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3rd Person POV
Several days had passed since George S. visited Georgie's home. Though everything had gone smoothly, the clock kept ticking, and at last, the day Georgie had been waiting for had finally arrived.
Houston, Texas—specifically, the legendary Astrodome—was far from its usual self. A sea of people surged toward the venue's entrance, every one of them holding a ticket that read: "Rodeo 1989."
The parking lot was packed to the brim, filled with men and women clad in cowboy boots and cowboy hats, beers in hand, and bright smiles on their faces. They had all come to witness the King of Country Music take the stage today.
Dozens had shown up just to see George S. perform at the Rodeo, but a few among the crowd were whispering a different, unfamiliar name.
"Ugh, I didn't think it'd be this crowded," Jana grumbled beside her parents. They were all here to see Georgie perform today.
Even though Georgie had already made his choice, Jana hadn't given up. She was still trying to win him back.
"This is a George S. concert, sweetie. Of course it's packed," her mother replied, glancing at her husband.
"Well, if your 'boyfriend's' Georgie, maybe we can score a backstage pass." her father said with a smirk.
The comment made Jana scowl.
"Do you think I haven't tried?! That bitch stole him from me!" she snapped, her voice dripping with venom.
"Georgie?" a passerby overheard and looked over at their family, curious. "You mean Georgie Cooper?"
His friend also turned to them. "Oh, you're friends with Georgie Cooper, young lady?"
Jana realized then—Georgie's name was becoming well known around Houston. She had followed him to a few of his gigs in local honky tonks and their chanting his name over and over.
Regret began to settle in. She wished she'd acted faster than Veronica.
With several people now listening in, Jana straightened up and said with a slight scoff,
"Yeah, I'm friends with Georgie."
"Oh, that's awesome! I came for George S., but I heard Georgie's performing today too! I'm a fan!"
Others echoed the sentiment. Country boys and cowgirls chatted excitedly about Georgie and his songs, welcoming newcomers like family.
Jana's father laughed and exchanged beers with some of them, a wide grin on his face. Then he leaned over to whisper to Jana,
"...I approve of you being with Georgie… He's going to be a big star."
Her mother shot him a glare.
"What the hell are you saying?! Are you trying to 'give away' our daughter like that?!" she hissed, clearly displeased with the implication.
Jana, oblivious to the deeper meaning behind her father's words, nodded eagerly.
"Thanks, Daddy! I'll do my best!" she said, her voice full of enthusiasm.
Elsewhere, others who knew Georgie had also come to witness this massive event.
"Wow!" Mrs. Ingram said as she saw the long lines outside the Astrodome. "I'm not even a country music fan, but damn—there are cowboys everywhere!"
"Are they even allowed to bring beer into the concert?!" Mrs. MacElroy asked, pointing at the crowds.
"Of course!" Principal Peterson chimed in, holding his own beer. "Here, have some!" he added, handing out cups.
"Man, I still can't believe Georgie's performing tonight!" Mr. Givens said, taking one of the beers. "George must be so proud of his son right now."
Wayne chuckled.
"Yeah… George mentioned Georgie had a drink at one of his gigs before."
The other teachers turned to Wayne in shock, but he seemed unbothered by what he had just said.
"What?" Wayne shrugged.
"Oh yeah, man! I was there when Georgie got drunk!" a man nearby jumped into the conversation, laughing.
"That's when he got the nickname 'Prince of Country Music'!"
The teachers stared at him in stunned silence.
Mrs. Ingram finally shouted, "How the hell did you not stop him?! He's fourteen years old, for God's sake!"
The man, startled, looked around at their disapproving faces.
"In my defense, he was already drunk before he hit the dance floor," the man replied, quickly realizing why that didn't help his case.
"Hey—it's his life. I'm not his dad or his teacher."
"We are his teachers!" Mrs. MacElroy snapped.
The man raised his hands and slowly backed away from the heated conversation.
"Well…" Wayne said awkwardly, still feeling the tension. "I'm not his father either…"
They all began to argue about the situation, debating Georgie's choices and what responsibility the adults around him had. Still, as they waited for the concert to begin, the buzz of excitement never left.
Outside the Astrodome, the crowd continued to swell. The event crew was already overwhelmed trying to maintain order. Backstage, it was even more intense—technicians hurried up and down the corridors, their footsteps echoing through the halls.
The name 'King of Country Music' wasn't just for show. Several artists had come either to perform or to simply witness the 'King' in action.
Among them was Clint B., walking confidently down the backstage hallway in his dark sunglasses.
He smiled and nodded at crew members he recognized, "Where's George?" Clint asked one of the lighting techs, quickly adding, "Whoa—careful there," as he helped steady a piece of equipment.
"Oh, Clint! Thanks!" the tech exhaled gratefully. "If you're looking for George, he's in the waiting room." The tech rushed off, still on a tight schedule.
Clint thank him and continued down the hall. As he reached the waiting room, he heard laughter—both male and female voices echoing cheerfully.
Just as he was about to enter, he paused. A voice was singing—light, joyful, and full of charm.
🎶 "I'm free and ready, so we can go steady.
How's about savin' all your time for me??" 🎶
Clint recognized the tune immediately. It was a classic, and the way it was being sung made him want to start dancing on the spot.
Curious, Clint stepped into the room, eyebrows raised. He had no idea who the young teen was in front of him.
But the moment he entered, the energy in the room shifted. He had interrupted the atmosphere, and now all eyes were on him—leaving Clint just a little bit nervous.
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat to steady his voice.
(Hank Williams - Hey, Good Lookin')
🎶 No more lookin'—I know I been tookin'.
How's about keepin' steady company? 🎶
He finally began to sing, trying to restore the mood in the room. His eyes met the teenager's, who responded with a smirk and resumed strumming his guitar.
🎶 I'm gonna throw my date book over the fence… 🎶
The teen sang back, locking eyes with him. Clint wasn't a rookie—he recognized the cue.
🎶 And buy me one for five or ten cents… 🎶
Clint joined in, snapping his fingers and dancing into the center of the room with the teen guitarist.
🎶 I'll keep it till it's covered with age,
'Cause I'm writin' your name down on every page… 🎶
They sang in harmony, their voices blending as the room erupted in applause and laughter. The teen then stepped forward, locking eyes with a woman who laughed along with the crowd. Clint noticed—this woman must mean something to him.
🎶 Say hey, good lookin'—what ya got cookin'?
How's about cookin' somethin' up with me? 🎶
The final lyric sent everyone into cheers and laughter. The teen turned to Clint, who was still wondering who this kid was. With confident strides and a charming smile, the teen approached.
"Hello, Mr. B. Name's Georgie Cooper," he said, offering his hand.
Clint's eyes widened with recognition. He glanced over at George S., who stood grinning at the two of them.
"Clint," he said, shaking the boy's hand. "So… this is George S.'s new foster kid?"
He had heard whispers—rumors floating around the George S. crew.
"..."
Clint's comment left Georgie visibly confused.
"…You son of a bitch! You telling people my boy's your boy again?!" George Cooper Sr. burst out, pointing at George S.
"I didn't say that!" George S. raised his hands defensively. "If Georgie wants it, then I guess…"
"Dream on!" George Sr. snapped, while Mary gently slapped his arm, embarrassed by the endless banter between these old men.
George S.'s wife chuckled, tugging at his sleeve as if to reel him in.
Clint laughed at the entire scene and began introducing himself to each member of Georgie's family. The atmosphere in the waiting room was now warmer—far more relaxed than most backstage lounges he'd seen before a major gig.
Missy, Sheldon, and Memaw had also come to cheer Georgie on. So had Veronica.
They all knew this was Georgie's biggest gig yet, and they figured he must be incredibly nervous. What they hadn't expected... was how he lit up the room with energy.
But only one person was observing Georgie closely—Malcolm. He watched his every movement, the expressions, the smallest of gestures.
Georgie noticed, but had no time to dwell on it. His focus was locked on tonight's show.
He smiled, laughed, and joked with everyone around him.
Malcolm rose quietly and walked over to George S., whispering something in his ear. George S. nodded—he knew Malcolm was Georgie's manager and understood immediately.
"All right!" George S. clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "Now, everybody out. Let's give Georgie a few quiet hours for himself."
The room emptied with supportive smiles and words of encouragement, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the roar of any crowd. Only two remained: Georgie and Malcolm.
Georgie's leg bounced restlessly, creating a silent rhythm of nerves. The grin he'd been wearing faded. He looked at Malcolm, eyes hollow—finally allowing his fear to rise to the surface.
"…Fuck," he muttered, rising stiffly. "….I think I'm gonna throw up."
Malcolm chuckled and collapsed onto the sofa. "That's normal. If I were you, I'd have puked an hour ago."
Georgie shot him a sharp look, emotions boiling. "You don't get it, do you? This... this is the most important night of my life. I can't screw this up, Mal. I can't."
He began pacing, hands trembling, sweat beading on his brow. His mind was chaos—filled with doubt and dread.
Malcolm took a deep breath and sat upright. His voice was calm, but firm. "Georgie. Look at me."
Georgie stopped. He exhaled shakily, forcing himself to focus, and met Malcolm's eyes.
"You've sung in front of plenty of people, right? In bars with broken sound systems, in rooms full of drunks who didn't even care." Malcolm held his gaze. "But you still sang…. Back then… what did you see?"
Georgie looked down. Slowly, the memory returned: the dim lights, the clinking glasses, the sincere cheers from the crowd.
"…They were happy," he whispered. "They listened to my songs…"
Malcolm nodded, "So what's different now? Just a bigger room. A few more ears."
Then he let out a small laugh and leaned back again, "You know, walking in here, I overheard people talking about you. Thousands of them. I'll admit—I'm not a fan of country music. I only started listening to George S. a few days ago. Just found out he's called the 'King of Country Music.'"
Georgie, still panting from anxiety, looked at him—curious, unsure.
Malcolm grinned, "That's a terrifying nickname, right?" He raised his hands dramatically, "But you know what really gave me chills? There's another nickname people are whispering…"
He leaned forward, eyes locked with Georgie's.
"'The Prince of Country Music.'"
Georgie froze. His eyes narrowed. His mouth slightly opened and twitching slightly.
"Turns out... they're talking about you." Malcolm pointed straight at him.
"Shut the hell up, man," Georgie groaned, slumping back into his seat. "That's such an embarrassing nickname."
Malcolm raised his hands in a mock royal gesture. "As you wish, my prince."
Georgie turned away, but couldn't help the chuckle that slipped out with his anxious breath. Malcolm laughed too, but soon, his face grew serious again.
"You know… it's okay to be scared. But remember something important," he said in a low, steady voice, "you're not alone on that stage."
He leaned forward.
"Look around you. Look at everyone who believes in you—your family, your friends, your girlfriend, your band. And guess what? George S. himself said you were born to do this. That's not just flattery, Georgie. He believes in you."
Georgie stared at him in silence. Then let out a small scoff.
"A 'few' more people, huh?" he said, this time with a wide smile. "You mean 'thousands' more people, right?"
Slowly, the weight began to lift from his chest. The panic hadn't vanished, but now… he could breathe. He could think. And most importantly—he was ready.
Malcolm didn't say anything else. He just smiled, calm and full of certainty. He knew—Georgie was back.
Georgie stood up and grabbed his cowboy hat. He placed it on his head, glanced at the mirror, and smiled wide.
"Let's give 'em a show," he said boldly.
He strode toward the door but stopping when he heard Malcolm voice, "…The show's not for a few more hours, you know…" Malcolm called out lazily behind him.
The room returned to silence—deep, still, and humming with anticipation until Georgie grunted with a low voices, "…fuck…".