Fine, country music wasn’t exactly Mary’s preferred choice, but she did like some of it, and since the idea was to reinvent herself from top to bottom, why not start with her taste in music?
Twelve
Five Months Later
Nashville, Tennessee
Mary would be lying if she didn’t admit that even she was surprised by how quickly and well she had taken to the city of Nashville.
She’d heard plenty about the’Music City’ in the past, about the famous sights, the legendary music venues, the museums, the art scene, the fantastic nightlife, all of it, but she wasn’t expecting the city, especially one right at the heart of the ‘Bible Belt’, to be so laidback and welcoming – but maybe that was because Mary had played a very smart card when it came to choosing her neighborhood.
On her first trip to Nashville, Mary visited three out of the seven most exclusive neighborhoods – Forrest Hills, West Mead and Sylvan Park. They were certainly luxurious, with the average monthly rent starting at around two thousand dollars for a one-bedroom apartment, but Mary was also intelligent enough to know that flashing money around was a quick-fire way to get noticed, especially for a woman on her own, and that had been Mary’s smart card.
Nashville was undoubtedly a very artistic city – and just like every artistic city on the planet, it had what was commonly known as ‘thearts district’ – a section of the city where many of its artists lived and hung out – usually the struggling ones – and for that reason, rent tended to be a lot more affordable. But that hadn’t been why Mary had chosen to move into Nashville’s art district. Her reasoning was that art districts, all around the world, also tended to attract a very diverse group of people. Artists from other cities, other states, other countries even, flocked to well-known ‘artistic hubs’ to try their luck – actors and actresses flocked to Los Angeles, dancers flocked to New York, jazz and blues musicians flocked to New Orleans, and country artists flocked to Nashville – it was a fact – and artists, of any kind, were well known all over the world for being laidback. In Mary’s case, that was advantage number one. Advantage number two was that many of the artists living in Nashville didn’t come from within the ‘Bible Belt’, and what that meant was that the ‘belt grip’, at least in and around the arts district, was pretty damn loose – nobody stuck their noses into anybody else’s business. People didn’t even care if you were religious or not.
After reading several articles about Nashville’s arts district, Mary picked a small but very comfortable one-bedroom apartment in Hillsborough Village – a very popular area amongst young artists and students alike. The village was sandwiched between Vanderbilt University and Belmont University, with plenty of shops, coffee houses, saloons and live music venues to keep anyone busy every day and night of the week. But that evening, Mary was about three miles away from H Village, just leisurely strolling down the famous Broadway by the Cumberland River, when she was approached by a young-looking man.
‘Good evening, ma’am,’ the man said, his tone pleasant, excited, even. ‘How’re you doing today?’ He offered her a bright, but somewhat timid smile, holding out a homemade flyer in her direction. ‘How about a really good acoustic gig tonight?’
Mary didn’t take the flyer. ‘No, thanks,’ she replied without even making eye contact with the man. ‘I’m good.’
The Broadway was famous for its numerous bars and live music venues. Young musicians and venue employees were always around in the evenings, flyers in hand, doing their best to attract passers-by into their bars. Right then, they were standing just outside The Whiskey Bent Saloon – a small live music venue that was considered a hidden gem by most country music lovers.
‘It’s only five bucks to get in, ma’am,’ the man tried again, doing his best to catch Mary’s dark brown eyes. His southern accent wasn’t exactly pronounced, but Mary couldn’t miss it either. ‘Drinks are cheap, the music is great, and your five bucks will go to a very good cause. Have you been to The Whiskey Bent Saloon before?’ He threw his right thumb over his shoulder to indicate the venue just behind him.
Something in the man’s enthusiastic tone of voice made Mary pause and look up at the spinning neon sign just above the entry door. She’d walked past that bar tens of times in the past five months, but she’d never set foot inside it. Her gaze finally came down and rested on the man standing before her. He was still holding out his homemade flyer.
Mary blinked once.
The man looked to be in his early to mid-twenties, tall and well built, with a strong jawline that was nicely accentuated by a dark five o’clock shadow. His long black hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, which added an extra degree of charm to his already attractive diamond-shaped face. He was wearing blue jeans – ripped at both knees – white sneakers, and a tight, dark-blue t-shirt that hinted at his toned body and exposed his fully tattooed arms – flowers and skulls mostly. The smile on his lips seemed genuine, and there was a certain intensity inside his hazel eyes that intrigued Mary somewhat.
‘No, I’ve never been in there,’ she replied. Her eyes stayed on the man. ‘I’ve walked past it many times, but I’ve never walked in.’
The man’s eyebrows arched ever so slightly. ‘Ma’am, then youhave to. This place is a must if you’re visiting Nashville. It’s small and cozy, almost like a private bar, but it has the vibe of an arena. All the greats have been on that stage. You like country music, right?’
‘What makes you so sure that I’m visiting?’
The man hesitated for a second, unsure. ‘Ma’am?’
‘You said that this place is a must if you’re visiting Nashville. What makes you so sure that I’m visiting?’ Mary’s tone took a defensive edge that the man clearly noticed.
‘Umm… just a guess, ma’am. Didn’t mean nothing by it.’
‘A guess based on what?’ Mary pushed, her tone a touch softer than a moment ago, but still defensive.
The man gave Mary a sheepish, but sincere smile. ‘I was born and bred in Huntsville, Alabama, ma’am,’ he explained, before pausing and chewing on the side of his bottom lip for an instant. ‘When you grow up in a place like Huntsville – big city with a small-town feel – spotting people who were either born or grew up in the south is practically part of our DNA. We talk a certain way… we walk a certain way… we drink a certain way.’ He turned his neck to look back at The Whiskey Bent Saloon. ‘And we certainly play music a certain way.’ His chin dropped a fraction, his tone apologetic. ‘Nashville is a fantastic place, and we get people visiting from all over… every day of the year. I just meant to say that you don’t look to be from round here, ma’am. That’s all. I meant to cause no offense.’
Mary found the man’s embarrassment quite charming. ‘You didn’t.’ She finally smiled back at him. ‘And you’re right. I’m not from around here. But I’m not visiting either.’
‘You live here?’ The man’s surprise didn’t seem faked.
Mary nodded. ‘For now.’
‘Really?’ This time, the man smiled with his eyes. ‘Whereabouts?’
Mary’s head tilted slightly to the right and her eyebrows tightened as she gave the man a ‘you’re doing it again’ look.
The man read it like a flashing billboard. ‘So terribly sorry, ma’am. I guess this is something else that’s embedded in southern folks’ DNA.’
