“I’ll get you a glass of water,” Kelly says, and leaves the room.
The stinging sensation fades as I remove my hands.Black streaks of mascara decorate my pale palms.I glance out the window at the Nashville skyline; the sunlight reflecting off the buildings.
I stand from the couch and make my way closer to the view, gazing out at the city sprawled beneath me.I have been living in Nashville for longer than I’d ever lived in Sweetgum Valley, but does it truly feel like home?When I left that small country town, I left behind my childhood, my family, and any sense of innocence.Singing was my escape and the only thing I was truly good at.
I’d thought I had been a great sister, too.But just look how that turned out.
Brendon had first pitched the idea of doing the Sweetgum Valley charity concert weeks ago, and I had been adamantly against it.Especially since I was fresh out of rehab for the, how many times is it now?Third or fourth?This time it is going to stick, though.There is too much riding on this.
What will they think of me?Bayleigh Gilmore, the has-been country singer.I used to bask in the spotlight; I was a household name.But now I am just a faded star from a small town with little to show for my success except for some shiny accolades and the physical reminders of my past battles.
I roll up the sleeves of my sweater and examine the faint scars that serve as a constant reminder of one of my many past mistakes.That moment was the turning point in my career, where I truly lost control.The moment I became reliant on anything other than myself, my fame began to dwindle.My unpredictable actions caused a rift between me and my band, my crew, and ultimately, my fans.After spending three months in rehab to get clean, I returned home to find my bank accounts drained and my record deal on the verge of being terminated.
“It’s this or you’re out, kid,”Brendon’s voice echoes.Kid has been his nickname for me since he had discovered me at an open mic night, not long after I arrived in the city.I have always trusted Brendon.Well, as much as I can trust anyone, at least.I should have listened to him the first time he told me to put down the needle and the booze.
But I didn’t.
Maybe I should listen to him now.My entire career, my future, hinges on it.What will I do if I can no longer perform?With barely any money left, I’ll have to search for a job.The thought of going back to waitressing is unbearable.I can’t give up performing.Despite everything, my voice remains powerful and unwavering.Taking a break was beneficial, and I am ready for a new beginning.
But in Sweetgum Valley?I would happily go anywhere else.
“They’re the only place that will take you,” Brendon had said.“It will only be one night.”
In and out in less than twenty-four hours wouldn’t be so bad, would it?If I do a kick-ass performance, then others will want me and I can make my comeback bigger and better than I was when I first started.
“Here’s your water,” Kelly says, and I accept the glass from her.
“Call Brendon back and tell him to set up a meeting.I’m ready to hear more about this show in Sweetgum Valley.”
Kelly raises her eyebrows in surprise.I am well aware of my reputation for being stubborn, and I take pride in it.I am known for being decisive and hate being told what to do.
But I also enjoy having a roof over my head and food to eat.Not that I eat that much these days, anyway.I am trying to get my appetite back and have started training with my PT again this week.No one wants to watch a shriveled up, gangly singer.
They want the star from ten years ago.Strong and fit with wild curls, cowgirl boots, and sparkling bodysuits.
I used to sing love songs that were hopeful and upbeat.Most of the time I had faked it on stage, never really believing that ‘nothing could tear us apart’ or ‘all you need is love.’The lyrics are bullshit, made up by songwriters who get paid to write music for the naïve yet hopeful fans.They should have been writing songs for me about loss and heartbreak.Those are the types of songs I could get behind.No one wants to hear me sing those, though.These days, no one is writing songs for me at all.
Two hours and four cups of coffee later, I am sitting at my kitchen table, on a video call with the label rep—Dan and Brendon.
“The city council is raising funds for the farmers who are struggling with the drought.Apparently, it’s been pretty dry for a few years now,” Dan says.“It’s a good cause and will make it look like you care.”
“And Matthew Butler will be performing too.Plus a few smaller acts they are still confirming.”Brendon leans into the camera so his face takes up more of the screen.Brendon has been like a father to me, spending more time with me than with his own family in the peak of my success.Little wonder his wife left him.In the recent years, though, he has spent less time focusing on me and more time with the new rising star, Matthew Butler.
I can hardly blame him, though.My career moves effect people than just me.My band, back-up singers, crew—all of them depend on me.I’ve failed them in the past and I want to make up for it now.
“Do they have any budget for my performance?”I ask, trying not to sound too desperate.
“They can offer you a small fee, but it’s not much,” Brendon replies.
I sigh and rub my temples.My financial situation isn’t great, but I also don’t want to sell myself short.
“It’s not just about money,” Dan chimes in.“Think about the exposure you’ll get from performing.”
I let the idea settle over me.It is a show for charity, but a show that could do more for my career than anything else has in a long time.“Okay, as long as all I have to do is one concert.”I hold up my finger to reinforce the number.“In and out.No staying in town for anything else.”
Brendon shakes his head.“And one quick photo shoot of you around town with the mayor.”
I open my mouth to interrupt, but Brendon continues speaking.“It will be good publicity.And we need all the good publicity we can get.”
