Like Me (11 page)

I went with Julia and Phillip on their first date and whether I wanted to or not, I liked him instantly. We ate dinner, then found a pool hall where I uncharacteristically drank too much beer. I felt so bad the next morning, physically and emotionally.

Julia told me that they had spent the weekend together and that he was crazy about her. She said that he was funny and she liked how much he liked her. She simply seemed pleased that he was a nice, fun guy. She went on to say that she had confided in him that she and I loved each other but that she wanted to have a normal life. He told her that her relationship with me was fine with him, and he appreciated the complex person that she was. I’m not sure if he was telling her that he was okay with her loving me or if he was saying that it was okay for us to actually “be together.” Nevertheless, it was understood that she and I had a special relationship.

Julia and Phillip spent the next few months together. I pulled back, not because I wasn’t drawn to her but because I found the situation confusing and a bit hopeless. We did try to hang out together now and again. I’d been going out on dates with a guy named Daniel in hopes of being granted a miracle of my own, that I’d fall in love with a man. I didn’t fall in love with Daniel. What I ended up doing was leaving him perplexed and hurt by my detached behavior.

Julia, Phillip, Daniel, and I even spent time together. Daniel was quite the host, and he decided to have a barbecue at his house one Saturday afternoon. He invited about thirty people to visit, eat, drink, and be merry on his back porch. I was on the road promoting my first single, but was scheduled to fly back to
Nashville on Saturday around noon. I got home from the airport, got myself ready, and drove over to Daniel’s house on Belmont Boulevard for the gathering. Even though the skies threatened to open up, there were lots of people there, mostly music industry folks.

I found Daniel in the kitchen whipping up an impressive culinary concoction. He asked me to announce to everyone on the front porch that the beer and food were on the back porch. On the way, I ran into Phillip. We hugged, he asked me how the tour was going, and if I’d heard. “Heard what?” I said. He had proposed to Julia that morning and she’d said yes. I turned and walked down the steps of Daniel’s front porch, onto the street, and like a zombie, began to walk up Belmont Boulevard. It started to pour down rain and it seemed fitting.

I’d walked half a mile or so when I noticed Phillip’s little blue truck pulling up in the street next to me. Julia was seated on the passenger side and she rolled down the manual crank window, asking me to get in, to get out of the rain. I said no and kept walking. She asked if I was sure and, without ever once looking her way, I said, “Yes, I’m sure.” My car was back at Daniel’s and I didn’t even have my purse, but I walked for a long time. Eventually, I made my way back to Daniel’s house. All of the guests were in the backyard. I walked in unnoticed, grabbed my purse, got in my car, and left.

Julia called the next day and left a voice mail message saying that she was sorry she didn’t tell me before Phillip did, but that she just wanted to have a normal life and she wished I’d just understand. The next day, I called her back at work. I knew that if I called her there, she wouldn’t be able to talk for more than a minute or two. I lied, telling her that I completely understood, then quickly got off the phone.

Honestly, what did I expect her to do? Did I think that she and I could really survive, with any quality of life, in Nashville, Tennessee? I was a brand-new artist on Mercury/PolyGram
Records; they were pumping millions of dollars into my career. How could I risk ruining my chances of making it as a successful country music artist? I was just getting started. I continued to hope that I’d be able to look back one day on those confusing times and reference them as a “phase” that I went through. I wanted to be normal too and tried to convince myself that this was the best thing for us.

Julia and Phillip had a short engagement. In the weeks leading up to their wedding, I spent a minimal amount of time with her. We talked on the phone and shared a few meals together. I was on the road most of the time and was thankful for the distraction. I called her at her office on a Monday morning to say hello. She asked me how my weekend had been. I filled her in on the details of promoting my record and asked her what she’d done over the weekend. She said, “Oh, Phillip and I got married.”

I gave a halfhearted wish of congratulations and got off the phone. I was angry with her for going through with it, but I was also able to recognize that her marrying Phillip was a desperate Hail Mary heaved in the direction of “normal.” I continued to focus on my career and was as busy as I wanted to be. Considering that the woman I loved had just gotten married to someone else, staying busy was the only thing I could do.

The days that I wasn’t on the road touring, doing promotion for my record, or doing a photo shoot, I was writing songs back in Nashville at my office on Music Row. I was co-writing with Harlan Howard, Whitey Shafer, and Bobby Braddock, among others. I was, as they say in the South, “walking in high cotton.” When I missed Julia, I’d tell myself to get over it and be thankful for the other things that were going so well for me.

I
didn’t really want to hear the details of their newlywed life, so I stayed away. On occasion, I would accept their invitation to go out to dinner or to just spend time at their apartment for a
couple of hours. I was doing my best to tell myself that if I couldn’t love Julia as my girlfriend, I’d rather have her in my life as a friend. Soon they announced to me that they were buying a house, and the three of us piled into Phillip’s truck and went to look at it.

I wanted to be happy for them, but I felt an incredible amount of hurt. I wondered if she was hoping that being with him, married for all of Music Row to see, would replace me. I wondered if the amenities of that marriage would be enough for her. A brand-new house, the new Chihuahua puppy they’d just bought together, the title of “Mrs.,” and a joint checking account—did all of that add up to be as good as or better than having me?

Suffering that kind of rejection was overwhelming. I was forced to rationalize. The only reason I survived those particular months was because my brain kicked into high gear and continued to remind me of my reality. I was an up-and-coming country music singer, living in Nashville, Tennessee, and there had never been an openly gay country music star. I knew that I could not—I would not—be the first.

Being on the road during the release of my first album was an exhilarating experience that filled some of the voids I felt in my life. I took it in and allowed myself to be distracted by my new routines. I missed Julia every day. I wrote notes to her in my hotel rooms that I never sent. I had conversations with her in my head and sometimes spoke my words out loud when I could find private moments. As tormented as I was personally, it was impossible to deny the fact that my job was a blast. Sometimes I’d lie in my bunk as the tour bus rolled down the road and take inventory of all that I was enjoying. I had a contract with a major record label, a song on the radio, a music video on TV, my own tour bus, my own six-piece band and four-man crew, people to dress me, a hair and makeup artist, and more fans than I could count in a lifetime. I began to look at all of the positives as an
emotional consolation prize. I guessed that if there were other public people like me who were gay and hiding, they probably felt just like I did. I’m sure they too hoped and prayed that career achievements and success would be enough to sustain their happiness.

With George Brett, after I sang the National Anthem at a Kansas City Royals season opener in 2005
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I
n the spring of 1995, I was nominated for the Top New Female Vocalist award by the Academy of Country Music. The award show would air live on national television from Los Angeles. I was beside myself with excitement that even though I hadn’t scored that big hit record yet, the Academy (made up of people in the industry) had nominated me. My record label and my manager at the time told me, “We’re a long shot,” and I said, “That’s okay. I’m just glad that my family will get to see me on the show!” That was true. I was happy to be included.

I’d been in Los Angeles doing press for several days, and finally the moment had come. During the broadcast, there was a television commercial break, and the performers in the audience were milling around, talking to one another. As the show went to the break, the announcer said, “Coming up next, the Top New Female Vocalist award!” Directly across the aisle, seated to my left, was Barbara Mandrell. I don’t know a female country singer out there today who hasn’t been influenced by her. I’d known Barbara since 1990 and had always felt fortunate to hear her words of wisdom. She motioned for me to come to her, so I did. I knelt down by her seat and she took my hand and held it with both of hers. The first thing she said was, “Your hands are freezing, little girl!” Then she said, “Remember exactly how this feels
right now.” I nodded my head yes. “It will never get more exciting than this very moment, your first nomination.”

Kenny Chesney and I met in 1993. For a while we had the same manager and producer. We spent time together touring, writing songs, and just being friends. This photograph was taken the night I won my Academy of Country Music Award in 1995
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Toby Keith and me at the BMI Awards in 2005. We were each signed to Mercury Records but ended up being shuffled around under the PolyGram umbrella to be the flagship artists for Polydor Records. He was one of the performers who presented me with my ACM Award onstage
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The presenters walked onstage, read the names of the nominees, then opened the envelope. “And the winner for the Top New Female Vocalist is …”

Everything turned to slow motion. I heard my name being called. I still have no memory of how I made it up to the podium. I had not prepared a speech for that night, but I’d been rehearsing one since I was a little girl, and the right words came out. Barbara Mandrell’s advice to me allowed me to absorb what was happening. As I looked out at the audience and said my thank-you’s, I received proud smiles and thumbs-up from the biggest names in country music. It was one of the greatest moments of my career.

L
ate one night I was at my apartment packing for a tour in Japan—months after I’d been given my ACM—when the phone rang. It was Aunt Char calling to tell me to fly safely the following day and to ask me what I’d think if my parents were to get divorced.

“What?” I asked. “Are you serious?”

“It might be lookin’ that way, kiddo.”

She wasn’t able to shed much light on the matter and, frankly, I don’t recall that I had many questions for her. I can’t even say that I was upset about the possibility that my mom and dad might be splitting up, but I do know I was surprised. They’d always seemed bound and determined to stay together despite their obvious mutual misery. Even I at a very young age, perhaps in my early teens, knew that they needed to get professional help, call the whole thing off, or both.