Tenney

The Bluebird Cafe

Tenney’s family pulls into the nearly full lot at the Bluebird Cafe. It’s a modest club in a strip mall that’s one of Nashville’s most famous venues. Inside, tables surround a low stage strung with twinkly lights, a neon bluebird glowing above it, and a host seats the Grants right beside it, facing the club’s entrance.

Because the showcase allows one guest per performer, Tenney has invited Jaya, who arrives in a green coat hiding a purple t-shirt she hand-lettered with “Tenney Rocks.” Soon after, Ellie Cale arrives with her Uncle Zane Cale, the head of Mockingbird Records, a gray-haired Texan in a porkpie hat and a bolo tie shaped like the state of Texas.

Zane asks her age and taste in music. When she says she leans toward singer-songwriters, he tells her Mockingbird loves those, too. Blushing, Tenney admits she hopes he’ll like her song. He answers with a wink before wandering off into the crowd. Mason wonders if Zane is scouting talent, and Ellie just smiles that they’re always looking.

When Ellie waves Tenney toward the row of chairs where musicians sit tuning their guitars, her stomach lurches at how much older everyone looks, at least twenty. Nerves have her palms sweating, so Mom heads back to the truck for her lucky cowboy boots. While she’s gone, Portia strolls in wearing a purple poncho and leaning on her walking stick, delighted to surprise Tenney at her big show. Ellie spots her, hugs her like an old friend, and whisks her off to sit at Uncle Zane’s table before Tenney can ask how the two know each other.

Mom returns with the boots, and Dad hands over the new guitar, noting it’s almost five. The family trades hugs and good-luck wishes, Mom kneeling to remind Tenney just to be herself. Tenney takes the last open seat, beside a banjo player whose pick hand blurs through fast arpeggios, and half listens to talk of sold song rights and European tours, which only sharpens her feeling that she’s the only amateur in the room. Scanning the crowd, her eyes land on an empty table marked RESERVED in front of the stage. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. When she opens them, Holliday’s elegant mother is settling in with Holliday trailing behind in lavender cowboy boots.

The house lights dim. Ellie climbs onto the stage to open the show with a cheerful, “Hey, y’all! Thanks for coming!” Tenney forces herself not to look toward Holliday’s table through the first two acts. By the third act, a bearded man’s fast, angry song, her gaze drifts anyway, straight into Holliday’s cold stare. Aubrey’s hair comb suddenly feels heavy, Holliday’s old insult about being nothing special looping in her head as the banjo player beside her closes out the set before Tenney’s turn.

Onstage, the lights blaze hot and bright, just as they had at the Ryman. This time, though, Tenney feels seasick rather than thrilled as she peers into the dark. She introduces herself, jumps at a squeal of mic feedback, and catches a whoop that sounds like Mason before plugging in her guitar and starting to play. Her tempo comes out too fast. Shifting her weight to slow down only makes the guitar lurch and her pick clatter to the floor. Face burning, she apologizes, retrieves it, and starts over, coaching herself to stay calm. This time she makes it through the intro and into the first verse when her A string rings sharp. Suddenly, everything sounds wrong.