“Tsk tsk.”
I glanced up to see Shirley staring at me.
"Best not let Mr. Peabody hear you talk that way, girl. He'll dock your pay.”
I stood up, brushing my hands off on the skirt of my uniform.
"Yeah, well he didn't hear me now, did he? Sorry Shirl, I'm just having a day."
Shirley clucked her tongue sympathetically and bent down to help.
"Here, I'll hold the dust pan for you."
I nodded and grabbed the broom.
"Thanks, Shirl. I don't know what I would do without you."
I meant it, too. When I arrived in Nashville without a work visa, no one would hire me. It was a lucky break and a band that was looking for a singer on Craigslist that started all of this. Not only had I gotten a gig with a killer band, but everything else had fallen into place.
More or less, anyway.
Mark the bassist’s sister had just happened to be looking for a roommate. That’s how I met Shirley. We’d hit it off from the jump. She was sassy, direct, and didn’t pull punches. She could hold her whisky and loved to dance all night. We were pretty much two peas in a pod. Now we shared a sweet little apartment outside of Nashville. Now we were as close as sisters. She’s been the reason I’d landed the country club gig.
Just in the nick of time, too. I’d scrimped and saved for years to make the trip to America, but our gigs didn’t pay much and I was running dangerously low on cash. I’d been on the verge of living on saltines and ketchup.
God only knew what would I would be doing to survive if it weren’t for her. After the first week in the youth hostel I’d been relying on extra crackers and a cup of soup to make it through most days. Things had been dire to say the least.
I’d known coming to America was a risk. But as a singer, I’d been irresistibly drawn to Nashville. The center of the music industry. There was a reason they called it 'Music City U.S.A.'.
Not that I sang country back in Ireland. Not exactly. My style was a bit edgier, a bit more rock and roll. But I’d been told that my throaty voice blended beautifully in the country style. And since I’d known my share of heartbreak, I could sing country with the best of them.
Life may have been hard but the music had always been there for me.
Born to a single mom in a poor as dirt part of the Irish countryside, I had grown up hard and fast. The former mining town had one restaurant, owned by my mother's brother, Uncle Dave. If it hadn't been for Uncle Dave, my mother and I wouldn't have been able to eat, let alone live. As it was, my mum was a waitress slash cook slash cleaning lady. I had worked alongside her since I could walk.
Good old fashioned childcare my mother had called it, with a wry wink. For no matter how hard life had gotten, my beautiful mother had never stopped smiling. Or singing while she worked. My mother's voice was one of the prettiest I’d ever heard.
I was still trying to live up to my mother's example. I did my best not to complain, work hard and to make the best of the cards I’d been dealt. And when I made it big, my mother would never have to work again. I would buy her a big house, with a maid and a cook. And she could live anywhere she wanted in the whole world.
Hopefully, she’s want to settle somewhere near me. The French Countryside… or Los Angeles… or even here in Nashville. In one of those big fancy houses on the winding, tree-lined roads around the country club. The wealth around here astonished me. I was still getting used to it.
Not that I craved wealth and power. I just wanted to sing. But for my mother… I wanted the moon.
Anything was possible as my mother liked to say. I believed it, too. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here, risking my meager savings on a plane ticket and a dream.
I just had to get heard by the right people and it would happen. I knew it in my gut. I believed in myself, or at least my God-given talent. With my voice and drive, I knew it was only a matter of time.
So far, my looks hadn’t hurt either. I didn’t take that sort of thing too seriously. I’d never been the sort of girl who was obsessed with boys. But the ones here in America seemed to have a marked preference for… me.
Huge green eyes and dark hair marked me as Irish for anyone who looked. And plenty did. My skin was pale as milk and unmarred, other than a tattoo high on my right hip. My long dark hair and plentiful curves meant that I was forever fighting off the unwanted advances of men.