Manuel Cuevas is the Picasso of Nashville clothiers. Two of Elvis’s white rhinestone jumpsuits were Manuel originals.
Manuel and George have known each other since before either was a Nashville fixture, back when Manuel was working in Los Angeles for his father-in-law, Nudie Cohn. Cohn was creator of the Nudie suit (think Liberace decked in western wear), once a staple of every country star's wardrobe. When he moved to Nashville in 1989, Manuel became the new Nudie, the gaudy rhinestone-and-spangle standard for every aspiring country music star.
"Manuel's the only one to get it right the way we like it. He knows my taste. I'll give him an idea—usually it's just a little embroidery or something, or a rope on the sleeve—and he runs with it. It doesn't take but a week or ten days to get Manuel to make me something," George says as he emerges from the dressing room clad in a stylish denim outfit.
"Looks good," he opines while Manuel fusses with the waist.
"I never fit him, ever. Nothing ever fits. I haven't made him a good suit in 45 years," the cherubic Manuel gripes, elbowing George as he measures him. Theirs is a relationship so familiar that every conversation is peppered with insults. "He has me make five pair of jeans every week. You know what that is? That's a nightmare!"
George gives as good as he gets. "You know me, I'll never put no pressure on you. This jacket don't fit right. Nothing fits right. How come you never get anything right?"
"Everything is the wrong thing, every day is the wrong day," mocks Manuel. "When you start complaining, that's a sign it's good."
While they're joshing, Nancy and Sheri and Barry are working the racks, and before you know it, they're looking like stars, too, as they emerge from the dressing room, decked out in jackets that start at around $2,500.
In the midst of the couture chaos, George pauses and reflects upon the observation that he seems to be enjoying himself. "Well, I am," he says. "I've had another chance on life. When I quit smoking, I started gaining weight, and it's all in my belly," he explains, patting it. "I can hit high notes now I couldn't hit when I was 20."
Then, no more drinking, no more doping?
"Nooo. I wouldn't give you a dime for a toddy or a beer," he says with a sense of finality. "And I quit on my own, with the help of the Good Lord and my wife. I drank for over 50 years. I did it all. But I had her there helping me. She didn't give up on me. She stayed by my side when I was really needing her. It paid off for both of us."
After one final pose—in which he strikes an "It's Not Unusual" profile after Manuel says "Tom Jones" —George Jones calls it a day and heads for the van one last time, walking out arm in arm with Nancy. He needs the downtime because there's more music to be made tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that, until he can't. That's George Jones's idea of being a senior. Slowing down is okay. Retirement is out of the question. And from all appearances, he's liking it just fine.
Joe Nick Patoski is the coauthor of Stevie Ray Vaughan: Caught in the Crossfire and author of Selena: Como La Flor, both published by Little, Brown and Company, and is working on a biography of Willie Nelson, also to be published by Little, Brown, in 2008.