A/N: This story is written linearly but is primarily hitting on the high points of both Rayna and Deacon's stories as we travel towards the point at which they meet up again. Thanks for reading!
Rayna
"Rayna, I believe I told you that if you pursued this folly of yours, there would be consequences." She stared at her father, trembling inside but determined not to show it on the outside. "And now I've found out that you have explicitly defied me at some roughneck place where you stand in front of people for money."
"It's not a 'folly', Daddy. It's what I want to do with my life. It's my calling." She wasn't sure how he knew about the gig at Mustang Sally's. She'd been excited because it was her first paying show, one Watty had secured for her. It was on a weekend, so she had covered it by saying she was staying with Tandy, and she knew her sister wouldn't have told on her. But she also knew that Lamar Wyatt had eyes everywhere. It was what had worried her from the start, although it had certainly not deterred her in the slightest.
The smile on her father's face was disingenuous but the look in his eyes was livid. "You think you've been hiding this from me, but you have not. I had hoped you'd tire of it or that it would become apparent that it was out of your reach, but that seems not to be the case. You live in my house, young lady, and therefore you need to live by my rules." His voice got lower and angrier as he went on. She hated to admit that he scared her a little.
"Well, maybe I won't live here anymore," she said, hardly believing the words had actually come out of her mouth. But she'd been prepared. Maybe not for this exactly, but she'd known it probably wouldn't be long before her father found out about her 'defiance', as he called it.
His eyes narrowed. "Oh, really? Are you going to live on the streets? Because you are welcome to do that if you don't stop this nonsense."
She stood as tall as she could and squared her shoulders. "I'm going to go live with Grandmother," she said. She heard the first little quiver in her voice. Celeste Jaymes had told her she always had a home with her. Celeste had worried about her granddaughters in the aftermath of Virginia's death, especially since her son-in-law was often out of town. She had believed the girls were too young to be left at home with only the housekeeper around to take care of them. She had had numerous squabbles with Lamar over it, Rayna knew.
Lamar's face turned red with fury. "You just do that then," he said, his voice loud and angry, his arm raised up in the air, almost as though he might strike her. "Go ahead. Because you no longer live in this house." He turned then and walked into his study, slamming the door. She just stood in the foyer on the beautiful oriental rug her mother had purchased years ago and fought tears. Then she took a deep breath and ran up the stairs to her room.
When she got up the next morning, she found out her father had left early in the morning on yet another business trip. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it bought her a little time to get organized and speak to her grandmother. She was anxious about it though, because although her grandmother had told her she could always come stay with her, she wasn't really sure what that meant. For a night or a week or... for however long she needed it? She was so nervous, she cut her last class and drove to the beautiful stately mansion set back from the road, not far from the country club.
Virginia Wyatt had grown up in this house, a 2 story brick and wood Tudor style home. She and Tandy had always loved the small sunroom at the back of the house completely surrounded with windows, rich wood floors, and exquisite Queen Anne style furniture. Her grandmother had spent some time as a young girl in England and had fallen in love with the tradition of English tea, something she had brought back with her when she returned. Any time the girls came over, she would have tea served in the sunroom, with dainty little cucumber and chicken salad sandwiches, which weren't her favorite, and delectable desserts and baked goods, which were. Scones, petit fours, and elegant cookies. The house always smelled a little of lavender and was spacious and light, in spite of the Tudor exterior.
She drove up the long drive and parked in front of the house. She got out and walked to the door, ringing the doorbell. At the last second she wondered if her grandmother would be home. She had always been a great philanthropist and in charge of many of the biggest society functions in the city, which meant she was often busy away from home. She lived alone in the big house but was still as famous for her elegant dinner parties and appearances at lavish social events as she was her English tea tradition. The door opened and the woman who appeared smiled. "Rayna, what a nice surprise," she said. Evelyn had been her grandmother's housekeeper as long as she could remember. She was petite and slender, with gray hair she pulled into a tidy bun. Evelyn had a warm smile and the most beautiful green eyes she had ever seen.
"Hi, Evelyn. I didn't think to call first to see if my grandmother was home."
"You're in luck, dear, she is." She stepped back from the door. "She's in the den. You can go on back."
She smiled. "Thanks." She walked down the hallway to the back of the house, where the den and kitchen were. When she entered the den, she saw her grandmother reading. "Grandmother?"
The older woman looked up and smiled when she saw Rayna. "Rayna, my sweet girl, what a wonderful surprise." She stood up and Rayna ran into her arms. When they stood back from each other, her grandmother looked into her eyes. "What brings you here?"
"Daddy says I can't live at home anymore. Can I stay with you?" It just all came tumbling out and then she burst into tears. She felt her grandmother's arms around her as she led her to the couch and they sat. Then she took Rayna's hands in her own.
"What happened? What did your father do?" She had a steely look on her face and the tone of her voice matched.
Every time she looked at her grandmother, she saw her mother. Celeste's hair was a very faded strawberry blonde, almost gray. But her eyes were her mother's, her demeanor was the same. As was her fierceness. "He, he found out I was singing onstage and he told me I couldn't do that and live in his house. You know, he told me I was forbidden to sing country music and that I couldn't try to make a career in it. He told me I wouldn't be successful doing that."
Celeste frowned. "Well, he always was ridiculous. Of course you can be successful. You have a beautiful voice, my dear." She reached up and ran her fingers over Rayna's cheek. "You can do whatever you want with your life. That's the way your mother raised you." She smiled. "So, you've been singing onstage?"
She nodded and smiled back. "I have. And not just open mics anymore, Grandmother. Real sets. For tips. But I actually got paid for the last one I did. I got a flat amount plus tips. And they want me back."
Celeste clapped her hands together gleefully. "Oh, how wonderful, my darling girl." Her eyes looked a little shiny. "I know your mother would be so proud of you." She took Rayna's hands again. "And yes, of course you can stay here. For as long as you like."
She smiled happily and then reached out to hug her grandmother. "Thank you, Grandmother. This means so much to me."
She met Mr. White at a diner not far from downtown. He'd been a little vague about why he wanted to meet, but he'd also sounded positive, so she didn't think it would be bad news. She'd been doing a lot of performing at various places in Nashville and immediately outside the city, and she was excited about starting to earn some money doing it. Her grandmother would wait up for her after every show and they would dissect it afterwards. It felt good to have someone on her side, encouraging her and supporting her. Of course, Tandy supported her too and would sometimes show up to watch her perform. They were both very proud of her. And, she had to admit, she was proud of herself. She was doing what she loved and before long she hoped to be on her way to a big career.
She had so far not gotten any contract offers, but there were a number of labels in town who'd heard her perform or who'd invited her in to do a private showcase. Mr. White had been instrumental in a lot of those, but she was just missing out. She'd been disappointed but he'd explained to her that she wasn't the problem, it was that a label was looking for something different, and that she would find the right spot. She had hoped to get on with one of the major labels, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen. There were plenty of smaller labels, but she had really hoped to catch on with a label that could really support her.
She pulled into the parking lot of the diner 5 minutes before she was supposed to meet Mr. White. Not surprisingly when she walked in, he was already there. He looked up and lifted a hand when he saw her. She smiled and walked over to where he was sitting, sliding into the booth across from him. He had a mug of coffee and a manila envelope sitting on the table next to him. The server was there immediately and she ordered an iced tea. Then she looked expectantly at Mr. White.
"I have some good news for you, Rayna," he said with a smile. He patted the envelope. "You've been offered a contract with Edgehill Records."
She didn't recognize the name. "Who?"
"Edgehill. They're an up-and-coming label and you would be their primary artist." The server came back with her tea and refilled Mr. White's coffee. "They heard you at Douglas Corner and were extremely interested in you. Here's the thing – Edgehill was started by 2 A&R guys from Warner who were looking to develop their own imprint. Edgehill has a link to Warner in that artists Edgehill signs and develops could someday move to Warner. They've got a good plan and solid experience. They would like to build their label around you. They'd like to get you in the studio pretty quickly to put out an album and then they will market the hell out of you. They have deep connections throughout the industry and can get you on the radio and on tours as an opener. They have a very detailed plan for you, Rayna. I think it's a good deal for you. It's a 1 year contract, so you're not locked in forever, and they'll do a full on promotion of you and your record."
She took a deep breath. "So if I signed with them, what would happen next?"
"The first thing would be to start preparing for an album. Looking for songs – or perhaps writing some yourself or with cowriters – and developing a plan for the album set list. Once that's done, you'll rehearse and then go in the studio." He smiled. "If it helps, I'll be the one producing your album, so I can help guide you through a lot of the upfront work."
It did make her feel better that Mr. White would be producing her record, but there still seemed to be so many unknowns. He had never steered her wrong, but she wasn't sure about a brand new label. "What if it doesn't work out? What if they can't make this work?"
He smiled. "I understand your apprehension. But I can personally vouch for these guys. They won't let you down. If something happens and the label doesn't make it, you'd be absorbed into Warner. The problem with going to Warner directly is that you won't get the attention you deserve. At Edgehill you will." He pushed the envelope towards her. "Read through this first and think about it. If you want someone to look at it, do that. Rayna, I wouldn't present this to you if I didn't think it was a good move for you. But you have to feel good about it."
She slid the envelope in front of her, then took a deep breath. "This is a big deal. How much time do I have?"
"There's not necessarily an expiration date, but I wouldn't advise waiting too long to decide."
She nodded. "I understand." She looked down at the envelope, then back at Mr. White. "My birthday is next week and I'll be 18. I can sign contracts on my own then." She smiled a little. "I'm also legally changing my name to Rayna Jaymes."
Mr. White smiled. "I'm sure your mom would be proud." She thought she saw a wistfulness in his eyes, but it was gone almost immediately, so maybe not.
"I think so too." She took a deep breath. "I wish she were here to see this. I miss her so much." She could hear the hitch in her voice and felt wetness in her eyes and she fought it off. "Now I just need to prove myself."
"I know you will. You have great talent, Rayna. They will work with you to develop that talent and help you put out an album that will showcase it. The contract is fairly standard and provides for a 10% royalty without unnecessary royalty deductions. It's as favorable to you, as an unsigned new artist, as it could possibly be. I made sure of that. Once you sign, if you decide to, two things will happen. One is that they will work with you to help select the songs you'll record. And two is that I will help find you a manager."
"You can't do that for me?"
He smiled kindly. "I'm not a manager, Rayna. I will continue to help you though for as long as you need me. But a manager handles the business end of things, and you'll need someone who can do that. That person will negotiate on your behalf for tours, appearances, equipment, even a band."
"A band?"
He nodded. "You'll need one. You'll start off small, with a couple guitar players, but eventually you'll get whatever else you need for your sound, including backup singers."
She couldn't help feeling excited. Nervous, but mostly excited. "Wow," she said, smiling. "That's like a dream."
Mr. White smiled. "We'll get you some session musicians for the first album and then you can start building a band." He raised an eyebrow. "You should start writing more. I'll work on getting some co-write appointments for you but go ahead and keep writing on your own. I know a lot of artists wait for songs to be written, but you're going to be part of the next wave in country music and that's going to mean writing songs that speak your truth, not someone else's. We can still fill in with some of those, but I'm hoping one day you'll feel comfortable enough to write every song on a new album."
"You really think I can be a songwriter?"
"I know you can."
She sat there, dreams of stardom in her head. She knew she had a long way to go for that, but she was actually getting a record deal, which meant her dream was within reach. "Thank you so much for everything, Mr. White. On my birthday I will sign this contract. I'm ready to get started."
It was actually the day after her birthday, since it fell on a Sunday. That morning she stood in front of a judge in Chancery Court with her petition to change her name legally to Rayna Jaymes, which he approved. That afternoon she signed her contract with Edgehill Records, happy to be able to sign her new name, although she'd been using it since she'd started singing at open mics and afternoon sets at places around town. She'd celebrated it all with her grandmother and her sister at a fancy dinner at Sperry's, which had always been her mother's favorite restaurant.
The only thing that marred the day was discovering her father waiting in the formal living room at her grandmother's house when they arrived back home.
"What are you doing here, Daddy?" she asked, scowling at him.
He smiled, although she didn't trust that it was genuine. "You didn't think I'd let your birthday go by without stopping by. And such a momentous birthday."
"Please don't overstay, Lamar," her grandmother said. When she looked at Celeste, she saw that her grandmother had the same insincere smile on her face that her father often did, and that her eyes were flashing with anger. Then she turned and walked away.
She looked back at her father. She could see the tension around his eyes and his mouth, but he focused back on her. "I understand that not only have you taken your mother's name, but you've also signed a recording contract," he said, his voice even.
She nodded. "I have."
"Well, I can't do anything about your name, but I can tell you that I hope you're not making a mistake with this career choice you've made," he said, clearly saying the word 'career' with disdain. "You're now officially no longer my responsibility, so I hope you can make this work."
She was stunned. Not by his words, but by the fact that he could be so dismissive of his own flesh and blood. His own daughter. Even though they hadn't seen eye to eye on this, she had never truly thought he would essentially disown her. "I intend to, Daddy," she said. "I know you don't have faith in me, but I have faith in myself."
He chuckled. "It's not that I don't have faith in you, Rayna, it's that I feel you've chosen unwisely. If you fail, you'll have to be the one to pick up the pieces."
She stood there a moment, hands on her hips. "Why are you so sure I can't do this? And why do you hate my choice so much?"
He shook his head, a quiet chuckle on his lips. "I know you don't believe this, but I do care about you. You are my daughter, after all, even if you are using your mother's maiden name. This is a fickle world though, Rayna, and I wanted to spare you the disappointment."
She breathed in. "If you cared about me, you'd support my dreams, not tell me I'm going to fail. If you cared about me, you'd encourage me. Mom would have done that."
He scowled. "Your mother would not have wanted to see you make a mistake, Rayna. I know you believe she'd let you do whatever you wanted, but she was a practical woman. In the end, she would have pointed you in a different direction."
She didn't want to believe that. She didn't believe her mother would have stifled her dreams. She would never believe it. "I think you're wrong," she said. "I'm doing this, Daddy. And I will succeed."
"Lamar, I believe it's time for you to go." She looked over her shoulder and saw her grandmother standing there, her lips pursed with irritation and her eyes flashing with anger. She looked back at her father and saw that he looked annoyed, but then an insincere smile played over his lips.
"Celeste, so nice to see you. I was just leaving." Without another word, he walked past her and let himself out of the house.
She turned to her grandmother. "He's so awful. I just wish I understood why."
Celeste pulled her into an embrace. "I think you remind him too much of your mother," she said. She sighed. "Let's go sit in the den." She followed her grandmother and sat down next to her when they got to the den. Celeste took her hands and sighed. "Your mother had a very deep connection with country music. And the people in it. She had friends, people she was close to, who your father believed took too much of her time and took her away from him."
She frowned. "Why would he think that?"
"Sweetheart, she was your mother, and I know how much you loved her. And she was my daughter, and I would have done anything to make her happy. I'm sure you know things between your parents were somewhat... strained."
She thought about that. She'd only been 12 when her mom had died, young enough to not understand all the tension in her house but she did remember hearing the fights behind closed doors. And how sad her mom had seemed those last few years. "I know they had arguments sometimes," she said.
Celeste closed her eyes for a second, then looked back at her sadly. "I loved your mother, Rayna. She was my only daughter, and I only wanted the best for her. She liked having people around her and you know how much she loved music." She nodded. "She had her own friends outside of the world she lived in with your father and the world she grew up in and those friends filled up something in her that she needed. Lamar didn't like it and it made him angry and he sees her in you." Celeste looked at her intently. "Don't ever let him take this away from you, my dearest. You are getting ready to set sail on a wonderful adventure, and I know you'll be a huge success. Just remember that your mother would have wanted this for you, no matter what your father says. She would have been so proud of you."
She nodded and then she leaned in and hugged her grandmother. "Thank you. I'll always take her with me in my heart."
Deacon
He was working at one of the local studios, sitting in with a newer artist who was recording his first album. He enjoyed the work, although he couldn't help but feel a little down about the fact that someone else was getting their start while he was still waiting for his chance. He wondered sometimes why some people got lucky and others didn't. He didn't like to compare himself to others – and thought he probably wasn't very objective about that anyway – but this wasn't the first time he'd felt like he could do what this artist was doing and do it better. They were taking a break and he headed for the break area to get a cup of coffee. He was sitting at one of the tables, drinking the coffee and skimming through a guitar magazine when he could tell someone had walked up to the table. He looked up and saw a guy who looked to be about his age and about his height. Dirty blond hair with a full beard, dressed in jeans and a Merle Haggard t-shirt. He'd seen him before but they'd never talked.
"Mind if I join you?" the man asked with a friendly smile. The break room was mostly empty so the guy could have sat elsewhere, but he nodded. The other man sat and stretched his arm across the table, and they shook hands. "My name's Vince Jameson. I'm sitting in with this artist down the hall, Kelly Willis. Working on her first record."
"Deacon Claybourne. Guess I'm doing the same, 'cept with Will Scott."
"You been doing this long?"
"Session work? A while. You?"
Vince leaned forward resting his crossed arms on the table. "Since I got here, maybe 2 years ago. I'm hoping that I do it enough with enough different people that I can get on with someone on a permanent basis."
He frowned. "So you're not trying to start a career? Be a solo artist?"
Vince shook his head and chuckled. "I can't sing worth a lick and I'm not a songwriter, so nah. But I can play a mean bass and can even do lead guitar in a pinch. I really want to hook up with a big artist in their touring band. I'll start lower if I can hook up with someone to get a start and then hopefully make a name for myself so bigger names are interested in me. Sounds like you want to be on stage yourself though."
He'd never considered that it might be someone's goal to be in another artist's band. It certainly hadn't been his, but maybe it was a possibility in a pinch. "Yeah, I do. I came here to be a solo artist, performing my own music. And I do some of that, but it's not a regular gig. I get booked at different bars or honky tonks or other clubs and people get to hear my music. I'm hoping someone thinks I'm worth a recording contract."
Vince nodded. "Good luck with that. I mean, seriously. I hope it works out for you."
He couldn't decide if Vince was being sincere or not. "I get that it's a crap shoot," he said, hearing the edge to his voice. "But if I work at it enough, maybe it'll happen."
"I'm not dissing you, man. I just know it can be hard. I don't know about the guy you're working with, but Kelly has been dogging it for years and is finally getting a break. Which doesn't mean she's gonna make it for the long haul."
He smiled apologetically. "I get it. I know I could cut a record and if it don't sell, I'm probably done. But performing is what I wanna do, so I'm doing it anywhere I can. Maybe that's all it'll ever be, but I gotta try."
"I hear ya. I really admire people who do what you do. Me, I could never do that, for all the reasons I mentioned before." He chuckled. "But I get wanting to be on stage. Be in front of people doing what you love." He smacked his hand on the table. "I gotta get back, but it was good meeting you, Deacon. I hope we cross paths again." He stood up and then turned to walk out, giving him a wave as he cleared the door.
He ran into Vince again as they were both leaving for the day and decided to invite him out to the bar where Sam was working that night. Vince accepted and it was the beginning of a great friendship between the two men, a friendship that would later be one he would lean on when the bottom fell out.
He was doing a writer's night at the Bluebird and was looking forward to it. As the months had gone by, he'd worked a lot on his songwriting and then polished up those songs playing on stages all over town. He'd graduated to writer's nights at a number of places, including the Bluebird, and those were turning into writers' rounds. He'd signed on with a publishing house, which gave him a place to write and a venue for putting his music out there, hoping to get picked up by major artists looking for the next hit. He'd even gotten a chance to put together a CD with some of his better demos on it, giving him something to hand out to those who asked. He still hadn't hit on that gold ring though, the recording contract. He'd done a number of label showcases but had never been quite what they were looking for, although many were interested in his songs for other artists.
While he enjoyed having the writing space, he didn't always need it. As he picked up more session work, he'd been able to scale back on other non-music jobs. And with Sam working during the day and going to school or picking up some shifts at her bar job, he had the apartment to himself for writing. He had to admit though that there was a creative vibe at the publishing office that was a plus. He had somewhat mixed feelings about the publishing deal only because he hated parting with his songs. Writing them wasn't as much of a problem as selling them was, but he'd learned to roll with it.
He was introducing 2 new songs that night, both of which he was proud of, but there were also some reservations about putting them out there. He knew he'd never let another artist record them, because the truth of the matter was that the inspiration for both of them was the elusive girl from the Bluebird open mic. Somewhat to his chagrin, she still haunted his dreams at times. It made him feel disloyal to Sam in a way. It would be easy for someone else, including Sam, to think the songs were for her, about her, but when he sang them, he saw the pretty girl with the red hair and the beautiful smile. A Life That's Good and Back Home. Both songs spoke to getting back to what truly mattered in life, the thing that made it all make sense. The place that felt like home, or more accurately, the person who felt like home. He knew he needed to get the girl out of his head – and mostly he had – but he secretly looked around every club or bar where he performed, hoping she might be there. But she never was.
Let it go, Deacon. She might as well just be a figment of your imagination. You got a good woman, someone who loves you and who you love back. You don't need nothing more than her.
It was the first time he was performing A Life That's Good, even though it had been sitting in his notebook for over 2 years. It had felt sacred somehow, like something he couldn't put out there until she knew he'd written for her. But that was just a dream and it was time to share it.
He'd just started singing A Life That's Good when he caught sight of her red hair. She had just walked in the door and looked at him, a smile crossing her face. He could tell she remembered him and he smiled back to let her know he remembered her too. She walked over and sat at a table right in the middle of the room. He noticed her hair was longer, brushing her shoulders. She was wearing a short dress with a deep neckline and a necklace with something that looked sort of like a butterfly on it. As he continued to sing, his eyes stayed on her even though he knew he should be looking around the room. He watched as she bit her bottom lip and he could tell she knew the song was for her.
When it was over, he set aside his guitar and then walked out into the middle of the room and right up to her table. He sat in the empty chair across from her, oblivious to the fact that he hadn't finished his set and there were still people waiting for him to perform. But they all seemed to fade to black as they sat and just stared into each other's eyes.
"I wrote that for you," he said, when he finally recovered his voice.
"I'm very flattered," she said. Her speaking voice was like her singing voice, the voice of an angel.
"I'm Deacon," he said.
"I'm..."
He woke up with a start. He sat up in the bed, rubbing his face and breathing hard. "What's the matter?" Sam murmured sleepily. He looked down at her. Her eyes were barely open, just slits really. "Deacon?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing, baby. Guess it was a dream or something. I'm sorry."
"S'okay," she mumbled and then turned over, facing away from him.
He breathed in deeply, then looked up at the ceiling. It had seemed so real. All those dreams did. But that's all they were, just dreams. Not real. He sighed then and laid back against the pillow, still looking at the ceiling. After a few minutes he turned onto his side, watching Sam for a minute as she breathed in and out in a steady rhythm. It wasn't fair to her, even though she had no idea that he couldn't seem to clear his mind of this red-headed stranger. He was committed to Sam though, so he knew he needed to force his mind to put this dream woman aside. He sighed. He really needed to do that.
He was on his way to the studio where he would be working that day, listening to WSM radio. The radio guy introduced a new single put out by a brand new artist. The name of the song was Light in the Window and the artist was in the studio. "So, we have in studio today a young lady named Rayna Jaymes and she's just put out this brand new album called Cowgirls Love Too Hard. Welcome, Rayna."
"Thanks for having me."
"Tell us more about this album. Your first, right?"
"Yes sir, it is. I'm real excited about how it's doing and how fans are reacting to it."
"And your next single is Light in the Window, just out on radio. What's the song about?"
"It's actually a song I wrote myself. I can remember riding in a car as a kid and seeing the lights in people's windows and wondering what they were doing. Were they waiting for someone? Eating dinner? Maybe just spending time as a family? I thought about how someone who's been away from home for a while would feel like they were being welcomed home by that light in the window, so that's what it's about."
"Well, let's take a listen then." As the song played out on the radio, he was struck by the voice. It was pure, clear, filled with emotion. She told a story of someone who'd left home to chase a dream but now was coming home again and looking for that light in the window that would signal a welcome home. Something sounded familiar about the voice but he couldn't put his finger on it. By then he'd pulled into the parking lot at the studio. He needed to get inside, so he couldn't hear the end of the song or whether there would be any more interview afterwards. He shrugged and then got out of his truck.
He was at Ernest Tubbs' Record Store, looking for an album Sam wanted when he saw it. The album by the singer he'd heard on WSM. He picked it up, recognizing her immediately. The girl from the Bluebird open mic. Rayna Jaymes. No wonder her voice had sounded familiar. The picture of her on the album made her look a little older than she had at the Bluebird, but he smirked to himself, thinking it had been at least 2 years since that night, so she would be older. Her hair was longer and it made her look sexier, he thought. Then he put the album back. He had no good reason to buy it.
Now he could put a name to the face that often haunted his dreams. It bothered him some to dream about her when he was in bed with Sam. It felt disrespectful somehow, but it wasn't like he'd known who she was. He did now though. He wasn't going to seek her out or anything though. She was just a girl he'd seen on stage. Except that she was the girl who'd inspired a song that he still felt was probably the most personal song he'd ever written.
He couldn't help thinking about it – and her – as he made his purchase and left. In the 2 years since that open mic, she'd made it. At least enough to get an album out. He'd looked at the back and saw that she was with Edgehill Records, which he'd never heard of. He figured it was a smaller label. Still, a record deal was a record deal. And now this Rayna Jaymes had a chance of a big career and he was still doing session work and odd jobs around town, in addition to playing in any club or listening room he could get into.
He sighed. He didn't begrudge her, but it just made him wonder when it would be his turn. Or if it would ever be his turn.
He was packing what he needed in a couple of large carryon type bags. He'd already taken his guitars to the equipment staging area to be loaded onto the band bus for Dwight Yoakum's tour. He had a lot of conflicting feelings about this next step in his career. He was still not where he wanted to be, doing his own tour with his own music, but stepping into a big star's band and being asked to tour the country was no small thing. Vince had reminded him of that when he'd told his friend about the offer. See? You're lucky. Wish it were me. Dwight had been at a club where he was performing and had come up to him afterwards.
"Hey man, Dwight Yoakum," he said as he stuck his hand out.
"Deacon Claybourne." He was surprised he could actually get his name out of his mouth. There were certainly bigger stars on the country tour cycle, but Dwight was one of the big names in the so-called outlaw country genre.
"Listen, I'm looking for a new guitar player and I was thinking you'd fit right in with my band. Are you working with anyone in particular?"
He shook his head. He thinks I'd fit in his band? "Doing session work mostly. And playing around town." He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that Dwight had approached him about being in his band. Did it make him look like he wasn't good enough to go out on his own? That maybe he wasn't meant for more after all?
Dwight gave him a tight smile. "So no contract you'd have to break or commitments you couldn't get out of?"
"Nah." He swallowed hard. "You need me to audition or something?"
Dwight smirked. "It's my band and I make the decisions." He handed him a napkin with an address on it. "This is where we're rehearsing. Can you make it tomorrow about 6? We can walk through the set."
As luck would have it, he had nothing going on the next day. "I'll be there." He held his hand out and Dwight took it. "Thanks, man. I appreciate the opportunity."
Dwight tapped 2 fingers against the brim of his hat. "Welcome aboard, Deacon Claybourne."
He had worried a little bit afterwards that he hadn't discussed it with Sam first. It wasn't what he'd been hoping for career-wise, but it would do until something else came up. He hoped she'd be on board with it. The good news was that she'd been excited for him, although she wasn't completely clear on what it all meant.
"So what will you be doing?"
"I'm playing guitar and doing some backing vocals in his band. So we got like 6 weeks of rehearsal and then out on tour. 6 months."
Her eyes got wide. "You'll be gone for 6 months?"
He shook his head and reached for her, pulling her close. "No, no, the tour is 6 months long, but we don't play every night. But there will be some weeks when I won't get home, 'specially when we're out west. It's all buses, so it'd be hard to get back. But there's still breaks where I can come home. And you could always take some time off and come see me." They'd just gotten married, although they'd been living together for almost 2 years. He didn't want her to worry about him being gone.
She looked thoughtful. "Yeah, I guess that's true." She turned to look at him. "How is this moving your career forward? You'll be in someone else's band, so how are you gonna get people interested in your music?"
That was a good question and one he'd considered. It didn't put him on any kind of path for a solo career, but it was good money, more than he'd made up to this point, so he was willing to do it for a while. "When I'm home I can still do shows at places around town, like I been doing. That's still the plan. But, you know, Dwight pays good money."
"I know. I guess I just know I'll miss you when you're gone. And I want you to get your shot. I know that matters to you."
It did matter to him. Even after having gone through 6 weeks of rehearsal and now getting ready to leave for the tour the next day it still caused him to wonder if he'd done the right thing. He'd never gotten close to that brass ring though. No one had ever approached him about a record deal. He still had the publishing deal, but that had not been his goal. But this, a place on Dwight Yoakum's touring band, was something solid. Or at least as solid as it got in Nashville. So few wannabe artists actually got a record deal and fewer than that broke through. He knew that, had always known that. So as his hopes for that solo career started to seem less and less likely, he knew that being part of an A-list artist's band was a big deal. And could lead to even bigger things. He could still do his own thing when he was in town and so he'd decided to ride this as long as he needed to.
He thought back to the pretty singer he'd seen at the Bluebird, Rayna Jaymes. She was making it. She had an album that was blowing up, not always a sure thing for a first album with an unknown singer. She had something though, some spark that made people pay attention. She had a great voice, the songs on her album were solid, and she was beautiful. And young. Those last 2 things were especially important in country music, although it was those other things that should have been all she needed to make her great. She was more than just a pretty face.