Page 46 of What Would Dolly Do?

N o sooner had I settled into the air-conditioned comfort of my chauffeured limousine than driver Dawn threw me a complete curve ball. She wasn’t taking me to see Tom right away after all. Instead he’d arranged for me to visit The Country Music Hall of Fame Museum in downtown Nashville. Huh?

Dawn quickly explained that Tom would be tied up with work until early afternoon but he’d thought I would enjoy spending my first few waking hours in the cradle of country absorbing all the musical history the museum had to offer.

Hmmm. It was hard to be disappointed for too long.

A morning at my leisure wandering through the magical memories contained in the museum sounded like a perfect way to begin my Nashville experience.

‘Once you’re done I’m to take you to meet Mr Coltrane out at his home in Brentwood, if that’s okay, Miss Moon?’

My stomach lurched with excitement on hearing that and I happily told Dawn that would be perfect, so long as she dropped the Miss Moon and called me Reba. Dawn simply nodded politely but didn’t look too keen on being more friendly.

I had a few hours to submerge myself in the incredible immersive experience of the museum but the truth was I could have spent days there and it really wouldn’t have been long enough.

I began in the enormous and impressive Hall of Fame rotunda, a stunning circular space where name plaques of all the famous inductees were exhibited all around.

Beneath the glass dome high above me golden lettering spelled out ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken’ echoing the lyrics of the well-known song and symbolising the unbroken circle of country music from its origins right up until today.

Standing within the impressive ring of all those amazing artists that had gone before me I felt welcomed and cradled by a community of artists, performers and musicians.

Everywhere I looked I saw names familiar and dear to me …

Johnny Cash, The Carter Family, Willy Nelson, Chet Atkins, Patsy Cline, The Jordanaires, Kris Kristofferson, Tammy Wynette …

everywhere I looked a music legend was looking down on me, including Dolly herself of course.

There was so much to take in throughout the museum but I lingered by the Nudie Suits and Boots exhibit, where each item of stage wear designed by Nudie’s Rodeo Tailors was more intricate and ornate than the last. I particularly loved the cream suit with black music notes on the lapel worn by Hank Williams and the garish blue suit embellished with embroidered covered wagons and desert scenery made for Dolly Parton’s former singing partner Porter Wagoner.

I knew Porter had been the older, established music star who had given Dolly a big break on his own TV show in the 1960s by inviting her to perform a guest spot every week.

With his blond pompadour hair and love for elaborate western clothing, Porter was a very big deal in country music; in fact, he was known for years as ‘Mr Grand Ole Opry’ he appeared on the show so many times.

I’d read all about how Dolly’s own fame had grown and their working relationship became difficult but I’d always thought about them as almost mythical figures.

Suddenly, looking at their actual outfits, I realised they were real people, making the kind of tough decisions real life throws at you, whether you’re a star or not.

Porter’s wagon suit stood in front of me now, the rhinestones and beads glittering across the sky-blue jacket and two embroidered rifles decorating the outsides of the suit pant legs, and I imagined how imposing a figure Porter Wagoner must have been in his 1970s heyday.

It must have taken a lot of courage to stand up to him but Dolly had found her own unique and tactful way. What a woman she truly was.

As I moved along the Nudie costumes I was enjoying learning some of the names of artists I wasn’t so familiar with, each one more perfect than the next for a country music star …

Hank Garland … Lefty Frizzell … Johnny Dollar …

were any of their names real, I wondered, or did they have the colourful imagination of their managers to thank for gifting them a perfect stage name?

I didn’t think it mattered whether the names were attributed at birth or adopted much later, a good stage name was a good stage name however it came about.

Elvis Presley and Dolly Parton had been lucky enough to be born with uniquely perfect stage-ready monikers thanks to their parents, and I supposed I fell somewhere in between in the stage-name stakes.

Mum and Dad had christened me Rebecca Mooney and called me Becky but I’d only had to adapt it slightly to create my stage persona – Reba Moon.

I tried to imagine a costume I had worn being exhibited one day just like these with my name on a little sign next to it.

Or perhaps a plaque in the rotunda announcing the induction of Reba Moon into the Country Music Hall of Fame?

I was getting carried away but I had to admit my name now sounded like it fitted the role pretty perfectly.

I wasn’t at all surprised to discover a variety of artefacts and references connected to Dolly Parton throughout the museum including costume items, a selection of awards and even some handwritten song lyrics, but one particular Dolly exhibit stopped me in my tracks.

Alongside a few more personal items and mementoes of her childhood in Pigeon Forge were a couple of Dolly’s old schoolbooks and as I peered into the glass cabinet I spotted her full name written in girlish handwriting …

Dolly Rebecca Parton. Dolly Parton’s middle name was Rebecca?

How did I not know this? Why had no one ever mentioned I shared my given name with the true queen?

Maybe everyone presumed I knew? Did my mum and dad know?

Had I been named in Dolly’s honour or was it just a weird coincidence?

It sent a tingle down my spine to discover this extra connection between us, especially as I’d found out right here, in Nashville.

Time was getting on and I decided to head to the museum cafe to grab something to eat before it was time for Dawn to pick me up and take me over to see Tom.

The anticipation was giving me butterflies so I didn’t have a huge appetite but I thought it was best to eat a little before setting off.

The trouble with that plan was American menus don’t really cater for small appetites; the all-day breakfasts, sandwiches and salads all looked huge and came with a variety of garnishes and sides.

I chose the avocado toast which arrived topped with pesto, tomatoes and Swiss cheese.

It was quite delicious but I could only eat about half of it.

After my lunch Dawn texted to say she was waiting down on Demonbreun Street to pick me up and I was soon back in the car heading over to Tom’s Nashville home.

I tried to relax and enjoy the ride, taking in the scenery and letting myself finally get excited to see Tom again.

I couldn’t help it. As much as I wanted to keep my cool, my emotions in check and my desires under control, I now just longed to see him again.

I’d missed him so much. Would it be the same Tom that I’d spent so much time with in Edinburgh?

We’d got to know each other first in the privacy of his hotel suite when the intensity between us had been intimate and occasionally delightfully indecent.

I almost blushed to remember what we had got up to although I didn’t regret a single second.

Then when we were hanging out with Laura and Fergus at Forthview House I’d experienced a more casual side of Tom; relaxed, friendly and fun.

I hadn’t been concerned with how famous Tom was because it wasn’t related to the person I got to know.

Even when we moved into the recording studio and I’d seen close up how extraordinarily talented he was, the main thing I noticed was his drive and professionalism.

He’d been so generous, encouraging me to explore my own musicality as a singer and as a songwriter and he made me feel so safe and secure helping me to finally face my stage fright fears and become a more confident version of myself.

Falling in love with him had been so easy, not only because of how he made me feel about him …

but because of how he made me feel about myself too.

I tried to hold onto that new, confident and self-assured version of myself now as the limo left the built-up Nashville city limits and headed out into the greener landscape of meadows and woodland surrounding the picturesque suburbs.

After about twenty minutes the car slowed and we headed up a tree-lined drive to a large pair of ornate metal gates.

A sign gave the house name as ‘Braveheart’ which made me smile as I knew it must be inspired by the film.

Tom might look and sound like an all-American singing cowboy but he clearly never forgot his Scottish roots.

I craned my neck to see ahead as Dawn punched a code into the entry system but as the electronic gates swung open to let us in all I could see were trees and hedges with splashes of red and pink blooms exploding out of the dense green foliage.

The car crunched its way slowly forward across the gravel and as the driveway curved ahead of us I got my first glimpse of the house Tom called home. It appeared even more beautiful than the picture he’d shown me on his phone when we were at a greasy spoon in Edinburgh.