Chapter 13 Hunter
HUNTER
At ten, Seraphina, Tyler and I sat on the couch together as Ivy’s interview aired.
“All right, here we go,” I said.
The opening shot was Wes and Margaret’s living room. Ivy was on the couch in a white sundress and brown cowgirl boots, her hair down around her shoulders. She looked like a star.
The host was a woman named Miranda Cross, known for her interviews of entertainers rather than hard news.
She was nearing fifty but looked thirty, although the muscles in her face were oddly immobile.
“You’ve just announced that you’re leaving your record label.
That’s a significant decision at the peak of your career. What made you do it?”
Ivy was quiet for a moment, looking properly contemplative, before she answered.
“Listen, I’ve been grateful for the work the label did for me over the years.
Without them, I wouldn’t be where I am. So I want to be clear about that.
The reasons for going indie have more to do with me and my values than anything else.
I want to work with people I like and respect.
You know, kind of the no butt-holes rule.
Having Wes Callahan produce this next record just seemed right.
He’s good people. He knows how to produce a darn good album.
And he listens to me. Lets me be in charge of my music, no one else.
So yeah, that’s pretty much it. I don’t want anyone telling me what to do.
Just ask my mama. This is nothing new. She says I came out of the womb knowing exactly who I was and what I wanted. ”
“Tell us more about the new record,” Miranda said.
“Well, we haven’t done much yet. We have a few songs recorded.
A songwriter friend and I have been hunkered down here in a sleepy little paradise of a town.
As you know, sometimes we write together.
Sometimes we write alone. I had a few songs I wrote last year I want to include on the album.
And we’re writing some new songs too. It’s exciting.
I haven’t felt so invigorated in a long while. ”
“And it’s Hunter Sloan you’re working with?” Miranda asked. “He’s known as one of the hit songwriters in Nashville. Am I right that you’ve known each other a long time?”
Ivy grinned. “Oh, yeah. We go way back. Fifteen years. Which makes me too old to still be single.” She laughed. “Just throwing that out there in case my soulmate’s watching.”
“If your soulmate gets in touch with you because of this interview, please call me,” Miranda said. “Because that’s a story.”
“Will do. Anyway, I met Hunter fifteen years ago at The Meadowlark Café in Nashville. We were at a writers’ round.
I was twenty. He was twenty-three. We were both so broke, and one of the regulars bought us each a beer.
” She laughed. “He’s a big guy, you know, and his giant elbow knocked his over.
All over my dress. My only dress, I might add.
So I wasn’t too fond of him at first. But then, he played one of his songs.
And I’m telling you, it was like the world stopped in there.
No one spoke or moved until he was done.
And I knew, right then and there, this was someone I wanted to learn from.
Maybe, even though I had no idea it would come to be, collaborate with.
After that night we just started hanging out.
Writing songs. Trying them out at The Meadowlark.
And then, seven short years later, I got a record deal.
The song he sang that night was my first hit. ”
The camera moved to Miranda. “Did you have an inkling back then of what your career would look like?”
“Gosh, no. I just wanted to keep the electricity on—singing wherever and whenever I could. All I ever wanted was to do music. When all my dreams started coming true, it took me a while to figure out how to be famous. I started doubting myself. Imposter syndrome’s real, baby.
” Ivy laughed. “And Hunter was there for it all. Being my best friend. Writing songs for me. Telling me a thousand times in a thousand different ways why I deserved to be where I was. He’s family.
The person I call when a song isn’t working or when I’ve been dumped.
Kind of like a big brother.” She looked at the journalist steadily.
“I trust him more than anyone in my life, other than my blood family. If my mama sees this, I gotta make sure I say that, or there will be hell to pay when I finally get back home.”
“Dana King’s memoir suggests the relationship was something more than professional. That it contributed to the breakdown of her marriage to Hunter. What do you say to that?”
Ivy shrugged. “I say that’s kind of sad.”
“Sad? Why?”
“Because when people say things that aren’t true, it’s usually from a place of deep pain.”
“Are you saying you and Hunter were never romantically involved?”
“That’s right, ma’am. He’s my brother. Simple as that.”
“Why would she make those accusations?”
“I guess you’d have to ask her. I sure didn’t appreciate it, though. I’ve always been authentic with my fans. They trust me to be who I truly am. Which is a simple girl from Tennessee who loves her mama. I’d never do anything that would make her ashamed of me. Anyone who knows me knows that.”
That seemed to satisfy Miranda. She asked a few more questions about the independent label, about Wes producing and about what Ivy hoped listeners would take from the new record.
Ivy answered them in the same forthright manner.
It was no wonder she was the sweetheart of country music.
Anyone listening would feel like Ivy was their best friend.
“Would you play it for us? The new single?”
Ivy beamed. “I’d love to. Wes and I decided to record this with just the guitar and my voice. We’re all real excited. This is the first song Hunter’s written for me in a minute, and, I have to say, it was worth the wait.”
Someone off camera handed Ivy a guitar. She played the whole song through in her signature “honey meets sweet cream” voice.
“Oh, Hunter, it’s such a good song,” Seraphina said, placing her hand in mine. “It’s going to be a big hit for her.”
“Yeah, it’s a good one,” Tyler said. “Kind of sad, though.”
“It’s about your mom,” I said. “So it can’t be all sad.”
Tyler nodded, glancing between us. “Is she the thousands of words?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“Teaching you how to stay?” Tyler asked.
Smart kid.
“That’s right,” I said.
“And are you going to stay?” Tyler asked, looking down at his hands.
“I’ll stay for however long you’ll both have me,” I said.
Tyler looked up at me, tears glistening his thick lashes. “You won’t leave. Not like him.”
“That’s right,” I said.
Tyler surprised me by leaping up to give me a hug. “I’m glad you found us.”
“I am too,” I said, fighting the lump in my throat.
“Okay, I have to go to bed,” Tyler said. “I have a math test in the morning.”
He said goodnight to both of us and then headed up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.
“I had no idea how badly he wanted a father,” Seraphina said, her voice just above a whisper.
“I did. Because I was the same way.”
Seraphina snuggled closer, fitting under my arm as if I’d been made by the good lord for exactly this purpose.
Soulmates, I thought. That’s what we are.
The next morning, Madeleine arrived at the cottage at nine with her coffee and her laptop and that gunner vibe she’d perfected. She had on a blue power suit and black pumps. Her hair was up today, making her seem even more intimidating. Regardless, I welcomed her inside.
“This is about as cute as anything can get,” Madeleine said. “It seems like the perfect place to write songs.”
“They had it built for Margaret’s mother. Fortunately for me, it was available when I needed a change.”
“I’m glad it helped you find your voice again.”
“It wasn’t the cottage,” I said.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Madeleine said, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
Ivy came through the door carrying her own coffee. “Howdy, peeps. Am I late?” She dropped onto the cream sofa and tucked her feet underneath a jean-clad thigh. “Margaret was hounding me to eat some oatmeal. Which I did, but under protest.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, she loves her oatmeal, but no one else does.”
“What were those crunchy things in it?” Ivy asked me.
“Some kind of grain, I think. Supposed to be good for you.” I shrugged. “It’s best not to ask questions.”
We shared a chuckle as Madeleine sat next to Ivy on the couch and opened her laptop. “All right, let’s get started. I have a call in an hour, so no time for small talk.”
“Do you ever have time for small talk?” Ivy asked.
“Not really. I never could understand everyone talking about the weather all the livelong day,” Madeleine said. “When there’s so many important things to say.”
I sat across from her in the leather chair. Ivy grabbed one of my guitar pics from the bowl on the table and started flipping it between her fingers like one of those toys developed for kids who had trouble staying still. This was why she was at her best with a guitar in her hand.
I sent a long glance at Georgia, wishing we were working instead of doing whatever this was. I should have thought of that when I married Dana. But I’d been such an idiot in love.
“Okay,” Madeleine said. “Here’s how this works. Claire Ainsley is coming at two with her team. Recording equipment etc. She’s the real deal. Knows country music better than almost anyone out there, in my opinion.”
“Yeah, I listen to her show all the time,” I said. “She’s fantastic.”
“Great. She knows your catalog very well. Apparently, she’s a huge fan. She’s not interested in the tabloid story. She’s interested in the music and the man who makes it.” Madeleine looked at me over her laptop. “Which means you can relax. She’s not coming to trap you.”
“I wasn’t worried about being trapped,” I said. “Should I be?”