a display hanging in the Hall of Fame, right between Barbara Mandrell and Tammy Wynette. Mac got my head so full of stars, I could hardly think of much else except to get to Nashville to show the world my stuff. I stared at the photograph of a building that looked to be an architectural wonder in itself. One side was an RKO-style radio tower, while the main part had windows resembling a piano keyboard, and an end like a Cadillac tailfin. “That’s nice,” I offered.
“Yep, real nice,” Roy said, his fingertips grazing more brochures reading Belle Meade Plantation, Margaritaville, General Jackson Showboat, Wildhorse Saloon, and The Parthenon. He lifted a map of Nashville. “Be helpful for you to know Second Avenue runs north, and Fourth Avenue runs south.”
“I didn’t bring a car.”
“That a fact?” He looked hard at me. “Well, downtown and the Hall of Fame are in walking distance, but it’s a ways to the Grand Ole Opry.” Roy’s index finger touched a spot on the map. “There’s also a place called Riverfront Park you could walk to, but I got to warn you, missy, Nashville sits down in a bowl, between a couple lakes and rivers, so it feels like you’re walking through hot soup in the summertime. Can be right intolerable.” He swiped his florid face at the memory of heat as I flipped through the pages of a brochure, pausing every now and again to stare at a picture of a star singing on a stage, the crowd going wild. There was an energy in those photographs, a palpable current of voice and instrument and the sweet thunder of applause. For a long time I looked at a picture of Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner, their faces suffused with a bright, joyous light.
“You like this one?” Roy asked, making me jump.
“Um, yeah.”
“That was in ’75, the night Dolly and Porter sang their last duet together. I was close enough to see Dolly’s makeup.” There were tears in Roy’s eyes.
“Wow,” I said.
“Wow is right.”
“Can I have it? Can I have all these, please?” I tried not to look too eager, but every cell in my body wanted to scoop up the brochures, rush to my room to study them, to dream of climbing right into the beautiful photographs.
“Go ahead. You must be a first-time tourist.”
I didn’t think of myself as a tourist. I was there because of a promise I’d made, and the voices I’d heard over 103.9 FM back in Blue Ridge. Mountain Country Radio assured me that Nashville was the place for a person bitten by the singer/songwriter bug. “Um . . . I just like music.”
“Wellllll, you come to the right place then. We got live music right here at the Best Western.” Roy swept one arm out in a magnanimous gesture toward the other side of the lobby where I saw a doorway to what I’d figured was the dining area. A sign in the shape of a giant guitar pick said Pick’s, and next to that was another that said Great Drinks!
“Y’all need anybody to sing at Pick’s?”
“Naw. We got our bands booked a good ways in advance.”
“Wonder where musicians who’re looking for work hang out,” I said in a casual voice, gathering the brochures.
“Nashville draws musicians like honey draws flies, and a body can’t go ten yards without bumping into one of them looking for work. Tons of wannabes in here constantly, trying to make their way. Dreaming the dream.”
From the tone of Roy’s voice, I couldn’t tell if he was trying to give me a warning or just stating facts. “Well, thank you,” I said, turning to go.
“Wait. How long you plannin’ to stay?”
Barring any unforeseen expenses, I knew about how far my much-fingered roll of $20 bills would go. The Manager’s Special of $65 per night came out to two weeks for $910, leaving $90 for food and incidentals, and surely in that time I’d have some paid work singing. A recording contract if Mr. Anglin’s prediction came true. Seeing his dear face in my mind’s eye made a little guilty tremor race up my spine. I needed to get back to my room. “I paid for three nights up front,” I said, turning to go again.
“Hey!” he called, spinning me on my heel to see those intense blue eyes looking at me. “You sing?”
I hesitated, then answered, “Yessir. Play and sing. Write all my own material.”