Diva NashVegas (22 page)

But I was on tour and had to leave the next day for Sacramento. It was torture for my poor twenty-two-year-old heart. I'd fallen in love with Jack, or so I thought. I cried when I had to leave. But got myself together for the show. Then, right before the last number, Jack walked out on stage with a red rose.

The place went nuts. Absolutely nuts. Despite everything else about our relationship, that is one of my all-time favorite touring memories. He was so classy, not like Car and his— [stopping] Pardon me. Rafe, please back up over that last line.

Rafe: Sure, Aubrey.

Scott: What'd Jack do?

AJ: Walked out on stage, handed me a rose, kissed my cheek, and walked off waving to the fans. If I wasn't in love before, I was then. He stayed on the tour with me for two weeks before going back to LA. He was my first big love.

By then, we were a discovered couple, and the paparazzi went berserk over us. Thus began the wild, two-year relationship of Jack Mills and Aubrey James.

Scott: Why'd it end?

AJ: Jack lived life by a different set of rules. Let me tell you. He'd do these really fun things like spend thousands of dollars to surprise me by flying in from wherever he was filming to wherever I was touring. Or show up here in Nashville out of the blue.

He'd lavish me with expensive jewelry and gifts, flowers. Food would be catered in for a romantic dinner. In those days, I still lived with Connie, so he'd book a suite at the Vanderbilt Loews and play out this incredibly romantic, larger-than-life Don Juan-type of hero. Then he'd have to go back to work, and I'd be heartbroken.

Connie: It was murder watching her go through it. But none of us could talk any sense into her.

AJ: [knocking her head] Always did have to learn the hard way. It was during one of these fly-in-romance episodes he asked me to marry him. I was so in love, so naïve, I thought we were perfect for each other. Until I decided to surprise
him
for once.

He was filming in New York City so I called his assistant and made arrangements for food, flowers, candles, a carriage ride in the park. The works. He'd broken his watch during a fight-scene rehearsal, so I bought him a new one from Tiffany's. Even bought matching his-and-her monogrammed robes.

Scott: I'm getting the feeling it didn't go well.

AJ: [shaking her head, rolling her eyes] Not at
all
. Oh gosh, it makes me sick just thinking about it. I was scheduled for my first Barbara Walters interview about this time, but after New York, I cancelled and really started avoiding the press.

Scott: Pretend I'm Barbara Walters. What would you have said to me back then
about you and Jack?

AJ: [laughing] Pretend you're Barbara Walters? Not even Walt Disney had that much imagination.

Scott: Oh, I see how it is. [laughing] What happened with Jack?

AJ: Let's just say when I walked into his suite, he wasn't alone.

Scott: How'd you get in the room, then?

AJ: His assistant let me in. She thought he was going over lines with his costar.

Scott: Ooo, what a shocker.

AJ:
Big
shocker.

Scott: Did it all end then?

AJ: Yes, the relationship had a very emotional, tragic end. I did the whole stomp-around, big-drama, throw-the-engagement-ring across-the-room thing. [covering her face] Really childish.

The next morning news spread of our demise. Tabloids picked up the story, but neither Jack nor I came clean with details. The paparazzi literally camped out on Connie's street, hoping sooner or later Jack Mills would show up. It was horrible.

At first, the media would blame it on me, then Jack if they spotted him with another woman, then me again. Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise busted up about the same time. If I wasn't in the headlines, Nicole was. It's humiliating having your heartbreak played out before the whole country.

Connie: We organized a mini European-Asian tour just to get her out of the country. Zach and I called her booking agent and said, “Get her in any place you can—pubs, cafés, street corners, whatever. Let's get her out of the country and working.”

AJ: Great idea, at first. But the tabloids were worse in England
and
that's how I met Derek Crammer. A very disastrous relationship.

Scott: Derek is one of the most noted drummers of our day.

AJ: He's an amazing musician, and a wonderful person, but we were like fire and water. He's ten years older, from a completely different background and mindset. The only thing we had in common was a broken heart. Me with Jack, and Derek with Candice Laurie, whom he'd been with for five years.

Scott: He was your drummer for the European tour?

AJ: Yes. Derek needed a gig to get his mind off of Candice. We needed a drummer for this slapped-together tour. He called asking for the job. And, in all honesty, he was more than a drummer for the band. His understanding of the industry and touring, giving the fans what they want . . . I learned so much about touring from him, and it's probably part of the reason why I still tour every year. He taught me ways to save money, get media coverage, how to add extra touches to the show to make it shine. I have fans in Europe and Asia today because of him. Garth taught me how to perform. Derek taught me how to tour.

Scott: You were how old at the time you met Derek?

AJ: Twenty-four, almost twenty-five. Met him three months after Jack and I split. We dated for nine months.

After those two very hurtful relationships, I didn't trust anybody. I required these ridiculous artist riders on hotel rooms and dressing rooms regarding privacy. No one but my management could walk within a thousand yards of my bus or my room. Everything cleaned with Clorox, white sheets and towels, bottled water, liquid soap, blah, blah. Salads and grilled meat for meals.

Connie: She got a little crazy on us.

AJ: I reacted the way any person reacts when they lose things: grasp for control. “Isn't going to happen to me again.” I still struggle with letting go.

Connie: Zach made her take a vacation and booked her for three weeks in Barcelona on the Mediterranean.

AJ: Heaven on earth. I lay in the sun, slept, read books, forgot about Jack and Derek as much as possible.

Connie: Besides the relationships, she'd been working nonstop for six years.

AJ: I felt like a failure for melting down. There are men and women out there working sixty hours a week to put food on the table, making fifteen bucks an hour, and they don't melt down.

Scott: But there are pressures that come from being in the public eye that can't be
compared to a private citizen. When their life goes bad, or their relationships
end, they don't get played out on
Entertainment Tonight.
They don't
pick up a copy of
Globe
and see their ex's face
.

AJ: True, and it's hard and embarrassing. Yet, the whole private-life-versus-public-life excuse feels like a cop-out to me. Heartache is heartache, celebrity or not.

Scott: Did you heal in Barcelona?

AJ: The process got started, and I thought a lot about my life and who I wanted to be.

Scott: Derek wrote a book about your relationship.

AJ: Thank goodness the book landed on the
New York Times
worst-seller list.

Scott: Guess that's a nice silver lining to your relationship. [glancing at his
watch]

AJ: I suppose so.

“Our time is up.” I motion for Rafe to cut.

Aubrey slips off the sofa and motions for me to follow her. “So, feel like a little game of one-on-one? A rematch?”

I stop just outside the porch door. “Now wait a minute; you didn't warn me. I didn't bring my sneakers or a change of clothes.”

Aubrey laughs. “Good, all the more reason I can beat you again.”

23

“I used to blame her for all the crap in our relationship. But looking back, we were the wrong people for each other at the wrong time. The perfect storm. I wish her well, though I really wanted my book to be on the bestseller list.”

—Derek Crammer, author of Drumming for a Diva

Aubrey

Wednesday night as Car and I dress for dinner with his parents, the tension
between us is still thick, even though we've talked out the issue of my discarded boxes.

“I called the movers about your boxes,” he says, out of the blue, as he tugs on a Ralph Lauren polo.

“Really?” Slowly, I slip on my engagement ring.

He shakes his head. “They took it to the dump, and like I thought, once it goes there, it's impossible to retrieve.”

I lean against the dresser, batting away a swell of tears. “Thank you for trying.”

“I thought you'd like to know.” He goes to the closet for his shoes. “Mom said the Arbuckles are joining us tonight.”

“Lovely.” I scan my shoe rack for those Prada wedges. The idea of decades' worth of family history buried among the refuse of Davidson County makes me feel sick.

“Tammy's a big fan of yours.” Car's voice is chipper, as if such news should brighten my day.

Finding the Pradas, I sit on the edge of the bed. “I'll take her an Aubrey Bag, then.”

He smiles. “Good idea.”

The short drive to his parents' house is mixed with small talk followed by silence, then more small talk. Exhaling, I ask, “Car, what's my favorite color?”

He turns into his parents' driveway and parks behind several other cars. “What? Your favorite color?”

I slip my hand through the straps of the Aubrey handbag lying on the seat. “Do you know where I got George and Ringo?”

“The shelter?”

“No, from these cute little kids giving away their puppies in front of Harris Teeter.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Did you tell me that before?”

“What's the title of my first number one hit?”

His gaze is wide and surprised. He should know this one. “‘Rainy Days',” he blurts.

“‘Rainy Days'? Car, that song is from my latest album.”

“Aubrey, what are you doing? Why the third degree?”

Gently, I rub my thumb over his hand. “Car, don't you see? We don't know each other, not really. I'm starting to wonder . . .”

He winks and grins. “I think we've
known
each other quite well.”

Frustration twists in my chest. “Car, I'm serious.”

“Yes, I know. Too serious.” He gets out his side of the car and walks around to open my door.

When I step out, I rest my forehead against him. “I'm not sure we're ready for marriage.”

He holds me at arm's length. “Sure we are. All couples go through their hard times. My parents did. I'm sure yours did too.”

“Hard times, I understand.” His square-shaped face is half in the shadows, half in the golden light of the driveway lamps. “We aren't even married yet, and I feel like we're strangers.”

He bends down so his eyes are level with mine. “We weren't strangers until I
accidentally
threw away your boxes. So you lost a few family heirlooms. Look at the people in Sri Lanka after the tidal wave. Or the people in New Orleans after Katrina.”

He's half right, and I'm irritated at him for it. Those disasters certainly outweigh mine, but our situation is not just about my stuff. It's about Car and me respecting each other.

“Brie, are you going to let this go? Is our relationship worth the price you're trying to pay?”

Absently, I straighten his collar. “Let's go inside and have dinner.”

As hostess, Grace Carmichael is in her prime. She's chic and classy in a crisp linen outfit. She links her arm through mine when I walk in with her son and escorts me over to the tan and thin Grayson Arbuckle. I set the Aubrey Bag on the polished end table.

“Gray, you remember Aubrey?”

“Certainly. Nice to see you again.” The collar of Grayson's mauve pullover is flipped up around his neck '80s style.

“And you, too, Grayson.” He shakes my hand, which he holds too long while trying to gaze into my eyes.

Familiar with
that
handshake and
that
eye gaze, I pull away. Not in a million years, Grayson Arbuckle. Not if we were the last two people on earth.

“Dear Aubrey, good to see you.” Sheree Arbuckle eases across the room and presses her cheek to mine as if we're long-standing bridge partners. “Let me see that diamond ring I heard so much about.” She grabs my hand. “Tammy, honey, come see.”

From the soda bar, Tammy waves.
She's a big fan of yours.
Yes, I can see.

“I saw it, Mother. Remember? I helped Car pick it out.”

I glance over at Car. His ex-girlfriend helped him pick out my ring? When Mrs. Arbuckle lets go of my hand, I walk over to him. “Tammy helped you pick out my ring?” I ask in a whisper.

“Um, try these.” He hands me a cracker with a cheesy-looking spread. “Very good.”

I refuse the cracker. “Babe, my ring?”

He wipes his mouth with a linen napkin. How I long for a stack of Chinet paper plates and matching napkins. “She volunteered to help me, and I thought, why not? Tammy's a woman with excellent taste.”

Tipping my head to one side, I quiz him. “Car, I showed you the round solitaire I liked.”

“Round. Solitaire. Boring. I wanted to get you something unique. Thousands of women have round solitaries.”

“But it's what I like.”

Car reaches for another cracker. “Are you saying you don't like the one I bought?”

Closing my eyes, I realize I don't want to have this conversation now. If ever. He chose a ring . . . with Tammy's help . . . and I accepted it. Sort of. “It's a beautiful ring, Car.”

“Aubrey.” Grace hands me a tall crystal glass filled with something pink and icy. For a moment, I feel like she might share a confidence with me. “I do hope you're being discreet with the Carmichael name while engaging in those interviews.”