Diva NashVegas (3 page)

The glint in her eye makes me smile. “Not me. I
love
turning thirty.” Connie pats my leg, looking around at the rest of them. “The dive didn't hurt her none. Same ole Aubrey.”

In the room with Connie are Zach and my friend and assistant, Piper Cantwell. “What day is it?” I ask.

“Sunday morning. You're in Baptist Hospital.” Zach steps around Connie. “You were dehydrated, exhausted, and underweight.”

“Underweight? Impossible these days.” My response inspires no smiles.

“Sweetie . . .” Connie's tone is motherly. “This is serious. The doctor wants you to rest this summer, take some time for yourself.”

“Sounds like good doctor advice.” Speaking makes me realize how very thirsty and weary I am.

Piper flashes her Palm Pilot. “I need to talk to you about a few things. I've cancelled as many appointments as possible, but—”

“Sandlott.” The one word takes all my effort. “Don't cancel the Fourth of July Sandlott concert.”

Piper smiles with her dark eyes. “I already told them you'd be there.” She's worth every penny I pay her, and then some. “Thank you.” I reach for Zach's hand. “Did I make the tabloids?”

He grins. “Not yet. It's only been thirty-six hours. Give them time.” “However,” Piper chimes, “the picture of Car kissing you made the front page of
The Tennessean's
CMA Fest coverage, and Heather Byrd wrote about it in her celebrity column.”

“Gerry House wanted to know how you convinced Car to do an onstage proposal with a mega kiss,” Zach says. “And
Inside NashVegas
ran a short piece. Just the facts, no speculation.”

“Did you guys know?” A heavy feeling settles on my chest, and my tongue feels dry and thick. “Can I have a sip of water?”

Piper fills a cup and holds the straw up to my mouth. I take a long, cool sip. “I tried to tell him,” she says. “But once Car decides something . . .”

The cold water washes away some of the heaviness. “Yeah, I know.” “FRESH! sent two dozen get-well roses to the house already.” Piper sets the cup on the stand beside my bed, then wraps her fingers around my forearm.

“They've been really good to me.”

She gives me a squeeze. “Fans are starting to drop cards and flowers by the front gate.”

“My fans . . . the best. What would I do without them?” I pause, then add a low-toned question. “Where's Car?”

“Working, where else?” Piper's remark is snide. She stands back, crossing her arms.

I glance up at her. “He runs a demanding business.”

“Maybe so, but his fiancée is in the hospital.”

“Apparently dying of thirst.” I smirk.

“No excuse.” Piper refills the water cup.

In the slim, streaming sunlight, I catch the brilliance of the ring on my left hand. The white diamond casts a prism of pure colors against the hospital wall. “What's the reaction to my engagement?”

“What you'd expect. Congratulations. Speculation. Some are happy, some are dubious.” Zach rocks back on his heels, hands tucked in his pants pockets. “Though there's been some poking fun of such a public ordeal. Leno fast forwarded a clip of Car's last kiss, then rewound it, then showed it fast forward again.” A suppressed grin tightens his lips.

A prickly warmth spreads across my cheeks. “Car has no idea, does he?”

Piper curls her lip. “No, but he thinks he does.”

Connie walks around to sit on other side of my bed. “He did play to the crowd remarkably well for an amateur.”

“Did I look surprised?” My hand is slightly chilled, so I slip it under the blanket, the tip of my thumb touching the smooth platinum band. “Just a tad.”

I drop my head against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere, somehow—I'd felt a profound sense of peace. When? Where?

The dream.

I sit up. “I dreamt about Momma.”

“Recently?” Connie asks.

“Yes, but I can't remember . . .” I brush my hand through my hair, yearning for the profound sense of peace I felt in the dream. No worry, no pain. All the gaps of loneliness completely filled. “I was in my old room, at the old house. Connie, you remember how bright and sunny it was and . . . so incredibly peaceful. Momma came in and sat with me—” My voice falters. “She sang, ‘I Surrender All.' ”

There's a watery sheen in Connie's eyes as she nods her head, tipped to one side as if hearing Momma's voice. “One of your mom's favorite hymns.”

“She was trying to tell me something . . . I think . . .”

“Your momma always carried the wisdom of the ages in her soul,” Connie says.

I rest my arm over my eyes. “But it was only a dream.”

For a long time, we're silent. In my mind's eye, I picture Momma over and over, trying to recapture the intimacy and peace of the dream, but I can't.

Zach and Piper are whispering to each other. “Did you tell her?”

Raising my head, I peer at them. “Tell me what?”

“She's lying in a hospital bed, for crying out loud.” Connie stands by my head as if to protect me. “You can't tell her while she's in this weakened state.”

“Tell me what?” My range of motion is tethered by an IV stuck into my left arm. Nevertheless, I do my best to sit up and, holding my tired eyes open, form a smile. “What's going on?”

Zach glances at Piper. “You're her assistant and best friend from high school. Tell her.”

“So”—she makes a face—“you're her manager. You get paid big bucks to do this sort of dirty work.”

“Is it about Peter?” My eyes roam their faces. “If you have news about my brother, spill it now.”

Zach shakes his head. “No, not Peter.”

“Then what?”

“Aubrey.” Zach walks over to his briefcase and pulls out a tabloid.

“I thought you said I didn't make the tabloids yet.”

“No, not for the engagement.” He hands me the slick newsprint. “Melanie sold her story of the FRESH! tour to
Star
. And she's making the rounds with some of the B-rated talk shows.”

“What do you mean she sold her story—” The paper shakes in my hand. There I am with uncombed hair, red eyes, and a wide-open mouth, pointing at one of the crew members. “Holy cow, I look like a lunatic.”

“Exactly what the story implies.”

A wave of nausea shoves me back down into my pillow. “I can't believe it. Why would Melanie stoop so low? This isn't like her.”

“Honey, she's angry. You were angry. Said things in Dallas you didn't mean.”

Without demand, the bitter words of our argument replay in my mind. “Melanie's not the type.” I toss the tabloid aside.

“Apparently, fifty thousand dollars makes her the type.”

A cold surprise washes over me. I glance at Zach. “Fifty thousand? Dollars? To dish about me and the tour?”

“Not only to
Star
, but the British tabloid
Daily Mail
. You have a big fan base in England.”

“I can't believe it . . . yet I said all those awful things about her in Dallas.” I close my eyes. “She felt justified.”

Zach winces. “It gets worse.”

I peek at him. “How worse?”

He presses his fist against his lips. “She signed a record deal with SongTunes.”

“What?” I jerk forward. “She's signed with my label?”

Zach tucks his hands into his pockets with a big sigh. “This isn't going to be your best day, Aubrey. BMG fired Greg Leininger last week from heading up SongTunes and hired Nathan Brack.”

My eyes begin to water. “Stop. I don't want to hear another word.” Zach rests his hand on my blanketed foot. “I've got more to say, and you're not going to want to hear this either, but Aubrey, Melanie's angry and out for revenge. She's been jealous of you for a long time, and now that she's earned some leverage, she's going to use it.”

“I've weathered worse and survived. Only made me stronger.” A sharpness stabs my chest. Piper jots a note in her Palm. What, I can't imagine. “Does Melanie know about the Boot Corral incident?”

I make a face. “The Boot Corral incident? You're kidding—”

Piper's smile sits at half-mast. “Sorry, I was trying for funny.”

With a sigh, I remind her, “The Boot Corral incident was entirely your fault.”

Her mouth drops open. “I beg to differ.”

I smile. “It was funny, though, wasn't it?”

“Very.”

Zach's expression is stern. “Can we get back to the issue, please?”

Connie looks over her shoulder at Zach. “Any chance we can negotiate with Melanie? Put an end to the feud?”

Zach shakes his head. “I've tried to call her. She doesn't respond.”

“What does it matter?” I stare up at the ceiling. “If she's decided to do this, she won't stop. Besides, ever since she started dating Bo Candler, her attitude has worsened. I'm sure he's feeding her jealous thoughts.”

Piper touches my arm. “Aubrey, it's time.”

I stiffen. “No. I'm not doing an interview. No.”

Ignoring me, Piper faces Zach. “What about getting her on a big venue like
Oprah
or a Barbara Walters' interview? A spread in
People
? Why can't we get her on the A-list talk-show circuit?”

“Hello, Pipe? Aubrey talking. I said no. If I've learned anything over the years, it's ignore the gossip and it'll go away. Most people won't buy Melanie's crap.”

If I was exhausted before . . .

Zach paces in a small circle. “We could get her on
Oprah
and other A-list talk shows. But they won't air until the fall or winter. Which”— he stops with a shrug, his expression twisted with thought—“wouldn't be so bad because the
Star
and
Daily Mail
stories will be old news. The B-list talk shows? Forgotten. So it won't look like Aubrey is attacking Melanie, but all the while, we're replacing her lies with Aubrey's truth.”

“Betrayal is the worst.” I cover my eyes with my arm again.

“Never mind all this strategizing. Aubrey is resting this summer.” Connie trumps Piper's suggestion with her
Mom
card. “She's not going traipsing all over the country taping talk shows just to undo Melanie's foolishness.”

“Forget Melanie, then, and the tabloids. You're right, we've dealt with them before.” Piper's movement is animated with enthusiasm. “Aubrey, you just came off your eleventh tour. You are one of the few artists who forged a deal with a sponsor. Your fifth album sold eight million copies. Your boyfriend proposed at the coliseum in front of CMA Fest fans. Do you know how many requests for interviews we got yesterday? Fifty. Ten more this morning.”

She leans on the foot rail. “Let's repay evil with good. Turn this around. Do an exclusive with a reliable news source. Get your story out there so people won't care about Melanie's story. Aubrey, your parents were gospel icons. People still buy their music. Their daughter grew up to be one of country music's biggest success stories. Now you're engaged to one of Nashville's elite, respected sons. Tell your story, your way. Let's hear from you.”

Zach stares out the window as Piper speaks. By the furrowed lines on his forehead I know he's listening, and thinking. “Piper's right. You need to tell your story.”

“Please, there's no story. The studio press releases sum me up nicely. Twelve years in the business, five albums, thirty million units sold. Other than that, it's all about my private-life screwups. Dumped by a Hollywood hunk, rebounded with a rogue drummer. Label disputes and how I dislike a big Music Row execs like Nathan Brack who try to hogtie my career. Then there're my private tragedies. Dead parents and missing brother, and all about how the Christian girl went wild. No.” The litany leaves my sore throat burning.

“Aubrey, you got it backwards. Your story isn't about mistakes, it's about triumphs,” Piper counters.

“I agree,” Connie says.

My wise counselors wait expectantly. W
hat should I do?
“This will impact all of you.”

Piper grins, tugging on the hem of her blue top. “She's softening.” “Also the Carmichaels.”

“Are you saying you want to do this?” Zach presses.

“Yes, but”— I hold up my on-one-condition finger—“I'd want to sit down with Beth Rose from
Inside NashVegas
.”

Zach's pinched expression warns me he's not keen on the idea. “
Inside Nashvegas
? A local show? Melanie went international.”

“I thought this wasn't about revenge?”

Zach laughs. “Yeah, well, it's not.” He glances at Piper. “But we should at least get outside of Nashville.”

“
Inside NashVegas
has been wanting an interview for years. They can do, ‘Inside the Life of a Diva' or something equally as corny. Hometown girl, hometown show.”

With a shrug, Zach agrees. “Piper, why don't you—”

“I'm on it. They're going to flip.”

4

“Aubrey James is not at all what you see. She's manipulative and selfish, and if she could get rid of every female artist in town, she would. Take it all for herself.”

—
Melanie Daniels, Star interview

Scott Vaughn

Friday, June 15

In the middle of coordinating interviews for a piece on the Sandlott Wood
Bat league, my producer, Olivia McConnell, raps on my office door.

Her knock is distinct. Never changes.
Knock, knock, knock-knock.

Phone to my ear, I motion her in. “Yeah, can we get with him before the game? I heard he signed a letter of intent with Lipscomb University.” I scribble “Tom Hayden” on my desk calendar. “Four o'clock.”

Olivia sits in the adjacent chair, elbows resting on the arms, fingertips pressed together, looking every bit like she just stepped off a page from some female how-to-look-good magazine.
Glamour
,
Vogue
—one of those.