Read Nashville by Heart: A Novel Online
Authors: Tina Ann Forkner
Nashville by Heart: A Novel
Nashville
by
Heart
a
novel
TINA ANN FORKNER
Published
by Velvet Morning Press
Copyright
© 2016 by Tina Ann Forkner
All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the author, except for the inclusion of brief
quotations in a review.
This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental.
Cover
design by Ellen Meyer and Vicki Lesage
Author
photo by Cheri Kaufman
For my sister,
Cheri Kaufman, and all who have followed their dreams to Nashville
From
the moment Gillian boarded the bus for Nashville, she was a cliché, but she was
about to change all that. Today, she refused to be just another small town girl
with a guitar slung across her back. If that meant altering her style a little,
then so be it. It wasn’t like she was altering herself, right? Today, she was
going to knock music manager Will Adams’ boots off—even though, ironically, she
wished she’d kept her boots on, instead of these crazy high heels she’d paid
for with her last paycheck.
“Ms.
Heart?”
She
wobbled around to face the receptionist, her confidence whirling right out of
her chest. If she’d been able to do more than stumble across the room in her
heels, she might have galloped right out of there.
“That’s
me,” she said, offering a smile as shaky as her balance. “Gillian.”
The
receptionist didn’t respond immediately. She was too busy appraising Gillian’s
five-inch heels, shimmery silver top and the length of her skirt. Warmth
flooded Gillian’s face, but she balanced herself with a hand on one of the
lobby’s plush couches and forced herself to walk, albeit precariously, toward
the reception desk. She didn’t even want to know what the lady was thinking as
she waited for Gillian to wobble her way across the room. By the time she got
there, she felt like a ten-year-old in her momma’s Sunday shoes. She attempted
another smile, but when the lady frowned like one of those street mimes with
painted-on emotions, Gillian couldn’t keep the act up any more. Slouching, she
frowned too.
“I’m
Josie, Will’s assistant.” She stuck out her hand for Gillian to shake.
“Gillian,”
she repeated, shaking Josie’s hand.
“I’m
so sorry, sweetie.” Josie’s accent was even thicker than Gillian’s. “Mr. Adams
can’t see you.”
“What?”
Gillian’s voice croaked as she self-consciously tugged at her skirt. She
couldn’t help but squirm under the scrutiny of the receptionist’s gaze. “Why?”
“He’s
having lunch with Audrey Smith, sweetie. Do you know who she is?”
“I’ve
heard of her.” Who hadn’t heard of Audrey Smith, the newest and hottest star in
country music?
“Audrey’s
his new client, but she’s already got—”
“Three
hit songs.”
Josie
smiled. “It sounds like you know your country music.”
With
effort, Gillian stood up straighter.
“Well,”
she said, trying to sound jovial. “We did have radios in Gold Creek Gap.”
“Gold
Creek Gap?” The assistant looked vaguely interested, or perhaps she was just
pretending to be.
“Where
I grew up.”
“I
see. Well, listen, Gillian.” Josie walked toward the door and motioned for her
to follow. “I hope this doesn’t sound all wrong, but while I’m not sure how you
managed to get an appointment, I will let Mr. Adams know you came, honey. Does
that help?”
“I
talked to you on the phone,” Gillian mumbled, trying to remember their
conversation the week before. But now she wondered: Had she misunderstood?
“I
don’t recall that,” Josie said, smiling brightly. “I’m sorry.”
“Could
we possibly reschedule?”
Josie
blinked. “I’m so sorry. There’s been a mistake. Mr. Adams does have an
unplanned appointment that came up today, but honey, he only sees people who
are experienced in the industry. He doesn’t take on unknown talent.”
Ouch.
Josie wasn’t smiling any more, and her pitying glance cut through Gillian. To
hide the gathering tears, she stared down at her ridiculous shoes and felt her
dreams evaporate. She heard Josie punch a button on the elevator door and
waited for it to slide open. She couldn’t look at the woman who’d so easily
seen right through her confident veneer to the naïve dreamer she really was.
“I
believe it’s best to be honest,” Josie said quietly, while they waited. “So can
I give you some advice, honey?” She stuck out a hand to hold the elevator doors
open.
“Please.”
Catching
her off guard, Josie lay a soft hand on her arm. The small act of kindness
surprised Gillian, making her long suddenly for Gold Creek Gap, where everyone
loved her and she never had to pretend. It took effort to look at Josie.
“I
can tell you’re very pretty,” Josie said. “Underneath all that makeup.”
Gillian
placed a hand on the wall for balance, but ended up grasping Josie’s
outstretched hand instead. Josie let the elevator door close.
“Why
don’t you take those silly shoes off, honey? You obviously don’t know how to
walk in them.”
Gillian
ignored the heat in her cheeks and kicked off the heels. Any pretense she was
holding onto left in a puff of air from her lips as she groaned in pleasure at
the sweet release of setting her toes free.
“I
feel like such a phony,” she said. “Please know, this isn’t me, I just
thought—”
“You
wouldn’t be the first,” Josie said. “Girls like you are always trying to doll
themselves up and be someone they’re not, but with you, I can see right through
it.”
“Is
that a compliment?” Gillian flashed a half-hearted smile.
“Sure
is. Wipe off half that makeup and try wearing a pair of boots to your next
audition.”
Gillian
touched her cheek, absently rubbing the makeup away already. She felt
ridiculous, and at twenty-five years old, it seemed like Josie, who must have
only been a few years her elder, was decades ahead when it came to business
know-how.
“And
if you play an instrument, bring it,” Josie said. “This
is
Nashville.”
“Got
it,” Gillian said, wishing she’d brought her momma’s guitar. She watched Josie
push the button again. The doors slid open, and if she could’ve crawled into
the elevator and died, she might’ve been better off, but something about
Josie’s kind tone froze her in place. She took a deep breath. She didn’t want
to leave on a bad note, just in case she was ever invited back. Although she
was pretty sure that’d never happen.
“Anything
else?” Gillian tried not to look desperate.
“Don’t
give up, honey. Maybe try back in a few months, when you have some more
experience under your belt.”
“Gotcha.”
She felt like her three years in Nashville counted for something, but of
course, there she was being turned away again. Maybe she was wrong. “Thanks for
the advice.”
Josie
offered a small smile and waved goodbye. As soon as the elevator doors closed,
Gillian’s hands flew to her face. She kept it together until the elevator
stopped and the doors slid open. Not bothering to look around, she hurried
through the lobby, shoes in hand, and ducked into the ladies’ room. That’s when
she wilted.
“Don’t
cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.” But she did.
Staring
wide-eyed into the mirror, she dropped the shoes and fanned her already wet
lashes with both hands. Why had she dressed like this? She’d given Josie the
impression she was as fake as her new eyelashes. Gillian couldn’t blame the
sweet receptionist, but the realization that she had looked ridiculous made her
feel like an even bigger fool. Ducking into a stall, she plopped down on the
toilet lid and buried her face in her hands.
Momma
would be disappointed.
What’d
she been thinking? That she looked good dressed that way? And that Will Adams,
one of the busiest music managers in the industry, would actually give her the
time of day?
But
yes, as outrageous as it was, that’s exactly what she’d thought. She still
remembered when the receptionist, it must have been Josie, actually returned
her call. Gillian had spilled her iced tea all over herself trying to get a pen
to write down the appointment. After that, she’d stressed for days, spending
way too much time picking out her clothes. She’d practiced her best songs over
and over, ready to impress Will Adams, but apparently it was all a fluke. And
she’d forgotten her guitar.
Now,
she’d have to go to her shift at the café where her friends, almost all
struggling musicians and singers themselves, waited to hear how it went. She’d
have to tell them she was a big fat failure. Again.
“No,
not a failure,” she whispered in an effort to recover her pride, thinking of
what her momma would say.
This is just a setback.
Oh,
how she wanted to call her momma right then, but she resisted. One day, she’d
call home with a big announcement, like a record deal, but never with news that
she was a fake and a failure.
Desperately
wiping at her lipstick with a wad of toilet paper, she stifled a sob. She’d
stupidly bought the kind that stayed on for hours. That was an extra thirty
dollars she couldn’t get back. In fact, the mere thought of all the money she’d
wasted on what was supposed to be a sexy, sophisticated country look made her
feel like she’d just lost everything in Vegas. She glanced down at her bare
legs sticking out from what she now realized was an incredibly short skirt.
Wearing it had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
“Gee
Manetti, I look like a Vegas showgirl.”
She
was glad no one was in the bathroom to hear her arguments with herself. On
someone else, the skirt might have been perfect, but not on her. She looked
like a little girl playing dress-up. With a deep sigh, she stared at her
ridiculous reflection for a few more seconds, then straightened to her full
height. Her height was one thing she’d always had going for her. Josie was
right. She didn’t need those heels.
“The
show must go on.”
She
smoothed her hair, tugged her skirt down—not that it helped any—slipped her
feet back into her shoes, because they were all she had, and exited the
bathroom in a hurry.
“Howdy.”
Now
self-conscious of her outfit, she ducked her head and barely glanced at the man
standing beside the door. Hopefully she could get past him and out of the
building with just a mumbled hello.
“It’s
raining,” he announced. “Reckon we should wait it out?”
She
glimpsed the glass doors, and sure enough, sheets of rain showered the sidewalk
outside. The drops pelted the glass, filling the lobby with a low roar. She
must have been too upset to hear it in the bathroom.
“Good
gravy.” She shook her head in frustration and stomped her foot, which was a bad
idea that made her start to wobble again. Regaining her balance, she planted
her fists on her hips. Of course. Of course, this would be her day. It’d barely
been overcast when she’d taken the bus to Music Row that morning, so she hadn’t
bothered with an umbrella.
“Are
you lost?”
Now,
why would he think she was lost?
“No.
I’m fine, thanks.”
“Have
a nice day then.”
She
glanced at him. Heavens, he was handsome.
She
stopped, wobbled again, and accidentally smiled just a little. Very handsome.
And he definitely wasn’t the doorman in those jeans. She frowned, unwilling to
interact with a stranger—even this one—at this very complicated and frustrating
moment.
“Forget
something?” he asked.
Caught
off guard, she shook her head and turned toward the safety of the ladies’ room.
Then she tripped. Gasping, she tried to catch herself, but instead a pair of
strong hands grasped her waist, jerking her upright.
“Whoa.”
He gripped her arm with one strong hand while reaching down to retrieve her
dropped purse. She glanced quickly at his ring finger. Single. Her eyes locked
with his.
Holy
cow. Who in the world has eyes so blue? They drew her into a mesmerizing tide
of crystal clear allure. He smiled, and after what she’d just endured, it would
have been nice to be swept away by a handsome stranger, but that would be
ridiculous. Finally realizing she was staring, she tore her eyes away and
stared down at his boots.
“You
OK?” he asked.
Catching
a whiff of some kind of leathery scent that reminded her of her dad, she dared
another peek. He was smiling with a self-assured expression that might have come
across as cocky if not for the way he looked at her, like she was the only one
who mattered in that instant. That was like her dad too, which wasn’t
necessarily a good thing, but she couldn’t seem to make herself say goodbye and
walk away.
“I’m
fine,” she said, still teetering around like a puppet on a string.
He
held the purse out. “You’d better take this. It’s not really my style.”
She
nearly dropped it again. “Thanks.”
Great.
As if the morning could get any worse. Now she was making a fool of herself in
front of a man who was too attractive to be real, except that she could still
feel his hand grasping her arm. If only she could again take off the stilt
shoes that were throwing her off balance, but that would be awkward—plus, she
needed them on to get home.
“Gotcha,”
he said, gently tightening his grip when she stumbled again. When he lightly
took her other arm in his, she found herself locked in his gaze. She stood
there, knowing she should leave before she did something nonsensical, like cry
or laugh out loud. She wasn’t sure which one the situation warranted. He smiled
again, flashing almost perfect teeth, except one slightly crooked eye tooth
that you wouldn’t even notice unless you were this close to him. She took a
breath, admitting to herself that she kind of liked the position she found
herself in, even though the circumstances of how she got there weren’t all that
desirable, and he was a total stranger.
