Love Songs
Page 2
Again, she nodded slowly. “Listen, I’m going to be late. If you want to come in and sit that’s fine. But I’m out of time for talking on the street.”
She opened the door to the theater and walked inside.
Warner started for the door and then the grumbling of his truck caught his attention. God, was he this desperate?
He hurried back to the truck, climbed in, and parked it down the street.
Clara locked her purse up in her aunt’s office and headed for rehearsal. The man in the street had scared the hell out of her at first, but she’d lived in Nashville her whole life. Every song writer thought they had what it took to make it big. Some of them got desperate enough to hunt down talent. But she’d never heard of this approach.
He hadn’t come inside. Perhaps he’d given up. All the same, she had her cell phone in her pocket. The theater had once been gutted by fire because of a psycho man. She didn’t care to see that repeated.
On the stage was a small ensemble waiting for her arrival. Behind them, the set to West Side Story was being repositioned for the weekend’s production.
“Thought you gave up on us,” Duke shouted from the piano. “You only have four shows left. Don’t give up now,” he laughed.
“The only reason I wouldn’t show up is because it’s too damn hot in here,” she said as she made it to the side of the stage. She walked up the stairs and joined the others.
Duke gave her a nod. “Let’s just take it from the top and work the songs. Arianna wants these last four shows to be sharp.”
They had only started the first song when the door opened and Warner walked into the theater. Why she thought he might be a threat she didn’t know because looking at him now she thought he looked like the biggest nerd she’d ever seen.
His jeans were worn, his shirt was untucked, and his thick blond hair was messed up something awful. More than likely he’d been driving all day with his windows down.
He’d helped himself to a seat in the back and just listened as they practiced. Well, she thought, if he liked what he heard in the car wait till he heard her sing as Maria.
Warner wondered how long he’d sat in that theater, alone. He was familiar with the musical—very familiar. They’d just finished the number Somewhere. Damn, he’d listened to nearly the entire musical. But that voice. She had the goods!
“She’s something, huh?”
Warner jumped in his seat and looked at the man next to him. Quickly he got to his feet. “Um, yes. She’s amazing.”
“That’s my niece.”
“She has a fantastic voice.” Warner turned to the man and held out his hand. He didn’t want this man to think he was crazy. “I’m Warner Wright. I’m a song writer. I heard her sing in the street and wanted to talk to her.”
The man nodded. “John Forrester.” He turned and looked at the woman he’d followed into the theater. “She doesn’t know you?”
“No, sir. But I’m not stalking her. I just wanted to talk to her about singing.”
John nodded slowly again and pulled his hand back. “She’s trained with a gun.”
Warner swallowed hard. “Most women in Tennessee are, sir.”
That made John laugh. “True enough.” He patted Warner on the shoulder. “She’s almost through.”
He gave him a smile and then looked toward the stage and gave his niece a glance. A million words were said between them in that moment, he wondered what they were.
Warner sat back down in his seat and listened as they finished the rest of the show.
To say he was moved would be an understatement. A piano and a dozen voices could do amazing things.
When the group stood up they all began to talk. This was a family, a musical family. One brought together by a common love and the current show they produced together.
It had been years since Warner was in musical theater, but you never forgot the feeling.
The woman he’d followed walked away from the group and was headed toward him. Her thumbs were tucked into the front pockets of her cutoff jeans.
The eyes which had hid behind the shiny aviators, which were now hung from the front of her tank top, were dark brown.
Warner quickly stood.
“You followed me all the way in here and listened to rehearsal?” Her accent was drawn out.
“Yes. I have to say, you’re amazing.”
The woman nodded slowly, just as her uncle had done. “You’ve said that, but thank you.” She looked down at her bare toes in the sandals she wore and wiggled them. The middle ones had rings on them. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”
“Yes. No. I—is there somewhere we can talk?”
She looked around. “What’s wrong with here?”
“Right. Listen, I’m a song writer and I’m looking for a voice to demo my work.”
“And you’re looking for lessons?”
Warner raked his fingers through his hair. It was getting much too long. He looked down at his attire. God, she must think I’m a hobo.
“No. I’m not looking for lessons. I’m looking for someone to do the vocals.”
“And you want me to do that?”
He smiled. Finally they were on the same page. “Yes.”
“I see. Mr. Wright, I’m very busy with the theater right now. I just don’t…”
“Would you just look at them?” He was so desperate he was hunting down strangers to sing his songs. This was embarrassing. “Please. Maybe just a few hours with me and you could see what you think.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
He dropped his shoulders. He was desperate.
He held out his hand to shake hers. “Again, I’m Warner Wright.”
She smiled and took his hand. Her grip was firm. There was no messing around with this one. “Clara Keller.”
“Ms. Keller, I would appreciate a moment of your time to show you my work.”
She pulled her hand back, tucked it into her back pocket and gave him a regarding look.
“Do you know where the Riverside Building is?”
He raised his eyebrow. “Doesn’t everyone? This is Nashville.”
She chuckled. “There is a Starbucks on the main floor. I’ll meet you there tomorrow at ten.”
“Tomorrow at ten. Starbucks. Riverside Building.”
She opened the door to the theater and walked inside.
Warner started for the door and then the grumbling of his truck caught his attention. God, was he this desperate?
He hurried back to the truck, climbed in, and parked it down the street.
Clara locked her purse up in her aunt’s office and headed for rehearsal. The man in the street had scared the hell out of her at first, but she’d lived in Nashville her whole life. Every song writer thought they had what it took to make it big. Some of them got desperate enough to hunt down talent. But she’d never heard of this approach.
He hadn’t come inside. Perhaps he’d given up. All the same, she had her cell phone in her pocket. The theater had once been gutted by fire because of a psycho man. She didn’t care to see that repeated.
On the stage was a small ensemble waiting for her arrival. Behind them, the set to West Side Story was being repositioned for the weekend’s production.
“Thought you gave up on us,” Duke shouted from the piano. “You only have four shows left. Don’t give up now,” he laughed.
“The only reason I wouldn’t show up is because it’s too damn hot in here,” she said as she made it to the side of the stage. She walked up the stairs and joined the others.
Duke gave her a nod. “Let’s just take it from the top and work the songs. Arianna wants these last four shows to be sharp.”
They had only started the first song when the door opened and Warner walked into the theater. Why she thought he might be a threat she didn’t know because looking at him now she thought he looked like the biggest nerd she’d ever seen.
His jeans were worn, his shirt was untucked, and his thick blond hair was messed up something awful. More than likely he’d been driving all day with his windows down.
He’d helped himself to a seat in the back and just listened as they practiced. Well, she thought, if he liked what he heard in the car wait till he heard her sing as Maria.
Warner wondered how long he’d sat in that theater, alone. He was familiar with the musical—very familiar. They’d just finished the number Somewhere. Damn, he’d listened to nearly the entire musical. But that voice. She had the goods!
“She’s something, huh?”
Warner jumped in his seat and looked at the man next to him. Quickly he got to his feet. “Um, yes. She’s amazing.”
“That’s my niece.”
“She has a fantastic voice.” Warner turned to the man and held out his hand. He didn’t want this man to think he was crazy. “I’m Warner Wright. I’m a song writer. I heard her sing in the street and wanted to talk to her.”
The man nodded. “John Forrester.” He turned and looked at the woman he’d followed into the theater. “She doesn’t know you?”
“No, sir. But I’m not stalking her. I just wanted to talk to her about singing.”
John nodded slowly again and pulled his hand back. “She’s trained with a gun.”
Warner swallowed hard. “Most women in Tennessee are, sir.”
That made John laugh. “True enough.” He patted Warner on the shoulder. “She’s almost through.”
He gave him a smile and then looked toward the stage and gave his niece a glance. A million words were said between them in that moment, he wondered what they were.
Warner sat back down in his seat and listened as they finished the rest of the show.
To say he was moved would be an understatement. A piano and a dozen voices could do amazing things.
When the group stood up they all began to talk. This was a family, a musical family. One brought together by a common love and the current show they produced together.
It had been years since Warner was in musical theater, but you never forgot the feeling.
The woman he’d followed walked away from the group and was headed toward him. Her thumbs were tucked into the front pockets of her cutoff jeans.
The eyes which had hid behind the shiny aviators, which were now hung from the front of her tank top, were dark brown.
Warner quickly stood.
“You followed me all the way in here and listened to rehearsal?” Her accent was drawn out.
“Yes. I have to say, you’re amazing.”
The woman nodded slowly, just as her uncle had done. “You’ve said that, but thank you.” She looked down at her bare toes in the sandals she wore and wiggled them. The middle ones had rings on them. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”
“Yes. No. I—is there somewhere we can talk?”
She looked around. “What’s wrong with here?”
“Right. Listen, I’m a song writer and I’m looking for a voice to demo my work.”
“And you’re looking for lessons?”
Warner raked his fingers through his hair. It was getting much too long. He looked down at his attire. God, she must think I’m a hobo.
“No. I’m not looking for lessons. I’m looking for someone to do the vocals.”
“And you want me to do that?”
He smiled. Finally they were on the same page. “Yes.”
“I see. Mr. Wright, I’m very busy with the theater right now. I just don’t…”
“Would you just look at them?” He was so desperate he was hunting down strangers to sing his songs. This was embarrassing. “Please. Maybe just a few hours with me and you could see what you think.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
He dropped his shoulders. He was desperate.
He held out his hand to shake hers. “Again, I’m Warner Wright.”
She smiled and took his hand. Her grip was firm. There was no messing around with this one. “Clara Keller.”
“Ms. Keller, I would appreciate a moment of your time to show you my work.”
She pulled her hand back, tucked it into her back pocket and gave him a regarding look.
“Do you know where the Riverside Building is?”
He raised his eyebrow. “Doesn’t everyone? This is Nashville.”
She chuckled. “There is a Starbucks on the main floor. I’ll meet you there tomorrow at ten.”
“Tomorrow at ten. Starbucks. Riverside Building.”
