Tate (29 page)

I didn’t tell Tate, but Meg Carlisle from People Country had emailed me the article and the cover proof of our ‘official’ wedding photo. It would publish the last week in October. The article pleased me, and I knew Tate would be happy.
We’ll see what happens from here.

Meg had promised me an advance copy of the final issue so Tate and I could see it before it hit the newsstands. A courier delivered a package to the shop. I noticed the return address and went in my office and closed the door. Opening it, I felt anxious. Just touching the magazine, I felt chills. This was it. This would be public on Thursday. I slipped it back in the envelope without glancing inside. I looked at the calendar. Tomorrow would be our two-month wedding anniversary, and one year since he meandered into my life. I made a plan.

At two in the afternoon, my phone rang. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Hello, my love. I’m glad you called, There’s a function tomorrow evening that I completely forgot about. I’m meeting someone very important to discuss a project. Can you join me? Stoney River in Franklin. Suit, tie, the whole nine yards.”

“A new client?” he asked.

“I’m too excited to tell you about it. It’ll be a surprise! Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Look in my closet and find the perfect dress for such an event. I’ll be home around seven. I need to finish something.”

“I don’t think I can stand you not telling me more.”

“Let it be a surprise,” I suggested. “I have to look really good, though. It’s important.”

When I arrived, Tate had dinner waiting. “That smells good,” I said as he hugged me.

He took my hand and led me to the bedroom. “Before dinner, you have to see this.” Hanging on the closet door was my favorite red dress. The length was just right for a special event, but daring enough to keep Tate excited. He’d chosen well. I knew he would.

“I forgot about that dress.” I saw something lying on the bed and turned. I noticed undergarments I hadn’t seen before. I looked at him questioningly.

“I found the dress quickly and then ran out to the lingerie store with the dress. The sales girl helped me pick these out. I don’t know what this meeting is about, but I know seeing you in that dress is going to have me dreaming about what comes later,” he said, with a devilish smile.

“Purrrrfect,” I said, drawing the word out.

Chapter Fourteen

Maisie

As we got ready for our evening, I slipped into the panties he’d picked out. I swear I heard Tate growling. I started singing the song by Carly Simon.

“Anticipation…”

Dressed and ready to go, I grabbed my portfolio where I’d stashed the copy of People Country and we headed to the restaurant.

“Morrow reservation,” I said, when the hostess greeted us. I watched Tate as she led us to a cozy table for two in the corner. He glanced my way with an inquisitive look.

“I thought this was an important meeting.”

“You don’t think dinner with me is important?” I teased. “A bottle of the Argentinean Malbec, please. We’ll need some time before we order, thank you.”

“Now I’m really anxious,” Tate said, with a smile that melted my heart.

The waiter returned and poured our wine. “Wave when you’re ready,” he said, and left us.

“I have something to share with you,” I said, and reached in the portfolio. I handed him the envelope and he pulled the magazine out. “It hits the stands tomorrow. I’m nervous as hell, but it was so worth it for Little Ones.”

The cover picture of us was the same shot from the wedding that sat on our mantle at home. He looked up at me and the look on his faced showed such love, I wasn’t sure I could hold it together. Inside, on the table of contents page, was another wedding shot of us sharing a kiss, and a small image of me from the photo shoot. He flipped through the pages and found the article in the center of the magazine. The page on the left was a photo of me wearing a white cotton dress and my cowgirl boots, appearing comfortable and at ease on a green velveteen Victorian sofa, sitting in a field with an old weeping willow tree in the background.

“Maisie,” Tate said, looking up, “this is beautiful.”

“I’m having it framed for you,” I smiled.

***

Tate

I carefully read the words.

Unexpected and Surprising

Maisie Morrow is learning to deal with the unexpected. She’s been hit repeatedly - like an Oklahoma oil well pump’s continuous thud, thud, thud - with the unexpected since a certain cowboy moseyed into her life. She was thrust into unexpected chaos when her relationship with country music superstar Tate Morrow became public. She and Tate have deflected one story after another in a united front.

Maisie is a self-made woman who’s spent her life climbing from the rubble of the life her mother, Kitty Evans, left her to contend with. She’s a smart, business savvy, dress designer who caters to some of Nashville’s biggest names.

She surrounds herself with a close circle of friends with whom she feels safe - her co-designer, Dion Rouselle and multi-time winner of Entertainer of the Year, “Queen Carlene” Duncan. The “Queen” and Maisie have a unique relationship – like a special mother-daughter kinship.

“She’s been my friend for years. She’s stood beside me many times. She was there for me through the ordeal of Kitty’s death, and the tragic loss of my first husband – (music promoter) Blake Bolden. And she’s been with Tate and me through all of this as well. She’s the best kind of friend – never judging, and always uplifting. She’s supportive, and she’s the closest thing to family that I have.”

Enter country singer, Tate Morrow and the stories of her mother’s sordid past – a clichéd life of sex, drugs, and rock and roll, capped off with a murder-suicide - began to surface. Kitty Evans was a notorious Nashville groupie. As that part of our conversation came around Maisie became uneasy.

“Kitty Evans’ story was out there for the world to know about years ago, and no one seemed to care…”

“Until Tate came along,” she replied, wistfully.

“And then, it became a media rodeo of sorts, tabloids and television news wrangling to report anything they could on ‘Tate Morrow’s Maisie’.  I did some research. You were an enigma. I found no mention of you in any history I found on your mother…”

“Kitty,” she interjected.

“Kitty,” I repeated. “So it surprised me that someone would dig deep enough to discover you.”

“I believe someone wanted to hurt me, not Tate. I didn’t think I’d ever have to explain my life in such a public way, but it seems as though someone else made it necessary. I suppose I’m here to set the record straight,” she said pensively. “The stories of Kitty were accurate. They were true.”

“But they had nothing to do with you or your life today. Someone targeted you.”

“I believe that’s true. I’m unsure why someone chose to dig up Kitty’s past. I knew about it growing up – her notoriety loomed over me my whole childhood. As I got alder, I chose to ignore it.”

“When the first story broke, you ran,” I stated.

“I did,” she answered uneasily. “I felt gutted. It was the most horrible thing I could imagine. The unwanted attention that I knew would come, but those headlines – being thought of as a ‘coke-whore’s daughter’ was the most vile thing I could imagine. Kitty’s dirty laundry put out for the whole world to know, devastated me. At the time, I did what I thought would free me. I ran. I thought being alone would bring me to terms with everything, but when Tate found me, I knew how wrong I was. I needed him like the air I breathe. He’s helped me understand that it’s not my life that’s being exposed, but sometimes it feels so personal – like I’m being attacked.”

There’s a bashful, yet Cheshire Cat like grin that appears as she talks about her relationship with Tate. “He came to my shop for alterations for concert attire. When he walked in the door, he fascinated me - just seeing him gave me a feeling that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. I fought like the devil to ignore him, but he just kept showing up, and the more he did, the more I wanted him to. I wasn’t ready to have a man in my life, but his Oklahoma cowboy charm and tenacity wore me down.”

“He’s a good man. When people see Tate Morrow the country singer, they see the entertainer version – the full throttle, hell-bent for Sunday performer. I was given the most beautiful gift of getting to know Tate Morrow the man.”

It seems that in the process she got to know herself as well.

And there’s Tate Morrow, the encourager, the relentless cowboy who ‘roped her in’ and stands fiercely vigilant with the woman he loves.

“There’s a saying I read once, ‘And so, she decided to start living the life she imagined…’ I can only look forward from this point. I have to.”

I glanced up to find Maisie with her elbows on the table, her chin rested in her fisted hands, watching me intently. “Maisie, Meg Carlisle told a beautiful story. You are an amazing woman.”

“Because of you,” she said, choking back her emotions. “Because of you, I can finally be the woman I’m meant to be. You’ve freed me, Tate.”

To end our already amazing evening, I took Maisie’s hand as we walked to my truck to leave, and whispered in her ear. “I want to take you someplace we’ve never been.”

“I can’t begin to imagine,” she laughed.

***

I parked in front of a place called Eleven. “We’ve never been dancing,” I said as I took her hand. Loud music greeted us as we entered. The club was spacious and dimly lit.

“It’s a place I’ve heard about with no country connection. Maybe we can enjoy an evening of dancing with no interruption,” I whispered in her ear.

We went straight to the dance floor. Faster dance songs turned into slower dances, and I held her tightly as I whispered how she made me feel.  The slow songs changed into fast ones again, and we made our way around the floor.

“I haven’t danced like this in ages,” she said, red-faced, after several fast songs in a row.

“You’re flushed like we just made love.”

“Oh my goodness,” she giggled, with lips turned up into the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen.

“I love that glow,” I said, and nuzzled her neck.

“You put it there.”

The next morning, I woke early, slipped from the bed and headed to the kitchen with my tablet.

She’s a hot little number

In a short red dress

Been dancin’ all night

And her hair’s all a mess

A sweet love song

And her head’s on my chest

She’s a hot little number

In a short red dress

“Why are you up so early?” Maisie asked when she came to the kitchen and found me there with a cup of coffee, hunched over the tablet. The speed of my fingers tapping the keys sounded like rain falling on a tin roof.

“This,” I replied, and pushed the tablet toward her. I went to refill my coffee. I turned to find that smile on her face – the one that was so embedded in my heart that I saw it whenever I closed my eyes.

“Southern rock. I can hear it.”

“Listen to you, gettin’ all country music guru on me,” I said with a chuckle.

“Been around you long enough to know the different genres in the catalog.”

“You surprise me every day, Maisie.”

“My goal in life,” she replied.

***

The response to the People Country article was overwhelming. The outlets that shared the negative releases were now calling - with a positive spin - each jockeying for the first interview with Maisie. The more she declined, the more the ante increased.

“I’m doing this on my terms. If I’ve got something to say, Meg Carlisle will be my first call.”

They’d last met three weeks ago for Maisie to tell her about the discovery of David Lee Maynor.

The following week, the story Meg sent to Maisie was an article describing how the negative press had led Maisie’s father, a man she knew nothing about, to her. She’d told Meg that the two of them were slowly building a relationship.

“I knew nothing about my father. He was never a blip on my radar. I talked myself into believing that if I didn’t know about him, I wasn’t missing anything - he didn’t exist. He was just another thing that Kitty deprived me of. I want to be clear  - this isn’t a ‘poor me’ statement. David and I have come to terms with the years that are in the past and we are learning to move forward. He’s shared a family with me that I never knew existed. He told me things that make me realize who I am - where I came from. I have a grandmother who I look just like, and she was a seamstress.”

***

Maisie 

Before Meg’s article released, there was a headline on NCN describing my ‘absent, deadbeat father’. I knew where it came from - Audra. She was the only one who had known what I talked to Meg about. 

“I’ve pissed her off,” I told Tate.

I saw him take a moment to think about what I said. “The more I think about it, the more I realize what you’re doing.”

“Pissing her off on purpose,” I replied with a smile.

I scheduled a meeting at my office, inviting Tate and Ami. “Thanks for meeting us,” I said, when Ami arrived. “Have a seat. Someone else is joining us.” A moment later, Daniel entered.

“Thank you,” I said. He took a seat. Ami glanced his way, and then back to Tate. “I’ve had something on my mind for quite a while, and after my last conversation with Ami, I decided to bring it to Daniel’s attention.”

“I’ve done some extensive digging after Maisie presented her concerns to me…”

***

Tate

I watched Maisie as Daniel spoke. She appeared self-confident and composed; I wondered exactly what was happening. “Ami, I asked you to join me here because I need your help,” she said.

“Ok,” she replied questioningly.

“I need to trust you,” Maisie said, “implicitly.”

“Yes. Yes, Maisie.” Ami responded, and Maisie nodded to Daniel.

“Audra Davis didn’t come into existence until 1995…”

“But she’s like forty-five or something like that,” Ami interrupted.

“Fifty-two,” Daniel said. 

“She took the name Audra Davis when she was twenty-eight. Before that she was Pauline Mae Eclin from a little map dot in Arkansas called Booger Hollow. It’s close to several state parks, but nothing else. It’s in the middle of nowhere. The closest real town is a place called Russellville.”

“She was looking for a way out, a way to become someone important, so she set out for New York to begin a career in journalism. She began by misrepresenting herself with glowing credentials and references. Uneducated, but savvy, she presented a degree in journalism from Missouri State University. She had a letter from a professor in the School of Journalism who gave her credibility, but none of it was real. All the documentation was false, but no one questioned it.