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5
Nicolette
Kris has had me singing an array of songs from Halsey to Lorrie Morgan and Dan + Shay to Melissa Etheridge. He’s pushing me. I can’t remember the last time anyone actually pushed me to do anything besides take my meds.
“NO! Stop. Christ. You say you know this, then why are you off fuckin’ key?” He’s got me singing Follow Your Arrow, the tone isn’t too bad, but he wants me to pick up Kasey Musgrave’s twang too. I’m not from Texas.
“Because she’s from Texas, and I was raised here. However, I’ve been gone for like three years. Don’t shout at me, Christ!”
“There!” He points to me, then his own nose. “I knew that your country was still in there. You need to channel that. If ya really wanna get back to ya roots, you are gonna need some more fire in your belly.” He approaches me almost aggressively. Grabbing me about the middle, he presses against my diaphragm. “You need to work this muscle harder.” He grabs my hand. “Press here and dig deeper.” He looks up from his bent position in front of me. “Try again.” Kris clears his throat.
Walking away, he sits at his radio. He’s got a ton of instrumental music. He puts in a Wynonna jam. “Girls with guitars. This should be what you are striving for. This rich growl.” He bobs his head. “You hear that beat? It burns. You need to burn.”
“You want me to be Wynonna? You know she was raised in Kentucky, right?” I stick my hand on my hip as I sass.
“I don’t care if she was born on the fuckin’ moon. She’s hot and raspy. You’ve got a two, maybe two and a half octave range. What would you say to a five?” He lifts his hazel eyes to me as he pours himself another shot.
“I think you’re crazy. I can’t get to a five in a year.” I grab water from my bag, shaking my head. “I need to do this, but I’m starting to think I may have to work while trying to get it.”
He looks at me strangely. “Work? They just terminated your contract. Didn’t you have like investments? Money aside? Shit, even I have in case of emergency money.” He shakes his head. “I can do it in six months, but it will take daily work. Think you can handle that?”
“I had an advance, but I bought Pop a house, and now we’re buying what we need for it. I was working on another album—had been writing and picking songs for the first time for one when they cut me. A five in six months, you’re off your rocker.”
He laughs, downing another shot. He side-eyes me. “I’m crazy as a fox, actually. Cliff sent you to me because he believes I can help. I think he’s nutty, but he’s usually right. I mean, I did write Charlotte Waterman’s Love you lately. But what do I know?”
Charlotte Waterman is one of the hottest women in the country right now. That song went double platinum in sixteen weeks.
“Six months? You can have me at a five in six months and ready to cut a record?” I watch him closely. I think he’s nuts, but what else do I have right now?
“We could cut sooner. If you have words, I got skills.” He smirks. “A single in two weeks, that should get you some pocket money.” There goes another shot. The more he drinks, the bolder he gets. Christ, what happens when he finishes the bottle?
“Starling took everything I had.” I look at my watch. “Let’s get back to it. Pop will be here soon.”
He sighs. Then shakes his head no. “You said you had songs. So sing. You mean to tell me you showed it all to them? Every thought, every tune? I write at least ten shitty little diddies just taking a shit in the morning.” Putting down the glass, he closes in on me again. “C’mon, show me something— anything. Hell, shake your ass a bit. The more resourceful girls usually are sucking my coc—”
Crack!
I grab my things as he rubs his cheek. “You’re an asshole, and I’m not some loose harlot that would be sucking anything on you!” I shout, walking out the door. Guess I’m walking home.
I hear a chuckle. “At least that was something.” He shouts after me. “It’s a two—hour drive to anywhere useful.” I refuse to look back at his smug face. “Oh, c’mon, I was trying to get a rise out of you. You’re no fun being all prim and demure. You got a wild streak, may as well cultivate it.” His voice is getting closer. Is he following me?
“Blake Shelton has a song you should listen to it. It may do you well! It’s called Kiss My Country Ass.” I flip him off and keep walking. Asshole. His voice fades, and soon I’m alone walking down the road.
What’s more, is I left my lunch box and am now starving. I hear the purr of an engine and turn to stick out my thumb. I see a burgundy muscle car. Pop keeps a matchbox collection, so I know what I’m looking at. It’s a sixty-eight Dodge Dart convertible. My body tenses as it swerves slightly and then rolls up onto me.
“Get in,” Kris says cross, leaning across the car and opening the passenger side door.
"I told you already, I'd like to make it through my twenty-first birthday. You've been drinking."
He throws it in park, then throws the keys at me. “So drive me home then.” He slides across the seat. “The leather is like butter.”
I watch him like the crazy I'm learning he is. "How do you even know I can drive?"
“Can’t do worse than me.” He shrugs. “C’mon, you know you want to feel the wind in your hair. Take her for a spin.”
"We haven't had lunch. Are you hungry?" What the hell did I just ask? I've lost my damn mind.
He smirks his smug ass smirk. “Get in. I’m buying.”
