The trip to Nashville had been a long one, but he was glad to be back. The town was a musician’s haven – everything was available and accessible, but people knew when to leave you the hell alone. In his experience, the ladies down here were more concerned with the likes of Keith Urban and Tim McGraw than himself, and he was fine with that.
Last’s year song, Who Says You Can’t Go Home had been a success – earning the band their first Grammy much to everyone’s surprise and pleasure. He’d argued with himself about tempting fate with returning to Nashville for an entire album. It felt right though, for what he wanted to accomplish with this upcoming album. And here he was.
Richie wasn’t due to arrive until the following morning, and Jon was enjoying the solitude. He didn’t get much of it; nights to himself were few and far between. After checking in to his hotel and catching a quick nap, he pulled on a baseball cap and sunglasses and headed for a bar around the corner.
Benny’s was always crowded on the weekends, but remained relatively quiet through the weeknights. It was always dimly lit, with what little light there was focusing on the small stage at the back of the room. Local musicians frequented the stage, mostly playing for fun and friends. Nobody played there to get noticed; people played there to entertain and enjoy themselves. Stepping in, the heavy smell of smoke and alcohol hit him like a brick, and Jon grinned. He was home.
“What can I get ya, stranger?” she asked, her eyes bright and her smile brighter. If she recognized him, she gave no hint of it. Or maybe she didn’t care. Jon gave her an order and watched as she maneuvered around behind the bar, tipping out the ingredients expertly.
“Eight even, honey,” she said, sliding the glass to him. Jon pulled out a twenty and slipped it to her with a grin.
“Keep the change,” he called over his shoulder as he settled into a chair in a corner. He sipped lazily at his drink, taking the opportunity to check his phone for missed calls and messages. None, he snorted at himself. Guess he wasn’t that important after all. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned his attention to the stage.
A young guy – maybe in his mid twenties – was taking the stage with an acoustic guitar in hand. He strummed a few chords out painfully, but he managed to get a hold of himself halfway through the song. He wasn’t that bad once he’d warmed up, and Jon could see why the regulars had been cheering for him to play. He knew how to work the crowd – what little crowd there was, anyhow. Seven songs later, Jon was impressed by the young man. He was rough around the edges, no doubt, but he had some great potential there. Even he had to admit he was a little dismayed when he moved to put his guitar down.
“How about it, ladies and gents? Think we can talk Miss Natalie over there into playing for us?”
Jon’s attention turned to where all the other faces were looking – the woman behind the counter. He couldn’t really see her expression in the dim lighting, but the outline of her hand on her hip and the rigid way she stood told him she didn’t appreciate the invitation. A couple of men up front cheered, urging her forward. Even a few of the other waitresses and bartenders had joined in, nudging her toward the stage. She reluctantly climbed the few steps to the wooden platform, and took the guitar from the mop headed boy with definite attitude. She was shaking her head and laughing, he noticed, as she settled onto the stool. The guy who’d coaxed her on to the stage grinned murderously before he disappeared into the shadows, leaving her alone on the stage.
“Well, I guess ya’ll can thank Andy for this one later,” she said with a smirk as she jerked her head to the departing man. Jon got the feeling she wasn’t accustomed to performing, and that had the room been filled with anyone other than a few buzzed men, she wouldn’t have obliged.
What she strummed out caused a grin to form across his face. He’d recognize one of his songs anywhere. She sighed a little before she began singing, and Jon saw the hesitation flash across her face.
“Should have seen it comin when the roses died…
Should have seen the end of summer in your eyes…
Should have listened when you said goodnight…
You really meant goodbye…”
Jon was surprised that such a voice could come from such a small girl. It was sweet but powerful, and almost painfully raw. The emotion in her voice reverberated through the room, and Jon sensed that she felt that song inside her heart and out. He guessed that she’d probably lived it. He, like the rest in the room, was captivated by her. Sure, her voice wasn’t the best they’d ever heard. But she meant it when she sang, and she sang straight from her heart to their’s.
When she finished, she held the guitar in hand and looked out at the faces in front of her. She paled visibly, almost as if she’d only just remembered she was in front of people. Jon knew that feeling all too well – he lost himself in performances in songs all the time. He just wasn’t there when he sang them, he was in the song…in the memory. A string of claps seemed to relax her, and she readjusted the guitar in her lap.
“Enough of that,” she said, her Southern accent thick. She began a song the rest of the room seemed to recognize instantly, but Jon had never heard it before. A couple of squeals from behind the bar caught his attention, and he saw two of the waitress bouncing around in anticipation. On the stage, Natalie smiled back at them and nodded, urging them to sing along with her. She strummed at the guitar idly, almost like she was forgetting to play the song as she and her friends got caught up in singing it.
“I remember it all very well looking back, it was the summer I turned eighteen
We lived in a one room run down shack on the outskirts of New Orleans
We didn’t have money for food or rent, to say the least we were hard pressed
And Mama spent every last penny we had to buy me a dancin’ dress…”
Natalie seemed to enjoy this song, laughing in between lyrics at the antics her friends were putting on in the front of the bar. She began to dance a little, as much as her stool would allow, and pulled funny faces at the people in front of her. When she reached the chorus of the song, she stood and belted it out like she’d been doing it for years. Her friends in the back joined in, singing at the top of their lungs as well.
“She said here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down
Here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down
Lord, forgive me for what I do
But if you want out, well it’s up to you
Now don’t let me down now
Your mama’s gonna move you uptown.”
Jon grinned, remembering the days when he and the boys got to clown around in clubs and bars pulling shit out of their ass. The days of those small, homey performances were gone, and he knew it sounded ridiculous to say he missed them. The girl played two more songs – one that he didn’t recognize and Peggy Lee’s “Fever.” When she stepped off the stage, she stepped back into being shy. She gave a little curtsy and laughed, but headed back for her post at the bar and all but disappeared into the nightlife.
