Nashville Dreams by Rachel Hauck

Author:Rachel Hauck
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2011-11-08T16:00:00+00:00

17

I wake a few roosters on my way to Nashville Noise at four forty-five in the morning. Marty meets me in the reception area with coffee and crullers from the Donut Den.

“You’re not going to believe Mr. Chastain’s office. He has his own personal hall of fame.”

“I bet.” I sip my coffee and munch on my cruller as I follow Marty to the icon’s office. The walls are covered with photos, plaques, awards, and platinum albums. I turn in a slow circle. “Holy schamoly.”

Marty strolls along the far wall. “If you’re the great James Chastain, I suppose everyone wants to know you.” She stops to examine one of the pictures. “Who’d you listen to growing up, Robin?”

“Everyone, everything. Granddaddy Lukeman loved all kinds of music. Gospel, contemporary Christian, country, bluegrass, even classical. He talked to me about singer-songwriters Bill Anderson, Jimmy Web, Dolly Parton, Loretta Lynn. Then I found Wayne Kirkpatrick, James Dean Hicks, Victoria Shaw, Diane Warren, and, believe it or not, Avril Lavigne.”

I follow Marty down the row of pictures. “Anyway, I read an interview with Anthony Smith, and he said, ‘I just pray for God to help me be creative,’ and I thought, ‘Dang, he’s right. Can’t go wrong praying.’”

Marty glances back at me for a second, then moves on, looking at pictures. “I tried to make Delaney Brown something like Heart meets Trisha Yearwood with a dash of Pasty Cline.” Marty waves me over. “Look, a young James Chastain.”

I look over her shoulder. “He has a nice face.” I munch the last of my cruller and check the time. “We’d better get to work. Marc would have a heart attack if he caught us dillydallying in Mr. Chastain’s office.” I head for the door. “Heart meets Trisha and Patsy, huh? I think it worked.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Marty’s shoulders droop and she motions to the faces on the wall with her coffee cup. “Maybe it could’ve been me.”

I plop my arm on her shoulders. “It still can be you. Get back in the game. Start writing. Go with me to open-mike nights. I could use a buddy.”

She shakes her head with a feeble smile. “The passion is gone. I listen to you talk about workshops, spending nights running around town for songwriter nights, trying to meet people so you can set up cowrites, and it gives me one gargantuan headache. All I can think is, I’m glad it’s not me.” She heads out of the office.

I follow her. “But you don’t have to start at the bottom like me. You know folks in the business.”

“My stardom ship has sailed, and I fell off the face of the musical earth.”

The sad resolve in Marty’s voice reminds me of Momma, even Birdie, a little. Women on the verge of achieving their dream only to have life wake them up right before the really good part. I want to succeed. For them.

Marty picks up her cleaning gear. “I’ll start with the bathrooms, you take the offices.”

“Right behind you.” I pause to pull my notebook and pen from my hip pocket.

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