there. Your public needs you,” she teased, swatting Natalie’s backside playfully with the towel as she pushed her from behind the counter.
“Fine,” Natalie relented, glaring at the woman, “I’ll sing when the stage is free.”

Richie returned to the table with Jon, who had watched the whole exchange and was delighting in his friend’s very public mistake.

“Kiss my ass. I got her to sing, didn’t I?” Richie asked, tossing Jon his beer.
“Once you found the right one, and not yet,” he laughed, popping it open.

No sooner had Jon made the comment did Natalie take the stage, holding the same guitar she’d held the night before. Martha settled down at a table directly in front of Natalie, grinning and apparently unfazed by being replaced on the stage.

“Anything you guys wanna hear?” Natalie asked, her attention faced directly on those who were closest to her. A man to her left shouted out a song Jon and Richie both recognized, as it had bridged the gap between several genres of music. Natalie laughed and argued that she didn’t know the chords for that song, but fought a losing battle when the man rose and put a couple of quarters in the jukebox. A few seconds later, Natalie was singing along with Carrie Underwood.

Richie glanced at Jon, who held up one finger as though saying “Wait for it.” Richie – still, even now that he was looking at the right person – wasn’t all that impressed. Her voice was mediocre at best, and her stage presence was lacking. It wasn’t until she settled back into her stool and pulled the guitar to her that he realized maybe he’d initially underestimated her. The song was slow and haunting, and Richie noticed Natalie’s eyes remained closed for the duration of the song.

“We lie in the dark, I know you’re awake
But the only sounds are the sounds this old house makes
Oh, how I long…I long to hear your voice
Desperate to talk, yearning to touch
Burning inside, ‘cause I want you so much
So I say I need you, I leave you no choice
You lie…you don’t want to hurt me
So you lie…buy a little time
And I go along, what else can I do?
Maybe it’s wrong, but you know how much I love you
So you lie…till you can find a way to say goodbye…
You lie.”

The word ‘lie’ was so drawn out that it spanned several notes and sounded several syllables. Richie realized what Jon had seen in this girl, and he too took notice of her. She sang the truth. He couldn’t help but smirk at her skills on the guitar, though the size of her hands hardly helped her out in that department. When she finished, she smiled sheepishly and accepted a low applause.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be Reba, but I can sure as hell try,” she said with a nervous laugh. Richie turned to Jon, who was smirking victoriously. “All right, all right,” Richie relented with a grin, “You were right. She’s something.”
“She sang us last night,” Jon said with a nod.
“Really?” Richie asked, surprised. This didn’t seem like the type of place that would sing a Bon Jovi song.
“Yeah. Sounded all right.”
“Not as good as us,” Richie added.
“’Course not, shithead.”

On stage, Natalie had started in on another song. It might have been the only song she played that night that Jon and Richie knew and the rest didn’t. Her performance of “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” was pretty good, but she sang it just like Bret Michaels had. Nothing all that original.

A few songs and laughs later, Natalie was off the stage and handing the guitar over to a friend. She smiled a couple of thank you’s and made a beeline back for the bar, greeting a couple of latecomers as they filed in.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night,” Jon said, rising from the table. Richie stood as well, though he wasn’t ready to leave.
“Well then, have a good one. I think I’m gonna hang around here for a while,” Richie said, clapping a hand over Jon’s shoulder. Jon eyed him warily, and Richie grinned.
“I’ll be a good boy, Pops, I promise.”

Jon surveyed Richie for a minute, but nodded and gave him a brief hug before heading for the door. He knew Richie’s change was for the best and that Richie was serious about it, and the hesitation he had about leaving Richie alone at a bar faded as he left.

Richie watched him go before picking up his glass and returning to the bar. He purposely sat directly in front of Natalie and placed his glass on the countertop.

“How about a refill?” he asked, and she obliged quickly.
“Sure thing, there you go.”
“You’re a regular box of sunshine, you know that?” he asked, the hint of a smile playing across his lips. Natalie turned and eyed him, confused and unsure whether or not she should be offended.
“Those songs. They’re enough to send anyone home in a cloud.”
“Oh,” Natalie laughed, embarrassed. “Was I that bad?”
”Oh, no no no,” Richie argued, “I didn’t mean it like that. You were good. They sounded good, I mean. Just real downers. Sad songs. Depressing, even.”
“Oh, well, you are in Nashville, cowboy,” Natalie reasoned with a shrug. Richie eyed her and, even through the darkness of the room, could see that she was no longer smiling.

Natalie turned her attention to a young man a couple of stools over from Richie, and he watched the easy way she laughed with him. He was obviously someone she knew, and she served him a drink without taking an order. He could also tell that the man was interested in her – probably had been for some time – but she subtly and politely quelled all of his advances. Richie and Jon both had a habit of watching and observing people; it was like doing research for a song. Natalie glanced over at him every once in a while, catching him at it. Richie didn’t bother looking away; he didn’t think there was any point. Up close to her now, Richie got a good look at her. She wasn’t extraordinarily attractive; he’d seen better looking girls. But she had a natural beauty to her, one that seemed to radiate from some place inside her. Her smile was infectious and beaming, and Richie noticed that she flashed it often. Richie was watching the way her eyes crinkled a bit as she laughed when she finally made her way back over to him.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked hesitantly, and Richie realized he was among the last three people in the bar.
“Nope,” he answered, sliding his empty glass to her.
“All right then, can I ask you a question?”
“I think you just did,” Richie answered lightly, expecting her to ask why he’d been watching her for the better part of forty-five minutes.
”You know what I mean,” she sassed, swinging all her weight onto one hip. “Why would someone come into a bar and stay half the night without ever ordering a drink?”
“I did order a drink,” Richie countered, inclining his head to the glass in her hand. “I came for the entertainment, not for the buzz.”

Natalie nodded and leaned against the bar as she looked around the room. “Where did your friend go, anyhow?” she asked, not seeing any unfamiliar figures.
“He left about an hour ago to get some sleep. He’s an old man now.”
“And what are you?” Natalie laughed.
“Ouch. Jesus. I thought you were supposed to have that southern hospitality thing going on down here.”
“I’m only picking on you. You can’t be more than – what – thirty-five? Forty at the most?”

It was Richie’s turn to laugh now, and he shook his head at the lady in front of him.

“Christ. I wish. Try forty-five,” he answered, lying through his teeth. But forty-five sounded better than forty-eight, and was closer to the truth than something like forty.
“No way,” Natalie said, resting her chin her palm.
“Afraid so. Now, seeing as how you’re working in a bar…you’ve gotta be around twenty-one, right?””Roundabout there, yeah” she answered with a grin playing across her features. She finally shook her head and revealed the truth, “Thirty-three.”
“How long have you been playing?” Richie followed abruptly, catching Natalie offguard. She looked to the ceiling as if counting up the years in her head before bringing her face back down to his.
“Ah…around twelve years, I guess? I kinda just picked it up in college one day. I couldn’t read music to save my life though.”

This surprised Richie, and he turned his head back to the stage. Natalie, as if reading his mind, continued.

“I watched people play. After seeing the same song a couple of times, I could remember where my hands needed to go to play it myself. Got a good memory, I guess.. I finally taught myself to read music about two or three years later. I’ve sang since I was just a kid, but I was always too shy to do it in front of people. Andy – he’s one of the regular musicians – heard me singing along with the jukebox one day and got me down there to sing with him. It stills scares the shit out of me sometimes, but once I get there…I’m okay. Do you play?”

The innocence of her question made Richie laugh out loud, and he wondered if she was pulling his leg. Just then, the lights in the bar came on and the entire place was illuminated.

“Fuck me,” Natalie gasped out, her eyes wide as she got a good look at who it was she was speaking to. This only caused Richie to laugh more, but Natalie’s cheeks were burning furiously.
“Yeah, I play a little,” Richie joked.
“No shit,” Natalie answered, shaking her head. “Never in my life did I think you’d be in here, sweet baby Jesus.”
“I told you, I heard the entertainment was good.”
“Your friend – that wasn’t?”
“Yeah. That was Jon. He heard you sing last night,” Richie explained. Natalie’s face was nine shades of red, and Richie was deeply amused by her embarrassment.
“…I sang a Bon Jovi song last night,” she admitted miserably.
“I heard,” Richie laughed, almost feeling sorry for her, “Sorry I missed it.”
“You’re awful,” Natalie said with a shake of her head.
“Been that way all my life, baby,” he said with a dangerous smile. Natalie covered her face in her hands and groaned, feeling about two inches tall.
“Well, Ri—“ she started, but her face grew contorted as she wondered what she should call him, “Er…Mr. Sambora..I’m not going to say that I hate to say it, because I don’t, because I’m feeling like a dumbass right now, but we’re closing for the night,” Natalie said, staring somewhere over Richie’s shoulder.
“Mr. Sambora makes me feel old. Don’t be embarrassed. We’d have left if you sounded like shit or something. Keep at it. Who knows what might happen.”

Richie tipped his hat at her – like a true cowboy – and left the bar.