DEACON

"I think I'll take a moment, celebrate my age, it's the end of an era. The turning of a page. Now it's time to focus on where I go from here..." I share my thoughts with Maurin and Trace standing in a bare boned True Tone Records. "It's better than wallowing in self pity. What I've been doing for the last two weeks."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Deacon. This time is trying for all of us. There's no reason to be wary of Harrison Nichols as of yet. You honored your commitments, performed on WSM for Grand Ole Opry, please try and enjoy tonight."

"But Harlowe..."

"What is it with her, son? I've never seen you like this when it comes to the ladies. You're slick and non-committal. If your itch gets scratched you're a happy camper. Forget the Nichols girl and focus on Maurin. She went above and beyond to give you a killer thirtieth birthday," Trace points out.

"I know, I'm thankful and looking forward to it, Momo. The Hermitage Hotel is an unbelievable fancy place. Its colorful history makes me realize it's a farewell party too. After tonight True Tone Records as we know it, will be part of history.

"Bless your empath heart, sweetie. I promise, Trace and I are doing alright. We're experiencing enough feelings, but we're choosing to look at all the positives." Maurin plants an encouraging kiss on both my cheeks.

"Like yourself, Alana, Tabby and Gale will climb on stage. We're giving the invited guests the best of True Tone once more." Trace smiles a sly smile.

"Would be my honor. You know that if you rope me in like this, I can't refuse, Boss. I'll gladly do it."

"Atta boy! I'll take the last of these golden records to my truck and I'll wait for you both."

The telepathy thing husband and wife share is quite scary. Momo waits until Trace has shuffled out of what once was the welcoming entrance to this musical treasure chest. I let my shoulders droop.

"The lights in your eyes still aren't dancing. Confide in me, Deacon. I'm here."

Needing comfort and warmth, I lock the woman I consider my surrogate mother in a bear hug, "I love you, Momo. I can't find the appropriate words to tell you how appreciative I am for all that you and Trace have done for me. Are doing for me. But, there have been numerous days where I thought I wouldn't reach the age of thirty..."

Maurin squeezes my sides while she tilts her head to look me in the eye unapologetically.

"I miss him every single day; his banter, the dimple in his chin and his god awful taste in music. On milestone birthdays like today a lot more though, I miss Shepherd."

"He'd be proud of you, DJ. So proud. You defied your parents to make something of yourself. What something that is... I'm  sure he's guiding you, watching you Applauding you for being strong enough to keep avoiding his pitfalls. Kentucky isn't only famous for the Derby and chicken anymore!"

"You know just how to lighten the mood, Mo."

"I love our hug sessions," Maurin says from under my chin. "But, we have to get a move on. Let's meet Trace outside and try to find Quentin."

I let out a barely audible huff.

"Oh come on, you two are such stubborn bulls. Young bulls, full of ego." Maurin shakes her head.

"We talked here and there. He's my brother, nevertheless things are a little awkward. We've done what we needed to do so you can tie up the last things that concern True Tone Records. All the manual labor didn't take away the sting."

"He meant well, sweetheart. Have you ever considered that Shepherd put Quentin on your path?"

Well shit.

"Point taken, Maurin."

"Good. Game face on, stud!"

"Momo!" I groan goodnaturedly.

---

"Blye birthday," Trace alerts the receptionist discreetly. To no avail, because when the woman looks up our gazes meet, making her blush. Mr. Ellis becomes an afterthought instantly.

"Welcome to The Hermitage Hotel, Mr. Blye. Enjoy your birthday and I hope your wishes may come true." She peeks at me from under her four layers of fake lashes. I'm not entirely sure what Tasha - according to her name tag - is after. Her body language is far more than just welcoming, literally and figuratively. "If you need anything ask for Tasha," she points to her name with an obvious and sleazy wink.

"Yeah, I read that. I believe that we have a full house tonight so there are plenty of people to ask anything of. Thank you for your hospitality, but I'll pass. Hard. This Mr. Grey will not see you now or ever.  At this time, please, help Mr. Ellis with his reservation before I call whatever gossip rag planted you here and rat you out!" I slam my flat hand on the bell, making her jump.

"Yes, S...Sir."

Honestly, it was a guess. She stood out like a sore thumb amongst the hotel personnel. It has a rich rapport with countless dignitaries and celebrities. There's no way one of the employees would solicit themselves. How far the rags seem to be willing to go is scary.

"Thank heavens, there's Stewart!" Maurin sighs from behind us. I turn my head to discover a guy that's indeed the epitome of a hotel manager. "Hello dear Maurin, today is the day! Are y'all excited?! It'll be so scrumptious!" He claps his hands like the experts from Queer Eye.

I'm barely able to suppress a "Yas hunny!" The scene that's playing itself out before me is comical really, Trace is about ready to blow a fuse and furthermore, he has no patience for Stewart.

"Mr. Hix stepped in right before you, I've offered him a drink in the Oak Bar. I'll bring him up when I've got you settled in our Presidential Suite. If you would be so kind as to follow me..."

"Thank you, Stew. Can I get all the keys to it? I trust this Tasha as far as I can throw her, she just admitted to being planted here to get the scoop on our whereabouts, so I'm afraid it isn't very far."

Stewart scowls at her in disgust. "I knew it. I'll have security on her until I'm free to deal with her."

"Hello! I'm still standing here!" Tasha pipes up.

"I don't give a rat's ass! I'll be back for you very shortly, Fake Tit Barbie. Even dear Mrs. Dolly would say you'll melt from the amount of plastic your body holds."

Trace, Maurin and I burst out laughing. Okay, the four of us are highly unprofessional. Especially because of Stewart's position, but what he scolded her with is the best and funniest thing. Humor holds truth. When the door of the private elevator closes, he apologizes profusely. We wave him off.

What a start of the night...

When Stewart opens the door to the Presidential Suite, I can't fathom what I'm seeing.

Opulence. Elegance. Optimal luxury. An exquisite view of downtown Nashville and the historic State Capitol building. 1500 square feet of bliss. "Wow..."

"It's our present to you, son. We couldn't save your music catalog, but Momo and I can show you that you're the star of our lives. You'll get to stay here for a night. What's good for Johnny C., is good enough for Deacon B."

Turning around to hug both of them, I feel the need to speak from the heart before we get swept up in the fray of the party and our emotions. "Thank you lots, this is no small feat. I know I've made it more difficult than I should have in the time that's passed. I'm sorry. Never forget, the both of you ground me, I love you."

Not a second later, Q bangs on the door. "Room service! Go shorty, it's your birthday, we gon' party like it's your birthday, we gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday!"

Trace is closest to it so he swings it open with flair. And I swear, dancing man Tony Manero has nothing on Quentin Hix in his red and black ensemble. He only misses the grease in his hair.

Yeah, I'm aware that's Danny Zuko. I'm only creating a visual.

"I come bearing the monkey suits. Like you asked, Momo." He holds up the dress bags. "Luckily for us, Deac only turns thirty once..."

"Hey now, Q. Y'all agreed to give me free reign on this shindig. A masquerade ball is what I came up with, you never complained. Don't start. You even signed off on your attire!"

"Quentin, you have to agree. Maurin got us three some bangin' outfits. Us, three men, won't be looking too shabby!"

With Momo's guidance, I got myself a baroque rocker type of suit. Statement purple, fit for royalty. I'm the Prince of Country after all. Double-breasted with black microdesign brocade and lapels in the same color. All tailored to perfection. The occasion called for a dare so I'm wearing a black fitted shirt with white polka dots underneath. This makes my sleek purple tie, skull cufflinks and simple belt buckle shine. Just the way I like it. Not gonna lie, it makes me feel empowered. Getting my matching tophat and mythological mask, I'm charged to full capacity.

Too bad, I have to wait for the other three to get dressed. Not to cut some corners here, but we agreed to show unity, now that we still can. Quentin and Trace are wearing a variation of my suit in burgundy red and moss green.  

Moss green makes me think of those particular eyes...

Mrs. Maurin Ellis was a vision in her ball gown. Accentuating her ethereal essence, like the Fairy Godmother she is to all of us at True Tone Records.

She went all out and it shows as we enter the swanky Grand Lobby of the hotel. Normally, it's a wide open space, but Stewart went to great lengths to secure it'd be a secluded area for our bash. Maurin fell in love with the magnificent painted glass skylight years ago, so of course, she got what she envisioned for this event. The Tennessee and Italian marble don't hurt either. Let's face it, it could be her last official party for a while, the men around her were happy to indulge her. Maurin is the Queen of the Ellis Kingdom. For one night only, it's located in The Hermitage Hotel.

Observing Trace and Maurin, they resemble teenagers in love. Christening the dancefloor with a waltz. I snap a picture, because I want to capture this moment. For them. For myself. To have a momento that holds the power of true love. May I find it someday.

"Aren't we lucky if we ever find our own Momo?"

Quentin is the owner of a sensitive soul like myself. It might be the reason why we connected so quickly when I joined the ranks of the label. His sharp business sense clouds it sometimes, but that doesn't mean it's there. Protected by his joyful heart.

Man, I really am a songwriter...

"Can I talk to you Deac, before one of the three hundred guests asks for your attention?"

"Geez, three hundred?! Did you authorize that, bro?"

"Haha no, honestly. It's utterly Maurin. She sent off a phone blast to confirm the date. Trace was just by her side to foot the bill."

I grin, imagining Trace's bulging eyes when he saw it. I'm guessing he's in for more surprises when their Bucket List adventure truly takes off.

Circling back to the question I was asked, I answer; "Yes, Q. I think we should." Ducking behind the curtains that frame the set up stage, we find some privacy.

"I don't like the animosity between us, D. I'm sorry, if I let it fester for too long, I didn't want to land you in hot water with anyone. I was frustrated with my own behavior at the Gala and I took it out on you. We should've kept it between us, handled it ourselves. Working alongside you dismantling True Tone without our usual back and forth, was gruesome."

"We were both dicks, Quentin. Acknowledged. Let's move on. Maurin made me realize something, you're the sibling I never asked for, but so very wanted. Thanks for putting up with my crazy ass."

"On that note Blye, I want to give you my gift. It's a time sensitive one, so I'd rather give it to you in private. Otherwise, I might blow the lid off the fact that True Tone Records has been sold."

"Hmmm..." I look at him a tiny bit confused.

"What do you buy a guy that can afford everything himself or already has everything? I've been lucky enough to help shape and witness your career, Deacon. It's still going upward and that's why I couldn't let our latest baby go. We deserve the fondest memory of this chapter. I've bought you Definite Scar, bro. It's yours. To sing to your heart's content."

"No. Fucking. Way. That must've cost a fortune..." I lay one hand on Quentin's shoulder and the other alternates between my forehead and my open mouth.

"I'm not sugarcoating it, Deacon. Whatever the cost, it's a gift to show you my gratitude and friendship. Not to mention, it felt good to stick it to Merle Corbin. Albeit, in a small way."

"I love you, Q. By the way, the green looks mighty cool on you. I've no shame in admitting it."

"The color of money has never steered me wrong, but look at you, Mr. Suave. It's time to charm the ladies. Mask up. Country Prince."

"Shut up, Zorro! It's nearly party time so I'm going to take a leak before Momo needs me for whatever reason." Quentin chuckles while his fist beats on his heart. I do the same. "Onto the next thirty years."

Although I've been here a handful of times, I'm having difficulty finding the toilets. Who would've thought, in a sober state, mind you. It might be the conversation with Quentin that's replaying in my head or the candlelit Grand Lobby. Fact is, I'm getting lost in the dark. I need to rely on my other senses.

After standing in place for some time, I adjust to my surroundings. My hearing peaks when it recognizes some familiar notes. Stepping closer to the hauntingly beautiful sound, I make out it's a gripping rendition of Patsy Cline's Crazy. I grab the door handle of what I assume is the ladies' room, My eager ear ventures to the wooden surface. "Holy crickets, who is this?"