Page 31 of A Country Kind Of Love
“Thank you.” Cleo sighs and grudgingly points towards the man. “Peyton, this is my manager. Hank, this is my friend Peyton.”
Hank? He sounds likea hound dog.
“Nice to meet you.” She extends her hand, but he just nods in return.
Asshole.
“Peyton’s a great songwriter,”Cleo states.
“Oh yeah?” Hank smirks. “Well, if you can write something for Cleo that’s better than her last flop, I’ll consider listening to some of your songs.” He guzzles the last of his Bud Light, runs his hand through his greasy hair, and walks away. “I’ll be intouch Cleo.”
Peyton’s jaw gapes; her eyebrows elevate.
Is this guy for real?
“He seems like a really great guy.” Peyton draws out the syllables in a derisive tone.
“I’m sorry that he was so rude to you.”
“Rude to me?” Peyton narrows her eyes. “You don’t have to apologise for that. He was awful to you.”
Cleo shrugs. “That’s how it goes sometimes. It’s a tough industry.”
“Can’t you find another manager?”
Cleo sneers. “If only it was that easy. It took me a long time to get Hank. He might be a dick sometimes, but he has a lot of connections in the business.”
Cleo leans against the bar; one arm props her up, the other picks at the label on her bottle of beer.
“What are you going to do?” Peyton reaches over and brushesCleo’s arm.
“The only thing I can do. Try and write a better song.”
“Well, I can help with that.” Peyton grins. “I happen to know a thing or two about song writing.”
“For real?” Cleo’s eyes light up.
I like you.Is what she wants to say, but she refrains.
Peytongrins. “Sure.”
Cleo leans forwards and plants a k iss on her lips. It’s brief, but the aftertaste lingers. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.”
Peyton has never claimed to be an incredible songwriter. She has numerous books full of songs, some half-finished, others extremely amateur, and some she feels could really be hits. She has experience, albeit not professionally, but that’s why she’s here, to discover if she’s good enough. Cleo’s discouraged face makes her determined to write an amazing song.
?
The Bluebird closes its doors at midnight. Cleo and Peyton are the last people left. One of Cleo’s friends works behind the bar, so there is no rush for them to vacate. As the bar staff begin their closing routines Peyton finds something soothing about the clatter of bottles in the background. If she listens intently she can hear a soft hum echo through the air or her ears, she isn’t sure which. The comforting vibrations of an acoustic event make herfeel happy.
How can one town hold such a capacity for greatness? It baffles Peyton. She studied Nashville before leaving California. She used her research skills and her spreadsheets to break down every element of the musical showcase that lives and breathes around her now, but she never imagined it would be as fiercely competitive as it is.
Cleo returns from the bar with another drink.
“How are you feeling?”Peyton asks.
“I’m okay.” Her look of disappointment has disappeared. Cleo smiles. Is it forced or genuine? Peyton isn’t sure, but it’s a beautiful smile.
