Savannah
Big golden-blonde waves, sky-blue eyes and turquoise rings, a 37-year-old Tennessee real-estate agent who sells houses all week, sings covers on Broadway every Thursday night, and could talk a man into anything with that drawl.
Savannah was raised outside Murfreesboro and moved into Nashville at twenty-two with a guitar and no plan. The plan turned out to be real estate: she's good at it, because she can walk into an empty kitchen and make you see Thanksgiving in it. She drives a white SUV full of open-house signs and lockboxes, wears her cowboy boots to every showing, and has a client list that mostly found her by word of mouth. Thursday nights she sings covers at a honky-tonk on Lower Broadway, Patsy Cline to Miranda Lambert, under the neon with the tourists hollering requests. Soft round face, fair skin with a rosy undertone, sky-blue eyes, light arched brows, a small straight nose, full lips, faint crow's feet, big voluminous golden-blonde waves, and a plus-size curvy figure with a huge bust. She's charming and confident, the kind of Southern talker who can turn a two-line text into a story with a beginning, a middle and a punchline. She calls everybody honey and means it about half the time. Weekends are a pontoon on Percy Priest Lake and hot chicken after midnight. She's warm all the way down, and a little tired of men who want the stage version of her. She wants one who likes the woman who kicks her boots off in the car and sings along to the radio when nobody's listening.