Buckshot

- You're call has been forwarded

to an automatic voice message system.

- Darlene, dammit, you're moving the phone

too far away.

He can't even hear me.

There you go son,

hope you have a good birthday.

Real sorry I couldn't be there for it, but

I'm gonna make that big six.

Me and Crystal listened to that song you emailed.

Holy shit kid, it blew us away.

I'd ease up on that twang though.

You sound a little too much like your old man.

And them are some big shoes to fill,

you know what I mean.

Hey son, I know you want to come out and visit,

but you can't believe this.

My band's new schedule just came out

and talking about a tour.

and the next one I promise

will be worth it.

We'll get to it.

- Excuse me, can I put this up on your bulletin board?

It's for a showcase for Lucky Owens.

Thanks so much.

Oh.

Whoa.

I'm sorry.

Can I get a towel?

Thank you.

Gosh.

- It's okay, a little beer cologne never hurt anybody.

I'm Charlie Stillman.

June.

Tell Lucky I'm ready for his showcase.

I gotta get that record contract.

I ain't getting no younger.

- And you ain't gettin' sober either.

Hey.

- Whoa, whoa, hey dude, back off man.

All right, show this lady some respect.

- Can you put his beer on my tab?

Thanks.

You a singer?

- God no, I work for Lucky Owens.

Where are you from?

Jersey.

Figures.

What's that mean?

- A bro country song like that on that stage,

big mistake.

Hey, you hungry?

You want to get some pie with me?

I don't think so.

What?

Are you serious?

Come on, who passes up blueberry pie?

- How about you look me up when you find yourself

cause whatever this is,

I don't want no part of it.

- You've known about this for months.

Why wouldn't he have mentioned it before?

Well the show's in less than a week.

Okay, I'll let Lucky know Buckshot's request.

I told you I wasn't interested.

- I'm just here to rap with the man about the showcase.

- You get that Buckshot shit worked out?

He won't fly, Lucky.

He wants an RV and a driver to chauffeur him

from Seattle to here.

- Motherfucker, if he doesn't show,

I loose my advance.

Sir, I'm Carl Stillman's son.

- Goddamnit, just do it, get us a driver.

And send that kid to my office.

You're Carl Stillman's kid.

Yeah.

I thought since you and my pops were tight,

I'd stop by and introduce myself.

Pretty lady, right?

Spent the salad days with this lovely creature.

- Since my old man rocked this place,

I thought you might hook me up with a spot

in your showcase?

Your old man

only cared about two things.

Drinking and pussy.

Neither of them made him a good country singer.

And he loved fucking other people's wives,

including mine.

Here's some parting advice,

find yourself a new last name.

Good luck you hick hop poser.

- I thought you'd be halfway back to Jersey by now.

Okay.

Let's start over.

I'm Charlie Stillman.

I'm a country music fan.

You're part of the problem.

Nashville doesn't need anymore songs about

beer, buds, or girls in short shorts.

That ain't country,

bro,

and neither are you.

- Your phone call made it sound like this Buckshot dude's

kind of a jerk.

- Have you ever heard of the song,

"Darling Eyes"?

His song writing's what put him on the map,

but he took it for granted.

People quit booking him

cause he'd be too drunk to play,

and that's if he even showed up.

Good as new.

Well thank you Charlie.

You seem like a nice guy,

and your voice ain't half bad.

- Can you get me into that showcase?

I can't help you there.

Can I use the restroom,

like clean up?

Lucky is still here.

It's a lot of driving,

but easy money.

Who's the headliner?

Buckshot Thomas.

Hell no.

- Wait, what's he say? - Shh.

Come on, Mike, sleep on it.

- I wouldn't drive that guy to jail.

Is that the driver?

- Give it a second thought.

- Okay, second thought, nope.

Wait, wait, wait.

- Transportation is supposed to be your goddamned job.

Roscoe gave me a list of names.

Find me any asshole

that can drive an RV.

I'm gonna help you.

I can do this.

Here's the job.

You've got five days to get that son of a bitch

from Seattle to Nashville.

You want to get paid,

you make that goddamned deadline.

I don't care about the money.

I'll do it for a spot on the showcase.

You've got some balls.

Remember, that motherfucker is not operating

on all cylinders.

He makes it on time,

you play the showcase.

- Lucky's gonna want you to call me and check in

every morning.

And the other number is my cell.

What's your favorite color?

- I'm gonna have you land in Seattle

first thing tomorrow morning.

Maroon?

- Charlie, stop with the dating questions.

Red.

Oh, orange.

All right--

Yellow, okay.

Yellow.

I'm gonna bring you back something cool.

Charlie, no.

Don't get me any gifts, please.

- It's a thank you for scoring me the job,

and the showcase.

Showcase?

Yep.

It's my payment.

[honky tonk music playing in background]

Can I help you?

- I'm looking for Buckshot Thomas.

- You the guy paying his bar tab?

The son of a bitch owes me 400 bucks.