He laughed, running his hand quickly through the short wave on top of his head. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. Once things settle down, I’d be more than happy to hook up with you again and give you the lowdown.”
“Awesome!”
“I gotta run. I saw you and I just wanted to say ‘hey.’ I hope you enjoy the show.”
“Oh, I will. Is your muse here tonight?”
Clay shyly looked at the floor for a split second and grinned bashfully. “Yeah, she’ll be here.”
Their eyes locked for a moment and they smiled knowingly at each other.
“Break a leg, Georgia Clay. I’m truly thrilled for you.”
“Thanks.”
A few minutes later, Clay was safely behind the closed door of the Stars and Stripes dressing room, relishing the brief quiet before the chaos of the show started. The room was an homage of sorts to the American flag with one entire wall adorned with a faded mural of it. He let his body free-fall onto a worn leather sofa with two American flag crocheted pillows on each corner. Mirrors edged with lighted bulbs, and a sink with a mini-fridge completed the room. One of Clay’s guitars sat in a stand on the tan and red oriental rug next to an upright piano across from the couch. Large vintage posters of old Ryman advertisements decorated two of the walls, and he noticed right away an assortment of colorful flower bouquets and a couple of bottles of top-shelf whiskey displayed on top of the piano and dressing table with little notes from friends, and family across the nation.
“You need anything, you just holler. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed until show time. Turn on that flat screen right there and you can watch the live feed from the stage.” Buddy put his hands in his pants pockets and sighed. “This is it, son. This is your debut. I couldn’t be more pleased.”
Clay looked around the room, taking it all in before nodding at Buddy. “It’s surreal. I never thought this would happen. But here I am.”
“Here you are.” Buddy looked at his watch. “You got about two hours before your slot. What time is Katie getting here?”
Clay had been so busy attending last-minute interviews with an entourage of Warner Music execs that he hadn’t had time to reach out to Katie all day. “Anytime, I think. She texted a couple of hours ago letting me know she was on her way. I haven’t had time to get back with her. She’s on the stage door guest list. Can you do me a favor and keep an eye out for her?”
“Sure thing.” Buddy started to leave and stopped at the door. “Enjoy every moment, kiddo. This is epic.”
Clay nodded, watching the door close behind him. He stretched out with his hands clasped behind his head and smiled. He was more than ready to make his debut.
An hour and a half later, after watching the impressive intro to the show and several famous country artists perform effortlessly on the Ryman stage, Clay nervously paced back and forth inside the small private dressing room. He had wandered the halls earlier chatting with several artists, trying to pass the time while anxiously keeping an eye on his phone. The guy handling the backstage guests still hadn’t checked Katie’s name off his clipboard, which was worrisome. He had to keep moving, pacing the backstage area before finally relenting and heading back to his dressing room to change into his new, black denim jeans and a skin-tight t-shirt. He was still getting used to the handmade bracelets and thick leather belt with large silver embellishments on it. Several times, he stood in front of the rectangular mirror and didn’t recognize himself. In his worried state, his eyes looked too googly and his hair was definitely too short. It was unfortunate that he wasn’t enjoying himself, preoccupied with Katie’s lack of response. He couldn’t fathom what had happened. The excitement he had felt earlier faded, replaced with tension and anxiety. For the most part, he was left alone except for the stage manager who periodically poked her head in giving the countdown in fifteen-minute increments. She had just closed the door after letting him know he had thirty minutes before his introduction. Checking his phone for the one-hundredth time for a message from Katie, he fretfully shook his head. He had called and texted several times, begging to know where she was. The last thing he needed was to be worried about her. She had promised she’d be there. He shouldn’t have been out of pocket for so long and reprimanded himself for not being more available. Picking up his guitar for the umpteenth time, he tried to play a familiar melody but was discouraged with fumbling, edgy fingers. This was a bad sign.
The door opened, and he eagerly looked up, anticipating Katie’s arrival.
“Did you just see Brett Eldredge kill it out there? Damn! Kenny Rogers is up next. The audience is loving every minute of it.” He stopped in his tracks as if noticing Clay’s panicky demeanor. “You doin’ okay? You need anything?”
Clay gripped the back of his neck. “She’s not here yet. I can’t get in touch with her.”
Buddy chewed on his lower lip. “Katie?”
“Yeah, Katie.” He brushed past his friend and twisted off the cap of a costly bottle of whiskey; a gift from his friend Dierks Bentley. Pouring a small amount into a glass, he downed the brown liquor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where the hell could she be?”
Buddy scowled. “I thought she was already out in the audience, Clay. You sure she didn’t come in? Maybe she didn’t want to disturb you before the show?”
“No… no, I asked her topleaselet me know when she arrived. That was hours ago. I also checked with the guy myself who is letting in the guests backstage. He hasn’t seen her.” Shaking his head, he furrowed his brow. “What if something happened to her, Buddy? What if she became ill or was in a car wreck or something? I gotta find out where she is. Buddy, this can’t be happening. Not tonight of all nights!” A familiar tingling pulsed through his body—he was on the verge of a panic attack. Swallowing hard, he collapsed on the leather couch and leaned his elbows on his knees, taking in quick breaths. Buddy was kneeling next to him in an instant.
“Calm down, Clay. I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I’ll find her. She’s probably just stuck in traffic is all. Maybe her phone died. Don’t jump to any conclusions, okay? Whether she makes it or not, you gotta get a hold of yourself ’cause there are a lot of folks out there waiting to see you.” He placed his large hand on Clay’s shoulder reassuringly.
Clay lifted his head, his vision blurred by tears. “Find her, Buddy. Please.” His voice was ragged with fear.
