A Nashville Collection (57 page)
AJ: Twenty-four, almost twenty-five. Met him three months after Jack and I split. We dated for nine months.
After those two very hurtful relationships, I didn't trust anybody. I required these ridiculous artist riders on hotel rooms and dressing rooms regarding privacy. No one but my management could walk within a thousand yards of my bus or my room. Everything cleaned with Clorox, white sheets and towels, bottled water, liquid soap, blah, blah. Salads and grilled meat for meals.
Connie: She got a little crazy on us.
AJ: I reacted the way any person reacts when they lose things: grasp for control. “Isn't going to happen to me again.” I still struggle with letting go.
Connie: Zach made her take a vacation and booked her for three weeks in Barcelona on the Mediterranean.
AJ: Heaven on earth. I lay in the sun, slept, read books, forgot about Jack and Derek as much as possible.
Connie: Besides the relationships, she'd been working nonstop for six years.
AJ: I felt like a failure for melting down. There are men and women out there working sixty hours a week to put food on the table, making fifteen bucks an hour, and they don't melt down.
Scott: But there are pressures that come from being in the public eye that can't be
compared to a private citizen. When their life goes bad, or their relationships
end, they don't get played out on
Entertainment Tonight.
They don't
pick up a copy of
Globe
and see their ex's face
.
AJ: True, and it's hard and embarrassing. Yet, the whole private-life-versus-public-life excuse feels like a cop-out to me. Heartache is heartache, celebrity or not.
Scott: Did you heal in Barcelona?
AJ: The process got started, and I thought a lot about my life and who I wanted to be.
Scott: Derek wrote a book about your relationship.
AJ: Thank goodness the book landed on the
New York Times
worst-seller list.
Scott: Guess that's a nice silver lining to your relationship. [glancing at his
watch]
AJ: I suppose so.
“Our time is up.” I motion for Rafe to cut.
Aubrey slips off the sofa and motions for me to follow her. “So, feel like a little game of one-on-one? A rematch?”
I stop just outside the porch door. “Now wait a minute; you didn't warn me. I didn't bring my sneakers or a change of clothes.”
Aubrey laughs. “Good, all the more reason I can beat you again.”
“I used to blame her for all the crap in our relationship. But looking back, we were the wrong people for each other at the wrong time. The perfect storm. I wish her well, though I really wanted my book to be on the bestseller list.”
âDerek Crammer, author of Drumming for a Diva
Aubrey
Wednesday night as Car and I dress for dinner with his parents, the tension
between us is still thick, even though we've talked out the issue of my discarded boxes.
“I called the movers about your boxes,” he says, out of the blue, as he tugs on a Ralph Lauren polo.
“Really?” Slowly, I slip on my engagement ring.
He shakes his head. “They took it to the dump, and like I thought, once it goes there, it's impossible to retrieve.”
I lean against the dresser, batting away a swell of tears. “Thank you for trying.”
“I thought you'd like to know.” He goes to the closet for his shoes. “Mom said the Arbuckles are joining us tonight.”
“Lovely.” I scan my shoe rack for those Prada wedges. The idea of decades' worth of family history buried among the refuse of Davidson County makes me feel sick.
“Tammy's a big fan of yours.” Car's voice is chipper, as if such news should brighten my day.
Finding the Pradas, I sit on the edge of the bed. “I'll take her an Aubrey Bag, then.”
He smiles. “Good idea.”
The short drive to his parents' house is mixed with small talk followed by silence, then more small talk. Exhaling, I ask, “Car, what's my favorite color?”
He turns into his parents' driveway and parks behind several other cars. “What? Your favorite color?”
I slip my hand through the straps of the Aubrey handbag lying on the seat. “Do you know where I got George and Ringo?”
“The shelter?”
“No, from these cute little kids giving away their puppies in front of Harris Teeter.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Did you tell me that before?”
“What's the title of my first number one hit?”
His gaze is wide and surprised. He should know this one. “âRainy Days',” he blurts.
“âRainy Days'? Car, that song is from my latest album.”
“Aubrey, what are you doing? Why the third degree?”
Gently, I rub my thumb over his hand. “Car, don't you see? We don't know each other, not really. I'm starting to wonder . . .”
He winks and grins. “I think we've
known
each other quite well.”
Frustration twists in my chest. “Car, I'm serious.”
“Yes, I know. Too serious.” He gets out his side of the car and walks around to open my door.
When I step out, I rest my forehead against him. “I'm not sure we're ready for marriage.”
He holds me at arm's length. “Sure we are. All couples go through their hard times. My parents did. I'm sure yours did too.”
“Hard times, I understand.” His square-shaped face is half in the shadows, half in the golden light of the driveway lamps. “We aren't even married yet, and I feel like we're strangers.”
He bends down so his eyes are level with mine. “We weren't strangers until I
accidentally
threw away your boxes. So you lost a few family heirlooms. Look at the people in Sri Lanka after the tidal wave. Or the people in New Orleans after Katrina.”
He's half right, and I'm irritated at him for it. Those disasters certainly outweigh mine, but our situation is not just about my stuff. It's about Car and me respecting each other.
“Brie, are you going to let this go? Is our relationship worth the price you're trying to pay?”
Absently, I straighten his collar. “Let's go inside and have dinner.”
As hostess, Grace Carmichael is in her prime. She's chic and classy in a crisp linen outfit. She links her arm through mine when I walk in with her son and escorts me over to the tan and thin Grayson Arbuckle. I set the Aubrey Bag on the polished end table.
“Gray, you remember Aubrey?”
“Certainly. Nice to see you again.” The collar of Grayson's mauve pullover is flipped up around his neck '80s style.
“And you, too, Grayson.” He shakes my hand, which he holds too long while trying to gaze into my eyes.
Familiar with
that
handshake and
that
eye gaze, I pull away. Not in a million years, Grayson Arbuckle. Not if we were the last two people on earth.
“Dear Aubrey, good to see you.” Sheree Arbuckle eases across the room and presses her cheek to mine as if we're long-standing bridge partners. “Let me see that diamond ring I heard so much about.” She grabs my hand. “Tammy, honey, come see.”
From the soda bar, Tammy waves.
She's a big fan of yours.
Yes, I can see.
“I saw it, Mother. Remember? I helped Car pick it out.”
I glance over at Car. His ex-girlfriend helped him pick out my ring? When Mrs. Arbuckle lets go of my hand, I walk over to him. “Tammy helped you pick out my ring?” I ask in a whisper.
“Um, try these.” He hands me a cracker with a cheesy-looking spread. “Very good.”
I refuse the cracker. “Babe, my ring?”
He wipes his mouth with a linen napkin. How I long for a stack of Chinet paper plates and matching napkins. “She volunteered to help me, and I thought, why not? Tammy's a woman with excellent taste.”
Tipping my head to one side, I quiz him. “Car, I showed you the round solitaire I liked.”
“Round. Solitaire. Boring. I wanted to get you something unique. Thousands of women have round solitaries.”
“But it's what I like.”
Car reaches for another cracker. “Are you saying you don't like the one I bought?”
Closing my eyes, I realize I don't want to have this conversation now. If ever. He chose a ring . . . with Tammy's help . . . and I accepted it. Sort of. “It's a beautiful ring, Car.”
“Aubrey.” Grace hands me a tall crystal glass filled with something pink and icy. For a moment, I feel like she might share a confidence with me. “I do hope you're being discreet with the Carmichael name while engaging in those interviews.”
“C-certainly.”
Her slender, tan hand pats mine. “Good, dear. Very good.”
Brown calls to her. “Grace, you've got to hear this.”
The Arbuckles and the Carmichaels huddle together on the far side of the elegant, wide living room, discussing something that makes them all laugh.
Alone in the middle of the room, I cup my pink drink. The melting ice forms tears on the outside of the carved glass.
“Aubrey, honey, you okay over there?” Car lifts his head from the circle, smiling. “We're just talking about the latest politics at the club. Do you know the Andersons?”
“No, honey, she hasn't met them,” Grace says.
“Don't believe I've had the honor.” Sipping from my pink drink, I shake water droplets from my chilled hand while the blue bloods continue their conversation.
After another round of laughter, Car slips past me to the snack buffet, tapping my cheek with a kiss. He notices something in the corner. “Dad, why'd you pull out the old dinosaur?”
A smile spreads on Brown Carmichael's face as he walks over to the ornate china hutch. “I found your grandpa's 16-mm movies.” He produces two round tin film canisters.
“You're kidding? When? Where were they?” Car's reaches for the tins. “I thought they were lost.” He turns to me, his expression like a kid at Christmas. “Brie, you've got to see these family movies. They're priceless.”
“Really?” A drop of condensation drips from the bottom of my glass to my foot.
Brown pops his hand on Car's shoulder. “The movies were in the attic all along.”
Grace explains with a flip of her wrist. “Car and Brown were frantic when we couldn't find those old movies. Remember, Brown? You even had Gray searching the garage with you.”
Gray raises his glass. “I certainly remember.”
Car takes one of the antique celluloid tins. “Brie, these are amazing movies. Grandpa set up these little scenes and played the director. The stars were Grandma, Dad and his brothers, and their friends. Being able to see and hear Grandpa and Grandma, see their clothes, hear their voices, watch them move and breathe . . .”
A chill runs over my scalp and down my neck. “Isn't it fortunate to have such a connection to your heritage? Something to remind you of your family, your past, your history?”
“It's invaluableâ” Car's posture stiffens. The buried tension between us rises to the surface.
Brown takes the tin from Car. “We have a few minutes before dinner. Let's view this one. I think it's of Dad and his buddies after the war.”
With a glance at me, Car helps his father thread the movie through the projector. Car's hypocrisy angers me. How can he be so excited about his family heirlooms and so callous about mine?
Another drop of cold condensation splashes my foot.
Tammy walks over to Grace and me. “Have you seen these movies before? They are wonderful. I love the clothes and the hair.”
“No, I haven't seen them.” I point to the end table. “I brought you my new Aubrey Bag. Car saidâ”
“Oh, really? How thoughtful.” She doesn't even glance to where I point.
Yeah, she's a
huge
fan, Car.
“Excuse me, please, Tammy.”
Setting my drink down, I find the downstairs bathroom, lock the door, and perch on the closed toilet seat. “I can't do this. I can't.”
Belonging to this community seemed like the right move for me, an orphan girl who achieved fame. But no matter how I slice it, I'll never be a card-carrying member of Nashville's elite. Even if my last name is Carmichael.
My sigh of relief echoes around the marble and granite bathroom. “Aubrey, are you all right?” It's Grace, knocking on the door.
Checking my makeup in the mirror, I blow my nose and open the door to her. “I'm fine, actually.”
“Oh, well, then.” She peers around me into the bathroom as if I might not be alone.
“Thank you for a lovely evening. Please tell Car I needed to go home.”
“Shall I get your things?”
I wait in the hall for her to retrieve my purse, but Car returns instead of my future mother-in-law. “Aubrey, Mother said you needed to go home. What's wrong?” He passes me my handbag.
“I don't belong here.”
“Ridiculous. Of course you belong here. You're family, my fiancée.”
He follows me to the foyer. Our footsteps sound cold and hollow. “I'll see you at home later.”
“Aubrey, wait. What's going on? Is this about the ring? Are you walking home?”
“It's not that far. I need to think.” I start down the bricked front walk. The July air is sweet, and the velvety night sky is dotted with diamonds.
“Then I'm coming with you.”
I press my hands against his chest and kiss his cheek. “Stay. Don't disappoint your dad. I'm fine. We'll talk later.”
“When you first meet her, there's an innocent air about her, but Aubrey's a tiger woman. She drives herself and everyone else at Mach 10 until the job is done. She's altogether amazing and frightening.”
âDavid Whitestone, producer of Better Left Unsaid, Dandelions & Daffodils This Way to the Parade, and Borrowed Time
Scott
As planned, Rafe and I drive to the Blackbird Studios Thursday for our
session with Aubrey. Playing my macho card on Tuesday when Aubrey challenged me to another game of one-on-one, I made a deal.
