Diva NashVegas (7 page)

He leans toward me. At six-four, “Lurch” makes my six-one seem small. “Have you ever seen her up close?”

“Once, twice, maybe.”

He flicks his hand like he's touched something hot. “Shew-wee, she's gorgeous. Don't believe I've ever seen a more beautiful woman. But if you tell my wife . . . I'll deny it all.”

I slap Rafe on the back. “Your secret is safe with me.”

On the other side, I find Olivia scurrying around with a clipboard and tight expression while Sam talks with Zach Roberts. “Scott, you know Zach.”

“I do.” We shake hands.

“And this is Aubrey's assistant, Piper Cantwell.”

A pretty woman with long, dark hair swept up in a loose ponytail offers her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Ducking into their inner circle, I ask, “She knows I'm coming, right? Not Beth.”

“Well—” Olivia starts.

Sam puffs out his chest and bellows, “What does it matter?”

Zach addresses me by tipping up his chin. “Seems in all the shuffle, Olivia forgot to tell us about Beth. But it's fine. Certainly Aubrey will understand Beth's situation. And since Olivia just found out yesterday . . .”

I peek at Olivia.
Yesterday.

She walks around behind me, her heels clicking against the same Italian marble that's in the foyer. “Be cool, be cool,” she mutters into my neck.

This is not good. Aubrey's going to flip her Dolly Parton wig.
I've got to warn them. “Listen, everyone, I—”

“What is he doing here?”

They all turn—Sam, Olivia, Zach, and Piper. The diva has entered the room.
Here it comes.

Zach pops a smile and walks over to her, arms wide. “Scott's doing the interview, Aubrey. Did you know Beth Rose is pregnant? Her doctor put her on complete bed rest.”

“No, I didn't know.” Her ocean-blue eyes focus on Olivia. They are soulful and concerned. “She and the baby are all right?”

“They're both fine, but she just needs to stay in bed.”

Aubrey motions to her assistant. “Pipe, send her something from me, please.”

“Already made a note.”

Hanging on to my cool, I try not to gawk like a schoolboy, but I'd forgotten how beautiful she is in person. Photographs don't do her justice. Smooth, symmetrical features. Long, thick chestnut hair. Yet, something about her beauty goes beyond what the human eye can see.

However, right now I see she's angry. Big surprise. Zach is off to the side talking with her, hands in motion. Then, with a sharp glance at me, Aubrey walks out.

“Aubrey . . .” Zach goes after her.

Sam claps his hand on my shoulder. “Vaughn, what'd you do?”

I peer down at him. “We met once. It didn't go . . .
ahem
. . . well.”

He pokes me in the chest. “Fix this. We lose this interview, you can go straight to the office and clean the toys out of your bottom desk drawer.”

Olivia stands by me, her way of showing solidarity, but I shoot her a look. This is her snafu. She should've let Zach and Aubrey know Beth had a pinch hitter.

A nervous knot forms in my middle as I follow the muffled voices of behind-closed-doors arguing down a thick-carpeted hallway. Stopping in front of a wide mahogany door, I knock once. Gently. “Aubrey, can I talk to you?”

The voices stop. After a second, the door opens, and Zach motions for me to go in as he steps into the hall. He turns to Aubrey. “You gave your word. Signed a contract.”

“I heard you the first time.”

He regards me for a moment. “I don't know what you did, but own it, say you're sorry, and let's move on.”

Aubrey stands by a window on the other side of the room, half in the sun, half in the shade. On my right is a beautiful dark-wood baby grand and a row of guitars perched on stands. Plaques, pictures, platinum records, awards of all kinds hang on the wall to my left.

“This must be the music room.”

“And you must be Einstein.”

“My mother likes to think so.” I chuckle. “But you know mothers. Always dreaming big for their—”

She's not smiling, or laughing. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I walk the length of the wall, feeling chilled from the iceberg of emotion between us. “Amazing. So many accomplishments.”

She doesn't answer, but I smile at her over my shoulder.
Come on, melt,
you coldhearted—
Stop. Not fair. I'm the coldhearted one. “Aubrey, I owe you an apology. Long overdue. I'm sorry.”

“For what?” Her expression is innocent, but her tone sarcastic.

Ducking my head, I laugh. “Guess I deserve that.” Leaning against the piano, I look up at her. “I'm sorry I left the party without telling you. I'm sorry I didn't call.”

“Do you know how humiliating it was for me to walk around a party of
your
friends asking, ‘Where's Scott? Have you seen Scott?'”

“Incredibly rude and selfish of me.” Disgusted, I shake my head, embarrassed by my actions. “I assumed you'd be okay.”

“Never, ever assume, Vaughn.” Aubrey folds her arms and leans against the other side of the piano. Her chestnut hair falls over her shoulders in lazy, not-quite curls. “Did you meet someone else?” Her piercing blue-green eyes make my heart thunder.

“No, no.” I wave my hands. “Something came up. That's all.”

“At midnight?”

“It's complicated. A personal issue of mine at the time. You—you were perfect, charming and beautiful. I had a great time.” Thus, the root of my problem.

She regards me as if trying to determine if I'm lying or just wimp-ing out.

I motion to the wall. “Five albums, five platinums.”

“He can count.”

I glance at her, supposing she's earned the right to fire potshots.

Beside the platinum records, the wall is adorned with awards from all the music associations—Academy of Country Music, American Music Awards, Grammys. All but the Country Music Association. If we survive today, I'd like to ask her about it.

The adjacent wall is covered with pictures of Aubrey's beautiful, beaming face, her arms around every great name alive on Music Row. Vince Gill, Amy Grant, Dolly Parton, Richard Leigh, Dan Huff, Keith Urban, Toby Keith, Brooks and Dunn, Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, Martina McBride and her family, her good friend Emma Rice, her longtime producer David Whitestone, and former SongTunes president Greg Leininger.

On the adjacent wall are awards and gold records from the Gospel Music Association, a tribute to her famous parents, Ray and Myra James.

“Your parents were pioneers in Christian music.”

“Is the interview starting?”

“I grew up listening to their records.” I motion to the row of eight guitars. “Is there a story behind these?”

“My dad owned seven of them. The one on the far right was given to me by songwriter Danny Hayes years ago.”

Acknowledging with a nod, I walk over to her and into the fragrance of her perfume. “Please believe me when I say I'm sorry. I can't change the past, Aubrey. I would if I could. Can you forgive me and do this interview? For both our sakes?”

She steps around me. “Let's get it over with.”

With the script rolled up in my hand, I sit in the club chair, ready to get
started. Poised and perfect, Aubrey sits across from me in the leather wingback.

One camera focuses on Aubrey, the other on me. Rafe will also film with the portable DV, moving in and around us, capturing different angles, light, and depth.

Olivia is talking to Zach. Sam, thank goodness, left for a meeting.

Rafe indicates he's ready for me to cut my first teaser. I sit straight, adjust my tie, and clear my throat. Aubrey makes me nervous.

“Three, two, one . . . Hi, everyone. Scott Vaughn for
Inside NashVegas
, in the home of Aubrey James. Join
Inside the Music
Monday mornings this fall for our exclusive interview with Aubrey James, the queen of country soul.”

“Got it,” Rafe says.

I face Aubrey. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.” She looks confident though her hands are clasped and white-knuckled in her lap. After my apology, she softened, but it's unsettling that our personal business is not finished.

Standing, I address the room, pointing my rolled-up script at Aubrey. “Can we have a private moment, please?”

“S-sure.” Olivia shoots a quick glance at Zach, then Aubrey. “If it's okay with you.”

For a split second the diva looks as if she's going to refuse, but she answers with a smile. “Fine by me.”

In a few moments, we're alone. Taking my seat, I lean toward her, crumpling the script in my hand, not quite sure how to speak my heart.

“What do you want, Scott?”

“Well, I knew a moment ago, but, um—”

“You're a journalist. Say it.”

I look her in the eyes so she knows I'm serious. “This is your first big interview, and despite what happened last year between the two of us—

“Which I'm still curious about. What exactly did happen, Scott?”

“Trust me, the details would bore you. But I want this interview to go well for you and
Inside NashVegas
. Let's have fun. Are we cool?”

Aubrey thinks for a second. “Only if you're willing to tell me what happened.”

“Are you two ready?” Olivia bounds around the corner, using her cheery voice and tapping her watch. “We're burning up time here.”

I slide back in my chair. “Olivia's right. We should get going on the interview.”

“Don't think you're going to get off this easy.”

I grin. “Believe me, I don't.”

8

“Aubrey James is an amazing singer, entertainer, and songwriter. I wish she'd record her own stuff. Be bold, Aubrey. Don't let the Big Dogs run you down.”

—Country recording artist Emma Rice

Scott: The final night of the CMA Fest, you fainted. What happened?

AJ: Exhaustion. Took the big diva dive. The FRESH! tour drained me. In between shows, I filmed a commercial for FRESH!, had photo shoots. Plus, we did a hundred cities in six months.

Scott: Based on Melanie Daniels'
Star
interview, you guys had a lot of drama
going on. What happened between you and Melanie?

AJ: Wow, starting off with the loaded questions. [shifting in her seat] Melanie came to work for me as my musical director four years ago. She took care of my band on and off the road and worked with me on my last three albums. She helped pull together the all-girl band.

Melanie is a great musician and brought a lot of new ideas to my team. I felt lucky to have her, and we became good friends. At least I thought we were friends. I certainly shared enough of my life and heart with her.

About a year and a half ago, a new man came into her life, and suddenly she started demanding more. More money, more influence. She wanted to be included in all my major musical decisions, right down to designing the tour show.

Scott: What about her claim you hindered her career?

AJ: Not true. I didn't even know she was talking a record deal with SongTunes.

Scott: You fired her in the middle of the tour. Why?

AJ: We'd been at odds before the tour started. While I valued her immensely, and honestly felt she deserved some of what she was asking for, her attitude was one of “You owe me.” No matter what we offered, she felt it wasn't good enough. We argued a lot last year. It got very tense and heated between us. In fact, right before we started rehearsal for the tour, I wasn't sure if she would be on board as my musical director. She didn't return our calls, and we heard rumors she was bad-mouthing me on Music Row. Then one day she showed up, guitars in hand, as if nothing had ever happened. She was warm, fun, pleasant, eager to get to work.

Scott: Didn't you think that was odd?

AJ: For a musician, no. [grinning]
Scott: I see. What were her reasons for disappearing?

AJ: She said she needed to get her head together. She had taken time to hike the Appalachian Trail with her brother and then visited family in Florida.

Scott: She seemed like the old Melanie to you
?

AJ: Yes. Sometimes she seemed subdued and distracted. Her temper was short, but it never crossed my mind she was making mental notes for a future blog or planning to diss me in the international press.

Scott: She blogged, “Aubrey James is only about herself. Our drummer was having
personal issues, but Aubrey would not even listen to her story. She sucks the
life right out of a person. No matter how long the road, how hard we worked,
she demanded that much more and never gave in return.”

AJ: I guess I did drive the band hard. First of all, we were an all-new, all-female band and had our share of Music Row skeptics. Second, we'd forged a huge deal with FRESH!, a young company trying to build an image. I believed we should be beyond excellent. For ourselves, our sponsor, the music industry, and really for women in our industry.

Scott: [smiling] Pretty big burden for one female band to carry.

AJ: [laughing] Are you kidding me? Between my bassist, Vickie, and Melanie I had two of the best musicians in town. Besides, I didn't ask anything of them I didn't ask of myself. I worked hard knowing what we could achieve. And we did it.

Scott: You wore yourself out.

AJ: True, but looking back, it was worth it.

Scott: Besides keeping a blog of the FRESH! tour, Melanie sold her story about you
to
Star
and to a British tabloid. Tell me about your response to this and why
you think she took such a drastic step?

AJ: My response? Hum . . . Hurt. Blindsided. Very surprised. Since the beginning of my career, I made it a point to stay out of the public eye as much as possible, which made me a huge curiosity for the media, especially the tabloids. She knew how much my privacy meant to me.