Diva NashVegas (15 page)

“Aubrey, I'm sorry about the tape.”

She shakes her head. “Don't be—you didn't know.”

“Still . . .” I hold her gaze. “I'm sorry.”

She wipes away fresh tears, thinking for a moment. “It's fine, really.”

“Do you want to call it a day?”

She exhales. “No, but let's invite Rafe up here.”

17

“Life dealt her a rough hand. But she played the game and won.”

—James Chastain, president of Nashville Noise

Scott: Your parents were pioneers in gospel music, blending the new contemporary
sound of the '80s with soul and country sounds of the '70s. How'd they get
started?

AJ: Daddy grew up in the '60s, playing in garage bands from the time he was young. Thirteen, I think. He was into the '60s psychedelic scene. But he loved sports and music.

One summer, '71 or '72, one of the members of his garage band organized a “tour” and off they went. No guarantees, no manager, just the yee-haw thrill of going on tour. They slept in their VW microbus. Washed in rest-stop bathrooms. Naturally, a bunch of musicians with no manager ended up in the wrong place at the right time. They thought they were doing a rock concert but found themselves playing for a church camp in Georgia.

While waiting to perform his Doors-like rock music, Daddy listened to the preacher and learned for the first time God loved him. It changed his life.

Scott: How old was he at this time?

AJ: Twenty-two or -three. The quintessential hippy turned Jesus freak.

I love the old pictures of Daddy with his long hair and raggedy bell bottoms. And Momma with a crown of daisies on her head.
Scott: Your mother was a Jesus freak too?

AJ: Not the quintessential kind. She was the innocent, goodiegoodie college cheerleader. Such opposites, my parents. Daddy's band played at Momma's church on the invitation of the pastor's son. Little Alliance Baptist was overrun with a bunch of longhaired, antiestablishment, antireligious, rock and roll-loving teens and twenty-somethings. Daddy's band set up drums [gasp] in the sanctuary, and brought in electric guitars and a portable Hammond. They turned Alliance Baptist on its ear.

Scott: [chuckling] I bet.

AJ: Momma claimed she fell in love with Daddy the moment he started to sing. But her father was one of the church deacons who helped the pastor run the band offstage midway through their set. “Cut your hair and change your clothes, learn some decent music, and we'll let you come back,” they said.

But Daddy always knew it wasn't about the outside, it was about the inside. I remember watching him once during an interview trying to explain how he felt back then. He said cutting their hair wouldn't make them love people or Jesus more. Or make Jesus love
them
more. Their long hair symbolized to them how radical they were about being true to themselves, about not selling out to staid traditions.

Scott: So being on the edge was second nature to your daddy.

AJ: He wasn't a rebel for rebel's sake. He felt God gave him melodies and lyrics that were different from what was being played in the churches of the time. But he knew—well, I think he knew—a bunch of ex-rock and rollers would never be comfortable in an organ playing, five-hundred-year-old hymn-singing church. He wanted to worship with the words and music of their day.

Scott: A lot of great value and theology in hymns.

AJ: Absolutely. There's great truth in modern songs too. Daddy loved hymns, even made an album of them. But you know he had to do it with new arrangements and, of course, an electric guitar. If he were alive today, he'd be cheering on bands like Reliant K and Switchfoot. He'd love David Crowder, Misty Edwards, Phil Wickman, Matt Redman, Martin Smith, and Charlie Hall. Daddy produced records for some great singers of his day—gospel singers—because he loved the power of gospel music, the power of voice.

Scott: You spent many of your summer vacations traveling the world.

AJ: Yes, Europe, Asia, South America, Africa, Australia. I'd been to five continents by the time I was fourteen.

There's a shift in the room's light as the morning surrenders to the afternoon.

Scott: Tell us about their death.

AJ: [exhaling] This is the hard part. Okay . . . the summer of '93. I'd just turned sixteen and was not into one more summer on the road with my parents. I mean, please. [rolling her eyes] The year before, I'd fallen in love with playing basketball.

Scott: Don't forget our one-on-one challenge.

AJ: Believe me, I'm looking forward to whupping you.

Anyway, I'd missed a lot of summer practice because of being on the road with The James Family, and when I returned to my sophomore year of play, my game was awkward and out of rhythm. I practiced every night in the driveway after dinner until bedtime.

Scott: All year?

AJ: All year. Even Thanksgiving and Christmas Day. Daddy and Peter helped by running drills with me, playing offense or defense.

Scott: You were driven and determined even back then.

AJ: About some things. Not math. Hated math. But I loved basketball. It was the first thing I'd ever done that was all me. I earned it on my own. No Peter, no Daddy or Momma. Not a family performance. Just me. Singing was something I did because of Ray and Myra James. Without them, I never would've had any notoriety. Peter, like Daddy, loved baseball and played in high school. I followed in his footsteps and found an outside interest.

Scott: Back to the summer of '93.

AJ: I wanted to stay home that summer and hang with my friends and the team, play ball every day. Peter had turned eighteen in the spring, was working part time at Kroger, playing Sandlott, and dating a girl named Gailynn.

Scott: Ah, your parents were fighting a losing battle to get you to go on tour.

AJ: [smiling] Yeah, in the end they supported us. Daddy reworked our schedule and focused on other projects he had lined up. The only performing dates he kept on the schedule were within a day's drive or short flight.

Scott: By then, your parents had earned a big name in Christian music.

AJ: Yes, Ray James was as big a name as Michael W. Smith or Wayne Watson. He'd written a lot of songs for big-name artists.

We couldn't turn on the Christian radio station without hearing one of Daddy's songs.

Scott: Financially, he was doing well?

AJ: We weren't rich, but songwriting was beginning to pay off for Daddy. We had a nice brick two-story over off Granny White Pike. Took vacations, were spoiled on birthdays and Christmas. Had a nice allowance and frequent trips to the mall.

Scott: Did you have any idea you would become a music superstar?

AJ: [big laugh] None whatsoever. Basketball quickly replaced music as my first love, and I wanted a college scholarship to Vandy or UT.

Scott: What changed?

AJ: Death changes everything, Scott. And if it hadn't been for Connie Godwin, you wouldn't be sitting here with me today.

Scott: How does she fit into this picture?

AJ: Daddy hired Connie as his, our, manager. Connie had managed country artists for years, but she wanted to work with Ray James, so she called him up and convinced him to hire her.

Scott: Go, Connie.

AJ: Yeah, she's been a real treasure, and I honestly don't know where I'd be without her. She turned out to be way more than a manager or friend. She probably saved my life.

Scott: So, the summer of '93 you're all about basketball.

AJ: [nodding] One of the bookings Daddy didn't cancel that summer was a Gospel Fest in Gatlinburg the first of August. He insisted we all go, do the show, then take a family vacation before Peter went off to college.

But eighteen-year-old Peter would have none of it. He didn't want his dad dictating his life. He had all the pride and arrogance of most young men. The two of them argued off and on throughout July, and then the night before we were to leave, the argument blew up. Pete went ballistic, stormed out, and stayed away all night. Didn't come home to say good-bye to Daddy and Momma.

Momma convinced Daddy I should stay home, be there for Peter when he came back. The whole thing was one of the few really ugly moments in our family's history. Unfortunately, it was our last moment as a family. If I dwell on it too long, it haunts me for days.

Scott: Are you okay to go on?

AJ: I'm okay for now. Peter came home the next evening, feeling foolish, but back to his charming self. We ordered pizza and talked out the situation. He felt horrible and anxiously waited for Daddy to call so he could apologize. He jumped up every time the phone rang. Pete is—well, was—a strange mix of temper and sensitivity. The fight with Daddy really ate at him.

We were dishing out ice cream, planning on watching a late movie with our friends, when the phone rang around eleven o'clock.

Peter dashed to answer it. “Dad? It's me, Pete.”

I'll never forget his face. First hopeful and expectant. Then crestfallen and ghost white. His whole body convulsed. Then he just start to wail, “No, no, no! You're lying.”

Meanwhile, I'm shouting, “What, what, what?” I had no idea what was going on.

Finally, he slumped to the floor, crying—[voice breaking]
Scott: How incredibly hard. I can't imagine.

AJ: [moving her hand over her heart] It was sickening and terrifying. Horrible, horrible, horrible. Trapped in our worst nightmare without the hope of waking up. I loved Peter so much, and seeing him balled up on the floor, weeping and wailing, ripped my heart out. “Peter, it's okay. It's okay. What's wrong?”

Scott: So, you still had no idea what had happened.

AJ: None. Just something horrible. I could hear a voice through the receiver. “Peter? Peter, hello? Are you there?”

So I answered. “It's Aubrey.”

“Honey, it's Connie.”

I could tell she'd been crying. In fact, she struggled while talking to me.

“I have something to tell you. It's not easy . . . but . . . honey . . . your mom and dad were in an accident. No one's fault, just . . . an accident.”

“Oh my gosh, are they all right?”

Connie paused for a long, long time, sobbing. I guess I knew, but it didn't sink in.

“Honey, they're with Jesus.”

Aubrey

Piper finds me in the library after Scott left, sorting through the boxes,
reading Daddy's diaries. She crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe.

“Hard day?”

I close the leather-bound book. “At first, but then talking about the death felt sort of freeing, like it really was something in the past.”

Piper sinks down to the floor next to me. “I'd be mental if I endured half of what you've endured. The public death of your parents, the public display of your love life, Melanie's betrayal.”

“
Now
I'm depressed.” I laugh low, nudging her with my elbow. “I had a revelation today.”

“What's that?”

“I'm part of the reason Peter left. Remember after a while how he couldn't stay in the old house, or even with Connie. Now, I realize he couldn't even stand to be near me.” I gaze into Piper's face. “Just being around me reminded him of the horrible way things were between him and Daddy before he died.”

Piper nods. “Makes sense. He's never forgiven himself.”

“No.” Hugging my knees to my chest, I motion to Piper's Palm Pilot. “Do we need to talk business?”

“If you're ready.” She taps the minicomputer's screen with a stylus. “Go for it.”

“New publicity photo shoot is next month on the eighth,
Glamour
and
Self
requesting cover shoots . . .” She looks up. “They heard you're doing interviews now.”

“Good news travels fast, I guess.”

“FRESH! sent a bouquet of flowers to your business manager's office as a thank you for their record sales during the past two quarters.”

“Really? Fantastic. So glad Eli worked in stock holdings as part of my deal.”

“A pro-life group e-mailed and asked if you'd sing at a Washington, D.C., rally in the fall.”

“Do you know the group?”

“Women For Life. They're legit.”

“Make sure. Ask around, check them out. Who else is going to be there? Who's the keynote? If they're aboveboard, I'll do it.”

She taps in a note to call the Women For Life. “Last but not least, Eli wants a meeting about your downtown investments. Something about confirming where you want to put the money.”

I blink. “What downtown investments?”

She shrugs. “He didn't say. I asked if you could deal with it over the phone, but he said since the amount is so large and involves your name, he wants to meet with you. I told him Friday at eleven.”

18

Scott

Aubrey occupies too much of my mind over the weekend. Even when I drive
home to Murfreesboro on Sunday for Dad's birthday, I can't shake the sense of her.

Between all the research, interviewing, and helping with the editing, the little girl with the Rosanne Rosannadanna hair turned stunning country diva has gotten under my skin.

And I don't like it. She's out of my league. Engaged, for crying out loud. This assignment can't end soon enough.

Sitting in my folk's backyard under a knotted oak grounds me in
my
reality. I'm simple, albeit charming, Scott Vaughn from Murfreesboro, Tennessee. No match for a beautiful diva.

Dad plops a lounge chair down next to me. “Thanks for coming. I know you're busy.”

I grin, shaking my head. “You're thirty minutes away, Dad. How could I not come for your birthday? By the way, your present is in the house.”

Twisting open a cold, dripping root beer, he flashes a face-splitting grin. “I saw. Box seats for the Titans' home games.” He swigs from his drink. “It pays to have a son with connections.”