A Nashville Collection (43 page)

The girl band was my dream team. Vickie and Melanie were already with me, so we added a female drummer, Keeta, and keyboarder slash fiddler and steel guitar player Laura. Keeta introduced us to Alexa, who added so much to the percussion sound we love.

In my insane, warped little mind, I imagined a bunch of women on tour would be like a rolling slumber party.

Scott: [laughing] Sounds good.

AJ: Not so much. It started out fun, then PMS hit and we had it for six months. Good grief. I felt sorry for the few men on the tour— my tour manager, my bodyguard, and the roadies. There were days my rolling slumber party was more like a rolling petri dish spawning hormonal, emotional breakdowns.

Scott: Care to share specifics?

AJ: Well, there's the story Melanie referenced about our drummer. And I just want to add that the band has backed me with this Melanie thing, and I'm grateful.

Anyway, our drummer, Keeta, was having personal issues. We were about to go on at the sold-out St. Petersburg Forum when the production manager whispered, ‘Keeta is in the bathroom, crying into her cell, breaking up with her boyfriend.' Keeta is a fabulous musician and performer, but her love life is a train wreck.

The house lights were going down, and the crowd was gearing up, getting loud with excitement. But still no Keeta. I whispered a “blue” word to the production manager. “Tell her to get her [bleep] out here before she's fired.”

Meanwhile, the sound engineer was looping a prerecorded intro over and over, and the fans got ansty, stomping their feet, whistling, hooting. I don't know if you've ever faced an angry mob, but it's very scary.

Then, all of a sudden, the music kicked. My heart flew out of my chest. I bet I lurched forward a good two or three feet. Keeta had found her way to the stage, and she took out her heartache on the drums. She gave her best performance all tour.

Scott: What's your take away from this tour? I, Aubrey James, learned . . .

AJ: [laughing] Too many lessons to name. [thinking] Here you go.

A lesson for the ages: I, Aubrey James, learned women communicate on seventeen different levels, and for the first time in my thirty years, I feel genuine compassion for the male species. We put you guys through some crap, but all I can say is I'm sorry, there's no cure in sight, just love us.

Scott: [chuckling] Rafe, did you get the apology? It has to make the cut.

AJ: Please air it. It's true. It's downright frightening how women communicate.

Scott: So the tour wasn't a big sisterly, woman-rule-men-drool slumber party?

AJ: No. Women are amazing creatures, but I'm certainly glad God created men.

Scott: Makes two of us.

Glancing at the script, I try to find the next set of questions, realizing we left the planned conversation after page one. Peeking around the room, Olivia gives me the thumbs-up. Let's see . . .

Scott: You're one of the most successful country artists of the past decade, and one of
the most photographed women in the world.
US
,
People
,
National Inquirer
,
The Globe
,
Country Weekly
,
Hello
,
Daily Mirror
,
newspapers, magazines, tabloids across Europe, Australia, Canada, Brazil,
Mexico, Japan . . . I could go on.

AJ: Are you telling me or asking me?

Scott: Recounting a fact. How does this sort of stat impact you?

AJ: I can't win a CMA, but the Most Photographed Woman honors, I win. [laughing] When I go into Harris Teeter, which isn't all that often, I autograph the tabloids by the checkout counter. I'm usually on two or three covers.

Scott: Good for you. So you see this as a necessary evil and have fun with it.

AJ: Is any evil necessary? [looks down and brushes an imaginary piece of lint from her jeans] I certainly don't take the tabloids seriously. Except when my so-called friends dish on me.

Frankly, I'm astounded by this whole paparazzi thing. I'm a country singer, Aubrey James, born and raised on the other side of town. How can I be one of the most photographed women in the world?

Scott: You're beautiful and mysterious. Your European fan club is the second largest
fan club in the world, behind Bono and U2.

AJ: Now that's incredible. [glancing at Piper] Did you know this? I love my fans. They are the reason I tour every year. But the rest of this is a mystery. Right up there with who shot JFK, you know? I have no idea why the press follows me. Actually, I think whenever my neighbors need beer money, they camp outside my house and wait for me to come out.

Scott: Well, beer money is important.

AJ: Naturally. My privacy is worth the price of a six pack.

Scott: [smiling] Okay, next fact. Five times you've made
People
's Most Beautiful
list. Twice on the cover. Do you look at your reflection in the mirror and
think, “I'm
People
magazine's Most Beautiful?”

AJ: Good grief, Scott. No. And if I did I wouldn't confess it to you.
Scott: Hey, just trying to get the
Inside
story.

AJ: To be honest—and this is from right here [patting her stom-ach]— I get up in the morning and wonder why I can't find the dental floss.

Scott: [laughing] Now that would be annoying.

AJ: Priorities are so skewed in this world. Two-thirds of the population wakes up hungry on a daily basis, and
People
magazine is worried about who's the Most Beautiful. It's ridiculous. There's probably women in the mountains of Peru who blow me away in terms of beauty, but we'll never know them.

Scott: Then you're not honored.

AJ: Of course, I'm
honored
. I'm not stupid. Who wouldn't be? However, it's not a part of my résumé.

For me, I can't help but notice a Grand Canyon-sized chasm between
People
and people. Impoverished citizens around the world sell their children into slavery for the equivalent of three hundred American dollars. Where's that story? Or all of the human rights abuse around the world. People in prison and tortured for their faith. Where's that story? We only like to wave our social justice flag when the issue is comfortable.

Scott: Is the poor your passion? The tortured?

AJ: Justice is my passion. It's a stupid passion, but there you go.

Scott: Why is it a stupid passion?

AJ: By whose scale is justice being doled out? Mine, yours, the liberals, the conservatives? It's not an exact science. So, mostly I am passionate about the hypocrisy of the elite in our country who tell the middle class and the poor they aren't doing enough and to depend more and more on the government to take care of everything. It frightens me.

Scott: You've obviously thought a lot about this.

AJ: Touring does that to me. We see so many people, hear so many stories.

Scott: Do I hear a future political candidate?

AJ: No. Absolutely not. I can do more as a celebrity than as a politician because I don't have to play the games.

Scott: You had another surprise, besides fainting, during CMA Fest. You became
engaged.

AJ: I did.

Scott: Engaged to Brown “Car” Carmichael. Congratulations. Set a date yet?

AJ: Not yet. But probably in the spring. He's busy with the SoBro development project downtown, and I'm tied up with this annoying interview thingy.

Scott: [smiling] Right. It's all my fault. So, how'd you two meet?

AJ: Right here in our little Belle Meade community. My assistant Piper and I were in Bread & Co. for lunch, and my order got mixed up with Car's. Really weird. We talked for few seconds, and I kept waiting for him to ask for my autograph, but he never did.

Piper and I left, came home to find my new furniture being delivered, and while we were watching the movers, Car drove by in his Humvee. He came back ten minutes later with an invitation to a barbecue with his parents. One year ago this month. He was very charming, yet down to earth. Which for me and my romantic past was refreshing.

Scott: And the rest, as they say, is history?

AJ: And the rest, as they say, is history.

9

“I wish Melanie Daniels all the best in her endeavors.”

—Aubrey James, press release response to Melanie Daniels' article

Aubrey

As Zach drives east down West End Avenue toward Music Row and the
SongTunes offices, he peeks at me from the corner of his eye.

“Looks to me like somebody had a good time today.” Zach brakes as a green light switches to yellow.

I smile, watching a woman with five little dogs on leashes cross in front of us. “I loved it.” A trill escapes me. I slap my hand over my mouth.

Zach laughs. “What did you love about it?”

“Weird . . . everything. Even that boorish Scott Vaughn. He was professional, funny, sincere. It was exhilarating.” I laugh. “What a
diva
thing to say, right? ‘Loved talking about me.' ”

“It's been a private goal of mine to get you sitting for an in-depth interview.”

“Congratulations. You can die a happy man. You know, just expressing my heart over Melanie made me feel a gazillion times better. I'll go ahead and forgive her. What the heck.” I flick my hand in the air.

“How magnanimous of you. Very Christian too.” The light flashes to green.

“I didn't forget everything my parents taught me.” Resting my elbow on the car door, I watch Nashville go by. “I am looking forward to tomorrow, and Thursday, talking with Scott.”

“Good, good. Better than spending several days a week with someone you hate.”

“I never said I hated him.”

“What happened between you two, anyway?”

“We met once, last year. It didn't go well.”

“But he apologized and now you're over it?”

“More or less.”

Zach tips his head with a click of his tongue. “With all this forgiveness going on, we might start having church.”

Laughing, I punch at him, missing his arm, batting only the air. “Maybe we will. And maybe, just maybe, I'll go to church this Sunday . . . or the next. One of these Sundays.”

“Well, before lightening strikes, can I change the subject?”

“Go ahead.” Looking out the window, I picture Scott Vaughn sitting across from me this morning. He was quite charming and . . .

“Are you sure?”

Turning to Zach, I watch as he shifts in his seat, adjusting his seat belt, then drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. “About going to church? Why wouldn't—”

“No. About marrying Car.” Zach slows his Lexus as another yellow light catches us.

“Oh.” This explains his nervousness. Did I figure this question would come? If not from Zach, from Piper, or Connie. “Yeah, I'm sure. I mean, is anyone ever sure?”

“You've been down this road before with Jack and Derek.”

“Exactly, and that's in Car's favor. He's nothing like them. He's normal, works a regular job in a downtown office. Wears a suit, plays golf to win business deals. The Carmichaels are a well-established Nashville family.”

The red light is short, and we're on our way again. “In other words, he's safe.”

“Zach, I'm ready to settle down, be a part of a family. I'm not getting any younger.”

“Can I give you some advice your father might give if he were here?” he asks with a sideways glance. Zach never met Daddy, but this wouldn't be the first time he's advised me with Ray James wisdom. “Pray about it.”

Tears pool in my eyes. I bat them away. “Daddy would've given that same advice.”

“You pretend to be cut off from your religious roots, but I don't buy it.” He swerves down Demonbreun toward Music Row East. “No matter how hard you fight it, I'm convinced you're still a gospel girl at heart.” He parks on the street behind my lawyer Skyler Banks's car.

“It's been a long, long time, Zach.” Unbuckling my seat belt, I let the nylon material slide between my fingers.

He jerks his keys from the ignition. “I'm not the most faithful person of prayer, either, but Aubrey, please. Marriage is serious business.”

I study my hands, absently noting my fingernails are too long to play the guitar. “Maybe you don't understand, Zach, but sometimes the dream isn't a knight in shining armor, but a place to belong at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and on lazy summer nights.”

“You have a place to go for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Ami and I—”

“It's not the same.” Shaking my head, I search for the words to make him understand. “Like I'm always looking from the outside in. I'm the invited and even cherished guest, but I'm not family by blood or marriage.” I look at him. “I want to be the one who looks at Car on a Sunday afternoon and says, ‘Honey, call the folks. Let's barbecue.' ”

Zach props his arm on the steering wheel. “Not that you've ever barbecued in your life, but I understand the dream. My question isn't the dream or the knight in shining armor, but which knight.”

“At the moment, he's the only knight I know.”

“Aubrey, Zach, come in, come in. Good to see you.” Nathan Brack greets
us at his office door with a practiced voice, holding out his arms as if hosting a reality reunion show. His angular face is lined from too much time in the sun, and his sporty grin is white and capped. When I reach him, he links his elbow with mine and escorts me the length of a gleaming conference table. A glass of ice and chilled bottle of FRESH! awaits me.

“Good to see everyone,” Zach says, taking the chair next to mine, nodding to the SongTunes side of the table. Skyler Banks, my dear attorney, sits on the other side of Zach and looks amused.

Wonder what's up.