by Rachel Hauck
Every molecule in my body is urging me to take her in my arms and kiss her. “Yeah, me too—” I clear my throat. “How do you expect a guy not to fall in love when you confess something like that?”
“I’m not playing fair, am I?”
It takes all my strength to pull away from her. Another second, I’d barge past the boundaries she’s drawn. “Guess the dog-face boy should drive the gorgeous country girl home.”
“I guess he should.” She follows me to the kitchen, her fingertips hooked with mine.
Picking up my keys, I turn to her. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes, her lips, her face, everything about her entices me. “Better go.”
It’s late. I’m going to hate my alarm when it goes off at three a.m., but I have to do this.
Flipping on my bedroom light, I root through my top dresser drawer. It’s in here somewhere, unless Brit took it when she came for her CDs and DVDs. After she left, I discovered half of my media collection missing.
Small price to pay to get her permanently out of my life.
My fingers land against a thick velvet box. Popping open the lid, I regard the half-karat solitaire diamond in the light.
Sheeze. What an ugly piece of jewelry. Brit reset the diamond in a gaudy gold mount when she thought she could dump me but keep the ring.
Riding the elevator down to the street, I jog toward Riverfront Park in the red and amber lights of downtown. The night air is thick and warm. I yank my shirttail from my belt.
This past month with Aubrey has cleared the final Brit cobwebs from my mind. Whether I’m falling in love with Aubrey James or not, I’m back in the love game. Come to find out, my heart isn’t quite as broken as I thought.
When I arrive at the river, I lean against the sidewalk rail and retrieve the ring box from my pocket. My heart thumps as I wind up for the pitch.
“Here’s to you, Brit.”
But just before releasing the ring box and chunking my past into the rippling waters, I hesitate.
Six months of Ramen Noodles. Washing and ironing my own shirts instead of taking them to the cleaners. No cable TV or Internet at home. Going to a barber instead of a stylist. Changing my own car oil. Any place I could cut expenses to save for a ring, I did.
Down twenty pounds and mourning the loss of two dress shirts scorched by a rogue iron, I’d finally saved four thousand dollars.
What did it buy me? The world’s biggest heartache. I cock my arm back again. “Here’s to you, Brit.”
The ring box floats out over the river in a nice, high arc, then breaks the water’s surface with a tiny splash. I punch the night air with a cleansing yell. “Liberty!”
32
“Back to gospel? Country superstar Aubrey James rocked the Coming Home Gospel Celebration at the Ryman last night. But the country diva is not without her critics.
“Gospel and Aubrey James?” wondered her former musical director Melanie Daniels. “Don’t go together.”
—Fox 17 News 7
Aubrey
Piper and I review the final photos from my latest FRESH! photo shoot, deciding which image we like the best, when the french door jerks open. George and Ringo scamper in, attached to Gina, who is gasping for breath.
“Another rabbit?” I bend down to greet the dogs, taking the leashes from Gina.
“No . . . (gasp, pant) A cat. A blame cat.”
The dogs lap water then nuzzle my navy capris with their wet noses. I sit on the floor and bury my face in their fur. “Did you have fun with Gina? Hum?”
Gina’s cheeks are rosy and her smile wide as she retrieves a pitcher of tea from the fridge. “Fall is in the air. It’s a beautiful September morning.”
“I can’t believe it’s September already. The summer is almost gone.”
Gina waltzes around the kitchen with her pitcher of tea, singing Neil Diamond. “September morn . . . We da-da-da-da-da-da, something-something brand-new day.”
I laugh. “Want me to call Neil for the lyrics?”
“What, don’t you like my version?” Gina stops swirling and leans her hands on the kitchen counter. “I am so glad for a dip in the temperature.”
“It is a gorgeous day.” George nudges Ringo aside so he can give me a slobbery lick.
“So, Aubrey, we’re going with these?” Piper slides the contact sheet under my nose, tapping the thumbnail images she’s circled with a red-wax pencil.
I review the shots. “Yes, those are the final five.”
Piper has an envelope all ready for mailing. “By the way, we’re getting a lot of fan mail since the Inside NashVegas segments started running. People are watching the show on the Internet. Your fans are loving you for this, Aubrey.”
I laugh and hop up for a Diet Coke. “I’m glad it’s a hit. Have you seen the ads on CMT for Inside NashVegas?” I mimic the announcer’s voice. “Premiering in November.”
Piper smiles, nodding. “All the shots of Scott and Beth are from the spring, before she went out with her pregnancy. Must be an awkward time for her to be out.”
“But what a good reason to be out of work. A baby.” I toss ice into a plastic cup Gina keeps by the fridge and twist the cap off my soda.
Piper hands me a stack of printed-out e-mails. “The reviews from your interview are great, Aubrey. Holding out all these years really built curiosity in folks.”
I fan the stack of papers through my fingers. “You seriously expect me to read these?”
“Skim them on your way to SongTunes.” Piper glances at her watch. “Zach will be here in a few minutes.”
Dave and I finished my new album in mid-August. Ten of the twelve cuts were written by Robin and me. The other two are mine alone. The idea sends an electric excitement through me.
I’m anxious to hear the world’s reaction. Excitement mixed with dread. Will they like it? What if they don’t? What if they do?
But I’m confident in this album—no matter what the reviews. “Someday Love Will Find Me” is my favorite new tune. A soulful ballad with lots of fiddle and steel guitar, and I can’t believe I cowrote it. My love for the art of music is renewed.
From the time we recorded the last song, Dave worked night and day to get it mixed, mastered, and submitted to Nathan by his mythological deadline of September first.
Now, a whole two weeks later, we’re beckoned.
“Can’t believe it took him two weeks to listen to an album he wanted recorded and mastered in eight,” I say out of the blue.
Piper looks up. “Are you talking to us?”
I swig my Diet Coke. “Guess I was thinking out loud.” I let my thoughts wander from Nathan to Scott and our last interview. It’s been over a month, and though I see him at church, I miss him.
Since my first Sunday back at Faith Community in July, I haven’t missed a Sunday service. Of course, it’s hard to sleep in when I know Connie’s on her way to pick me up, but I find myself looking forward to Sundays, noting how empty the weekdays feel.
I can tell the condition of my soul is different. Less cracked and dry. The emotional plane of my life is yielding to the watering and care of the master Gardener.
Which reminds me . . . I look out the window. Juan is working today, preparing the garden for fall.
“Hey Aubrey, what’s going on in the foyer?”
I turn to see Zach in the doorway, thumb pointed over his shoulder.
“Aubrey is painting,” Piper announces without emotion, though I know she thinks I’m ridiculous.
He furrows his brow. “Painting what?”
I twist my lips. “Um, the foyer?”
He tosses his keys to the counter and reaches for one of Gina’s scones. “About time. Who’d you hire to do it? I’ve heard Baylor Bone is really good.”
“I’ve heard that, too, but I’m doing this myself.”
Zach chokes. Crumbs spew from his lips. “You’re doing it yourself?” “Yes,” I say, sorta defiantly. “I know how to use a paintb
rush.”
“Aubrey, hire someone. In case you’ve forgotten, you can afford it.” “It’s not about the money; it’s about me pouring myself into my house. Adding my touch. Making it my own.”
He shrugs. “Do you think it’ll be done by 2010 or 2020?”
“Very funny. My manager, the snark face.” I point at the kitchen clock. “Better go. Can’t keep the great Nathan Brack waiting.”
With my manager, Zach; my lawyer, Skyler; and my producer, Dave, I discuss a game plan before going into SongTunes and the meeting with Nathan.
“Skyler, any feel for what’s going on?” I ask as we stand on the sidewalk of Music Row East, shielding our eyes from the late morning sun. She shakes her head.
“SongTunes is being very vague.”
Zach motions to me. “What are you thinking?”
“ This is the best album I’ve ever done. Skyler, your cousin is a phenomenal songwriter. She’s going to have several hits from this record.”
Skyler smiles. “She says you brought out lyrics and melodies in her she didn’t know she had. She’s really grateful, Aubrey.”
“She’s grateful? I’m the one. This album wouldn’t have happened without her.”
Zach’s expression is pinched. “Great, we have a fabulous album and mutual admiration society. But what is SongTunes going to say?”
“Do you see them dumping Aubrey when they need their most successful artist to help the bottom line?” Dave shifts his stance from side to side.
“Just be prepared for whatever,” Skyler says.
I offer a prediction. “Nathan’s going to posture himself as the important label boss, rattle off a bunch of industry buzzwords, say the album is daring and not classic Aubrey James. How could I deviate from the careful branding of SongTunes? Yadda, yadda. And in the end he’ll say ‘they’re’ nervous, but marketing is geared up for a January release.”
Zach checks his watch and motions for the door. “Let’s go find out.”
The SongTunes team is gathered when we walk into Nathan’s office. He’s seated at the head of the conference table with Aaron from A&R and Ian from legal.
“Come in, come in.” Nathan’s posture is hard to read. “Aubrey, I’ve been watching Inside NashVegas on Monday mornings.” He clicks his tongue and winks. “Funny stuff, burning off Scott Vaughn’s eyebrows.”
“It was an accident.” Sitting where Nathan points, I note the absence of a chilled glass of ice and bottle of FRESH!.
The president of SongTunes takes his seat and places his hand over a CD case I can only guess is mine. “You and Carmichael broke up? Did I read it somewhere?”
“Yes, we broke up.”
Nathan slides the CD across the table to me. “Don’t like it.”
I reach for the case. “What don’t you like?” My confidence is high, and I feel ready for a fight.
He rocks back in his chair, pressing his fingertips together. “There’s not one radio release on the album. Not one. What were you two thinking?” He motions between Dave and me.
“We were thinking we’d like to piss off Nathan Brack,” Dave says.
A muffled laugh comes from Nathan’s side of the table, but the man himself remains hard with an unyielding demeanor.
“Mission accomplished, then, Aubrey. How did you figure this would be an album I could release to the public? I want hit songs, not this poetry nightclub crap. Radio had a fit when they heard it. Is it country, is it R&B, is it gospel? You’re all over the place.”
Across from me, Aaron shakes his head. He already told me he loved the album, but can’t convince his boss.
“Nathan, I’m sincerely not trying to make you angry or upset. We weren’t trying to tick you off.” I shoot a glance at Dave. “But this is my next album. Do you want to honor our contract or not?”
A red hue creeps up his neck and covers his cheeks. “I want you to honor your contract, go back in the studio, and record something I can sell to the public.”
I slide the CD case back across the table. “You have something you can sell to the public.”
He shoves it back. “No, I don’t.”
We shove the CD back and forth one more time before a migraine-sized debate erupts between SongTunes and the Aubrey James camp. My lawyer versus their lawyer. Nathan confronting Zach and Dave.
Aaron and I smile from our opposite sides. “I’ll say it again, Aubrey, I loved it. Brilliant work.”
“Thanks, Aaron. Robin Rivers is an outstanding songwriter. You should get her to write for the other artists.”
He hunts for a scrap of paper. “What’s her name again?”
When the debate has raged on long enough, I stand. “This is ridiculous. Nathan, either take the album or we do. Your choice.”
Skyler whispers in my ear. “Are you willing to take this leap?”
“I believe in this project,” I whisper back.
“You walk out with the album, Aubrey, and we’re in a court battle.”
“Nathan, I’ve fulfilled my end of the contract. Delivered an album of great songs. Your choice if you turn it down.”
“We can walk, Nathan,” Skyler says. “You know it, Ian knows it. And not be in breach of contract.”
Nathan fumes in silence with a sharp eye on Ian. His voice is calm when he says, “It’s your reputation, Aubrey.” He sits, swiping his palms together as if to wash his hands of me.
“Best of luck to you, Nathan.” With my little brigade, I leave Nathan’s office, ending another chapter of my life this summer. My eight-year run with SongTunes.
33
“SongTunes president Nathan Brack announced his resignation from the label this afternoon during a last-minute press conference. Word on Music Row is his decision came after country superstar Aubrey James parted ways with the label last week.”
—AllAboutCountry.com
Piper claims I’ve gone Zen with my garden gazebo, but for the past week I’ve loved coming out here in the evenings with my guitar and Bible.
George and Ringo accompany me, scampering ahead, circling the red cedar gazebo before leaping the steps and plopping down on the floor, panting. All of this before I’m halfway across the lawn.
This routine makes Juan unhappy. George and Ringo are creating a path across his well-tended yard.
“My work, ruined.” He gestures to the smashed grass blades, his brow furrowed. But there’s always a glint in his eyes.
“How are Alejandra and the baby?” I ask.
His smile brightens. “Very good. The baby doesn’t cry so much now.”
It’s Friday night, and since Piper is without an e-date, she’s decided to hang out with me and play a little guitar. “It’s been years.”
“Well, this is what back-porch picking is for, messing around with the guitar.”
Piper tunes one of the guitars from the music room. “Did you and Zach decide what you’re going to do with your album yet?”
“No. Still considering the options. Robin thinks I should sign with Nashville Noise. Zach talked with them, but we are still discussing the independent label option.”
“It’s a lot of work being independent. Distribution, marketing, promotions, the entire business side of the music business. Which you hate.”
“It’s my one hesitation, but we can hire people to do all of that stuff.” Fishing a pick from my guitar case, I play a melody I’ve had in my head for a few days. Once I started writing again, the creative gates were opened and ideas come often.
“Yeah, but I know you, Aubrey. If you start your own label, you won’t be able to let others run it without getting involved. After all, it’s your business. You can’t divorce yourself from it.”
“That’s my biggest hesitation.”
A fall breeze ushers in the cool, September night. The maple shading the gazebo is already tipped with red and gold.
Piper attempts to play what I’m playing. Concentrating, her quick fingers are accurate with the chords, but after a few measures, she
laughs, dropping her hand away from the strings. “I have no calluses. It hurts to keep playing.” She spreads her arms along the top of the gazebo bench. “Did you see the latest Music Row magazine?”
“No, why?”
Piper shifts the guitar on her knee and starts to play again. “They did a cover story on Melanie Daniels. She’s branding herself as the new Aubrey James.”
“Good. Now I can be who I want to be. The real me.”
Piper sets the guitar against the gazebo bench. “She’ll never have your heart or your character.”
We continue to talk while I play. The sun sinks behind the treetops and the night air grows cold.
“What’s up with you and Scott?” Piper asks.
I shrug. “Nothing. We’re through with the interview and—”
“You’re into him, aren’t you?”
I squint at her in the soft light. “No, I’m not into him.”
“If you say so, but ever since the Come Home Gospel Celebration, your face lights up every time you hear his name.”
Sometimes Piper pays too much attention to detail. “Scott is a great guy.”
She laughs. “I sorta had a crush on him.”
I stop playing. “You did not.”
She nods. “I did.”
“Do you want me to fix you up?”
“No. Are you kidding? He’s very into you, Aubrey.” Piper’s attention is drawn toward the house. She stands. “Were you expecting company? Scott is here and . . .” She sucks in a deep breath. “Oh my gosh.”
I twist around to see what she’s talking about. In the white glow of the yard lanterns, a tall, lean man with dark skin and sun-bleached hair accompanies Scott. The easy sway in his walk reminds me of . . .
I drop my guitar against the gazebo bench. “I can’t believe it.”
“Is it who I think it is?”
“Yes.” I run down the gazebo steps, my bare feet pounding across the lawn. “Peter!”
My hands are still shaking as I fix my big brother a plate of Gina’s left-over pot roast and potatoes. Fix my big brother. The notion hits me with both excitement and confusion.
Glancing toward the family room, I watch my brother, my big brother, talk and laugh with Piper and Scott.