Tennessee Rose
Hello from the other side
Gunner
I watch as Presley belts out songs and she happily dances around the stage in that tight black dress she’s wearing. Looking at the girl on the stage, she isn’t the girl I once loved to the moon and back. The girl on the stage is the same ol’ Hollywood types that think they’re better than everyone else. No matter how many times she’ll take a picture with fans, she’s not doing it out of the kindness in her heart; she’s doing it because her career depends on it.
“You can’t hate her forever Gunner,” Jesse’s voice pulls me back to reality. I turn around and look at him.
“She left us, how can you still say you care about her?” I question him. “She didn’t even have the balls to tell us goodbye. She just up and left in the middle of the night.”
“To better herself,” he adds. “She was getting restless, you couldn’t see it but the rest of us could. You loved her, I understand that, but you could have supported her a little more. She wanted a big star but you were keeping her in Nashville. She was truly torn between loving you and following her heart. In the end, the heart always wins. Her dreams were everything to her.”
“Yea but dreams don’t keep you warm at night,” I spit out. “If she was so restless why didn’t she come to ME? Why did she leave out of the blue?”
“That’s something you’ve got to talk to her about.” Jesse replies. “Talk to her Gunner, stop hating her for doing something you might have done too.”
Presley takes an interlude for a costume change. Her backing band’s lead guitarist does a guitar solo that’s long enough for a speedy change. The Presley that walks out of the dressing room is the one I’ve known and loved for years. Her hair and makeup is still the same but instead of wearing a tight dress and heels, she’s wearing a red tank top with fringe, tight short shorts with worn cowboy boots. Around her neck is a gun necklace; the same one I bought her for our 6 month anniversary. She looks at me with a smile on her lips before running out onto the stage just as the band begins the intro to some Shania Twain song she’s performing tonight.
“See she’s hasn’t changed,” Sutton says, walking up to me. Her head is still turned to the side so she can watch her best friend perform. “She’s still the same Presley deep down. She’ll always be that girl that sings Shania Twain and wears cowboy boots that should have been in the trash years ago.”
“Doesn’t mean she’s still my Presley.” I sigh. “I have no idea if she even exists anymore.”
“Talk to her.” Sutton’s voice is stern. “You won’t know if you don’t just fucking talk to her. Get over this deep seeded hatred you pretend to have towards her and just talk to her. Make a damn attempt. She did.” I watch as Sutton storms towards the stage just as Presley begins another song; a song she wrote when we first met…
It’s a slow night at the bar, only our regulars seem to be here. Everyone else is out at some big concert that’s coming through town or home safe from the storm rolling over us. Honestly the city looks like a ghost town. Personally I would have just closed down the bar but Jesse didn’t want to upset the regulars.
At the bar, Presley is sitting training another new bartender; I believe her name is Sutton. Looking at these girls, you can tell they are the polar opposites. Sutton has nice long dark brown hair. She dresses in low cut tight shirts and short skirts. Her cleavage is out and proud; like another bartender baiting for a decent tip. Presley has her blonde hair short. And while she has short cutoff shorts, her tank top is loose as well as the over-sized flannel shirt she wears over it. That’s one thing about Presley; she doesn’t beg for tips. She doesn’t get dolled up for work, she lets her drinks speak for themselves. She would always tell me that the bar goers don’t come to Oak Barrel for just the pretty girls that dance on the bars once a week. They come for the drinks. And honestly, she gets more tips than the girls wanting to reenact Coyote Ugly. I like to believe it’s because of her spitfire comments she makes; the regulars seem to like that.
“Hey ladies,” I smile as I walk over to them. Presley looks up from a tablet and smiles before quickly returning her attention back down to the papers in front of her. Sutton lets out a frustrated sigh before putting down the bottle of Jack Daniels she was holding,
“I’m never going to get this as perfect as yours,” she dumps out whatever drink she’s making. “It’s impossible.”
“This is your first bartending job, you have to give it time.” Presley assures her. “Plus you’re not going to make it like mine; you’re mixing the drink, not me. Give it your own spin. No two bartenders make the same just exactly the same. For example, I can’t make a Moscow Mule like Gunner and he can’t make a Sex in the Driveway like me. We still make those drinks but just not as good as the other person. And if the person doesn’t like how you make it, it’s not the end of the world.”
“How long have you been working here?” Sutton as the two of us.
“A year,” Presley answers first.
“A month,” I admit, “but I was moonlighting different bars in Georgia to help support myself in college.”
“And you guys both sucked when you started?” Both of us nod and Sutton let’s out a sigh of relief. “Thank you guys. I’m going to go to the other end of the bar and make you a drink that’ll knock your socks off.” Presley and I laugh as she skips over to the other end of the bar.
“She’s adorable,” Presley states, “that’s why Jesse gave her the job, I think. I think she reminds him of his wife when June was Sutton’s age. Because honestly,she’s not that great of a bartender.”
“At least she’s willing to learn,” I defend the tiny brunette.
“And that’s why I haven’t given up on her,” Presley admits before returning her attention to the open tablet in front of her.
“So what are you writing?” I ask, trying to peek at it over her shoulder. She looks up at me, playfully glaring before closing the book,
“Song lyrics.” She replies. “Something I don’t show to just anyone.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” I smirk, earning a chuckle from the blonde.
“Maybe one day, slugger.” She simply says before getting up off the bar stool, “and I’ll let you know when that day comes…”
I'd rather lose for what I am than win for what I ain't. Yeah I'd rather lose for what I am than win for what I ain't, I snap back into reality when I hear the last two lines of the song. The next song she plays, is a newer single. It’s more pop than country and you can see, even from a distance, that Presley isn’t happy with the song.
“Presley hates this song so much,” the guys that brought us back here states. “This song is the reason why she’s starting her own label and releasing her new CD on it. She doesn’t want to be the next Taylor Swift. Presley Rose isn’t a crossover star. She bleeds country.”
“You seem to know her pretty well.” I note, sneering at him almost.
He let’s out a chuckle. “I’m Rob, her manager. You must be one of the friends from here.”
“I’m Gunner, the ex.” I introduce myself, earning a glare from Rob. “Don’t glare, she left me; not the other way around. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go with friends.” I walk away from him and towards Jesse; earning a look from the elder.
“Be nice, Gunner.” He warns, “he’s part of Presley’s life too.”
“Did you know Presley is starting a label?” I ask him. “She’s going to be dropping her current label and go off on her own.”
“Wasn’t that something the two of you talked about?” He asks, smirking a little bit at me. “I guess her dream hasn’t changed much.”
I look out at the stage and see Presley pulling a fan up onto the stage and having the girl sing part of the song. Presley looks at the little girl happily as she sings off-key to the song. This is the Presley I know. Maybe the label is to blame for everything; maybe.
I watch as Presley belts out songs and she happily dances around the stage in that tight black dress she’s wearing. Looking at the girl on the stage, she isn’t the girl I once loved to the moon and back. The girl on the stage is the same ol’ Hollywood types that think they’re better than everyone else. No matter how many times she’ll take a picture with fans, she’s not doing it out of the kindness in her heart; she’s doing it because her career depends on it.
“You can’t hate her forever Gunner,” Jesse’s voice pulls me back to reality. I turn around and look at him.
“She left us, how can you still say you care about her?” I question him. “She didn’t even have the balls to tell us goodbye. She just up and left in the middle of the night.”
“To better herself,” he adds. “She was getting restless, you couldn’t see it but the rest of us could. You loved her, I understand that, but you could have supported her a little more. She wanted a big star but you were keeping her in Nashville. She was truly torn between loving you and following her heart. In the end, the heart always wins. Her dreams were everything to her.”
“Yea but dreams don’t keep you warm at night,” I spit out. “If she was so restless why didn’t she come to ME? Why did she leave out of the blue?”
“That’s something you’ve got to talk to her about.” Jesse replies. “Talk to her Gunner, stop hating her for doing something you might have done too.”
Presley takes an interlude for a costume change. Her backing band’s lead guitarist does a guitar solo that’s long enough for a speedy change. The Presley that walks out of the dressing room is the one I’ve known and loved for years. Her hair and makeup is still the same but instead of wearing a tight dress and heels, she’s wearing a red tank top with fringe, tight short shorts with worn cowboy boots. Around her neck is a gun necklace; the same one I bought her for our 6 month anniversary. She looks at me with a smile on her lips before running out onto the stage just as the band begins the intro to some Shania Twain song she’s performing tonight.
“See she’s hasn’t changed,” Sutton says, walking up to me. Her head is still turned to the side so she can watch her best friend perform. “She’s still the same Presley deep down. She’ll always be that girl that sings Shania Twain and wears cowboy boots that should have been in the trash years ago.”
“Doesn’t mean she’s still my Presley.” I sigh. “I have no idea if she even exists anymore.”
“Talk to her.” Sutton’s voice is stern. “You won’t know if you don’t just fucking talk to her. Get over this deep seeded hatred you pretend to have towards her and just talk to her. Make a damn attempt. She did.” I watch as Sutton storms towards the stage just as Presley begins another song; a song she wrote when we first met…
It’s a slow night at the bar, only our regulars seem to be here. Everyone else is out at some big concert that’s coming through town or home safe from the storm rolling over us. Honestly the city looks like a ghost town. Personally I would have just closed down the bar but Jesse didn’t want to upset the regulars.
At the bar, Presley is sitting training another new bartender; I believe her name is Sutton. Looking at these girls, you can tell they are the polar opposites. Sutton has nice long dark brown hair. She dresses in low cut tight shirts and short skirts. Her cleavage is out and proud; like another bartender baiting for a decent tip. Presley has her blonde hair short. And while she has short cutoff shorts, her tank top is loose as well as the over-sized flannel shirt she wears over it. That’s one thing about Presley; she doesn’t beg for tips. She doesn’t get dolled up for work, she lets her drinks speak for themselves. She would always tell me that the bar goers don’t come to Oak Barrel for just the pretty girls that dance on the bars once a week. They come for the drinks. And honestly, she gets more tips than the girls wanting to reenact Coyote Ugly. I like to believe it’s because of her spitfire comments she makes; the regulars seem to like that.
“Hey ladies,” I smile as I walk over to them. Presley looks up from a tablet and smiles before quickly returning her attention back down to the papers in front of her. Sutton lets out a frustrated sigh before putting down the bottle of Jack Daniels she was holding,
“I’m never going to get this as perfect as yours,” she dumps out whatever drink she’s making. “It’s impossible.”
“This is your first bartending job, you have to give it time.” Presley assures her. “Plus you’re not going to make it like mine; you’re mixing the drink, not me. Give it your own spin. No two bartenders make the same just exactly the same. For example, I can’t make a Moscow Mule like Gunner and he can’t make a Sex in the Driveway like me. We still make those drinks but just not as good as the other person. And if the person doesn’t like how you make it, it’s not the end of the world.”
“How long have you been working here?” Sutton as the two of us.
“A year,” Presley answers first.
“A month,” I admit, “but I was moonlighting different bars in Georgia to help support myself in college.”
“And you guys both sucked when you started?” Both of us nod and Sutton let’s out a sigh of relief. “Thank you guys. I’m going to go to the other end of the bar and make you a drink that’ll knock your socks off.” Presley and I laugh as she skips over to the other end of the bar.
“She’s adorable,” Presley states, “that’s why Jesse gave her the job, I think. I think she reminds him of his wife when June was Sutton’s age. Because honestly,she’s not that great of a bartender.”
“At least she’s willing to learn,” I defend the tiny brunette.
“And that’s why I haven’t given up on her,” Presley admits before returning her attention to the open tablet in front of her.
“So what are you writing?” I ask, trying to peek at it over her shoulder. She looks up at me, playfully glaring before closing the book,
“Song lyrics.” She replies. “Something I don’t show to just anyone.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” I smirk, earning a chuckle from the blonde.
“Maybe one day, slugger.” She simply says before getting up off the bar stool, “and I’ll let you know when that day comes…”
I'd rather lose for what I am than win for what I ain't. Yeah I'd rather lose for what I am than win for what I ain't, I snap back into reality when I hear the last two lines of the song. The next song she plays, is a newer single. It’s more pop than country and you can see, even from a distance, that Presley isn’t happy with the song.
“Presley hates this song so much,” the guys that brought us back here states. “This song is the reason why she’s starting her own label and releasing her new CD on it. She doesn’t want to be the next Taylor Swift. Presley Rose isn’t a crossover star. She bleeds country.”
“You seem to know her pretty well.” I note, sneering at him almost.
He let’s out a chuckle. “I’m Rob, her manager. You must be one of the friends from here.”
“I’m Gunner, the ex.” I introduce myself, earning a glare from Rob. “Don’t glare, she left me; not the other way around. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go with friends.” I walk away from him and towards Jesse; earning a look from the elder.
“Be nice, Gunner.” He warns, “he’s part of Presley’s life too.”
“Did you know Presley is starting a label?” I ask him. “She’s going to be dropping her current label and go off on her own.”
“Wasn’t that something the two of you talked about?” He asks, smirking a little bit at me. “I guess her dream hasn’t changed much.”
I look out at the stage and see Presley pulling a fan up onto the stage and having the girl sing part of the song. Presley looks at the little girl happily as she sings off-key to the song. This is the Presley I know. Maybe the label is to blame for everything; maybe.