He works on a new composition for a while before slipping into some of his favorite old ones. For the first time in weeks, he’s able to relax. He strums the first chords of “Show Me the Way.” The lyrics, country music heartbreak at its finest, are told from the perspective of a young man struggling with alcoholism who turns to his mama for help when he reaches rock bottom. The song takes Everett back to the night his life crashed and burned.
It’s late August, Saturday a week before Labor Day weekend, a typical sultry summer night in Georgia. Inside the Blue By You, the air is stifling, despite the commercial air-conditioning units blowing at full steam. But the crowd, their sweaty bodies pressed together on the dance floor, doesn’t seem to mind the heat. They’re as rowdy as Everett has ever seen them. Do they sense there’s a VIP in the house?
The guys in the band are Everett’s homies. Louie on drums. Danny on keyboard. Malcolm on bass, and Duane on electric guitar. And they rock the house that night. Everything that can go right does just that. Everett saves “Show Me the Way” for last, and his fans go crazy. He’d produced the solo earlier in the summer, and it had gone viral with the Atlanta crowd, bringing him a minute of fame and attracting the attention of said VIP.
Wade Newman pulls him aside after the show, heaping praises on his performance. “You’re the next Johnny Cash.” He motions Everett to the door. “I’ve gotta be somewhere. Come outside with me while I wait for my Uber.”
When Everett opens the door, a wave of humid air steals his breath. “I hope this heat wave ends soon.”
On his heels, Wade says, “Tell me about it. I’m headed to the beach in South Carolina tomorrow. My wife’s the only fool who wants to be on the beach in this kinda heat.” Wade leans against the building, lights a cigarette, and offers Everett the pack. “Want one?”
“No thanks.” Everett doesn’t want a cigarette. He wants Wade to give his pitch before his Uber arrives.
“So . . . here’s the thing, Rhett. You’ve got real talent, as a singer, a songwriter, and a guitar player. Unfortunately, the rest of your group is only mediocre.”
“But we’ve been together since high school.”
“All the more reason to make the break now. You’ve gone as far as you can with them. If you want to grow as a musician, you need to spread your wings.” Wade grinds his cigarette butt into the pavement with his loafer. “Listen, man. You have a distinct tone to your voice. Like I said, Johnny Cash. People will hear you on the radio and know it’s you. That immediate recognition will make you a star. If you’re willing to work hard, and I believe you are, you can go all the way to the top.”
At what price, Everett wonders. He can’t leave his homies behind. Or can he? Hasn’t he always known this might happen? The other guys are good, but they aren’t great. And they’re definitely not driven. While Louie is technically the manager, Everett is the one hustling for gigs.
Everett is at a loss for words. He can’t tell a guy like Wade Newman that he needs to think about it. Fortunately, Wade beats him to it. “Take a few days to think it over. You know how to reach me if you have questions.” He chuckles. “I’ll welcome the phone call. I’m facing a boring week of sitting inside the air-conditioned beach house while my wife bakes in the sun.”
Everett shakes his hand. “Thanks for coming, Wade. I’ll be in touch.”
A black Toyota 4Runner pulls to the curb, Wade climbs in, and they speed off.
Everett feels as though he just got run over by the 4Runner. He doesn’t need a few days to think it over. He doesn’t need a few minutes. He’ll be taking Wade up on his offer. After he figures a way to tell the other guys in the band.
As he turns to go back inside, Waylon, the owner of the bar, bursts through the door. “Dude, where’s Louie? I’ve been looking all over for him.”
Everett shrugs. “Last I saw him, he was inside.”
“Here.” Waylon shoves a thick envelope at Everett. “Give him this. Tell him I had to split. My wife’s keeping my kid awake until I get home.”
Everett takes the envelope from him. “What is it?”
“Money I owe him. He’ll know what it’s for. See ya, man.” Waylon tosses a wave over his shoulder as he disappears around the corner of the building to the parking lot.
Everett pinches the envelope between two fingers. Feels like cash. A lot of cash. He’d expressed his concern to Louie many times. Why, when they’re playing gigs five nights a week, are they always broke? Is Waylon paying him a portion of their fee on the side?
Stuffing the envelope in his pocket, he reenters the building. When Carla sees him, she’s all over him. “Rhett! You were fabulous tonight. Let’s go celebrate in private.” She walks her hands up his chest and nibbles at his chin.
Carla is only average-looking with shoulder-length brown hair and hazel eyes. But she has a body that won’t quit. Older than him by two years, she works as a pediatric nurse at one of Atlanta’s best hospitals. She’ll make someone a wonderful wife. But that someone won’t be him. He likes her fine. He just doesn’t have the forever feelings for her. But he’s a man, and she’s
