Page 92 of A Country Kind Of Love
“I don’t know,” Peyton says honestly.
“The tension—the tangle of relationships behind the scenes is what makes for great songs. There was divorce, adultery, heartbreak, and bitterness poured into every note and chord on that album. There would be no diamond certification if it wasn’t for their ability to use the uncomfortable energy and turn it into somethingincredible.”
Peyton nods. Shonda is a huge fan of Fleetwood Mac, so any comparison however small, is a big deal. The next performer takes the stage.
“It doesn’t matter how talented two people are individually. When two musicians or songwriters get together there is either a spark or there isn’t. You and Cleo have chemistry; that connection is almost impossible to define. It’s hard to identify unless you see it in person.” Shonda taps at her phone. She types something Peyton can’t see. “I’ll have my assistant set up a meeting for Monday at 10 a.m. I want you and Cleo to recordthat song.”
“What?” Peyton’s wideeyes bulge.
“She wants you to record the song,” Jesse pipes up. Where did he come from?
“Yeah... I heard that... butseriously?”
“I don’t joke,” Shonda says with a straight face. No, she doesn’t. Peyton is painfully aware.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say you’ll be there at 10 a.m.” Shonda raises her left eyebrow.
“I’ll be there at 10 a.m.” Peyton confirms. She finds it difficult to concentrate. She has no idea if she’ll be able to convince Cleo to record the song.
“Good.” Shonda nods and makes a beeline for the door. “Hey, Peyton...”
“Yes?”
“Good job up there tonight,” Shonda praises. Is that a hint of a smile? The façade returns immediately, and any trace of approvaldisappears.
“Thank you.”
?
A short taxi ride later they arrive outside a bar on Broadway called The Stage. Peyton isn’t familiar with the place; like most things in Nashville she is yet to experience the bar scene downtown. They’re made to wait in line. The demand to get in is comparable to the Bluebird, but she can’t imagine there being a “Shhh” policy. The bar is practically bouncing with noise inside.
Cleo’s set is about to start. Peyton peers through the window; she catches a glimpse of her tuning her guitar. A woman joins her on stage. “Isthat...”
“The girl from the winery. Yes,” Jesse finishes.
Peyton can’t make out distinct features, but she can see the ink that covers her neck and the brunette hair.
“I should go.” Peyton steps outside of the queue.
“Woah. No you don’t.” Jesse pulls her back. “You’ve come this far.”
“What if she doesn’t want to see me?” Peyton pouts.
“What if she does?” Jesse contradicts. “You’ll never know if youwalk away.”
They reach the front of the line. Peyton is asked to present her ID. She reluctantly pulls it from her bag, hesitant to hand it over. Jesse is already inside.
“C’mon,” he yells. “Let’s getyour girl.”
She’s afraid of the outcome; her fear of rejection overrides all other emotion. Her mom always said, “there is no reward without risk”. Peyton is certain her mom adapted a Nora Roberts quote, but her brother Jason went as far as to have it tattooed on his arm in her honour. Peyton knew that was a stunt her brother used to justify his idiotic behaviour, but she took a deeper meaning from it.
“Lady, are you coming in or not?” the bouncer asks. The woman behind her visibly huffs as Peyton unintentionally holds up the line. She can hear Cleo’s voice address the crowd. Jesse pleads with his eyes, urging her to take the step forwards.
“Yes, sorry.” The bouncer barely looks at her ID; her indecisive stance reeks of adulthood. He shoos her inside like he’s trying to herd sheep. It takes every ounce of strength she has not to run the other way.
“I’m proud of you.”Jesse grins.
