A Nashville Collection (38 page)

“No, not for the engagement.” He hands me the slick newsprint. “Melanie sold her story of the FRESH! tour to
Star
. And she's making the rounds with some of the B-rated talk shows.”

“What do you mean she sold her story—” The paper shakes in my hand. There I am with uncombed hair, red eyes, and a wide-open mouth, pointing at one of the crew members. “Holy cow, I look like a lunatic.”

“Exactly what the story implies.”

A wave of nausea shoves me back down into my pillow. “I can't believe it. Why would Melanie stoop so low? This isn't like her.”

“Honey, she's angry. You were angry. Said things in Dallas you didn't mean.”

Without demand, the bitter words of our argument replay in my mind. “Melanie's not the type.” I toss the tabloid aside.

“Apparently, fifty thousand dollars makes her the type.”

A cold surprise washes over me. I glance at Zach. “Fifty thousand? Dollars? To dish about me and the tour?”

“Not only to
Star
, but the British tabloid
Daily Mail
. You have a big fan base in England.”

“I can't believe it . . . yet I said all those awful things about her in Dallas.” I close my eyes. “She felt justified.”

Zach winces. “It gets worse.”

I peek at him. “How worse?”

He presses his fist against his lips. “She signed a record deal with SongTunes.”

“What?” I jerk forward. “She's signed with my label?”

Zach tucks his hands into his pockets with a big sigh. “This isn't going to be your best day, Aubrey. BMG fired Greg Leininger last week from heading up SongTunes and hired Nathan Brack.”

My eyes begin to water. “Stop. I don't want to hear another word.” Zach rests his hand on my blanketed foot. “I've got more to say, and you're not going to want to hear this either, but Aubrey, Melanie's angry and out for revenge. She's been jealous of you for a long time, and now that she's earned some leverage, she's going to use it.”

“I've weathered worse and survived. Only made me stronger.” A sharpness stabs my chest. Piper jots a note in her Palm. What, I can't imagine. “Does Melanie know about the Boot Corral incident?”

I make a face. “The Boot Corral incident? You're kidding—”

Piper's smile sits at half-mast. “Sorry, I was trying for funny.”

With a sigh, I remind her, “The Boot Corral incident was entirely your fault.”

Her mouth drops open. “I beg to differ.”

I smile. “It was funny, though, wasn't it?”

“Very.”

Zach's expression is stern. “Can we get back to the issue, please?”

Connie looks over her shoulder at Zach. “Any chance we can negotiate with Melanie? Put an end to the feud?”

Zach shakes his head. “I've tried to call her. She doesn't respond.”

“What does it matter?” I stare up at the ceiling. “If she's decided to do this, she won't stop. Besides, ever since she started dating Bo Candler, her attitude has worsened. I'm sure he's feeding her jealous thoughts.”

Piper touches my arm. “Aubrey, it's time.”

I stiffen. “No. I'm not doing an interview. No.”

Ignoring me, Piper faces Zach. “What about getting her on a big venue like
Oprah
or a Barbara Walters' interview? A spread in
People
? Why can't we get her on the A-list talk-show circuit?”

“Hello, Pipe? Aubrey talking. I said no. If I've learned anything over the years, it's ignore the gossip and it'll go away. Most people won't buy Melanie's crap.”

If I was exhausted before . . .

Zach paces in a small circle. “We could get her on
Oprah
and other A-list talk shows. But they won't air until the fall or winter. Which”— he stops with a shrug, his expression twisted with thought—“wouldn't be so bad because the
Star
and
Daily Mail
stories will be old news. The B-list talk shows? Forgotten. So it won't look like Aubrey is attacking Melanie, but all the while, we're replacing her lies with Aubrey's truth.”

“Betrayal is the worst.” I cover my eyes with my arm again.

“Never mind all this strategizing. Aubrey is resting this summer.” Connie trumps Piper's suggestion with her
Mom
card. “She's not going traipsing all over the country taping talk shows just to undo Melanie's foolishness.”

“Forget Melanie, then, and the tabloids. You're right, we've dealt with them before.” Piper's movement is animated with enthusiasm. “Aubrey, you just came off your eleventh tour. You are one of the few artists who forged a deal with a sponsor. Your fifth album sold eight million copies. Your boyfriend proposed at the coliseum in front of CMA Fest fans. Do you know how many requests for interviews we got yesterday? Fifty. Ten more this morning.”

She leans on the foot rail. “Let's repay evil with good. Turn this around. Do an exclusive with a reliable news source. Get your story out there so people won't care about Melanie's story. Aubrey, your parents were gospel icons. People still buy their music. Their daughter grew up to be one of country music's biggest success stories. Now you're engaged to one of Nashville's elite, respected sons. Tell your story, your way. Let's hear from you.”

Zach stares out the window as Piper speaks. By the furrowed lines on his forehead I know he's listening, and thinking. “Piper's right. You need to tell your story.”

“Please, there's no story. The studio press releases sum me up nicely. Twelve years in the business, five albums, thirty million units sold. Other than that, it's all about my private-life screwups. Dumped by a Hollywood hunk, rebounded with a rogue drummer. Label disputes and how I dislike a big Music Row execs like Nathan Brack who try to hogtie my career. Then there're my private tragedies. Dead parents and missing brother, and all about how the Christian girl went wild. No.” The litany leaves my sore throat burning.

“Aubrey, you got it backwards. Your story isn't about mistakes, it's about triumphs,” Piper counters.

“I agree,” Connie says.

My wise counselors wait expectantly. W
hat should I do?
“This will impact all of you.”

Piper grins, tugging on the hem of her blue top. “She's softening.” “Also the Carmichaels.”

“Are you saying you want to do this?” Zach presses.

“Yes, but”— I hold up my on-one-condition finger—“I'd want to sit down with Beth Rose from
Inside NashVegas
.”

Zach's pinched expression warns me he's not keen on the idea. “
Inside Nashvegas
? A local show? Melanie went international.”

“I thought this wasn't about revenge?”

Zach laughs. “Yeah, well, it's not.” He glances at Piper. “But we should at least get outside of Nashville.”

“
Inside NashVegas
has been wanting an interview for years. They can do, ‘Inside the Life of a Diva' or something equally as corny. Hometown girl, hometown show.”

With a shrug, Zach agrees. “Piper, why don't you—”

“I'm on it. They're going to flip.”

4

“Aubrey James is not at all what you see. She's manipulative and selfish, and if she could get rid of every female artist in town, she would. Take it all for herself.”

—
Melanie Daniels, Star interview

Scott Vaughn

Friday, June 15

In the middle of coordinating interviews for a piece on the Sandlott Wood
Bat league, my producer, Olivia McConnell, raps on my office door.

Her knock is distinct. Never changes.
Knock, knock, knock-knock.

Phone to my ear, I motion her in. “Yeah, can we get with him before the game? I heard he signed a letter of intent with Lipscomb University.” I scribble “Tom Hayden” on my desk calendar. “Four o'clock.”

Olivia sits in the adjacent chair, elbows resting on the arms, fingertips pressed together, looking every bit like she just stepped off a page from some female how-to-look-good magazine.
Glamour
,
Vogue
—one of those.

“Lovely Olivia, what can I do for you?” I hang up the phone.

“Beth's out.”

“Out? What are you talking about?”

Olivia spies my mini baseball bat from the Nashville Sound's game opener and reaches for it. I snatch it from under my computer monitor before her long, frightening fingernails scar the wood.

“Her doctor has put her on complete bed rest. He's concerned she might lose the baby.”

“Whoa. How's she taking it?” I lean back, swinging the bat with one hand.

“Scared, but willing to do whatever she has to do.” Olivia recrosses her legs. “Hannah Warren is your new temporary cohost.”

I knock a phantom pitch out my office door and down the hall.
It's
Vaughn with a home run!
“Great. Love working with Hannah. Sorry about Beth and the baby, though.”

She twists her lips, making a face. “There's more.”

“Lay it on me.” I swing at another phantom pitch.
Swing and a miss.
Strike one.

“Piper Cantwell called. Aubrey James has finally agreed to give us an exclusive.”

Another pitch, another swing. Out of the park. My fake crowd cheers.
Waaaaaah!
“Good for our team. Beth is going to hate missing this one, but great coup for Hannah.”

Olivia stands and leans over my desk. The way her head curves down from her neck reminds me of a vulture.
Never, ever say that out loud.
“Not Hannah.”

“Then who?”

“Scott Vaughn.” She snags the bat from me—my defenses were down—and swings at her own phantom pitch. “Out of the park. McConnell beats Vaughn's all-time batting average.” She drops the bat to my desk and lifts her waxed eyebrows. “You're spending July with Aubrey James. Sam's orders.”

“What?” I go to shoot out of my chair, but the arm is stuck under the front desk drawer. “I can't. I refuse.”

“If you want to keep driving that Porsche of yours, I'd rethink your position.” She smiles with that ha-ha sort of look I hate and walks out, slamming my door behind her, shaking my ceilingless walls. I hear, “McConnell one, Vaughn zero.”

Ever since I called her out when she slid into home base during the company softball game . . .

She
knows
I can't interview Aubrey James. I can't. Besides, I'm
Inside
the Game
. Beth, now Hannah, is
Inside the Music
.

Shoving back the chair, I free myself, in the process pulling the top desk drawer out and onto the floor. The contents spew all over.

“Crap.” I consider the pens, pencils, paper clips, gum wrappers, old sticky notes layered with dust and dirt, and various other various junk items lying on the floor, then raise my foot and step over them to head upstairs.

“What's this about me doing the Aubrey James interview?” I barge
through the door that reads,
Sam Watson, Executive Producer.
“I'm
Inside the
Game
.” I slap my hands to my chest. “Beth and Hannah are
Inside the Music
.”

Sam looks up. “Scott, good to see you. Come in, take a seat.”

I pace. “This interview is perfect for Hannah. She'll probably poison my coffee if you don't give her this piece.”

The creator of
Inside NashVegas
reaches for a pencil from the silver holder by his computer. Not that he needs a pencil, but to make me wait. He taps it against his palm a few times.

“Here it is in terms even you can understand, Vaughn. I'm not sending in the second string when I have you. We're hot on the heels of going national on CMT, and I'm not taking a chance on lousing up this interview. This is the break we've been looking for to get CMT's final buy-in.”

I swing my arms wide. “Third string, Sam. I'm the third string here. Beth is first, Hannah second.”

“Beth is benched, Hannah's a substitute.
You
are now first string. Besides—and I'll deny this if you ever repeat it—you're actually better at human-interest pieces than Beth. Part of why
Inside the Game
has a huge female following.”

“Ah, shucks, you mean it's not my wit and good looks.” I drop to the chair.

Sam laughs low. “Keep dreaming.”

“What about the pieces I'm working on with the Sandlott teams and the Nashville Sounds? Not to mention football season is around the corner, beginning with training camp and preseason games.”

“Not asking you to drop those. I'm asking for a few hours a day, a few days a week.
Capisce
?”

“Okay, okay, I see. This is
you
getting back at
me
for benching you during the softball game against the Fox 17 morning crew.” I've got to stop heading up company sporting events. First Olivia, now Sam. “You wanted to show up Charlie Chase. I get it, I get it. Look, I'm sorry, okay? I was a competitive jerk. My bad.” I look at him square. “Won't happen again. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” “I'm still ticked about you benching me. That payback has yet to come.”

Is it hot in here?
I loosen my tie and unbutton the top of my oxford.

“ This is about
Inside NashVegas
going national.” Sam dips his silvery head as he speaks, looking pleased. “We'll earn a midseason slot on CMT
if
we wow Viacom's head honchos. Aubrey James is the perfect ‘wow' factor.”

“So, you think I'm the one to help get us to CMT?”

“You'll have a great rapport with Aubrey. If all goes well, we'll debut in November during sweeps week, then pick up a slot in January.”

I shake my head. “Sam, I'm not your guy for this one. Trust me. Send Hannah.” For a split, honest second, I consider confessing my crash-n-burn date with Aubrey a year ago before she met what-a-showoff Car Carmichael. Never figured one stupid decision one stupid night would come back to haunt me like this. “Look, Sam—”