“You went to college?” Jamie couldn’t have been more surprised if pigs had flown over her head. She didn’t consider him at all intelligent.
“One year—before I got called up to the majors.”
Kirby interjected, “He owns our Triple-A team.”
“Part owner,” he clarified. “Kirby’s daughter plays ball with my girls.”
“State champions last year, thanks to this guy.” The security guard took out his phone. “Is it okay if I take your picture?” he asked Jamie. “My daughter’s a huge fan. She watched every episode of your season on Star Factor.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” Jamie snatched the phone from his hand and stuffed it into Clayton’s breadbasket. “Why don’t you take our picture?” She draped her arm around Kirby’s shoulder.
“Say cheese!” Clayton said, tracing a finger over his teeth.
Jamie burst out laughing when he took the picture. “That’s what Ruth says.”
“Yeah, I know,” Clayton said.
“Thank you, Ms. Keaton.” Kirby seemed to be admiring the picture. “My daughter won’t believe this!”
“Jamie’s fine,” she reassured him, rubbing her hands together. “It’s a bit chilly out here.”
“Sorry!” Kirby opened the door. “The place is all yours.”
“Just holler if y’all need any tickets to the Sounds this year.” Clayton tipped his ball cap at the security guard, and she realized its “N” stood for “Nashville.”
“Why are they letting you visit after hours?” Jamie asked as they entered the building.
“We’re getting a private tour.”
“Oh, how fancy,” she said sarcastically.
An older man with gray hair approached them. He wore a black vest that matched his pants and a white shirt, and his uniform included a shiny nametag above an emblem.
Clayton shook his hand. “Sonny, my man! Appreciate you doing this.”
“My pleasure!” Sonny seemed delighted to see Clayton, so she assumed he was a fan. Not everyone had great taste in music, so she didn’t hold it against him. “I’ve been here since the museum opened in 1967.” He pointed to his tag and smiled at Jamie. “Ma’am.”
“This is Jamie,” Clayton said.
“Anything for Clayton and his”—he flashed a shy smile—“lady friend.”
Jamie threw back her head in laughter. “No . . . no. I’m Jamie Keaton.” She could tell by his expression her name didn’t ring a bell, so she added, “I sang with Clayton on ‘I Did a Good Job of Drinking.’”
A light seemed to go off in Sonny’s head. “Sorry, ma’am. I thought you were a model or an actress.”
“Easy,” Clayton said. “Don’t give her a big head, now.”
Sonny led them through the museum, where gleaming instruments stood on display, elaborate stage costumes sparkled under the lights, and walls lined with vinyl albums told the stories of music legends. Jamie marveled at the collections and how well they’d preserved the artifacts.Their tour guide was knowledgeable about every item—its date, story, and relevance to the history of country music. They listened to the earliest recordings of Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, and Johnny Cash. She’d heard his cover of the Nine Inch Nails song and was familiar with “Ring of Fire,” but she didn’t realize June Carter Cash and Merle Kilgore had written it. Jamie wanted to learn more about the Cashes and how they balanced their careers as husband and wife.
“I saved the best for last,” Sonny said, pointing at a glass case that contained an acoustic guitar, a stool, a pen, and a notepad. “Everything in here was used to create Clayton’s number-one hit, ‘More Bad Days Than Good.’”
She read the title card on the wall:50 weeks at #1.
“Really?” She drew her eyebrows inward. “Fifty weeks at number one.”
“The all-time record,” Sonny noted.
Clayton’s dimples pressed into his cheeks. “Not bad for a country bumpkin.”
