Nashville

I once wanted to be an audio engineer.

I'd done lots of related work for years, like spending six months being a roadie for a country band, making four-track recordings at home, that sort of thing. After a few puzzled months as an English undergrad at UT, I was swayed by my work-study job at the PBS station to follow my audio muse.

***

There's always the question of exactly what to do with one's degree. Austin's certainly got a lot of audio work, but you know, I felt like I had to take a stab at a bigger arena.

I knew someone who knew someone in Nashville. Right after graduation in May of 1994, I headed that way in my powder blue Ford Escort.

I'm not sure exactly what I was thinking. This woman to whom I had a loose connection was some sort of assistant to a bigtime agent or manager or somesuch. I thought I'd drop the name of our mutual acquaintance and hit the jackpot.

***

It's about a fourteen hour drive from Austin to Nashville if I recall. It was getting late when I hit Memphis, so I stopped in a cheap hotel to crash. It didn't seem particularly eventful when I left my pocket knife in the room. I was in Nashville before I realized it was missing. It was a high school graduation gift, though, and losing it pissed me off.

I got myself a hotel on the northwest side of town, unpacked, and headed out to see my connection.

I guess I don't need to go into much detail about what an awkward scene it was when I showed up at this important guy's office, asking for his assistant. She was there all right, and my mention of our mutual acquaintance didn't do a doggone thing to make things comfortable. She was a blonde about my age, and her very presence in that office intimidated me.

She had a good idea though: She was going to attend a showcase for an up and coming songwriter that evening, and perhaps I'd like to join them there. Yeah, cool. I liked that idea just fine.

***

A showcase, as you probably know, isn't your typical gig. It was in a club all right, but the scene was altogether different from the countless nights I'd spent in honky tonks, watching people two-step. A showcase is held for the sole purpose of impressing a bigwig, or multiple bigwigs. Heck, I've even heard of artists paying to play a showcase. Maybe that's the norm for all I know.

So I showed up at this bar, paid my cover, and walked in.

It was packed, and in fact, there were generic, purty blondes everywhere. I am not good at telling blondes apart. I ordered a beer and commenced to searching the crowd for my contact.

I was uncomfortable, and I felt like all eyes were watching me as I searched.

I tried to settle in and pretend to like the songwriter. I can't recall who he was, but honestly I was too distracted to give him much of a shot.

I sat through his whole gig and never found my contact.

Dejected, I went back to my hotel room and got shit-faced.

***

At some point later that night, as I flipped the channels, my contact called. I don't know how she found my hotel. I suppose I must have told her where I was staying.

I don't know what we talked about, but we talked for hours. I'm not kidding. I was completely drunk, doing my best to sound sober. And how we killed all that time on the phone I can't say. Even 24 hours later I couldn't have told you.

But I never saw her again, and certainly didn't end up getting a job or anything close to it.

***

I pursued a couple other ideas while there, seeking some quick audio work for a few days, but I didn't get any serious nibbles.

***

I ended up with time to kill and nothing to do. An idle mind...

***

There was a porn shop near my hotel, and I stopped in. It's not like I had a VCR or anything in my room, but I figured it was worth a look around. I've always had a fascination with sleaze anyway. Between the hangover and the overwhelmingly trashy appearance of the place, my head was spinning as I walked in.

It stunk in there. In fact, it smelled like farts. I should have taken that as a warning.

(If you are squeamish, Bible-thumpin' or otherwise disinclined to learn about those places some people won't dare go into, you should probably click away now.)

***

I walked around and looked at the merchandise, just killing time. But a dark hallway jutted off from the main room. The woman behind the counter bore a strong resemblance to someone I know, and that's why I felt quite at ease as I approached her.

"What goes on back there?" I asked.

"Well, you put $4.25 in quarters in the slot, and you can watch a movie," she said with a smile.

"Okay. I'd like $4.25 in quarters," I said as I handed her a five.

I was naive as hell, and we both knew it.

***

It was a long, dark hallway lined with booths. Lots of men were standing around. Most of the doors were closed, and I tried to discern the order at work, tried to figure out who had dibs on the next booth.

My anxiety got the better of me, though, and as I walked down a ways I found an open door.

Screw waiting, I thought. Those turkeys don't seem to have noticed this booth.

I darted in.

***

As I turned to close the door, though, a man rushed in behind me. He closed the door behind him.

I'm 5'11", and this fat, redheaded cowboy towered over me.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"It's okay, buddy. Let's just watch the movie together," he said.

"What?"

"Yeah, come on buddy, we'll just watch it," he said.

I paused.

"I want to be alone in here," I said.

"It's okay," he said. He grabbed my crotch. "Let's watch the movie."

I stepped back as far as I could, made two fists and said, "YOU HAVE GOT THE WRONG GUY."

He stared at me, and in that moment I thought I'd be fighting this huge guy in this tiny booth. Fine. I'd have to be dead before he'd get a chance to do whatever the hell it was he had in mind anyway.

We stared at each other, and you know, it's true what they say about time slowing down when there's a crisis. He stared at me, I stared at him, and I wondered what the hell would happen next.

***

He turned and left. He looked embarrassed, flustered. But at least he was gone.

I locked the door behind him and stood there, trying to catch my breath. My heart was pounding, and I wondered what the hell just happened.

Damn, does this booth have a sign on it about wanting gay sex or something? I thought to myself.

I turned and took in my surroundings. There was a vinyl seat and a TV screen. I won't get into just how disgusting the place was. Let's just say that I decided not to sit down or touch anything.

***

In fact, I stood there for a moment and formulated a plan. I mean, I had no idea whether BIG GAY COWBOY was still there, you know?

I mapped the route in my head and darted out the door. I set a new land speed record getting out of the porn shop. I doubt BGC was still there, but I didn't exactly pause to take in my surroundings.

***

I'm not sure what might have happened if I'd had the knife I lost in Memphis.

***

The funny thing about being sexually assaulted is that, well, it's hard to sleep that night. As I lay there in my hotel bed, I couldn't calm down, couldn't stop thinking about what a disaster the trip had been.

At 12:30am I got back in the Escort and headed back to Texas.

***

The drive back was grueling, and in fact, I stopped at some rest area (with the doors locked, thank you) and slept for a couple hours. When I woke up I could see my breath in front of my face.

It wasn't enough sleep. I know the route home took me through Little Rock, but I don't remember much of that part of the drive.

I got back to Austin about 6pm.

***

In case you wonder why I didn't report the incident to the cops, well, just think about it a bit. I mean... I didn't want to approach Nashville PD to tell them a damn thing having to do with, oh, a porn shop, a gay cowboy, what I was doing there, etc.

And I certainly didn't want to have to call my wife from a Nashville police station and explain it to her. As it was, well, it took a while for me to share the specifics of what happened with her.

***

I've often said that trouble finds me, but you know, I have on occasion managed to be the one to find trouble.