Diva NashVegas (27 page)

“You look perfect.” The expression in his blue eyes makes me feel warm and swirly. I'm far from perfect, but in this moment, I am perfect to him.

“How about me?” he asks with his cocky smile that's quickly becoming my favorite smile.

“You look ridic—perfect.”

Standing under the eaves of Connie's wide front porch in the early evening light, Scott leans toward me. “Aubrey, can I—”

“Yes.” I grab a handful of his loose-fitting T-shirt, my pulse thumping in my ears.

He stops leaning. “I'm nervous.”

“Me too. A little.” I giggle and don't care that I do.

He slips his arm around my waist, dipping his head toward mine. His breath is warm on my face. “Here goes nothing.”

Laughing, I lean away. “Nice. Way to sweet-talk me.”

He tightens his arm around me. “Sweet talk? You want some sweet talk?”

The front porch light clicks on and the door swings open. “Are you going to stand out here all night?”

Scott releases me, and I spin around toward Connie. The spell is broken. It takes me a moment to catch my breath.
He was really going to
kiss me.
“W-we were just about to knock.”

“Knock? Use your key.” She stands aside to let us pass. “You didn't clean up from basketball?”

“Well, no, you called and we hurried over.” I glance up at Scott as we cross the threshold. His expression tells me, “Maybe this is for the best.” Maybe.

Connie's home is lovely and peaceful, my harbor from life's storms in years past. A candle burns from the tall, dark-wood table in the front hall. Pictures of her daughter and grown grandchildren hang on the wall.

Her little Yorkie, Romeo, scampers toward us yapping. Startled, Scott jumps behind me. “Just an ankle biter, Vaughn.”

“Whose ankles?”

Connie scoops up Romeo. “We're in the kitchen eating cookies.”

“Who's we, Connie? Is this an emergency cookie-eating meeting?”

Casting a quizzical glance at Scott, I shrug. “Cookies are always a good thing, right?”

Inside the door of her country kitchen, I stop short.

A beautiful young woman with brown hair and large hazel eyes sits at the table with an older, dark-haired woman. The girl's mouth drops open. “Oh my gosh . . .”

Scott stands next to me, his chest against my back. “Hello, I'm—” I offer my hand.

“Aubrey James,” she bursts out.

The older woman studies my face, the lines around her brown eyes deepening. Her expression is a mixture of concern, confusion, and wonder. “Myra?”

Myra?
Covering my face with my hands, I address the women. “Jen? Mrs. Sinclair?”

“All the way from Oklahoma.” Connie moves to my side and swings her arm around my shoulder, gripping me to her side. “Isn't this wonderful?”

“Y-yes. Oh my goodness.” I walk over to give Jen a hug. “Sorry, I've been playing basketball with my friend. This is Scott Vaughn.” I point to the confused sportscaster.

“How do you do?” He wipes his hand on his shorts before shaking theirs.

This surprise reunion has startled Mrs. Sinclair and Jen. Startled me. Mrs. Sinclair regards Connie. “I don't get it. Myra Ray is Aubrey James?”

The tension in the room increases. The older Sinclair feels duped. “Aubrey James is my real name. My parents were Ray and Myra James . . .” “The gospel singers?” A pink hue covers Mrs. Sinclair's cheeks while Jen listens and watches. “ They were killed in a car accident.”

“Yes.” A familiar coating of protection washes over my heart. The same one I've used in the past with fans, the press, and other inquisitors. Mrs. Sinclair presses her hand to her forehead. “I never expected this.”

“Me, neither.” Jen's smile is slow but sure. “My foster sister and pen pal is Aubrey James?” She ekes out a tight squeal. “My friends are going to die.”

“Why don't we all sit,” Connie says over her shoulder as she pulls mason-jar glasses from the cupboard by the sink and picks up a stack of paper plates. “Scott, can you help me with the tea and ice? The tea is sweet, y'all.”

I take the chair opposite Jen. “It's really good to see you in person,” I start softly. “You're beautiful.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

I lean my elbows. “Selfish, really. I liked our relationship the way it was. Simple. Free. Honest.”

“Except the part where you lied about your identity.” Mrs. Sinclair has recovered from her shock.

“Yes. Jen, I'm sorry.”

“No, it's fine.” She shakes her head, brushing off my apology with a wave of her hand. “If I'm going to be surprised, this is the best kind.”

Mrs. Sinclair laughs lightly. “I guess it is a fun surprise. But, Aubrey, you sent pictures a few years ago.”

“That's right.” Jen glances at her mother, then me.

Good grief. At the time, the white lie didn't seem to be a big deal. What's an image of a face when Jen and I could share our hearts? But now the deception makes me hot with shame.

“I sent my assistant Piper Cantwell's picture.”

“Oh,” Jen says as if it's okay. “I guess I can understand why.”

“No, Jen, don't let me off. All this time I convinced myself that a few hidden facts about my life wouldn't change our relationship. After all, I could speak my heart and mind to you. Free to be me. Who cares, really, if I sent you someone else's picture, changed a few names to protect the innocent, or omitted a few details about my career—”

“A few?” Scott murmurs.

I shoot him a glance.
Quiet.
“Forgive me, Jen.”

“O-of course. Please, I understand. Given your position, I would've done the same thing.” Her laugh is sweet.

The weight of deception is eased by her forgiveness. “Just so you know, I was traveling a lot this spring—on tour. And I do have a business, AubJay, Inc., where I sell—”

“Aubrey Bags,” Jen says. “Mom, the one I showed you on the Web site for my birthday.”

“Oh, right. Those beautiful handbags.”

“Jen, I'll give you as many as you want. You can take some to your friends.”

“Really?” Her eyes pop wide.

“Absolutely, and I have a bunch of FRESH! merchandise, too, and, oh, ‘Borrowed Time' T-shirts. Didn't those turn out cool?”

“Yeah, the ones with the image of a take-no-guff country girl stealing the watch from her boyfriend's wrist?”

Laughing, I give her thumbs-up. “You got it.”

“Aubrey, you don't have to give me things,” Jen says, with a voice I recognize from her e-mail.

“I know. But I want to, Jen.” I pause. “I'm glad you know. I hope we can keep our friendship.”

Jen shakes her head. “You'll always be Myra Ray, my big sister.”

My eyes water. “You'll always be Jen Sinclair, my little sister.”

28

“She kept me close and warm on the coldest night of my life.”

—Jennifer Sinclair,
Inside NashVegas interview

Scott

“Thanks for doing this, you two.”

Aubrey and Jen sit with their elbows linked on Aubrey's couch, waiting for Rafe to fire up the camera.

“I can't believe I'm doing an interview with Aubrey James. I mean, last week I didn't even know you.”

Aubrey smiles, her countenance peaceful and happy. “Jen, you probably know me better than anyone.”

“Except me.” I couldn't resist.

“Except you, Scott.” Her tone is light, yet mildly sarcastic.

“Let's do it,” Rafe says.

“Oh, I'm nervous.” Jen shivers, looking up at her mom, who's standing behind the couch.

Mrs. Sinclair taps her daughter's shoulders. “You'll be fine, baby.”

“Just remember, we're not live, so we can always stop, go back, do it again.” Aubrey's instructions are gentle and big-sister like.

Scott: Aubrey, you have a double life. Tell us about it.

AJ: What? I don't have a double life. I had a secret. A foster sister I wrote to using a different name.

Scott: Why the different name?

AJ: After my parents died, I was put in foster care for six months until Connie Godwin became my guardian.When I was taken to my foster home, I changed my name to Myra Ray. And I liked it.
Scott: Didn't your friends at school know you as Aubrey James?

AJ: Yeah, it was weird. But my foster mom acted like it was no big deal. I'm sure I wasn't the first foster kid to change her name. So, yes, I had two identities for a while. I was trying to hide, yet trying to discover who I was in my postparent world. I hated being identified as an orphaned girl. The cool basketball player was Aubrey James. The orphan was Myra Ray, and not real, if that makes sense.

Scott: Next to Aubrey is her longtime friend, Jennifer Sinclair. You've been exchanging
letters and e-mails for many years. Right?

Jen: Yes, about ten years now, I guess. But I met Aubrey fourteen years ago. I lived with the same foster family. I was six, she was sixteen.

Scott: Your mother had also been killed.

Jen: She was murdered by her boyfriend. And I never knew my father.
Scott: Murdered. Quite a journey for a six-year-old. Seems a sad set of events
brought you two together.

AJ: Very sad. But I'm realizing more every day, God does work all things together for good.

Scott: Jen, do you remember meeting Aubrey the first night?

Jen: I'll never forget. She became my lifeline. I crawled into bed with her because I couldn't sleep. I was frightened and alone, not really sure what was going on. [looking over at Aubrey] She made me feel safe. I thought Mrs. Fetterman, our foster mom, was the meanest lady alive, and I wanted to cling to the pretty girl who'd lost her momma too.

AJ: Jen broke my heart that first night. She came in clutching a baby doll, her face literally lost behind these round, sad eyes. She sat on the edge of the sofa with her toes pressed to the floor so she wouldn't slip off. She didn't say a word, but enormous tears ran down her cheeks.

Jen: My whole life I'd been told to never go into a stranger's house or talk to strangers. Now strange people were leaving me in a strange house, telling me how much fun I'd have and how a nice family wanted to help me.

AJ: Oh my gosh, my heart is breaking all over again. Jen started crying, and no one could console her. Mrs. Fetterman was frantic. It tore all of us up. Finally, Jen wore herself out, and Mrs. Fetterman put her to bed.

Jen: I didn't wear myself out. You rocked me to sleep in that big wooden rocker and sang “Jesus Loves Me” a thousand times.

AJ: Yes, I'd forgotten. [eyeing Jen] How could I forget? Later that night, I woke up with a warm little body snuggling next to me, her fingers wrapped in my hair, her dolly's fingers gouging my back.

Jen: I thought you smelled like flowers.

Scott: Jen, you were eventually adopted by a family member.

Jen: My mom's sister and her husband. A year later my uncle got a good job in Oklahoma, so we moved.

Scott: Aubrey and Jen haven't seen each other in . . .

AJ: Thirteen years. But we've been writing for ten years.

Jen: [laughing] But I thought I was writing to Myra Ray.

Scott: Why didn't you tell her, Aubrey?

AJ: When I signed with Mountain Music, Connie took me aside and said, “You need to use your real name. Time to grow up.” She was right. Within a year, my career took off and everyone knew my name. Meanwhile, Jen was still young, and we hadn't started regular correspondence. By the time she was a teenager, I was a
name
[rolling her eyes], and being anonymous with Jen felt freeing. So, right or wrong, I decided to hide my identity from her.

Jen: I like to think your fame wouldn't have changed our relationship, but I was young and immature, and finding out my
sister
was a superstar would've impacted me negatively, I think. At least for a while.

Scott: How so?

Jen: [taking a deep breath] I went through a rebellious stage around sixteen, and I know for certain I would've tried to use Aubrey as a way to buck my parents. She would've been caught in the middle. The more I think about it, the more I'm glad I didn't know.
Scott: Okay, the cat is out of the bag. The secret is known. How does it change your
relationship?

AJ: On my end, I'm relieved. Jen and I have always talked openly and honestly in our letters except when it came to my career and, of course, actually visiting each other. Now the barriers are gone.

Jen: Well, it helps to know a world-famous person is reading my personal letters. I mean, gee whiz. [laughing] But it really doesn't change anything for me other than I can't go around telling everyone I'm best buds with Aubrey James. [looking at Aubrey] Can I?

AJ: [wrinkling her nose] I prefer not.

Jen: See, no fun for me. [smiling] Really, I don't see anything changing. Maybe get a few passes backstage to her concerts, but that's it. I promise. Everything else stays the same.

Mrs. Sinclair: Except for all the free stuff she's giving you.

Jen: Mom, shhh.

AJ: Actually, this is another really great aspect of the truth. Now I can do more for Jen and her family. I didn't before because I wasn't sure how much my alter ego should flash her cash.

But this will make it easier for me to call up and say, “I'm taking a week in the summer to go to the Mediterranean. Want to come?”

Jen: Yes! Double yes.

Mrs. Sinclair: Jen, you can't take advantage of Aubrey.

Scott: Something tells me Aubrey wouldn't mind a little sister abuse.

AJ: [laughing] Probably not. Besides, this is going to be a nationally televised interview. Jen, I guess all your friends are going to find out anyway.

Jen: Can I say something? Despite everything, the Myra Ray aka Aubrey James I know is an amazing, kind woman who wrapped her heart around a frightened little girl and kept her warm and safe. To me, she'll always be my hero.