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She Had it All

By: She Had it All



It was while waiting at the paint counter at the local big box home improvement store a few days later that she ran into Jake again. He was loading several five gallon pails of paint on a low boy; he was dressed not unlike he had been on their first meeting and also wore a healthy dose of white paint spatter. They chatted as she waited for her purchase to be mixed. Taylor brought him up to speed on her home purchase. 

"We always seem to meet when I'm covered with some foreign substance; at least this time it doesn't stink---or rub off." 

He was friendly, only mildly flirting and certainly not threatening. She assumed that he was a typical local handy man who made a living doing myriad semi-skilled things which obviously included painting. Regardless of the demons inside the man she felt something, maybe even some sense of responsibility. Typical of needy people, she mused; find someone more needy than you are and try to take care of them. Therapy or denial? She wasn't sure which. 

"So you're a painter, too?"

"Hardly---certainly not interior work. I've got twenty acres of four foot high split rail horse fence to do---and I underestimated how much I'd need. I think I probably wasted a few gallons at first as I was getting used to the sprayer rig." 

"The place I just bought has a couple of acres of fence; is there any chance you might be interested?"

Jake was pensive for a moment, then replied. "Sure! Why not. When do you want to do it?"

"When are you available?"

"Well, two acres shouldn't take more than a day---but it'll probably need a second coat---and I've got a rental on the sprayer for another couple of days---cheaper by the week. I'll finish up what I'm working on this afternoon. I think I'm familiar with the place you bought. I can come by in the morning and take a look at it. If it's in good repair and clean, we can come back and pick up the paint. If you don't mind helping, we can knock it out pretty quick---although it's almost sure to need two coats so overnight would be better." 

Taylor confirmed the directions and they agreed that he would come by her place early the next morning. She hadn't thought to ask him what he charged. She called a couple of painting contractors she found in the phonebook and determined that the price for fence painting in the area was pretty standard and was by the eight foot section. 

Taylor saw Jake for the first time the next morning without paint or manure and instantly decided that he cleaned up pretty well. He had a rugged look, of Swedish origin she thought. His eyes were kind and his smile was warm. She assumed he was forty give or take a year. She wondered what his story was. He was articulate and handsome, certainly not uneducated. Why was he mired in a life of manual labor? Certainly the alcohol... drugs? Psychological issues? Something related to his war experience? Was he married---had he been? Was he some day destined to be one of those poor, lonely, forgotten men at the hospital---abandoned by family and society?

She unquestionably found him physically attractive although he was certainly unlike any man she had ever dated or had a relationship with. She tended toward the cultured types, although she had come to realize that most of them had been poseurs. At that moment the last thing Taylor was looking for was another man or another relationship and certainly not with a man of his station who almost certainly came with his own bag of troubles. Still, he was confident...seemed comfortable in his own suit of clothes...strong, at least physically...manly without being macho. 

Jake determined that the fence was in a surprisingly good state of repair. 

"Taylor, the right way to do this is pressure clean the whole thing, wait a day and then paint but no one in their right mind does that outside of suburbia---too damn much fence! Repainting these horse fences every three to five years is just a way of life in this part of the country. We need to clean off the bird shit under those trees but other than that it's ready to paint. We can knock that out pretty quick. It's still early---we might be able to get the store to deliver this morning rather than have to go pick it up. This truck isn't mine---I rented the whole rig as I think I told you but it has a water tank and a pressure washer on it. Have you ever used a pressure washer?"

"No."

"No big deal. I'll get you started after we call the store. While you're doing that, I'll go around and add a nail here and there." 

Taylor was surprised at how much work the pressure washing was but enjoyed the physical endeavor. By the time she finished up, Jake had completed his minor repairs and the delivery truck arrived and off loaded a pallet loaded with five gallon buckets of paint. The next task involved dumping the pails into the tank on the sprayer truck; fortunately there was a mixing apparatus which meant they didn't have to mix each pail of paint. 

The paint came out far quicker than she had expected. 

"Now you know why I wasted a few gallons the first time I used this rig. This thing was designed and built to paint horse fence or barns and to do so quickly. It takes a little getting used to and a lot of moving of the truck but if we work together we can knock it out in no time." 

The first coat was completed by early afternoon. Taylor had pulled her own weight, alternately moving the truck, adding more pails of paint and manning the sprayer. As Jake ran fresh water and cleaning solution through the sprayer, Taylor sat on the tailgate admiring their work. 

"Are you hungry? I think we're way past lunch. We can't really do anything more here until tomorrow morning." Jake asked. 

"I could definitely eat but not unlike you I'm covered in paint---and I don't have much of anything in the fridge. I don't think I can wait to clean up before I get some food." 

"Well, there is a little place not five minutes from here which will take us the way we are. I'd just as soon leave the truck here if you don't mind driving." 

The place in question was a combination bar and restaurant that also seemed to provide evening entertainment based on the small dance floor and bandstand. Everyone in the place seemed to know Jake and he quickly made introductions. The afternoon menu consisted of homemade sandwiches, ribs and chicken. Taylor chose a decidedly West Coast sandwich; Jake chose a burger. They each ordered a beer. Taylor insisted on paying. 

"This is really good, Jake! I had no idea..."

"That good food can be found outside of California?"

"Something like that, although this is hardly Midwestern fare." 

"Well, the avocados are imported but the bread is made on the premises---as is the beer." 

"So, what's on your agenda for the rest of the day, Jake?"

"Get cleaned up, take a short nap and get ready for my next job." 

"Next job?"

"No rest for the weary." 

Taylor decided not to intrude; the man deserves his privacy...as do I, she thought to herself. 

"If you could drop me off, I'd really appreciate it. I'll get a ride over or whatever in the morning. I actually don't live five minutes from where you do---it's on the way." 

A few minutes after leaving the bar, Jake indicated where Taylor should pull off, at the entrance to a small dirt road. No house was in sight. 

"This is fine; I'll walk the rest of the way. After wrestling with that paint sprayer all day the walk will be refreshing." 

"Are you sure?"

"Positive! I'll see you bright and early in the morning." 

Was he embarrassed about where he lived? Didn't want her to see it? The man has secrets; so do I. Respect the man's privacy, Taylor, as he is respecting yours. 

Taylor had enjoyed her day with Jake; he had made her smile and made her laugh. He treated her like a normal person. There was something delightfully comfortable about being around him. She decided she liked him; she hoped they would be friends. Maybe she could help him in some way. She felt more at ease than she had felt in longer than she could remember. 

They finished the second coat by noon of the following day. Jake indicated that he needed to get the paint sprayer back to the rental company. He left before she had paid him for his services. To her dismay she realized that she had no phone number for him; he had a cell phone---she had seen it---but she didn't know how to contact him. She assumed he would call her; he didn't. Another day passed. 

She thought about calling the sheriff's office and asking Mike how to get in touch with him. On impulse, in the middle of the afternoon, she drove the short distance to the bar where they had shared a meal. She couldn't remember the name or she would have called first. Everyone there seemed to have known him. Someone would know how to get in touch with him. 

He didn't see her come in. Jake was there, a bar mop in hand wiping off a table down near the dance floor. So this was his other job. A very pretty young girl came up to him...flirting...too young for him...definite intimacy...more than a friendly embrace. Before he turned and saw Taylor, she ducked back outside. 

He was dressed differently today, in Wranglers and a nice shirt. If the young girl he had his arms around was indeed some sort of romantic interest, Taylor didn't want to complicate things or have her relationship with Jake misconstrued. What relationship? She owed him money, that was all. She sat in her car, dialed information and decided to call the bar. 

"City Limits Tavern, this is Jenny; how can I help you?"

"Hi---Jenny? My name is Taylor. I'm trying to get in touch with Jake Martin, I..."

"He's standing not ten feet away from me. Hold on. Daddy! It's for you." 

Daddy?

"This is Jake." 

"Jake, this is Taylor, I..."

"Taylor! It's nice to hear your voice." 

"Jake, I'm glad I found you. I wasn't sure how to get in touch with you and I was out driving around and realized I never paid you for the work you did for me." 

"No real rush, Taylor. Listen I can stop by later; I'm a little tied up right now but if you are out and about---do you remember the place we had lunch that first day?"

"Sure." 

"I'll be here for the rest of the afternoon---how far away are you?"

"Well...actually...I'm sitting in the parking lot." 

"Well...come on in, then!"

***

"Taylor! Good to see you. If you still have nothing to eat in that fridge of yours I'm sure we can find something back in the kitchen." 

"Yes, well, no...I'm fine on that count. I was just looking for you; I never paid you for the work you did and I feel awful about it." 

"Hmmmm, we never really even discussed a price," he said, leading her over to the bar. "I'll tell you what. I've got the receipts for the paint rig rental and the paint somewhere. Hold on. I think they're still in my wallet. Yep! Here they are! I rented the truck for a week, divide by seven times two days for your project plus the paint---how's this sound?" Jake said, pushing a piece of paper in front of her which indicated an amount roughly half of what she had been quoted by other contractors. 

"That's not right, Jake---it's not enough. I checked with some other contractors and it should easily be twice that amount." 

"You helped! I enjoyed doing it. That's what friends are for---isn't it?"

"Jake, you can't make a living selling at cost, you. . ." 

"I'm not a painting contractor, Taylor; it's not how I make a living." 

"But I thought..."

"I know, you saw me at the store, covered in paint and you assumed...and I didn't do anything to change your opinion." 

"Now I'm really embarrassed." 

"Don't be. Write me a check for that amount and we're even. If you're still embarrassed, come back for dinner and we'll call it a wash." 

"Dinner?"

"Yes. It's a week night and we need every paying customer we can drag in off the street." 

"And I suppose you don't haul manure for a living either?"

"No. I'm putting in a massive vegetable garden and my soil needed some help. I just like to do things like that myself---makes it more personal---same with painting my own fence. We're not that different, Taylor---as I recall you just helped paint your own fence when I have the sense that you could easily have hired someone to do it without getting your hands dirty." 

"The sense? And wait---your twenty acres of fence?"

"Well, let's see, you drive into town, run out of gas and a week later you buy the old Reynolds place---which is none of my business in any event. And yes---my twenty acres of fence." 

"Oh." 

"Oh? So how long are you planning to stay?"

"Stay?"

"In town, I mean." 

"I don't know. Jake, what kind of music do you have here?"

"Decidedly country, with a little folk and always a little rock and a little blues---why?"

"No pop?"

"I despise modern pop music. Every now and again I try to listen to it but it all sounds the same---heartless and soulless." 

"So you don't follow the pop scene?"

"Hardly." 

"TV?"

"Yes, I own a TV, well, more than one actually. I enjoy sports and several dramas and the news." 

"Reality TV?"

"Oh, please!"

"Who plays here?"

"We have a house band on weekends—and Thursday. I play a little...sing. We also have open mic night, which is---tonight." 

"You play...and sing?"

"Marginally. I'm also a song writer---actually I'm far more a song writer than a singer--- although I'm a damn decent guitar picker and a passable pianist." 

"And that's how you make a living?"

"Not really...sort of. Look! I'll fill you in if you come back for dinner. I've got a delivery of fresh fish on the dock and it's going to rot if I don't get it moved in to the cooler. We're a little understaffed today. Fair enough?"

"Sure. Six?"

"That'll work." 

This time Jake did not remotely resemble a man who did manual labor at minimum wage for a living. She was very confused. She stopped by the hospital on her way home in spite of the fact that it wasn't her regular day and sought out the director. 

"Mary, I'm prying and if it is inappropriate, just tell me. There was a man tending the rose garden the first time I came by..."

"Jake Martin? He's pretty much a fixture here. He planted---and contributed---every one of those magnificent roses. It's a memorial garden; did you happen to read the marker?"

"No, I..."

"Let's walk outside." 

In loving memory...Clarisse Martin, beloved wife, mother and friend.

"Jake started this about six years ago...right after his wife died...was killed. I guess I've known Jake for at least ten years---knew his wife too...she and I were very good friends. No man has ever loved a woman they way he loved Clarisse; they'd been together since high school. They were a very special couple; it was a marriage made in heaven. Many people---most men---would have completely fallen apart. Clarisse was his life...one of the kindest most caring human beings I've ever known. She was driving home from here the day it happened. She was on staff...a physician. A drunk driver crossed into her lane---head on." 

"How awful!"

"Jake is a very special part of this community; he has a lot of friends here. Do you have time?"

"Sure!"

"Jake is not from here; he grew up a couple of states to the East and North. Jake served in the Army a few wars back. He was a helicopter pilot. There used to be a small reserve base here---an infantry unit---it's long gone now. Many of the men who served in that unit still live here...those who survived that awful war. Jake was active Army; he commanded a small helicopter detachment which flew in support of our guys when they got called up and sent overseas. 

"His unit re-supplied them daily with food, water and ammo, delivered their mail, extracted their dead and took their wounded to the nearest aid station or hospital. Our unit had a pretty rough go of it. There are at least a couple of hundred men who still live in this little city who flew with Captain Martin and his flight crews...and too many in our local cemeteries who made their final flight with them. 

"There was an unusual closeness between Jake Martin's unit and the men on the ground. There are literally dozens alive today because of their fearlessness and devotion to duty and their fellow man. After our reserve unit returned home, Jake took personal leave time to come here and visit each and every one of them. He left, finished his Army hitch, went back to school and ended up coming back here a few years later with his bride and settled." 

"How did the war affect him? Does he have any...issues?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Jake Martin will never be a lonely man; there are literally hundreds of people living here who would risk their lives for him...he is beloved...cherished. Still, it's always saddened me that after Clarisse died he never...he's still a young man...he doesn't have anyone in his life...a woman. Sure, raising a teenager alone can be a full time job but, still... And I've probably said more than it was my place to say! You should get to know him, Taylor. He's a very special man." 

"I saw him walking into the mission a while back..."

"He fills in for Frank Connors who runs the mission now and again; Frank's been having a bout with cancer and has been going through chemo for several months." 

"Oh. So, as far as you know, Jake doesn't have any issues with...alcohol?"

"Oh, heavens, no! Frank's certainly not a teetotaller but I don't think I've ever seen him consume more than two beers, a couple of glasses of wine or the occasional martini at any one time. Jake's just Jake; always a smile and a kind word. Generous with his time and money. Rock solid...dependable...loving and caring. There's more---lots more...all good! Get to know him; you will not regret it." 

Taylor drove home more than a little confused. She showered and changed into jeans and a simple blouse. She arrived back at the bar an hour early. Jake was writing something down behind the bar. 

"Did you get the fish taken care of?"

"That I did! You're early! Not that I'm complaining." 

"Nancy Drew here just got the first few chapters of the Jake Martin story---over at the VA. Do you have time to add the ensuing chapters or am I catching you at a bad time?"

"Your timing is perfect! The blue hair crowd won't slip in for another hour and the regulars sometime after that. Where should I begin?"

"Do you work here?"

"More than I should---since it's not the most profitable thing I've ever tried. I own the place." 

"You own this place? But you don't earn a living here..."

"Okay. I've written a few songs that bring in a few bucks. I have savings...my wife..."

"You were married; I heard. I'm very sorry for your loss." 

"Widowed as of six years ago. I was about to say that in addition to savings there was some insurance and a respectable settlement. My wife died in an auto accident...drunk driver...although you already seem to know that." 

"I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what that was like...the loss of a loved one..."

"That little slice of heaven standing over by the bar is Jenny---our only child. She's going to be a grad student---at State. She is helping out here over the summer. Come on! I'll introduce you." 

The phone rang and Jake went to the other end of the bar to answer it just as the introductions had been made, leaving Taylor and Jenny alone. 

"So, Taylor, where do you know my dad from?" inquired Jenny, certainly not with any hint of hostility, but Taylor knew she was being checked out. 

"I seem to keep running into him all over town. He helped me get my car started the first day I was here. Then one thing led to another. He helped me paint my fence and..."

"Taylor, you definitely remind me of someone---I just can't place it." She paused, in anticipation of a question that didn't come. "Not my mother, if that's what you were thinking. I look a lot like her, or so I'm often told." 


She Had it All



Jake was done with his call and was slowly moving back in their direction as he was writing something down. 

"Taylor, I hope you and dad become good friends; he likes you. I can tell. He's a very special human being. He's one of those people who just seems to take care of others---me, certainly. I'm not sure I'd have made it without him. Take good care of him." 

Jenny excused herself to tend to something in the kitchen as Jake returned. 

"Your daughter---Jenny---how old...?"

"She's twenty-two---I'm forty-one. Clarisse and I got married very young, right out of high school. Any more questions? Oh, yes! I forgot. What do I do for a living? I teach. I'm a professor at the university. I'm a full professor in the History Department. How about you?"

"I'm not sure you want to know. Should I be calling you doctor?"

"Let's dispense with the formalities but, yes, I do have a doctorate. Go on. Is what you do illegal, immoral or unethical?"

"What? No. Certainly not illegal." 

"Good. Sit down. Red or white?"

"Pardon me?"

"Wine. Red or white. We do make the beer but not the wine." 

"Red...a Merlot or a Cab?"

"Damn fine. I'll get the wine and the glasses, you sit your pretty butt in that chair over there and then I'm all ears---if you're up to it." 

"I'll work on it. I'm thirty, just for the record." 

"Good to know; you look younger." 

"Thank you." 

"I'll be right back." 

Jake returned in under a minute with an over-priced but quite exceptional Napa Cabernet. 

"No one in their right mind ever orders it at the asking price so we might as well enjoy it." 

"It's amazing." Taylor observed after a sip. "Do I look like anyone you've ever seen---known?"

"No, not remotely. But now that we're laying our cards on the table and since all men are pigs, I only stopped that first day because you cut an impressive figure standing out there with your head under the hood; and you look pretty good today, I might add." 

"Ah, the old T&A," Taylor said, flipping her hair away from her wide set blue eyes. She was flirting. She regretted doing so for an instant. She knew how to flirt---knew how to make men desire her. Did she know how to make a man like her---respect her---love her?

"All I saw was the 'A'; I didn't see the 'T' until I stopped and while they are quite impressive, I'm more of an 'A' man---and a leg man---than a 'T' man. No offense." 

"None taken. So that's why you didn't stare at my...?"

"I suppose, but I do confess to sneaking a peak at your rump every time I had a chance while we were painting." 

"It's too big." 

"Not from this man's perspective." 

"Are you flirting with me?"

"I hope so." 

"Good...I think. Sadly, Jake, I'm far better at flirting than I am at relating. Relationships! Not a very good track record there." 

"I find that hard to believe; you were so relaxed---real---over those two days we worked together." 

"I wasn't trying to impress you...make you like me...want me." 

"Because I didn't matter?"

"That sounds so wrong but I guess there's some truth in it. You didn't matter as a man in the whole male/female scenario. I've spent my life trying to be what a man seems to want me to be and letting more than one try to shape me and mold me into what he needs. Now I'm not sure what I am---who I am." 

"You need to be you." 

"Easier said than done. Whether we're talking about sex, love, relationships or art I'm not sure I know anymore---if I ever did." 

"Start over. Let me guess. Daddy left early for whatever reason. You blamed yourself. You thought, if you could be more nearly perfect, he'd stay---even though it had nothing to do with you. Let go of it---today. Think back to when you were happy---truly happy---and grab on to it...hold on to it for dear life. I do it every day." 

"It seems too simple; I'm not sure I know how. It affects everything I do...my music." 

"Oh, my! I should have known. Well, it's hopeless if you are a musician. I'm afraid you're destined to a life of misery and bad relationships." 

"Really?"

"No, I was just kidding. Look. For me, music is just fun; it's not who I am. I don't make music or write music for anyone other than myself. I'm getting the sense that you are different. You got involved in music to please someone else---your mother? Somewhere the joy went out of it---if it was ever there? Was it?"

"Yes---and still is sometimes---but not often enough. I sing what they want me to...what sells...what pleases others---and yes, my mother is one of those others." 

"Well, you are in luck! This is open mic night. You can get up on that stage and sing anything you want and something tells me you've got a voice so you're not going to drive everyone out of the place." 

"I couldn't, I..."

"No pressure, babe, no producers, no promoters---no fans. Just you and music...your music, hopefully. Can you sing on a full stomach?"

"What? Sure." 

"Good! Let's have something to eat---it's all good but if you like fish, the trout is so fresh it was swimming a couple of hours ago. Do you read music?"

"Of course." 

"Of course, my ass! It's amazing how many very successful singers can't read music. Look, sing what you want but I've got a song that I can't sing---and I've never let anyone else do it. I'll get the sheet music for you. If you hate it, I'll understand. I've also got a duet that I've never done or let anyone else do. It's all country---but it's damn good and authentic. Again, no pressure." 

Taylor read over the two songs as Jake retreated to the kitchen to personally prepare their dinner. Taylor had never sung anything remotely country. She loved the standards but her 'people' wanted her singing pop. It took her only seconds to know that these were good songs and she could do them justice. No never-ending rehearsals---no singing the same line over and over while a producer searched for the perfect track. Just do it; just sing it. 

Taylor grinned as she swallowed the last tasty morsel of trout. "Okay, I'll do it. I love the songs. Any chance we could run through them once just so I can get the tempo?"

"Sure; the place isn't going to fill up---what am I saying, it's a weeknight---for at least another hour or so. There really is no place to go other than a storage room. Come on! Let me grab a six string and we'll give it a go." 

A few minutes later the two of them sat inches apart on a bench in the dry goods storage pantry. Jake began the intro to the first song, a female solo, as Taylor followed the sheet music. Fearful of making too much noise she didn't remotely let the full power of her exceptional voice shine through, almost whispering the lyrics. 

Jake found Taylor very attractive; her smile was captivating and her form pleasing. He'd already decided there was something he really liked about her. He had not, until the second he heard her voice in song, thought of her in a romantic sense although sex had certainly crossed his mind. At the instant that he heard her absolutely perfect, clear, angelic voice, he almost gasped and lost all sense of time and place. There was from that moment on nothing he would not do for her no matter the price. Little could she know that, in that magic moment, she had captured his heart and it was hers to keep forever if she saw fit to do so. 

"Your voice...it's beyond amazing...perfect pitch. . . crystal clear...angelic...effortless!"

"Thank you. I don't usually sing this way...soft, almost a cappella. Fans---producers---want to hear the range and the power...want me to belt it out...stun 'em with the pipes." 

"What's your actual range?"

"I can stay musical and pretty much in control over four octaves. Inside of three and change I'm in total control. I can exceed that by an octave or more at the high end but while it has some pop attraction I'm not sure it's still music---and I don't enjoy it. I'm a pretty standard soprano with a little gift at the top and bottom. I think it's the extended bottom range that intrigues people---surprises them. It gives my singing more...what's the word...earthiness?"

"Amazing! No one can sing softly with that level of control who doesn't have astounding power---and range. I don't want to tell you how to sing, Taylor---it's your voice. But...did it feel good...make you smile...did you feel the joy?"

"Oh, God, yes!"

"Then it's not someone else---me---telling you how you should sing; it's what you're feeling inside. Am I right?"

"Without question." 

They moved on to the duet; it was a soft, tender love song. It was no challenge for Jake; he was singing it for the first time to and with the woman he was pretty sure he had just fallen in love with. Half way through the song as the two sang together as if born to do so, their eyes met and locked. Taylor's voice wavered almost imperceptibly; her eyes filled with tears. Oh, my God! The words: "waited my whole life." The wait was over for her, as completely insane, illogical and impossible as it seemed. Jake...the one...the one she had waited her whole life for? Please let me love him so that he can love me...please, God, help me make him love me. She needn't have worried her pretty head. 

Jake placed his guitar on the bench as they both stood and smiled at each other. Wordlessly they were in each other's arms and their lips joined. This can't be real...it's not possible, no way! His lips and his arms say he could love me...he honestly could love me. Her arms and her kiss sent the same message back loud and clear. 

"Wow!" Jake said as they broke their first kiss. "Let's do it just like that, Taylor, soft, understated. I know you've got some amazing pipes---save 'em. Just kiss the songs...just the way you just kissed me and everything will come out just fine!"

"Just fine?"

"Better than fine. Are you comfortable with it?"

"Completely." 

"Good!"

"I'm going to need a couple of warm up songs, Jake. They're standards, not country and I don't need much accompaniment. Is that okay?"

"It's your mic and your night, dear heart. Sing whatever makes you feel good---joyful---happy." 

Surprisingly, the place filled up more than one would have expected for a weeknight. A couple of other folks took advantage of the open mic and fortunately none of them were awful. 

"How do you want me to introduce you?"

"I fear there will be people in the audience that will know my name---my stage name. Just introduce me as a special friend---named Taylor. My last name isn't that unusual, but...I am a special friend, aren't I, Jake?"

"Very special. What are you going to start with?"

"Stormy Weather?"

"I can cover that on the piano; it happens to be an open mic night favorite but somehow I sense that you are going to really do it justice." 

The dinners and drinkers talked among themselves as Jake introduced his special friend. Ten seconds into the classic torch song, they were completely silent as every eye and ear focused on the small stage. 

Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky.

Stormy weather

All I do is pray the lord above will let me walk in the sun once more. 

Stormy weather. 

Keeps raining all the time.

Billie Holliday and Frank Sinatra would have been proud---as would have Harold Arlen, the composer. When Taylor held the final note longer than should have been humanly possible everyone in the house knew this was not a typical open mic night. The audience went nuts. Several obviously called friends and family on their cell phones because more people drifted in over the next thirty minutes. 

Taylor was on a roll; she sang half a dozen more standards; by the time she absolutely nailed, "Night and Day" the place was packed. She and Jake took a break. She walked over to the piano and sat down next to him. 

"You think I could get a regular gig here?"

"We might be able to work something out. You look happy, hon. You look relaxed...at peace." 

"I love these songs, Jake. I grew up with these songs...I was born to sing them but my 'people' don't believe they'll sell to the young pop audience and the pop concert crowd gets bored when I perform them." 

"Are you sure you're okay singing my two songs? You don't have to, you know." 

"I know...and that's why I want to. Do you think two songs is going to keep this crowd happy?"

"Probably not and I don't really have any other original stuff with me that's girlie so we may have to improvise some covers. I do have a stack of sheet music." 

"I'm not completely ignorant as far as country music goes. My granddad listened to the Grand Ole Opry every Saturday night. I do know who Dolly Parton is and I love AKUS. When we record we rehearse over and over---record the same damn song a hundred times just to get the right sound. The concerts are completely scripted. I haven't had this much fun in longer than I can remember. What the Hell? It's open mic night---we can wing it!"

"That's my girl!"

Impetuously she kissed him. "I like being your girl. I hope I'm still your girl when you get to know me...know who I really am." 

"Who you really are? Why, you're the gorgeous woman with the amazing voice sitting next to me. Let it go, babe...don't hold back...be the Taylor you want to be...need to be." 

Jake and Taylor held the standing room crowd in the palms of their hands for two more hours. Keith Whitley's "When You Say Nothing at All" was the last song Taylor did before Jake's two originals and it stunned the audience. The love song solo was beyond anyone's belief but it was the final duet that told everyone in the place that there was something special between Taylor and Jake. These were his friends...people who loved him...people who hoped and prayed that the new girl in town was the one for him...the one who could bring a woman's love into his life again. 

Several in the audience commented that she looked like a certain famous pop singer. Even though she had changed her hair and wore no makeup, someone was bound to figure it out. More than one said she sure as heck sang better. All Taylor could do was giggle inside. She wanted to enjoy the moment; her fear was that someone would or already had really figured out who she was and would burst the bubble. I'm going to love you tonight, like there's no tomorrow, Jake...love you better...love you like no woman has ever loved you and pray that you still love me tomorrow when you know the truth. She would soon discover that he already had a pretty good inkling of the truth. 

"I don't suppose I could get a ride home?" Jake, inquired playfully. 

"It's not out of my way at all, is it?" Taylor responded coyly. "You drive." 

Damn foreign cars and their bucket seats, Taylor mused. She wanted to have her butt next to his and ideally, her hand on his cock. 

"So, Taylor, before we get to my house, several people have told me you remind them of a certain contest-winning major pop diva who isn't named Taylor. What gives?"

"Taylor is my middle name; I use my first name professionally---Katherine. Jake, I..."

"And exactly how successful are you?"

"Successful? I sing crap because that's what people want me to sing. I sell out concerts singing pop crap. I have two multi-platinum albums singing crap. And if I want to go back to California and record more crap---people will buy it. There's no art to what I do; I hate it. It's not what's inside me so in a real sense I'm a failure." 

"Any Grammys?"

"No. A nomination...what a joke. A People's Choice---also a joke. That's all." 

"I have three---Grammys that is---song writing. I'll show them to you if you'd like to come in. Some other industry awards. They weren't crap but I do believe they weren't the best songs I ever wrote. The best songs I've ever written have never been recorded---because I never offered them to anyone. You sang two of them tonight; they've never been performed in public before---anywhere. You did them justice...there are others...written for a special woman to sing. With that voice..."

"You have three friggin' Grammys?"

"Seven nominations...three wins. Taylor, I realized tonight during the second set that I have heard your recordings---while getting my hair cut. They weren't that bad in spite of how much I hate pop but they were terribly over-produced and your amazing voice gets lost. Your people are right on one count; it's hard to sell the standards today no matter how wonderful they are---at least a whole album or concert full of them. It doesn't mean you can't slip one in here and there---expand the listeners' horizons. Hell, Gretchen Wilson slipped a Billie Holliday number in at the end of her second album---and does "Black Dog" in concert---and she's about as country as it gets. Garth has slipped a surprise in on more than one occasion." 

"Where is this leading?"

"Taylor, you sing country as well as anyone I've ever heard short of Patsy Cline---and you'd give her a run for the money. If you should ever decide that you want to give it a go---country, I mean---you can have any of my songs you want, exclusively. I have some friends in the business who are also people I think you could live with. I don't know how your label would feel about it..."

"As of this minute, I don't have a label. They'd re-sign me in a minute but the contract is up." 

"Start your own! Many of the best country artists have done so. You hopefully have saved some money, but financial backing wouldn't be that hard to scrape up. Do it your way; spend your own money and lay down the tracks---the way you want them to sound. Produce the product right down to the liner notes. Your name will sell the first half million and once people hear you sing---really sing---the rest will be history." 

"I don't know anybody in country." 

"I do. Good people with good hearts. Hell, one of the biggest singer-song writers in country music today has his own studio on a horse farm not an hour from here. He's a good friend; we shared one of those Grammys and he won an ACM with another of my songs. You'd love his wife---she a former California girl." 

"What's in it for you, Jake, if I'm not being too cynical?"

"I was sorta hoping I'd convince a very special girl not to go back to California...give her a reason to stay." 

"You men can be so silly some times. I was thinking I'd found all the reason I needed to stay...a man named Jake." 

"Don't toy with me, young lady. Don't tease me, I'm getting too old for that." 

"Are we going to sit out here in the car all night or are you going to invite me in? And I thought you lived in some broken down shack. Are those horses? Oh, my God---you have horses?"

"You like horses?"

"Love horses; actually know how to ride." The two entered Jake's home. "This place sure could use a woman's touch---love the kitchen though. Do you cook?"

"Of course. I moved after Clarisse was killed... pretty much started over. My daughter has her own place closer to campus; she'll be moving in the fall. It's about a three hour drive to the capital. Hope you like dogs---big dogs." 

"Love dogs!"

"I'm going to let 'em both in; prepare to be slobbered on." 

After the two pups were introduced and placated, Taylor quickly grabbed Jake and kissed him. 

"I will never toy with your heart or tease you...well...I may tease you but not your heart. I told you I have a dismal track record when it comes to men and relationships and right now I'm giddy and scared to death in the same instant. I am generally insecure and needy but somehow around you, I feel neither. There are probably a million reasons why this isn't going to work; be patient with me. I have a good heart and I've waited a long time to give it to a man who won't break it. Are you that man, Jake?"

"Taylor, I've only loved one woman in my life before I met you. So, I guess we just need to crawl out on the thin ice together and hope that if one of us slips under the other will be there to pull us back to safety. I'm yours if you'll have me and I promise you more love than you could even imagine. You stole my heart earlier when we were rehearsing together in the pantry...be careful with it." 




She Had it All



"Do you want to talk or...?"

"I'm thinking the 'or'? How about you?"

"Lead on, MacDuff!"

Taylor was a very sexual creature. More than one therapist had suggested that her often wanton sexuality was some sort of cry for help or a suppressed need for love or intimacy or whatever. Taylor knew she could fuck a man better than he had ever been fucked before or would be again. She was determined to love and fuck this man like no other...make him want her...need her...desire her. She delighted in the tease, in subjecting her partner to excruciating anticipation...holding him off...making him cum when she wanted him to. Sadly, few men she had been with had reciprocated in kind. 

As she awoke and gazed at his sleeping form in the early dawn light she almost giggled in the realization that she had certainly met her match. Jake had thrilled her and excited her as no other man ever had. He had found all of her special places, reveled in her friskiness and pleased her completely. She had cum more times than she could count; he had made her scream and made her moan. Just before drifting off, following a marathon string of delightfully nasty and vigorous fucking and sucking, he had made love to her...sweet, tender, passionate, patient, glorious love. She couldn't afford to screw this up but her history said she was bound to. She cried softly and prayed silently as she too drifted off to sleep. 

Taylor walked into the kitchen wearing nothing more than one of Jake's shirts to find him pouring coffee and juice. 

"That's the way I like my women! Barefoot and damned near naked!" he said, wrapping his arms around her and caressing her perfect rump. 

"Actually the line is, 'barefoot and pregnant' as I recall." 

"That could be arranged." 

"Do you want more children, Jake?"

"I'm very open on that point." 

"Good answer. I want babies. Do you mind if I turn on the entertainment news? Someone in that crowd last night has to have figured it out. I can change my name a little, cut my hair, dull the color and go without makeup but my voice is hard to disguise and I actually did one of the songs last night that got me on that damned show. My style on that one is unique to say the least." 

"Let me save you the time. I already got a call from the sheriff who has already gotten several calls of inquiry; the snoopers are heading our way. Sorry, babe." 

"Shit! This is the last thing I wanted to have happened. I'm going to have to go...before they get here." 

"Maybe not." 

"What?"

"Okay, first, they can check property records and put two and two together and within a few hours they will be turning into your dirt road---at which point they will promptly be arrested for trespassing and anything else the local constabulary can come up with. This is a very close-knit community, Taylor. You've already made some friends in your brief time here---and those friends are not about to sell you out...or sell me out." 

"But..."

"You're here at my house and it will take them a while to figure that out---if they do at all. I agree that it might make sense to get out of town for a few days until it blows over. At some point you probably will have to make some sort of public statement. You should probably call someone back home...a publicist? Family?"

"I fired my publicist; I'll call mom." 

"We should probably run over to your place and pick up some of your stuff---enough for a few days at least. Then we might just want to get out of town." 

"Oh, darn that's not what I had in mind for the rest of the day but I guess you're right." Taylor replied, stroking his hard cock through his boxers. 

She went down on her knees and released his turgid organ; he did not protest as her full mouth engulfed him and began the magic motion that always led to the same conclusion. He came quickly, filling her mouth with his salty essence; she swallowed every drop. Wordlessly, he raised her to her feet, spun her around and pushed her down on the counter. 

She pushed her full rump back toward him, presenting as a spring mare might do. He slapped her butt playfully, then harder. 

"What a bad little girl!" he growled. 

"Am I your bad little girl, baby?"

"No one else's," he whispered. 

"Then fuck your bad little girl...your bad little girl needs some cock...your cock...only yours." 

Jake's still rock hard tool was deep inside her cunt in a single stroke. He rode her hard and took her deep, alternately pulling her hips back on his cock with his strong hands and slapping her well padded rump. Her fingers fell to her slippery slot...found the perfect spot...she could feel the heat rising...loved it this way...certain that she probably couldn't cum but then to her astonishment it hit her like a ton of bricks and she screamed out...screamed his name...whimpered. 

His pace accelerated as he slammed into her...telling her in voice and deed what a hot fuck she was...how much he loved her ass...her mouth...her pussy. He came with a growl, screaming her name, shooting his precious seed deep inside her...so deep...right where it belonged inside her...inside her and no other woman...ever. 

He gently turned her around, his fingers finding their way to her folds and then inside. He kissed her...finger-fucked her...caressed her tight anal crease...opened her butt cheeks and strayed there...softly rimming her tightest hole with his strong fingers...and she came again quite unexpectedly. 

An hour later, they were on the road in Jake's truck. 

"Where are we going?"

"To spend a couple of days with a good friend and his wife. If you're up for it, to lay down some music tracks. I don't want to push you here, Taylor, but, damn, it just feels right." 

"We're going to record?"

"Only if you want to." 

"I think I want to." 

"Good." 

An hour later, Jake and Taylor pulled up to the house of one of the most respected singer-songwriters in the business who was also a virtuoso on the guitar. Taylor was shocked to meet the man's wife; she had starred in several of Taylor's favorite movies. 

"Oh, my God, you're..."

"And I know who you are too, hon. I'm addicted to reality talent shows—less so to your work since then---but still a huge fan of your amazing voice. Welcome to our home. While the boys talk boy stuff, let's get to know each other. So. How do you know Jake?"

Taylor related her short history less the previous night's activities. 

"Taylor, my husband never served in the military; his older brother did. My husband is closer to his brother than anyone in the world---maybe even me. His brother served in the same war with Jake and he only came home because Jake got him out. . . driven back by enemy fire three times...wouldn't give up...wounded himself...got him out...got him to a hospital in the nick of time. Silver Star and a Purple Heart---which didn't mean a hill of beans to Jake. 

"I love two men in the world, Taylor: my husband and the man you came with. I would trust him with my life---as would my husband. Don't ever hurt him. Don't even think about ever asking him about what he did in the war. What he did was save men's lives---lots of 'em. They don't come any better. I can see it in his eyes---he loves you. You're a very lucky girl. Please don't hurt my friend." 

Taylor was taken aback but knew that no response was appropriate. 

Brad and Jake chatted. "Hey, buddy, you're welcome to the studio but I'm going to need it back tomorrow afternoon. We're doing a gig at the Opry Saturday night and the boys are coming in so we can tune up. We haven't been on the road---or in the studio---for a while and just need to shake out the cobwebs. What do you hope to accomplish?"

"The girl's got an astounding voice Brad---but she hates what she's been singing. I've got some stuff I've never given any one that I think would work for her. Minimal accompaniment, just a six string or the piano. I don't think she quite understands how perfect her voice is for our genre. Hopefully if we can lay down a few tracks and she can hear how good it is...it will make her happy." 

"You know how resistant the old guard can be about pop cross-overs. If she is as good as you say she is and really wants to do it, she's going to have to pay some dues---tour." 

"I think she can handle it if she feels good about what she's doing. At the end of the day this business is about selling records and making money. I've certainly seen what the old guard and the radio station managers can do to bury a new artist---hell, look at the failure of the past three or four Nashville Star winners! She's got an advantage those kids didn't have. She's been part of the crappy side of the music business. She knows the score. Evidently she's socked a decent nest egg away. Right now she's far less about 'making it' in country music than she is feeling good about her music." 

"Well, she's a looker and if your songs are as good as you say they are---and I have no doubt---then she's got a leg up. If the voice is as good as I've heard through the grapevine that it could be, she might just be able to pull it off. What's your interest, Jake?"

"I'm in love with the girl?"

"That'll work. Listen. Let me get you guys set up out in the barn; I've got some calls to make---problems to deal with involving the Opry appearance---but when I'm done I'll be glad to come out and run the board for you---or you can run the board and I'll pick." 

From the outside it was just an old but well maintained barn; on the inside it was an acoustically engineered, state-of-the-art sound studio. Taylor was in awe. 

"If you're up for it, why don't you take a few minutes to peruse my sheet music and we can try a couple. Simple, pure, acoustic---me on piano or guitar. We can run through 'em as many times---or as few times---as you like. If you are comfortable, Brad will be out in a little while to help us out." 

"What do we expect to accomplish, Jake?" Taylor asked, with some trepidation. 

"It's really about what I hope you can accomplish. I'd just like to get some tracks down---so that you can hear how you sound singing this stuff. Hopefully, you'll feel good about it...that's all. No pressure---no retakes unless there is a blatant screw up." 

Brad came in a couple of hours later as Jake and Taylor were just running through the last songs. He liked what he heard in the booth; he wanted to be part of it. 

"Mind if an actual professional guitar picker, major recording star and former child prodigy sits in?" he quipped. 

For the next six hours the three of them played and made tapes with Brad and Jake alternating between the booth and the accompaniment. They got nine songs down with a minimum number of retakes. Brad knew it was good as did Jake. Now Taylor needed convincing. They loaded the tracks onto an MP3 player. Taylor excused herself and drifted outside to walk and listen to her own music. Jake and Brad chatted. 

"Shades of Patsy, friend Jake. She's a natural. For a singer of lesser ability the tracks would be raw but in her hands they come across as just...pure. There isn't a record label in Nashville that wouldn't be excited by this work. Her pop fans would probably hate it but..."

"I don't sense she cares about that, Brad. She just wants to feel good about what she is singing. She was in heaven all afternoon; hopefully she still will be when she gets done listening to herself. Right now this isn't about making or selling an album; it's just about making her smile...feel the joy." 

"It'd be a crime not to share it." 

"That's up to her." 

Taylor came back an hour later and the grin on her face said all that needed to be said. 

"I haven't really liked listening to my own voice in a very long time. Of course the songs are absolutely amazing...as if you wrote them just for me, Jake. I know we probably need to re-record some of them but..."

"Taylor, let me be the first to disagree; we made those tracks essentially flat without any tweaking. They don't need it. They have authenticity; unless there's an obvious flaw somewhere that I missed, you've damn near got an album here...if you want it. Sure, it wouldn't hurt to have a producer play with the song order, maybe even dub in an instrument here or there but they'd fly just the way they are," Brad injected. 

"That's the part I hate, Brad---producers! They're all looking for a certain sound that says more about the producer than the artist. I don't know..."

"Taylor, I've been there. My first label and my first album---I'm lucky to have survived, career-wise. I've developed a simple philosophy when it comes to producers." 

"Which is?"

"I don't let a producer touch my music who isn't in his or her own right an accomplished musician who had recorded, performed and succeeded at a very high level. Let me give you an example. Look. There's a friend of mine---he's been around the business a hell of a lot longer than I have. 

"Alan's an icon; his albums sell like hot cakes. Everyone wants to write for him. Still, there are those that think he's gone a little too pop and in recent years a little too overproduced---even in concert. He knew it and hated it---wanted to get back to making music---simple, authentic and understated. So he decided to let one of the most revered singer/musician/performers in the industry---twenty-some Grammys---produce his most recent album. 

"He had the guts to just put it in her hands and simply be the artist. He gave her free rein. It probably scared the hell out of him at times---she tends to win most battles in the studio. Trust me, I caved in completely on the song we did together and we won every award there is. In any event, it's the best work he's ever done; the critics love it and the fans adore it. I'd love her to produce my next album but she has a real life and family and her own career and getting on the waiting list to do studio work with her is like pulling teeth." 

"Do you produce?"

"I'm still learning, Taylor. I know enough about it to know your stuff will stand on its own but I don't have the confidence yet to produce a whole album---certainly not a first effort." 

"I don't know a hell of a lot about the current country industry, Brad, but I do know it has a reputation for being tough to break into---be accepted. Let's just take it slow---one step at a time. I decided as I was listening just now that Katherine is dead; I'm Taylor and I wouldn't feel right about trading on my pop success just to sell some music. I want to do this right---on my terms for a change. No disrespect but I need to feel a real audience beyond the two of you or Jake's friends and neighbors." 

"Well, I might just have that opportunity for you---sooner, rather than later. Look, I'm a member of the Opry but this gig coming up was essentially helping out a friend. Seems one of his clients---also a product of a TV talent show---lost her contract after a disappointing reaction to her 'gimme' album and was hoping to reinvent herself. She cancelled, supposedly due to laryngitis but my gut tells me its nerves---she's just not ready." 

"Oh, my." 

"There's a duet I'd like to do at the Opry---the Grammy winner I spoke of with the angel of modern bluegrass---you could handle it and you'd be helping me out. You could also do the love song Jake wrote for you...and..."

"And?"

"We could do the duet you and Jake did together---particularly if he'd let me record it with you for my next album, which just happens to be lacking one more song—and is due out in just a few weeks." 

"Oh, I...don't know...I..."

"Look, Taylor, I have a simple formula for singing very personal love duets like that. My wife stands in sight just off stage and I essentially sing it to her and I'm sure Jake would be glad to provide the same service for you." 

"Taylor, your two voices would be perfect for it. Brad only does an album every couple of years and they go platinum in a matter of days. It would be perfect exposure for you without the strain of an album or even a solo single." 

"Suppose someone recognizes me?"

"Well, that could happen but we can get you some boots, a Nudi suit and a big-ass cowboy hat and, hell! Your own mother won't recognize you! It's an easy crowd; they're just thrilled to see and hear their favorite stars and hear good live music. People make mistakes but no one cares. It's very, very, laid back." 

"Okay...why not?"

"Well that was easy---although you had me worried for a minute there. Taylor, you've toured and performed in front of much larger audiences but the Ryman is a delightfully personal venue---you can see their faces. Let's throw some dinner together and look forward to a decent night's sleep. The guys will be here in the morning, then they're going to head for Nashville tomorrow afternoon; we'll head over on Saturday." 

"I hate to come off as geographically challenged but how far is it from here?" Taylor inquired. 

"Barely two hours from here by road. Not much over an hour from where you guys live. The boys are going over a day early with the bus. We'll head over the next day by car." 

The two couples did in fact cook dinner together, although everyone seemed to defer to Jake who actually did know his way around a kitchen. The four turned in early but sleeping was not the first thought on their minds. 

The next day, Brad's band drifted in. Taylor and Jake sat in the booth and listened to them until Brad asked her to join them. He asked her if she knew the words to a certain up-tempo honkytonker that was a crowd favorite at the Opry. 

"I know I've heard the song, Brad; let me see some lyrics and sheet music if you've got it." 

Taylor perused the sheet music and lyrics for a minute or so, looked up, smiled and said, "Yeah. I think I've got it." 

"You've got to be kidding me!" he responded, and as if in challenge, the band kicked off the song. She hadn't been kidding; she nailed the song the first time through. 

"How the hell do you do that?" one of the band members inquired. 

"Half the time, I can't remember where I left my keys but I've always had an uncanny ability to look at music and lyrics and instantly commit them to memory." 

"Ever do any writing?" Brad asked. 

"I've tried. My 'people' never responded very well to anything I wrote and in all honesty it probably wasn't very good...at least not good pop." 

"Taylor, bluntly I'm a better song writer than singer, but virtually every hit I've written has had collaboration. You ought to let someone work with you. The country audience has a very special place in their hearts for singers who write their own stuff. Other than King George, few really make it without writing. What am I saying? The 'man that brung you' is a friggin' song writing genius. You don't really need to go shopping." 

By late afternoon the band felt comfortable. It was decided that Brad and Taylor would do three songs together, to include the honkytonker, the duet he had won a Grammy for and the one Jake had written. Then she would do the love song by Jake to minimal accompaniment. The band departed on Brad's bus for the two hour trip south. Right after lunch on Saturday, the four of them departed by SUV. 

"I've recently started using a jet on tour. I don't really own it; it's a share kind of relationship, four of us formed a corporation and bought it. When concert appearances are fairly closely spaced---under four hours---I take the bus. I like the bus---Kim hates it. The plane has been a Godsend; living on the road can be hell on a marriage and a family. We're not really part of the Nashville social scene. Living here we're close enough to Music Row from a business standpoint while being far enough away to have some privacy." 

Appearing at the Grand Ole Opry was unlike anything Taylor had ever experienced. People were so amazingly warm, friendly and supportive. While she wasn't up to date on the current country scene, she was flabbergasted to meet a number of the icons of traditional country back stage---people whose names and music she knew from listening to the radio with her grandparents many years earlier. 




She Had it All



She felt a little silly at first in the garish get-up that Brad and Jake had helped her procure but soon realized that her outfit was an integral part of Opry lore. She was positive no one would recognize her---not even her mother. 

Brad and his band had warmed up the crowd for half an hour before it was her turn to join them. The crowd greeted her warmly; Brad had been right. You could see their faces. Taylor's previous bouts with anxiety had always come about in anticipation of a performance, not during it. Give her a song, a mic and a good audience, and she was like a fish in water. The warm embrace and tender words of encouragement from the man she knew she loved removed the last vestige of butterflies. 

Opry crowds tend to move around, get up and go to the bathroom or get a snack, move to the front and take pictures and talk among themselves at times. They'd agreed to kick it off with the up-tempo number, essentially a duet but one that favored the female singer. Thirty seconds into it the crowd was not moving around or talking. The sense grew that music history was being made---and it wouldn't have been the first time it had occurred at the fabled auditorium. 

Taylor and Brad absolutely nailed the classic cover, probably doing it better than the original duo, now both dead but long since enshrined in the Hall of Fame. Brad had sung duets before with amazing female singers and had an uncanny ability to 'be there' vocally but let the better voice shine through. 

The audience was smiling...grinning...clapping. They were on their feet...moving with the music. Taylor felt the energy...absorbed it. In response to the audience Brad whispered to her and signaled to his band that they needed to re-sing the first verse again---extend the song. 

Taylor was not unlike many great singers; all of her doubts and insecurities melted away in the presence of a good crowd while singing a great song. She felt the love and gave it back to them. She held nothing back as they kicked into the extended number's final section. She stunned and awed; she left them breathless and wanting more. The off-stage teasers were crowded with the stars of yesterday and the hopefuls of today and tomorrow, all anxious to see what their ears told them was a landmark performance. 

And it just got better. By the time Taylor and Brad got to the final duet---the one Jake had written---the crowd was in tears. And as if it couldn't possibly get any better---it did. The solo love song was a stunner by anyone's measure. All knew that they were witnessing music history; few doubted that they had just witnessed the birth of an incredible new country star. The crowd wanted more but they'd have to settle for the next act; Brad and Taylor had already run over and it was time to exit the stage and give someone else the limelight. 

Taylor felt good; she felt proud. She knew she had left nothing in the dressing room; she'd given the audience everything she had in her and they adored her for it. The simple "wow" and the strong arms of the "man who had brung her" meant everything, even more than the love of the crowd. 

Everyone backstage wanted to congratulate her. The little man who had been such a visible symbol of the Opry for decades greeted her warmly. 

"Honey, with that voice and songs like you just did---and it sure doesn't hurt that you're such a pretty thing---you've got a bright future. Stay sweet and humble and don't let the bastards get you down. We'd like you to come back. How do we get in touch with your people?"

"I don't really have any people...just friends." 

"Well, I suppose Brad's people know how to get in contact with you; we'll do it soon." 

Brad had overheard the conversation. "Taylor, you just got invited back---as a solo artist. That's doesn't happen very often here after a single performance. Do not take that invitation lightly---and don't even think about saying no." 

"I don't have a band anymore, or anything." 

"Not really an issue here; there's always accomplished musicians available to help out a young artist. I knew you were good, hon, but that was as good a live performance as I've ever been party to. You're going to at least need to get an agent or manager---someone to answer the phone---because the phone is going to start ringing." 

"Agents and managers...right up there with producers in my least desired list." 

"Well, look. We're going to stay over. A good friend who is on tour has a big house here with lots of room. We're going to cook some food, drink some beer and play a little music. My manager/publicist/agent lives here; I think you'd like her." 

"Her?"

"She's old enough to be your---and my---mother but she's a good soul." 

"The last thing I want to do is get into another percentage based deal---any chance she'd agree to something short term and fee based?"

"You'll have to ask her. Most new artists don't have the cash for that kind of deal and of course agents, managers and such are betting on the come when they sign with a new artist." 

"I just don't want to get locked in again...tied to something I can't live with." 

An hour or so later Taylor met Brad's manager/publicist/agent who came by the borrowed house soon after they all arrived and well before the beer started to flow. Taylor had changed out of her stage costume by the time she was introduced. Margaret was not remotely like any one of her ilk that Taylor had ever met. She liked her instantly. She would come to honor and greatly appreciate her directness and her candor. 

"Taylor, we need to clear the table, so to speak. I have no problem entering into a 'probationary' fee-based arrangement with you. It's unusual to say the least and most new artists don't have the luxury of proposing it---'cause they're broke. On the other hand, I can't tell you the number of times I wish I'd had just such a relationship when a promising new wannabe crashed and burned and I got stuck with the unpaid receipts. 

"Before we even consider it, however, let's take a walk outside while you tell me what the hell you're doing, what you hope to achieve and why the canard---which will not hold up for long. I watched and heard you tonight on the TV---never miss it, particularly when my pride and joy is performing. There are thousands of pretty girls with decent voices in Nashville; most of them are tending bar, waiting tables and cutting hair while waiting for a break that is never going to come. While a career is certainly not going to fall at your feet based on four songs on a Saturday night at the Opry, it was one hell of a debut. So talk to me." 

Taylor brought her up to date on her life, her hatred of what she had become in the pop scene, her exit from the West Coast and...Jake. 

"So you are not now currently under contract with anyone?"

"As of midnight yesterday, no one. I do still have a financial advisor who handles my portfolio and an attorney on retainer, but he isn't remotely involved in the entertainment business. He's an old family friend." 

"No problem there; if you trust them, keep 'em. Taylor, this country thing---and I admit to being very protective of it---are you sure?"

"I wasn't at first---wasn't sure. But I feel good when I sing these songs and tonight...I've never felt that comfortable and relaxed on stage." 

"I'm sure someone else has already mentioned his, but your name---your pop name---will sell a shit-pile of records out of the gate." 

"I don't want to do it that way, Margaret. Less than a month ago, I left LA convinced that I was done---my career was over and I didn't have a single regret about it. Even now, in spite of how good tonight felt---I'm not absolutely convinced I want to jump back into the music world. I want to sing; I want to perform. I love an audience. I suppose I even want to record because I think I have something worth sharing but it's all the stuff that goes with it that soured me on the business over the last five or six years---and terrifies me." 

"Just my luck! A reluctant star. Okay, let's think about this. Brad already hinted that you guys laid down some impressive tracks. People make it in country because radio station managers play their songs---which they do because the fans call in and ask. There are miles of great tape by talented performers that no one is ever going to hear because they never got a deal, they never got promoted and they never built a fan base. Even a record deal is no assurance---ask the last four Nashville Star winners or Taylor Hicks!

"Video exposure is helpful and a good video can 'pressure' station managers. Download sites are a whole new approach to getting people to listen to your music. If you're sound is 'studio produced'---which yours definitely isn't---a concert tour will kill your career. I gather you've been invited back to the Opry but keep in mind that there is a reasonably talented girl with over 200 Opry performances who can't get a decent deal because she's not as good on tape as she is on a stage, doesn't have great songs of her own to sing, doesn't seem to have the right look---or whatever." 

"Look, Margaret, I'm probably the most patient performer you'll ever work with but I get it. I understand enough to know that in this business if you can't make money for people no one gives a damn how good you are. So what are you recommending?"

"Okay. We can probably keep the charade alive for a while but I'm not sure if it will last long enough to build the kind of fan base that says, 'this girl's for real and not just another pop singer who has gone country.' If you agree that we should work together---I'm thinking something like six months with a renewable clause---I'll get the word out to the country radio clan that I'm managing your affairs. 

"If they're interested---and they should be by tomorrow morning based on that televised Opry appearance---we need to send them a song immediately. The solo love song would be a good choice. Brad's album is coming out very soon and he wants to include the duet you guys did together---the one Jake wrote. You're going to have to do some call-ins with traditional country radio DJs but that's pretty painless. Some production stills and certainly a song to iTunes, based on potential radio airplay. Let's stay away from the video scene until CMT and GAC are absolutely begging because video close-ups will almost surely expose you for who you are---same with TV appearances." 

"Okay. I'm comfortable with that." 

"Concerts. You don't have a body of work or the exposure to even be the number two act for a headliner and the fifteen to thirty minute opener can be pretty dismal while people are finding their seats, chatting and getting their beer and such. On the other hand, there are always headliners on the road who realize their opening act isn't ready and bluntly sucks. On short notice they need a fill-in; if it works, they'd like to keep you on the lineup for four weeks. 

"The problem is most of these young artists can't afford decent equipment and end up with some local band playing too loud and not that well. You can afford good equipment. If you keep it relatively minimalist and acoustic, you can get by with a couple of solid session performers backing you up---on your payroll. I wouldn't do it any other way. If you're lucky, it'll be a break-even proposition. There are always mall openings, county fairs and such---seldom break-even, but good exposure." 

"I think I can handle all of that." 

"We can let another single out down the road as demand warrants it. We don't want to just float an album out there until it's got a chance of being bought. What about a label deal?"

"No. Absolutely no." 

"Okay, well, we can do the legal work for a few hundred bucks to create a label for you on paper. What would be best is if an established performer who also has their own label let's you piggy-back. You'd still have total artistic control but the horse power and name of the established star's label would open a lot of doors. Distribution has changed dramatically in the last few years. We've got major stars---Garth, Martina, Allison---selling directly through retail outlets such as Halmark, Walmart and Cracker Barrel. It's caused a bit of consternation among the traditional Nashville crowd but that's life. One more sensitive issue." 

"Which is?"

"No matter how good you are, a CD needs a producer." 

"That's a very sensitive subject with me." 

"So I gathered. I'm totally of Brad's mind set when it comes to producers. What would be convenient would be if one of the established stars who has had success producing gets wind of you and offers to be a mentor. Let me work on that." 

"Anything else?"

"Get ready for that interview which will sneak up and bite us in the ass when some major critic figures it out and demands the inside story. You're going to have to do it but hopefully not for a little while." 

The rest of the summer went very quickly for Taylor. The initial single released to the country radio crowd did very well, slipping into the Billboard top ten. It did equally well on iTunes. A major star with his own label approached her to open for him on a four week swing through the Midwest. She hired two accomplished musicians to play with her and acquired some stage duds that kept with her country style. 

She played the Opry twice more and sang several more songs from the budding album. Jake was occasionally able to travel with her but she knew that school would soon be starting and he would be tied down at work. She missed him when he wasn't with her; he was the one who could always recharge her batteries and keep her grounded. 

They rode horses together, cooked together, played with the dogs and made love. As fall approached, her fears kindled by her past failures with men began to evaporate. It became more real and more wonderful with every passing day. 

In August, an absolute icon of traditional country music with numerous awards as a performer and a producer approached her and offered to help produce her album. Brad's album was released and the duet he had done with Taylor raced to the top of the charts. 

Taylor's album was finished in record time; it included a song which Taylor had written herself about "forgotten men" based on the men she had met at the VA hospital where she still volunteered at every opportunity. It was to be the surprise thirteenth track. The TV country channels wanted a video. Taylor and Margaret sat down to discuss it. 

"I'm not ready to give it to them, Taylor, but we need to make it and have it ready to go when the album comes out. The minute the world sees it, the charade is over. There's no sense in trying to hide who you are so let's not get silly trying to disguise it. Simply costuming, no hats or sequins. Minimalist staging and backup. I've got a video producer in mind that I think you'll like. We can knock it out in a couple of days and keep the expenses down." 

It was agreed; the project was in fact completed in a couple of days. Taylor had done videos before in her former life and knew the game. She surprised everyone by getting it right visually and in song with few retakes. 

Brad believed that Taylor was almost ready to go on the road as the middle act---that she had a big enough body of work. He invited her to join his tour, which would begin in a few months at the start of the new year. The vexing issue became how and when to let the cat out of the bag. 

One of her former nemeses from her pop days provided the solution, as Taylor was to find out one morning from Margaret. A major critic from a music publication which transcended all genres had figured it out and was threatening to run with it but had at least had the courtesy to ask for---or demand---an interview. It was the very same prick who had on more than one occasion dubbed her pop work forgettable and wannabe. 

"We can't really say no, Taylor." 

"I agree; let's talk terms. An exclusive interview---the whole kit and kaboodle. We use him to our advantage---give him the first listen to the CD but he holds the story and the review until we can crank up the release promo---a week or two. I'm not going to New York. We do it at my house. I've never met the man. Although he was often less than kind and as much as it hurt, I can't disagree with anything he ever said. Can we trust him?"

"In my experience, he'll play along---particularly for an exclusive. I'll set it up. You've got good instincts, hon. You may be somewhat embittered from your previous foray but you're tough and it will serve you well. I'm not letting you do this alone." 

"Jake. Jake will be there for me. Jake's the only reason any of this has transpired. He's a big part of the story. I don't need anyone holding my hand...other than him." 

Jake did more than hold Taylor's hand. He volunteered to pick up the critic and take him to Taylor' house. 

"I'm honored to meet you, Jake; I am far more of a country fan than many people understand and I'm certainly a huge fan of your work. You're a hell of a songwriter. I also sense that you're part of this story. Care to share that with me?"

"Marvin, I'm pretty much an open book as anyone in this town can tell you. This is not my story you came here to write---it's hers. I have a great deal of affection for Taylor. All I ever intended was for her music to put a smile on her face---again." 


"What's your business involvement?"

"I gave her some songs to record which I had never given anyone else; I helped her with her own writing and the first product of that collaboration is quite poignant. I'm not one of her 'people' but she is as precious to me as anyone on the earth other than my daughter. Taylor is finally finding herself---musically. Anything I had to do with that is incidental to her amazing talent and determination." 

"Were you a fan of her previous work?"

"I hate pop music and didn't even know she had previous efforts the first time I heard her sing." 

"I fell in love with her voice the first time I heard it; I hated what she subsequently did with it. She was born forty years too late; she should be singing the standards." 

"They don't sell, Marvin---you know that. Country music has replaced that kind of popular music for those who want to hear good words and a good story well-presented as opposed to over-produced dance crap." 

"Still, Jake, pop singers who attempt the cross-over are a dime a dozen. Will they accept her?"

"Have you heard her sing country?"

"On tape and just recently live. I have to admit, I was impressed." 

"She was born to sing it, Marvin. She showed up here a few months back having essentially walked away from fame and fortune---prepared to never sing professionally again. She hated what she had been doing. She just lights up like a Christmas tree when she sings country. She's made some good friends in the industry in a very short time. This revelation may strike some people the wrong way---it's hard to tell. The public can be very unpredictable. 

"Still, the country audience respects good songs and great voices. Taylor always had a bit of country in her---grandparents---but I'll let her fill you in. She loves the standards---won the competition singing them. Then a pop-oriented machine combined with her own naiveté got in the way. We're here! Taylor bought this place when she first got here and has been trying to fix it up but she hasn't had much time recently." 

"Is that a horse in the backyard?"

"It's a little more than a backyard and, yes, it is a horse, two of them actually...one of mine. I gave it to her for her birthday. The other is, ah, still mine. Taylor learned to ride when she was a little girl. I raise horses—very small scale---and she took a fancy to that particular bay." 

"You're in love with the girl---aren't you?"

"Are you asking as a journalist?"




She Had it All



"Off the record? Jake, I don't do tabloid gossip; I care about the music." 

"Okay, I'll trust you. You know I am, Marvin." 

"Good for you...good for Taylor. You strike me as a better man than she's gotten involved with before. All the best." 

"Thanks." 

Marvin and Taylor got acquainted. "Taylor, I know I've been pretty brutal in my reviews in the past. I'm sorry if you found them painful." 

"Marvin, let's get off the record for a minute---turn off the recorder. Good. I'm not about to sit here and blow off millions of pop fans who helped me win that competition and who bought the CDs that gave me the financial security to walk away from pop and try something very different. Your reviews were dead on and we both know it. I didn't like the albums---and hated the process. I'm terribly grateful to those who supported me at a time when I believe---musically---I let them down and didn't give 'em their money's worth...didn't give them my best. 

"Now I don't quite know how to say it, I guess, but what I'm singing now gives me great joy and I'm not leaving anything back in the dressing room. Any artist has to first please themselves---feel good about their product---or they don't have a prayer of making it work---making it real---and giving the fans what they shelled out their hard earned money for. If I've disappointed some people by walking away from the pop scene, I'm sorry. I hope the country family will like what I have to offer...what I want to share. 

"A lot of very special people have staked their reputations and their own hard-earned cash on me and I'd hate to disappoint them by flopping financially---because at the end of the day, the music business is all too often more about making money than making music. You know damn well I can sing; the songs are amazing---thanks in no small measure to the man sitting over there. 

"If people want to write me off---country fans---without listening to what I've done, then I'm afraid they'll miss some really good music. If pop fans are so set in their ways that they write country off as 'beneath them' or whatever, then they're going to miss out too. At the end of the day, hopefully we'll make enough money that the people who have supported me in this don't get screwed. I'm damn proud of the work. It's the best stuff I've ever done. If my destiny is singing a couple of nights a week at a local bar---singing what I love to sing and need to sing---for the rest of my life, then so be it. There's always a mall opening or a county fair somewhere. I've got friends...a man who loves me and I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. That's all I wanted to say." 

Marvin started to laugh, ultimately nearly falling out of his chair. "Taylor, I am an ethical journalist. I've never, ever violated an, 'off the record' request. I've also never, ever turned off my recorder. I'll erase what you just said if you tell me to, but equally off the record, you just told me everything I needed to hear---and everything the public needs to hear—except the CD, of course. I don't think it could be said any better. I'm going to play it back for you---you decide. If the CD is as real and unvarnished as the words you just uttered, you don't have a thing to worry about." 

Taylor listened to her own words. She looked at Jake for a sign. 

"Hon, you know me; I'm pretty blunt and direct...no secrets. He's right. Why beat around the bush? It's what's in your heart and we both know it." 

"Glad that's settled," interjected Marvin. "Now do I get to hear the damn album?"

"Ever been on a horse, Marvin?"

"Believe it or not---yes. I don't claim to be a great rider but there is a stable in Central Park and my wife and I enjoy riding. What do you have in mind?"

"You're welcome to pass but I was going to suggest you take this MP3 player, I'll saddle up Taylor's bay for you---there's two acres here and access to more if you want it. We'll rustle up some lunch and you go listen to her music with no distractions. If you just want to walk around the two fenced acres, the Bay's not going to be disappointed." 

"Why not! I have to admit it's a first---hell this whole interview is a first on more levels than I can believe. Do you really live here, Taylor? And where are your 'people'?"

"That I do, Marvin---and while I plan to keep it---I plan to move in the near future. I don't really have any people. 'People' is exactly what screwed up my career as Katherine. This time I'm going to keep 'people' to an absolute minimum. You can quote me on that." 

"Nashville?"

"No, just five minutes from here. I love this town. When the need arises, Nashville is only an hour or so away." Marvin had already figured it out. 

Jake saddled up the bay and Marvin trotted off. Once he was convinced that the New Yorker wasn't going to fall off, he left him to help Taylor in the kitchen. 

"I'm very proud of you, you feisty wench!"

"We have at least an hour...maybe we could..." she grinned, rubbing her full rear against his crotch. 

"Time for that later after we get rid of the prick," he said, unable to resist running his hands over her luscious mound. 

"He was better than I expected." 

"Let's reserve judgment until we hear what he says about the album." 

Marvin took longer than they had anticipated, obviously replaying selected tracks. When he returned to the house and dismounted, he was smiling. 

"It's good stuff, folks---better than just good. Jake, my compliments on the songs but Taylor you did them justice. Anyone who likes music of any genre who doesn't like this album is nuts. There's not a cut I didn't like. When do you release?"

"We need two more weeks give or take a day. We pushed it up as soon as we knew the cat was out of the bag." 

"Okay, as you know, I write for a weekly. I'd like to do a two part story a week apart---which will give you two weeks and two days. I'd like to review the music for next week's edition---without letting the cat out of the bag---so as of next Friday, based on my understanding of the exclusive, you can release the album to other critics. Then I want to do the expose the following week---preferably the day the album hits. Fair enough?"

"More than fair," responded Taylor, with surprise. 

"Taylor, I'm not as big an asshole as people think I am. I love good music regardless of genre. I always loved your voice and I've had a chance today to find out what you're made of. I heard something about lunch; I hope you don't mind if I write while we eat. I just want to get some background on the songs---particularly the last one, 'Forgotten Men.' You wrote that?"

"Yeah. Jake helped me with some of the chord progressions and some of the phrasing." 

"There's a story behind this song." 

"There is. Look, when do you have to get back?"

"There isn't a flight out until late. I was even thinking about staying over. There's a direct flight first thing in the morning." 

"Great! Let's finish up and take a ride. There are some people you need to meet," Jake said. 

Marvin saw more than he had ever expected. He saw the rose garden and met the men who lived while preparing to die in the brick building which the garden graced. He ended up spending most of the afternoon there. His eyes were red by the time he left. 


"I never served, Taylor, and if I failed to say it before, Jake, thank you for your service. I've never been in one of these places before. You didn't have to tell me you've spent a bit of time here...they all knew you. I have an uncle...sort of the black sheep of the family. He served; he's getting on in years. There's been talk of him moving into a place like this...I don't think I want that to happen." 

"Keep this between us---okay, Marvin? This is pretty private...not for publication." Taylor said.

"I understand. Well, I better find a place for the night; I gather the best place in town is the University Inn?"

"Marvin, you're welcome to stay at my place. There's a guest house with everything you'd need. And if you're up for it, it's open mic night at the bar---you might just hear a budding new talent," Jake said. Marvin accepted. 

***

Marvin's first article---the review of the CD---was even better than they could have hoped for. The exclusive irritated a few other critics but they got over it when they received their copies of the CD. The exposé hit the news stands the day the album hit the stores and the download sites. In the inner circles, the word was already slipping out. That afternoon when both GAC and CMT debuted the first video from the album, even the slow-witted had figured it out. 

There was grousing by a few in the pop world---to include Taylor's former label and management. A few hard-cases in the country community resisted her cross-over. In the end, few music lovers listened to them. The album was just plain too good to ignore and country stations that refused to play it lost Arbitron points. 

It shot to the top of the download sites and went gold in the first twenty-four hours. It was platinum by the end of the first week and hovered at or near number one in album sales for an astounding seventy-four weeks. Taylor's middle opening act for an existing headliner received rave reviews every place it played. There was talk that she would quite likely beat Gretchen Wilson's record from first hit to headlining her own tour. 

The absences required of a touring entertainer can put excruciating stress on any relationship, but just as Taylor had finally found her voice and the true grit and determination that had always been there inside her, she had found her man and had no intention of ever losing him. Jake joined her when the situation permitted but he was always there for her, even if just at the other end of a phone. 

They were married at a church only minutes away from where they both lived. Jenny was the bride's maid. Mike, the deputy sheriff was the best man. Taylor had long since moved in with Jake but kept her own house and the two of them worked to modernize it over the years as time permitted. 

A couple of years later, in the break following her smash headlining tour and the release of her second blockbuster album, she was laying naked in the arms of her man on the cool grass under an ancient oak a hundred yards from their home. She loved fucking outside in the cool evening air and this particular episode had been deliciously nasty and exhilarating. Jake was hard again and running his fingers over her ass...slipping inside her crease, clearly indicating what he had in mind. 

She rose up on her knees, presenting herself to him much as she had that first time. His mouth was there, exploring...finding her tightest place as his fingers found her folds and ventured inside. His oral explorations were leisurely...there was no need to rush. When he was convinced that she was suitably lubricated, he mounted her quickly. She never tired of being taken this way...outside...like this...so delightfully nasty and dirty. He would be gentle; she would accommodate his hard organ...become accustomed to the fullness and then revel in it. He would test her depths...look for the sign that she could take more...take it all. 

Faster now...balls fucking deep...slapping her full butt cheeks...whispering deliciously nasty words in her ear. His essence...his scent...encompassing her...surrounding her and then that magic instant when his fertile seed filled her. She never tired of the feeling when he came there...when his sticky fluid splashed against her most private inner walls. 

The fertility of his sperm was meaningless when they did it this way but it had already served its designed function almost three months prior. She was indeed with child...their first. There would be two more to augment their special life together. She laughed; she grinned. She held on to her man for all she was worth. She was a very lucky girl. She really did have it all. 

Edited by Techsan and crazysoundguy