Chapter 80

The 10 days prior to the Dallas show were hectic.

We bounced from San Diego to Dallas to Nashville in the space of 16 hours. Liz had rented a large warehouse outside of Nashville where a new stage was being constructed. She had decided to put on an entirely new show since she was extending it another hour and bringing in several special guests.

The group of people I had conscripted to drive ticket sales had spotted early on that they couldn’t wait until 7 p.m. to start buying. They launched their spending spree shortly after 10 a.m. and everyone had come away with at least six tickets for the show.

Many of those tickets were being donated to local music programs and charities that served underprivileged children. I suspected that Liz’s show would be even more heavily attended by teenagers than normal.

Of course, almost everybody my mother had urged to help was keeping at least two tickets for themselves.

Lynwood and his wife had been told in no uncertain terms that they needed to take a vacation for the next two weeks. Liz told them she didn’t care where they went or when they returned so long as they were out of her hair (and mine) during the 10 days we were going to be in Nashville.

I spent my time in Nashville playing genial host to the music stars that paid a visit to the warehouse to practice their part or came to visit Liz at her home.

Liz’s neighbor and his family were flying down for the show along with several of the genre’s top artists. Liz’s sound had little in common with the best-selling male singers’ but a couple of them had agreed to come to Dallas for a spot in what had quickly become the most-anticipated concert of the past few years.

I found myself surprised at how normal everybody seemed to be. I had expected clashes of wills (because I knew Liz had a massive ego when it came to her music and I suspected the others did, too). What I saw was a collaboration of the purest form.

Liz was going to do eight sets on the night. Two sets – one in the middle and one at the end – would be with her by herself on stage. Another would be almost entirely Liz. Those closest to her had pointed out that the people had paid money to see her perform. Having guests was a cool concept but the fans wanted to see Liz Larimer.

Liz would do most of the first set alone and close by bringing up Glen Carter (otherwise known as The King of Country Music). They would do a duet on one of his songs and then a duet on one of hers. The King was nearing 70 and had asked to be early in the show so he could leave if he or his wife of 48 years grew tired. He was more than happy to perform two songs along with Liz but he said he had no intention of singing any of his songs alone in public again.

One of the sets would feature Conny Woodson and Liz. Liz would open with a solo and then Conny would join in for a medley of both of their hit songs. They would wrap up the set with a live performance of “My Daddy Can Whip Your Daddy” that Liz had written many years earlier but the labels had blocked from being released or performed. I found Conny to be exactly as advertised. She was pleasant and humble. Her husband played football for the Titans and he was friendly and funny.

My buddy Lucas’s namesake, Lucas Williams, would do a set with Liz. I had caught a few clips of him after Liz told me who would be performing with her. He seemed too flippant and arrogant for his own good in the interviews I watched. I came to realize that part of it was his on-stage persona and part of it was the trickery of editing. He was really funny and he seemed genuinely happy to be invited (and to know that a preschooler in Southern California had been named for him). He brought his wife and kids with him and they were just as sweet as could be.

Chelsea Rome was a relative newcomer to the music scene. She had put out one album for RFN and had one song hit the charts. She had come through one of the numerous TV talent competitions and she’d made it a point to mention how much of an influence Liz had been on her music and her personal life. She was young, barely 21, and she was excited as hell to be a part of the concert in any form, let alone having a short set with her idol. She was going to premier the song Liz had written for her.

Liz’s neighbor, Ben Rose, was one of the top male performers in the business and had been for more than a decade. His songs were of two types: lighthearted and funny takes on life and love or ones that made you stop and think about things you might take for granted every day. I already liked him and his family, but I became a fan of his music as I listened to him and Liz working out the vocal nuances. He was also a fantastic guitar player (actually having gone to college on a guitar scholarship – which seemed ludicrous to me until I remembered I had gone to college on a baseball scholarship) and they were going to close the set with a riff on “Dueling Banjos” using acoustic guitars.

One of the sets featured the only person Liz invited that I really found off-putting. Melissa Shepherd was married to Brandon’s namesake and she was the only artist I could think of off the top of my head that might be considered in the same popularity category as Liz. She was well below Liz in disc sales and downloads but radio programmers loved her – mostly because she sang about the same things the men sang about.

Melissa’s stage persona painted her as someone bold and brassy. I likened her to an exaggerated version of my friend Sarah. Her real-life demeanor was a mixture of vulgar and hateful. She had played a much smaller venue in Dallas two months earlier and had barely managed to sell the place out. Her first question was who Liz had bribed to sell so many tickets.

Liz was peeved but she laughed it off. I was merely peeved.

“Bribery is such an ugly word,” I replied, not knowing about Melissa’s earlier performance in Dallas. “Talent is what we laymen tend to call it. Talent sells tickets – and apparently it sells them pretty damned quickly.”

Melissa looked at me like I’d strangled the ugly dog she’d brought with her but I didn’t look away. I wasn’t going to let anyone make snide remarks about my girlfriend (or my employer). I tended to make myself scarce for the first few hours of the duo’s practice sessions. As the morning dragged into afternoon, I returned to the grand ballroom at the mansion and waited for the opportunity to interrupt. Liz and I had shared breakfast at 7 a.m. and it was now pushing 2 p.m. pretty hard.

“What would you ladies like for lunch?” I asked when they took a break. “Be advised: My culinary skills are somewhat lacking so anything out of the norm might not look or taste as you expect it to.”

“Anything is fine,” Liz said with a tired smile.

I glanced to her guest.

“Yeah, whatever,” Melissa said, waving a dismissive hand at me. “I guess you can figure out peanut butter and jelly without much trouble.”

“You know, as far as I’m concerned, you can trot your ass to McDonald’s,” I replied. “You’re a guest so why don’t you start acting like one?”

Melissa stared at me for a moment. My comment had been meant in two ways. First was her behavior at Liz’s home. The second was about the bitching and moaning she had been doing about her role in Liz’s concert.

She glared at me again but I was used to the look so I stood impassively and matched her. She broke eye contact and headed outside – followed immediately by her cowed personal assistant (who had spoken exactly five words in my presence all day).

“It needed to be said,” I told Liz, going on the offensive before she could give me a ration of shit.

“I know,” Liz agreed. “She’s going through some stuff.”

“We’re all going through some ‘stuff’,” I countered. “You, me, the rest of the world. It doesn’t give us license to act like assholes to everybody else. If she wants to sing her songs in Dallas, she can book a fucking show like you did. If she doesn’t want to eat what I’m serving, she can stop on her way home. You know that’s the rule!”

Liz laughed and gave me a one-armed hug (because she had a guitar slung on her back).

“I know,” she said. “But ... the rumors about her are true this time.”

I offered a blank look. As many rumors abounded about Melissa Shepherd and Brandon Lillibridge, as about Liz Larimer.

“They’re going to announce their divorce on the Tuesday after the show,” Liz confided. “You can’t tell anybody about this.”

“Who would I tell?” I asked in what I thought was a rhetorical manner.

“You’ve been chummy with that blogger and this is huge news,” Liz said.

“Oh, shit no!” I said. “I drop him an inconsequential tidbit or two about you but I would never reveal anything about anybody else. First off, their personal lives are none of my business – and none of anybody else’s business. It’s too bad that they’re splitting up but it can’t really be a surprise. A couple can’t really grow if they’re always apart.”

“I know,” Liz said with a sigh. “They ... they were going to file last Thursday until I announced the Dallas show. They didn’t want me to have to fight for time with their personal drama. Neither one of them is as big as I am alone but together they’re really close. Just give her some time. I’m pretty sure you’ll like her once you get to know her. She is really nice. Yeah, she’s got a loud mouth and a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush but she’s just as vulnerable underneath as I am.”

“OK,” I said. “She can talk to you like shit if you’re good with it. I’m not going to let her talk to me like I’m the hired help, though. I’m not the guy divorcing her. I’m going to cook up some chicken tacos for lunch. Do you want me to mix up a pitcher of something?”

“That would be good,” Liz said, hugging me again.

“I’ve got just the thing,” I said with a wink. “I’ll text you when the stuff is ready.”

I busied myself in Lynwood’s kitchen – using his sauté pan to warm the soft tortilla shells out of spite.

While the food was sizzling, I got to work on a mixed drink concoction that I’d spotted in Cabo and wanted to alter to my specifications. I had finally found my guinea pigs. I’d read that Melissa would drink pretty much anything put in front of her and she liked to mix and match on recipes herself.

I took a sip when I was finished and found it lacked something. I found two bottles of liqueur that I was certain Lynwood was saving for a special occasion. I added them to the mixture and jotted a note on my tablet. Not only did the drink taste better, it turned the icy mixture a very pleasing shade of green.

Satisfied with my preparations, I texted Liz and she returned to the house. The trio had set up shop around the pool and I was happy to leave two of them there.

Liz gave my new drink invention a critical look.

“Tell me you didn’t include antifreeze in that,” she said.

“I didn’t think of that,” I admitted. “I probably could have. I’ve heard antifreeze tastes sweet and it’s the right color. Shit! I probably opened a $3,000 bottle of absinthe when I could have used a $12 jug of coolant.”

“Absinthe?” Liz asked.

“I deadened the taste with some crème de menthe,” I replied. “Give it a shot.”

Liz took a small sip and looked at me. She didn’t spit it into the sink (or drop dead on the floor) so I considered it a win.

“This is good,” she said.

“It’s also very potent,” I noted. “Absinthe, crème de menthe, vodka and a dash of dark rum. The only thing non-alcoholic in it is the lemonade so don’t go crazy. I’d say it’s probably... 180 proof. So eat before you start hitting it heavy.”

“Or ... I could get all drunk and sloppy so you can take advantage of me later,” Liz said, winking at me.

“I could always do the gentlemanly thing and offer to take advantage of you even if you’re sober,” I said.

“Hmm,” Liz said, smiling at me. “That has potential. I think that sounds like the best plan I’ve heard today. Are you going to join us?”

“I ate earlier,” I told her. “I’m going to go and work out while you relax. You’re pushing yourself really hard.”

“I know,” Liz said. “I was thinking we could all go out later. Skye and Jill are going to be back in an hour or so and we’ll set things up for a quiet evening.”

“I’d like that,” I said. “I wish I could do more to help you.”

“You are helping me,” Liz said. “You spent half of the evening rubbing my hands and my shoulders. You gave me a hug this morning just when I needed one. Sometimes you just look at me and wink and I feel better.”

Liz headed out to her guests and I went to the gym. I had added a brief run on the treadmill to my daily exercises. I wasn’t training to run a marathon but our late-night activities often made me feel as though I had just finished one. I wanted to build my stamina and endurance because I doubted Liz’s would flag anytime soon.