He stood and started to stuff papers into his already bulging computer bag. “Well then. Whoever it is will understand. And won’t they be surprised when you get to spend two full weeks with them when you get back from California? I think I’ve been more than generous.” Dumbfounded and at a loss for words, she watched him walk to the giant glass doors of the conference room and turn around. “My apologies for the mix-up and not catching it sooner. I think I’ve more than made it up to you. Now, go get ‘em, ace!” He winked before pushing the doors open with force, leaving her in an astonished wake.
As soon as he turned the corner and was out of sight, she allowed her eyes to brim with tears. Her hands were shaking as she pulled the contents of the envelope out. Staring at the first-class ticket and itinerary, she shook her head. All these years as a faithful employee and it came down to this. How in the hell was she going to break the news to Clay?
***
Clay was standing on hallowed ground. Looking out into the twenty-three-hundred seat venue of refurbished, century-old, wrap-around church pews placed in a signature curve, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. His acoustic guitar still hung around his neck as he rested his right arm on the body of the instrument. Swallowing a lump of emotion, he looked up into the bright lights, awestruck by the legacy and history of the place. He could feel the essence of legends who had played at the historic Ryman Auditorium, and he was humbled.
The sound check had gone off without a hitch, his voice reverberating in the great hall with warmth and clarity. It was no wonder—experts had praised the acoustics in the building for years, calling the Ryman one of the best listening places in the world. His band had dispersed to the backstage area leaving him alone on the stage for a moment of reflection. He looked around, wide-eyed and grateful. Never in a million years did he ever imagine he would be performing in the place his Daddy always dreamed about him playing…
You’re good enough son. Don’t you ever forget it. Mark my word, someday you’ll play on the Ryman stage just like that Tillis fella, leavin’ everyone in awe of your talent.
Clay’s eyes were closed, the sound of his daddy’s voice echoing in his memory. Nodding his head, he opened his misty eyes back up and smiled. His daddy was with him—he could feel his aura surrounding him like a warm hug. “I’m gonna make you proud, Daddy,” he whispered into the air, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Who you talkin’ to?”
Clay was startled and jerked his head to the side. Buddy was standing with his hands on his hips, looking like a mule eating briars, his wide-mouth grin impossible not to smile back at. He ran his hand through his thick hair and chuckled. “Nobody. Just having a moment.” Pulling the guitar strap over his head, he held the instrument by the neck. “That was probably the coolest sound check I’ve ever had, Buddy. Thanks again for…for everything.”
“Nah, it was bound to happen with a talent like yours.” He placed his hand on Clay’s shoulder, leading him backstage as he handed off his guitar to one of the tech crew in the wings. “The event is sold out. Has been for weeks. You ready for your life to change overnight?”
Clay stopped in the dimly lit hall. “It’s already changed. I’m pretty sure I got this.”
Buddy offered a whole-hearted nod. “You got some more changes ahead. Your stylist is here.”
“My what?” He couldn’t have heard him correctly.
Buddy snorted with a quick laugh. “Yep—your very own, hand-picked, genuine stylist. She’s in the dressing room with an assortment of clothing for you to try on.”
“The fun never ends, Buddy.”
“You got that right.”
