The Fame Equation (5 page)

“I bought that futon the first week I was in Nashville, even before I had a place to live,” she said. “It folds up, and it fit in the back seat of my old Honda. A few nights, when I had nowhere to go, I pulled it out and slept in the woods.”

Melody offered her trusty futon to me, and I was honored. I knew it would come in handy when either Jon or I had guests. Not that Jon, to my knowledge, had ever invited anyone other than Darcy or me to his loft, but hell could possibly freeze over someday.

Melody had come a long way in a short time, and I admired much about her. She had a good work ethic and she never, ever took her eyes off her goal of making a living singing country music. What made it all the more impressive was that Melody had come from almost nothing.

Like Dolly Parton, Melody moved to Nashville the day after she graduated from high school. But instead of a depressed town in East Tennessee, Melody hailed from Toad Suck, Arkansas. Toad Suck is an unincorporated community west of Conway, Arkansas in the central part of the state.

Melody once told me that when pop star Harold Jenkins changed his name back in the 1960s to become a country singer, he put his finger on a map and it landed on Conway, Arkansas, and Twitty, Texas. Thus, the legendary Conway Twitty was born. Melody hadn’t used a map to change her birth name, but you have to admit that a name like Melody Cross is a bucket load of pigs better than Raylene Potts.

I’m not sure why Melody and I hit it off so well. She was short, blond, naïve, sweet, and talented. In other words, everything I am not. We did have alcoholism in common though, her mom and my dad.

We also shared not being raised by our parents. My maternal grandmother took me in from a rundown Chicago apartment after my mother died, and after my dad went off the deep end and started to drink. I was nine and she took me to her home in rural Bucksnort, Tennessee. My dad is still around, somewhere, but I rarely hear from him.

The little girl who would later become Melody Cross had been the youngest, by far, of the Potts children. Her mother, Claudine, had given birth to an older sister, Brandyne, at fifteen, and a brother, Bodine, a year or so later. Melody came along when her mother was thirty. And, yes, all three kids had the same father, who was now serving a long prison sentence for doing something Melody didn’t want to talk about.

Claudine got tired of being a mom when her youngest was about six, so the future Melody Cross became a foster child. Melody spent most of her youth in the home of an older couple who attended a small Baptist church. I guess we both had small towns in common, too.

With Melody’s help, I took photos of a coffee table that was hand made out of old barn wood, and two matching end tables. They would be big improvements over the battered tables Jon now had. There were also two lamps and some gently used pots and pans. Melody then helped me attach the photos to a text and we sent the lot off to Jon.

I swear, I am the most technologically challenged person on the planet. I must be missing a gene, because even though Darcy had shown me how to use my new iPhone a bazillion times, I never could remember how each feature worked.

Fingers crossed, I hoped Jon didn’t think I was interfering with his private life. The furniture was free and I thought he needed it. I didn’t want to commit to Melody though, until I heard back from him.

As it was a relatively warm November day, we decided to have iced tea on her shady back porch. Melody made sweet tea the real southern way, by boiling the sugar along with a pinch of baking soda and then steeping black pekoe tea before allowing the mixture to cool.

We settled in two large, white wicker rockers and, as usual, her peaceful view of the woods relaxed me. I had no back porch, and the back of my house faced my barn and parking area. My front porch did look over the pasture, but the road in front was busy, and during commute times the noise could be distracting. I had no complaints, however.

Melody had brought a notebook out with her and was busy writing in it. “I’m making a list of things I want the movers to hold for you and Jon,” she said noticing my interest in what she was doing.

Was I that obvious?

“Um . . . thanks!”

“It’s no trouble.” She hitched her tiny bottom over in her chair so she could better address me. “Cat, your friendship means so much,” she said. “Really. I am so glad we found each other and I hope we will be friends forever.”

I’ve never done well with mushy stuff, even platonic mush.

“Me, too,” I said, a fraction of a second too late. I saw something in Melody’s eyes that looked suspiciously like disappointment. “You . . . you balance me out.” I stammered. “I get too focused on the horses and my responsibilities, but you are a breath of fresh air in my life.”

Was that a tear I felt sliding down my face? Couldn’t be. Fortunately, I was saved from further embarrassment by the doorbell. Whew. I couldn’t remember when I had been so relieved by an interruption.

Melody disappeared through the wooden porch door and walked through the house to the front while I composed myself. She returned a moment later with a tall, dark-haired girl she introduced as Kayla.

“Kayla works in Bill’s salon,” said Melody. “Keith and I have a radio interview at ten tomorrow morning on WSIX-FM, and I chipped my polish yesterday during the video shoot. People always expect me to look great, even on the radio.”

Kayla nodded at me and began to set out a variety of nail clippers, brushes, emery boards, and polishes.

“Do you want a manicure, Cat?” Melody asked. “I’m sure Kayla has time to do us both.”

I watched Kayla’s body stiffen and I became quite sure she didn’t have the time. And, when I looked at my nails I knew that while I could use some help in that department, they were pretty much a lost cause.

“Thanks, but no,” I said, hoping for tact. “I’d just ruin them in the barn.”

“But Kayla has all these cute decals,” Melody said. “Look, here are some with fireworks, and these dark ones with the stars are cool, too.”

If I had hesitated before, I was certain now. “Ah, no. But thanks.”

I watched for twenty minutes or so with sincere interest, then Melody got a text and Kayla packed up. With a quick wave the manicurist was gone. I hadn’t realized I had been clenching my fingers until they relaxed as soon as Kayla walked out the door.

“A text from Buffy,” she said, waving her phone at me so I could see. I might have had a chance if she had held the phone still. “
HitFactor
wants to come on Friday to film me unpacking for a ‘where are they now’ special.”

HitFactor
had been Melody’s ticket to fame. The show was an
American Idol
knock-off, and three years ago, Melody had won the most watched season. Since then, her shooting star had only gathered speed.

“You look like you don’t want to do that,” I said.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but I hadn’t planned to do any actual unpacking,” she said. A delicate wrinkle appeared in her brow. “The movers were going to do that.”

“Can you ask Buffy to offer them something else?” I suggested. “As your publicist, she could do that, couldn’t she? Maybe Thanksgiving with Melody Cross? You can always have a pretend Thanksgiving a few weeks early so they can meet whatever production deadline they have.”

“Perfect!” she said, her brow clearing as her fingers tapped her phone. “That’s just one more reason you are so important to me,” she said after the text had been sent. “You offer compromise and are the voice of reason in my crazy world.”

I smiled, but thought my advice had been basic. At least it was basic in my world of horse training. If your horse has a different goal than you do, offer the horse something similar, then eventually move back to your original plan. Guess the strategy worked for people, too.

I looked at my watch. It was getting late and I had to get home. I gathered my bag and made leaving motions.

“You want to go to church with me tonight?” Melody asked.

“No, but I appreciate the offer.” I stopped to look at her. “Soon, Melody. I promise that one day soon I will go to church with you.”

She smiled, and then said, “Just think! At two o’clock tomorrow I will be signing the papers to my own home.”

“Let me know if I can help you with anything. I just have to meet Darcy and Robert at the riding center at three on Friday. She’s taking a tour and might volunteer there.”

“Oh, Darcy will be a great addition. And, no worries about the move. The movers are coming to pack me up tomorrow afternoon, and my label is fronting me a night at Lowe’s Vanderbilt Plaza as a housewarming gift. All I have to do is show up at my new house Friday morning to direct furniture placement.”

I remembered loading and unloading my washer and dryer, along with the rest of my furniture, all by myself because I was too broke to hire anyone to help. But I didn’t begrudge Melody any of her success or her luxuries because I knew that if I ever moved again, this time I’d have lots of friends to help.

I walked through Melody’s little house one last time, then hugged my friend. And yes, I really did hope we’d be friends forever.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
I S
ENT
Darcy off to school then got on the phone to talk to Glenn and Jamie, co-hosts of the online radio program
Horses in the Morning
. I’d been a guest on the show quite a few times before, talking about horses and horse training, but today they wanted to talk about the video shoot, and what it was like to teach Keith Carson and Melody Cross to ride.

The show was always fun and informative, even if it was a bit early for my brain to be in full gear.

“Do you have the best job in the world, or what?” Glenn asked.

“I guess I do,” I said. And honestly, if I’d told my ten-year-old self this is what I’d be doing when I was thirty, I would have been pretty excited.

“So what inside scoop can you give us about Keith and Melody?” Jamie asked. “Is Keith, like, bald under that cowboy hat or is Melody a really bad driver?”

“No, and no,” I laughed. “But I can tell you that Melody makes great homemade cookies, and that Keith looks really good when he washes his boat in his swim trunks.”

“Cat,” Glenn told the listeners, “lives
next door
to Keith Carson. We’re still waiting for her to invite us over.”

“I want to watch the boat washing,” said Jamie.

“Next spring,” I lied. “I’ll let you know when the boat comes out of storage.”

The interview continued in that vein for another ten minutes or so. We even talked some about horses. Toward the end, Jenn, the show’s producer, reminded us of the time, and I said my goodbyes. Then I joined Jon in the barn. Sally was peacefully munching her hay and turned a bored eye in my direction when I checked on her.

Jon had Petey cross tied in the aisle and I helped him undo the many straps and pull the gelding’s blanket off. We each grabbed a brush and took one side of the horse. Petey had little visible dirt, but brushing is healthy for a horse’s skin so we went at it as if he was covered with mud.

“Interview go okay?” he asked.

“Absolutely. They always make it easy,” I said, teasing a few small tangles out of Petey’s short mane. Then I changed the subject. “So, did you like any of the furniture? Melody really wants us to have it.”

“Us,” he asked, “or you?”

Petey raised his neck to indicate that he sensed tension. He also moved one ear toward each of us. A horse can move his ears independently of each other and there is an old cowboy saying that the position of the ear is the window to the horse’s thoughts.

“Us––or me, or you,” I said after purposely relaxing my body to let Petey know all was well. “The furniture has meaning to her from her early days in Nashville and she wanted it to go to someone who would appreciate that.”

I felt Jon soften on Petey’s left side. “I liked everything. Except the lamps,” he said. “Not sure I need those.” He was quiet as he brushed, then said, “What about what the furniture I have now? That was your grandmother’s. Doesn’t that have meaning, too?”

To be honest, I hadn’t given that fact a thought and I took time to consider. “My grandmother,” I said, now wiping my fingers through the long, silky strands of Petey’s tail, “traded up whenever she had the opportunity. Yes, there were some things she was attached to, like the little white table you have. My grandfather built it for her. The headboard on my bed, her parents gave as a wedding present. But the little couch, the coffee table, and end tables? No.

“If she had known you, Jon, she would have said, ‘My land boy! Give that stuff to a body that needs it and git yerself somethin’ nice.’”

We both laughed and I realized that I had taken on my grandmother’s tone and body posture.

“Okay,” he said. “Tell Melody that
we
would be honored.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and texted Melody while Jon pulled a surcingle, sidepull, and driving reins out of the tack room. We were working secretly with Petey, preparing him to pull a cart, as a surprise to Darcy. But, about the only time she wasn’t here was when she was in school, so we used that time to work with him.

Driving should be an essential part of every young horse’s education, but it often is overlooked. Early in the process, the horse is taught to drive without a cart, and that’s the stage we were finishing with Petey. Driving from the ground also teaches horses to steer, stop, turn, back up, and even respond to voice commands and leg yields. Petey, of course, champion show horse that he was, knew how to do all that under saddle, but it was a little different giving him the cues on the ground.

Ground driving also was a good way for a human to establish leadership with a horse, as a lead or dominant mare will drive, or herd, a submissive horse forward from behind. In that way, ground driving meshes well with a horse’s natural instinct to obey his herd leader.

Petey was an elegant mover, and would do well in next year’s national level driving classes. Reddi, the other Appaloosa mare owned by Agnes, Sally Blue’s owner, was too flighty, and Sally would have been willing, but she was too stocky. It would have been hard for her physically to achieve the beautiful, light floating trots needed from the top horses.