Page 10 of She's My Kind Of Rain

The sound of Nancy clearing her throat snaps me out of my daze, drawing my attention back to the bar. “Here’s your whiskey, sweetie, and your beer…” She winks at Rhett in an obviously joking manner, and I can tell right away that this is the start to a beautiful friendship amongst us three—though that could be the tequila talking. She giggles when he winks back. “Have either of y’all ever had our famous Bushwacker?”

“Now, Nancy, I didn’t know this place was full service.” Rhett chuckles at his joke, and Nancy and I follow suit. “But whatever that girlie drink is, it’ll probably ruin our rough and tumble image.”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s like a chocolate coconut milkshake dream. They are todiefor. the pleasure they bring with the music you’llhear, is nothing short of full-service, i assure you that.” She lets out a soft laugh. “Ya boys truly need to get over the rough and tumble exterior thing. Live a little.”

“No we don’t, Nanc! If anything, Sawyer needs to buckle down with his rough and tumble exterior if he ever wants to look like a true country singer,” Rhett replies.

I raise my glass to his remark, downing my whiskey as I think back to how I choked in front of a room full of people less than an hour ago. Trying to shift the subject off music, hoping not to embarrass myself any further, I say, “I’ve got to be somewhat of a true cowboy. I have a horse and a barn and, hell, I even got a ranch hand.” I shoulder bump him with a wide smirk on my face.

“Now I ain’t his ranch hand,” Rhett grins back, turning towards Nancy. “But I do like to earn my keep, beings as he don’t charge me to take up space on his little ranch, if we can even call it that.” He lets out an exaggerated huff. “So Nanc, any insider word on how Sawyer here can get a spot on that stage?”

My eyes must nearly fall out of my head because he adds, “If he wants to, that is.”

“Unfortunately, ya have to be invited to that stage, hon. I have no sway on who gets a spot, but if you’re good, I’m sure that time will come.” She pats my hand that rests next to my now empty cup. “Where else have ya sang?”

Rhett jumps in before I can respond. “Nowhere just yet. He sings all the time while we’re at work, and the man has some serious talent. We’re just tryin’ to find the right way to go about it.”

“Ya probably can’t tell with my youthful glow,” she giggles, “but, I’ve been around for some time, and I’ve seen many careers from the very start. My best advice is to find a place that makes your heart sing, that way, part of ya is already in performance mode before ya even set foot on the stage.”

Her words resonate with me right away, and I find myself thinking about how The Westmore feels, versus the feeling I had gotten being in Gator Ray’s. This place begs to be graced with music and love, while that shithole needed to be graced with a good cleaning and some air freshener.

“Thank you for that, Nancy, really, it resonates more than I can ever express.” She didn’t know about the flop of my previous performance, and yet she found a way to erase a majority of how it made me feel.

She pats my hand again. “Don’t mention it, sweetie. Just don’t give up on your dreams when ya got ‘em. Life is far too short for that.” She shifts her gaze to Rhett. “And don’t ya go givin’ up on any dreams now either, ya hear?”

He looks to the performer walking off the stage and all the women who seem to be flooding that general location, then back at Nancy and myself. “Ya know, for now my dream is just to get Sawyer on that stage someday. And when he does, make sure ya tell every pretty lady in this bar before he gets off stage that I’m his best friend so I can plant myself right over there.” He points to a spot I can only identify as the groupie location. “I think many women will find it just as appealin’ that I’m the reason ya made it.” He winks and takes another sip of his beer.

“Are ya needing help in that department, hon?” She snickers, making her question seem more of a joke than an actual question, egging him on when it isn’t even necessary. And then she moves on down the bar to wait on her other customers.

“Ya know what? I really like her.” I can see the wheels turning in Rhett’s head. “I think it’s a good goal to eventually get ya on this stage, since I’m pretty sure it guarantees ya some traction. Might just have to hit the lotto here one of these nights and run into Blake Montgomery himself. If that happens, I swear to God, ya better just get on that fuckin’ stage, invite or not, and startsingin’ the best ya got. Hopefully he likes ya enough to bail your ass outta jail after, too.”

5

DAISY - MAY 10, 2004

This last weekwith Mom has made me realize that we’re more similar than I ever perceived. She paces around the kitchen while I pace around the rest of the house, anxiously collecting her things and stopping to laugh once she realizes we are both doing the same thing. Unplugging the new flip phone I convinced her to get—so that I can call heranywhere at any time—she verifies my number again as a taxi pulls up outside. We embrace each other in a tight hug, this farewell much different than all the rest, because this is the first time it will be a while until we see each other again. She kisses my cheek and warmth fills my heart. I really lucked out with a mom as amazing as her. Her love truly knows no bounds.

Opening the door, the taxi driver grabs her bag and they both head down the sidewalk to leave. I brush a single tear from my eye before she notices and wave until she’s out of sight.

Closing the door, I check the clock, noting that I have a little over half an hour before my shift at the coffee shop. I look over the notepad sitting on my counter, each step of my to-do list checked off, including updating my information with Telluride. I ponder the conversation I had with the secretary who let me know interviews would take place in a couple of weeks andthat they would leave a message on my answering machine if I made it to the next round and wasn’t home to accept the call. Excitement takes over at the idea that one day soon I could find myself back in an A&R position, making singers’ dreams come true, while simultaneously doing the same for myself.

Southern Sip is the cutest and most laid back work environment I’ve ever gotten to be a part of—not that I have a lot of work experience outside of W.M.G. and a very uptight ice cream shop when I was fourteen. The fact that Kaylee, the owner, is close to my age probably has a lot to do with that.

I peer over at her as she readies the coffee urns with ourdaily blends.I consider asking her what that means, however I do my best not to look incompetent. I want her to like me, and I also don’t want to lose my job for simply being clueless about coffee since my mom always wakes up before the crack of dawn to make it.

I admire her long, nearly white blonde hair. Today it’s up in a ponytail with two pieces hanging out around her face. Random sections throughout are crimped and she has a few bright pink clip-ins. I have never been adventurous with my hair, but maybe with all the changes I have been making I might add this to the list. She also has her nose pierced. The thought of a needlecoming at me like that makes me want to pass out, but it really does look cute.

Her wardrobe from the couple of times I’ve seen her outside of work reminds me of a pop star, though at work she usually sticks to low-rise jeans and a polo. She wears a smokey eye and light pink, frosty lip gloss. She’s the exact definition of a cool girl and the complete opposite of me.

I walk around the shop, appreciating the timeless aesthetic she chose for the decor. The muted blue walls are covered in artsy photos of coffee cups, and besides the napkin holders placed on the espresso-stained wood tables, there is not much clutter. I wipe down each of the surfaces I pass by, though not necessary, and push in the chairs as I go. The entire place has a very clear contrast to her colorful style, but I assume that is most likely done on purpose to appeal to all ages.

Next, I reach for a bag of ground coffee, trying to help ready another pot for the customers who will surely be in within the hour. I pour two heaping scoops into the top of the machine and then second guess if it will be enough based on the size of the pot that sits below. I make four more scoops, shut the lid and click the OFF button to ON.

Once the coffee is done brewing, I pull it off the burner, noticing a filter placed to the side of the pot. My god, what was I thinking?Clearly nothing. I forgot the filter. The coffee itself is filled with grounds and is a much thicker and darker consistency than any coffee I’ve ever seen. My heart sinks, and a sense of dread creeps along my spine. I blew it. Like, majorly blew it. My excitement to help made me miss a very obvious step and now I’m going to look stupid. I can hear Kaylee approaching from behind and I worry that I won’t be able to explain myself out of the embarrassment I’m about to feel for messing up a simple pot of coffee.

“Tansy Bay must not have been known for its coffee shops, huh?” Kaylee jokes, setting down a coffee she made for me. “I hate to say it, but it seems like you were never even introduced to a basic coffee pot. Maybe not even instant coffee. I probably should have asked about your experience before I hired you, but I figured most people have that skill set long before many others.” Even though the words come off as a bit harsh, her tone is teasing, her eyes bright with amusement.

“You’re not wrong.” I laugh in response. “We only have one, and I don’t know what it’s more limited in. Selection or flavors.” I shrug, meeting her stare. “I don’t think I have ever had a decent coffee until now.” I reach for the coffee she made me, lifting it in silent cheers. “But, just because I don’t know how to make good coffee, doesn’t mean I can’t learn,” I add, my last words ending on a hopeful note. I take a sip of the coffee she made me, which she does every shift. Today’s brew of choice she calls a hazelnut blend with sweet cream creamer, and I officially wouldn’t mind knowing how to recreate it every morning for the rest of my life.

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