CHAPTER 9
JAMIE
S everal weeks later Shorty summoned Jamie and Clayton to his office.
The Bluebird video had amassed over five million views, their social media presence had exploded, and radio stations across the country were playing their single in heavy rotation.
Jamie had more or less come to terms with it, though she still hated being labeled a country artist.
Jamie sat in a chair across from her manager, impatiently waiting for Clayton.
“I’ve got shit to do,” she complained, examining her fingernails.
They were ruined from too many shellac manicures, and she peeled off the polish instead of going to the salon and having them removed properly. “Can’t you tell me the news?”
Shorty had sent them a group text about an “amazing opportunity,” but she was doubtful if it involved Clayton Langley.
“Patience, my dear,” Shorty said. “He’s coming in from Franklin. It’s out in the sticks.”
“Country bumpkin.” She glanced over her shoulder as the sound of cowboy boots stopped at the door .
“Howdy, folks!” Clayton said, tipping the brim of his baseball cap. His stubble almost formed a beard, differentiating him from Derrick, who always maintained a clean shave.
“Finally!” Jamie glared at him from the corner of her eye.
“I’m on time,” Clayton said in his defense, glancing at his bare wrist.
Jamie pointed at her watch and turned her arm to show him. “Mickey says you’re five minutes late.”
“Mickey can shove it where the sun don’t shine,” Clayton said.
“Apologize to Mickey right now or—”
“Children!” Shorty said sharply. “Clayton, please have a seat.”
Clayton sat in the chair beside Jamie and she shifted her hips in the opposite direction, distancing herself as much as possible without losing her balance.
“I have great news.” Shorty leaned forward with his fingers interlaced and hands clasped. “The label wants to send you on a promotional tour for your new single.”
“I’m recording my album,” Jamie said.
“So am I.” Clayton turned to her and tipped his cap. “And I’m almost done, unlike yourself.”
It was no secret that she’d been struggling with her songs, and he damn well knew it.
“It’s just for a few days,” Shorty said, leaning back as he stroked his beard. “Up the coast—Atlanta, Raleigh, Washington, and New York.”
“Why that far north?” Clayton asked.
“Jamie’s got a lot of fans in Washington and New York—”
“DC,” she corrected him, then turned to Clayton. “I’ve got fans everywhere, unlike you.”
“Listen up,” Shorty said. “You’re going to New York because Rise & Shine America invited you on their program. ”
“Rise & Shine America?” Clayton sounded impressed. “Even I know that’s the biggest morning show in the country.”
Shorty gestured toward the rock star. “Jamie’s played a few times. They love her there.” Jamie stuck out her tongue at Clayton. “It seems this promo tour is a good idea for both of you, and Mike wants you to do it.”
“Doofus,” Jamie and Clayton said simultaneously.
Shorty shook his head like a disappointed father.
“So we don’t have a choice is what you’re saying?” Jamie crossed her arms and rested a leg over her knee. “How are we traveling? By private jet or commercial?”
Shorty cleared his throat. “A bus from here to DC, then a flight to New York.”
“I’ll fly the whole way, thanks.” She shuddered at the thought of Clayton being her travel companion. “I’ll pay for it myself.”
“The schedule won’t allow for it,” Shorty explained. “You have meet-and-greets between cities and a few radio stations to visit.” He looked at Clayton. “I’m assuming Gus can drive?”
Clayton nodded. “If the Good Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise.”
“Who’s Gus?” she asked.
“My bus driver.”
“Your bus driver’s name is Gus?” Jamie asked as if it were another one of his dad jokes. She wouldn’t have put it past him, always trying to get a laugh.
“You’ll love him,” the country singer promised.
“Thanks, but I’ll take my own bus,” Jamie said tersely. She wasn’t about to spend more time with the country singer than absolutely necessary .
“Now, Jamie.” Shorty smiled at her, trying to persuade her. “That’s a great offer. Clayton owns his bus, and since you won’t be bringing a band it’ll just be the two of you and Gus.”
“What about Buddy?”
Shorty shook his head. “You don’t need a tour manager for this.”
“I’m bringing Ruth.” Jamie straightened her back and uncrossed her legs. “She can keep everything organized. I’m bringing Poppy Rose too, or I’m not doing it.”
“Great, I’ll bring Duke,” Clayton said.
Shorty exhaled, frustrated. “This isn’t Noah’s ark, you guys.”
“I’m not going without Poppy.” She stood her ground, waiting for her manager to give in.
“Fine,” Shorty said. “Jamie, you need to brush up on your knowledge of country music.”
“Why?” She pointed at Clayton. “He doesn’t know the first thing about rock music.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Shorty said. “Your single’s on country radio—whether you like it or not.”
Clayton stuck out his tongue and she almost reached over and yanked it from his mouth.
“There’d better be hotel rooms.” She scrunched her nose in disgust. “I’m not sleeping on Clayton’s stinky bus.”
Later that afternoon Clayton opened the door to the control room. Dusty and the guys were packing up while Jamie was in the vocal booth with her headphones on .
“Grab your coat.” Clayton’s voice echoed through the speaker as he waved at the apricot poodle resting on a makeshift bed. “Hi, Poppy!”
The dog turned her head, curious about the source of the voice.
“I’m not leaving yet.” Jamie placed her hands over the headphones. “I’m working on a new song.”
“Do you want me to stay?” Dusty asked, already wearing his coat. “It’s not a problem.”
“No.” She waved him away. “I’m still working on it.”
Clayton opened the door to the vocal booth, and Poppy wagged her tail.
“What are you doing?” Jamie snapped, annoyed by the interruption as she grabbed her phone. “I told you I’m writing.”
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
She pressed her lips together. “No.”
Clayton let out a laugh. “Good to know.” He picked up her black leather jacket from the floor. “Here . . .” He held it like a bullfighter’s muleta. “Put this on.”
“Why?”
“We’re going out.”
“What about Poppy?”
“She can stay here with Duke.” He picked up Poppy and kissed her head, which surprised Jamie.
Derrick could never do that, since her dog was usually afraid of men.
Then again, Clayton was hardly a man. “They’ll play for a spell then conk out.
They’re not even going to notice when we hightail it out of here. ”
Jamie glanced at him sideways. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises. ”
Jamie and Clayton walked down Korean Veterans Boulevard toward Fifth Avenue South. The wind was howling, nearly blowing her face off, and she wished she had a scarf, a parka, or a hot cup of cocoa. No—a Spanish coffee without whipped cream. She needed to save her calories for alcohol.
“Where are we going?” Jamie asked as they stopped in front of a large gray building. “It’s fucking cold out.”
Clayton pointed to a sign that read country music hall of fame and museum .
“You’re lucky I like museums.” Jamie visited as many art galleries and museums as possible while on tour because her parents hadn’t prioritized her education. She felt deeply ashamed she didn’t have a diploma and intended to rectify it one day by taking her high school equivalency exams.
“Look,” Clayton said. “We have something in common.”
“Why are we here?” She blew on her hands to keep them warm.
“Trust me,” he said. “Come on!”
Jamie followed him up the stairs but soon noticed no one was entering or exiting the building. “I think it’s closed.”
“They’re keeping it open for us, darlin’.”
She shrugged and climbed the steps to the top, where a security guard greeted them.
“What’s happening, Kirby?” Clayton shook the man’s hand. “Happy new year!”
Not this again.
“Happy new year.” Kirby grasped the door handle. “Hi, ma’am.”
“This is Jamie,” Clayton said, gesturing for her to step forward. “The guest of honor.”
“Jamie Keaton?” Kirby asked in a tone that implied familiarity .
She extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.” Kirby turned to the country singer. “I bet you’re excited for baseball season. Your team’s got some promising prospects from Vanderbilt.”
“Spring training is just around the corner,” Clayton drawled. “At long last we’ve got some real talent from my alma mater.”
“You went to college?” Jamie couldn’t have been more surprised if pigs had flown over her head. She didn’t consider him at all intelligent.
“One year—before I got called up to the majors.”
Kirby interjected, “He owns our Triple-A team.”
“Part owner,” he clarified. “Kirby’s daughter plays ball with my girls.”
“State champions last year, thanks to this guy.” The security guard took out his phone. “Is it okay if I take your picture?” he asked Jamie. “My daughter’s a huge fan. She watched every episode of your season on Star Factor.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” Jamie snatched the phone from his hand and stuffed it into Clayton’s breadbasket. “Why don’t you take our picture?” She draped her arm around Kirby’s shoulder.
“Say cheese!” Clayton said, tracing a finger over his teeth.
Jamie burst out laughing when he took the picture. “That’s what Ruth says.”
“Yeah, I know,” Clayton said.
“Thank you, Ms. Keaton.” Kirby seemed to be admiring the picture. “My daughter won’t believe this!”
“Jamie’s fine,” she reassured him, rubbing her hands together. “It’s a bit chilly out here.”
“Sorry!” Kirby opened the door. “The place is all yours. ”
“Just holler if y’all need any tickets to the Sounds this year.” Clayton tipped his ball cap at the security guard, and she realized its “N” stood for “Nashville.”
“Why are they letting you visit after hours?” Jamie asked as they entered the building.
“We’re getting a private tour.”
“Oh, how fancy,” she said sarcastically.