Starstruck Entertainment

The most horrifying moment of the college moving-in trip was the day before Mom and Dad left Nashville. It was during our walk up and down world famous Music Row, a two street strip of record labels, management firms, and recording studios. Music Row is generally not a walking tourist attraction because it’s where business actually happens, but buses drive by and identify key points of interest. We were on an open air bus, kind of like a trolley when the tour guide spoke into the speaker, “And up ahead is Starstruck Studios, home of Reba McEntire’s offices.”

“Stop the bus, please.” Dad said and pulled on a wire overhead to signal that we were getting off.

“What are you doing,” I asked him.

“We’re going to find Reba.” Dad said and started walking toward 40 Music Square West.
“Dad, I don’t think Reba’s there and they probably don’t just let people in.” I said.
“Your dad’s a salesperson, Two. If anyone can get to Reba, it’s him.”

“But I don’t want to meet Reba, I mean not like this.”

He walked in the double doors. A wave of fear, embarrassment and mortification swept over me as he stepped toward a reception desk with a young, blonde woman answering phones through an earpiece.

“Excuse me.” Dad said. She held up her finger to signal that she was on another line.

When she was done she looked at him. “Hi there. So sorry. How can I help you.”
I had seen pictures of Starstruck’s interior in an issue of Country Weekly and in Reba’s music video for “The Fear of Being Alone.” It was gorgeous. Immaculate, even. I noticed that the beautiful Cherrywood finish on the staircases and desks accented the building to perfection. The air smelled fresh, like how I imagined Reba’s fabric softener would smell, and there were infinity pools everywhere. I looked up and saw an opaque glass door on the second floor. It had to be Reba’s office. It was grand.

“We’d like a tour, please.” Dad asked, as though he were ordering the shrimp cocktail.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. We don’t offer those.” She said kindly.

“Oh, well, my son knows her.” He argued diplomatically.
“Knows who?”

“Our son is friends with Miss Reba,” Mom said. “He won a contest, and talked to her on the phone. It’s actually why we’re here. I thought he should go to school closer to home, you know, where I could visit him more often. But he just had to be near Reba.” She moaned.

I felt my insides rotting from the inside out. My mother just outted me as a stalker. I turned and started to walk toward the door.

“Yes, that’s sweet.” She said earnestly. “But we don’t, um,” She struggled for the polite words. “We’re a business.” She held her finger up to signal a call coming in. “Starstruck Entertainment? Hold please.” She looked at Mom and said, “You’re welcome to take pictures of the front of the building. Outside, please.”

“Really? You can’t even call her?” Dad asked. “We don’t need to meet her, but my son-

“Yes, we do need to meet her!” mom said. “She took 15 minutes out of her day for our kid, we need to say thanks! And I had to buy him every CD she ever made, because tapes weren’t good enough anymore for him.”

“I’m sorry, I need to ask you to step outside.” She said. I was already waiting at the door.

“Chickenshit!” mom said. “Who does Reba think she is?” mom said as she stormed out.
As we started to walk toward the hotel and rounded the alley of Starstruck, a giant majestic garage opened and a Black SUV rolled toward the street. In the passenger seat sat a little boy I’d seen on TV, but for a moment I couldn’t place it, until I saw his mother’s outline from the driver’s seat. The eyes were covered by sunglasses but the hair was recognizable from space.

“It’s Reba!” I yelled.

“No shit?” Dad said, and ran toward the turning car. I’d never seen him run in my life. He chased the car for a full block. What would he do if she stopped? Why in the world is my dad chasing Reba McEntire the day before I start school?

“I almost had her!” he puffed. “I wanted to get you an autograph. Sorry kiddo.”

“It’s ok,” I said. “Let’s all go get something to eat.”

“Oooh, I found a place in my guide where Tammy Wynette gets her favorite grits!” mom said.

“Great! I said. “Taxi!” As embarrassed as I was by my parents, I knew celebrity hunting was the only way to keep their minds off tomorrow, when I’d finally be on my own.