by Chely Wright
When we arrived back in Nashville early that next Monday morning, I got in my car and headed straight home. I had to completely disconnect from him. He asked if he could see me later that day. I told him no. A couple of hours later my phone started to ring. He began to leave messages again. He was crying, hurt and confused. He was at my front door, but I refused to let him in. I went upstairs, turned on some music so I couldn’t hear the doorbell or the phone, and took a long bath. He was still outside in his truck. Waiting.
Brad called my friends, asking why I wouldn’t talk to him. A couple of his friends would plead with me to just call him. They told me that it was killing him and that they’d never seen him like that. I didn’t doubt these things, but there was no way that I could explain it to him, in truth. I felt I had no choice but to do it the way I did it.
There was nothing about Brad’s behavior in the course of our relationship that was inappropriate. Yes, he was overzealous at times and a bit relentless in certain situations, but he was never out of line. I had been cruel to Brad, and I have cried a million tears about how I hurt him. I have not been ashamed of myself often, but I am ashamed of myself for choosing to be so cruel to another human being. Brad and I have seen each other in passing on a couple of occasions since then, and we exchanged pleasantries. Perhaps this book and my coming out will help him understand that time in our lives.
Casualties
Lying and hiding cause so much pain. Brad was not the first man that I’d hurt in this way. The circumstances were different with Brad, though, because we were intimate, which made me feel so much more responsible.
But there have been other men, with whom I simply wanted to share a friendship or work together, who developed feelings for me that I just couldn’t reciprocate. This was confusing for them and caused a great deal of hurt.
Occasionally, these men would confess their feelings to me. I know it wasn’t easy for them, and each time it happened, my heart was crushed too. I didn’t want to lose the friendship. I couldn’t say to them, “Oh … no, I’m sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. I love you as a friend, but I will never be able to love you as a lover.” Had I felt able to tell the truth, I think it would have answered so many questions and freed them. I appeared available to them. They thought that I was a single woman who just hadn’t found the right man and I was waiting to be loved.
I’d tell them that if they had feelings for me it would ultimately damage our friendship. I’d feel trapped and pull away in an attempt to spare their feelings. This behavior likely caused them to see me a little differently. Perhaps they titled me a bad friend, flaky, unreliable, and cold.
I hate that I forced some wonderful men in my life to believe those things to be true about me. I wanted more than anything to be a loyal and dedicated friend, through thick and thin. I have certainly needed them in my life long after I had to push them out. People like me feel trapped and forced into doing things that don’t make sense to others—or to themselves, for that matter.
Try, Try Again
Julia had heard the rumors that Brad and I were seeing each other, and while she did make comments about the rumor, she never came right out and asked me if it was true.
After I cut Brad out of my life, I waited a while before I told Julia the truth about what had been going on between Brad and me. Even though I had ended things with him, I wasn’t certain that I wanted to be with Julia, unless a lot of things changed.
I spent a couple of weeks trying to figure out what to do. I decided that I wanted to work things out with Julia, so I told her everything. I suppose I could have gotten away with not telling her, but I wanted something more for us. She was angry and hurt, and we had long discussions about what to do. After a week of emotional upheaval, we decided that we were worth fighting for and began couples therapy. The irony of this wasn’t lost on either of us. We knew our problems stemmed largely from the fact that we couldn’t find a way to publicly be a couple, so our ability to solve our difficulties with the help of a therapist was limited.
Beautiful People
Julia and I were feeling the benefits from our counseling, and we grew closer and healthier than we’d ever been. We were learning healthier ways to communicate our feelings to each other and how to actually hear what the other person was saying. Unfortunately, the necessity of living in the closet continued to be a strain.
Our careers progressed along successful paths, and we both worked hard.
I was in Nashville during another industry event, doing interviews. The Country Radio Seminar is one of the most hectic and exhausting weeks of the year if you’re a country music artist, but I was always up for it. That five-day event was about stamina, a good attitude, and the willingness to do whatever was asked by the record label. I had been doing live interviews all morning long and had a short, twenty-minute break before my afternoon of scheduled press was to begin. My record label had a hotel room suite for all of its artists to use for the week, and I went into the bathroom to freshen up my mascara and my lipstick.
I could hear a lot of commotion outside the door. I was being escorted that day, in typical fashion, by several people—my day-to-day manager, two label executives, and the label publicist—and the conversations became loud and boisterous at times.
I could hear them outside the bathroom, but I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, nor could I determine what the tone of the conversation was. I didn’t know if they were upset or excited; I just knew that everyone was talking loudly on top of one another. They had been behaving strangely for the past couple of hours.
Earlier in the day, as I was doing an interview, I had heard them in the hallway discussing something. Usually they never left my side when I was in an interview. I thought I heard one of them say, “No, we can’t tell her now.” I got scared. I thought there was a good chance that the label had discovered my secret and that they were going to break the news to me that everyone knew I was gay.
The anxiety washed over me, leaving me flushed and sweaty. I walked out of the bathroom and their chatter was immediately silenced. They looked at me and then down at the floor. No one would make eye contact, so I pretended that I didn’t notice they were keeping something from me. I calmly announced that I was ready to head back out and wrap up the day. My label publicist, Leslie Kellner, said, “Okay, but before you go, we need to talk to you about something.” I swallowed hard and said, “Okay.”
I did a quick rehearsal in my head about how I would need to respond. I needed to seem unaffected, yet I wanted to have a quick response of denial. I hoped that they didn’t ask me the direct question “Are you gay?” because I hated to lie about anything, and at that point I’d never had to flat-out lie about it.
“Oh, I’ve heard that rumor too…for years,” I would say, to dismiss their inquiry and make sure that they saw how a stupid rumor like that couldn’t rattle me. There was sweat on my top lip. I felt light-headed.
The secret they’d been keeping from me was that I’d been chosen as one of People magazine’s 50 Most Beautiful People of the Year. I’d be going to New York for a secret photo shoot, and no one could know about it until we were given the green light.
It was always neat to see myself in magazines and on television. It was a sign that my music was being noticed. 2001.
Before we walked out of that hotel suite, Leslie explained that no one was to be told this good news because People magazine never revealed the 50 Most Beautiful until the issue hit the newsstands. Everyone in the room had to swear to keep quiet. Leslie turned to me and said, “Chely, can you keep this a secret?”
I said, “Oh, yes, I can keep a secret.”
Mice Don’t Speak
One of the best family vacations I ever had was back in the year 2001. I had recorded a song for Disney called “Part of Your World” for the movie The Little Mermaid II. Shortly after the movie came out, the folks at Disney asked me if I would travel down to Florida to be their guest of honor in a parade and
to participate in a ceremony where I’d put my handprint in cement for the Disney World Walk of Fame. I declined their invitation.
I had only a five-day block of free time on my schedule for the rest of the year, and all I planned to do was stay home and have some much-needed time with Julia. Furthermore, if I decided to travel at all during my break—and that was a big “if”—Julia and I would probably go to a cabin in the mountains of Tennessee and do some hiking.
My manager, Mark, passed along my sentiments to Disney that my free time was limited and I’d be dedicating what little of it I had to my family. With that in mind, Disney suggested I bring a couple of members of my family along with me. I asked Mark to decline again. How would I ever be able to choose which family members to invite and which ones wouldn’t get an invitation? At that time I had two married siblings, two nieces, and a nephew. I also knew that if I were to take my family on vacation, I wouldn’t be able to take Julia. For years, I’d often been challenged with trying to figure out a way to include my partner in a family vacation without prompting my family to say, “Why is your friend invited?”
The Disney people in communication with Mark asked again why I was passing on their invitation. Disney was not giving up. They said I could bring my entire family for one week. Flights, hotels, meals—they would cover everything.
And to make sure that I felt well taken care of for my public appearances and autograph signings while I was there, Disney extended an invitation for me to bring Mark, his wife, and their children. How could I say no to that? I made the decision to go. It meant giving up my time with Julia. She wasn’t upset with me for choosing to go; she understood what a treat it would be for the kids. Nevertheless, we were both disappointed to be the ones slighted—again.
I had only a couple of obligations during the week at Disney World. I was happy that the events were lumped into one day, for it meant I needed to get into hair and makeup only once during my stay.
As I sat in front of the mirror in the bathroom of my suite at the Wilderness Lodge, my two little nieces, Mandy and Erika, sat with me; they liked to see how I got all fixed up. One of my nieces asked me what exactly was going to happen in the parade, and I told her that the loudspeakers in the park would be playing my songs as the progression of cars, dancers, and characters wound slowly through the park. I told the girls that I would be riding in a convertible car with Mickey Mouse. One of the girls exclaimed, “You KNOW Mickey Mouse?!”
My family stayed with me in the staging area of the park until about ten minutes before the start of the parade because the kids wanted to meet Mickey. Our escort, Darrell, and his team had set aside a couple of minutes for my nieces and nephew to have a private meeting and photos taken with the famous rodent. I knew that the moment was nearing when I heard a couple of walkie-talkies crackling and beeping while omniscient voices announced, “Mickey is one minute away.” I thought that Mandy, Erika, and Max were going to explode.
A wooden gate slowly swung in toward us and there appeared one Disney employee and one mouse, standing about seven feet tall. The kids were as thrilled as we thought they’d be, but the big surprise was that all of the adults in our group suddenly became eight years old. My heart skipped a beat, Jeny’s eyes grew very wide, Chris stuck out his hand to eagerly shake with Mickey, telling him what an honor it was to finally meet him. Karla and Mike followed suit, clearly excited to meet the character that for our entire lives had represented all things magical.
I was the guest of honor in a parade at Disney World. My family and I spent a week there, and meeting Mickey Mouse was the highlight for all of us. 2001.
Mickey and I were put into our convertible and the parade was under way. I tried my best to talk to Mickey as we rode along together and waved to the crowds who had gathered. Mickey didn’t say one word to me—mice don’t speak. Mickey just kept hugging me and patting me on the back and waving to the little kids, and the big kids. I was starstruck.
We arrived at the stage that had been built for the ceremony and found hundreds of fans eagerly awaiting us. Mickey took my hand and escorted me up onto the stage, where I’d be leaving my handprint in a square of fresh cement. A couple of Disney executives gave short speeches about me, my career accomplishments, and my participation in The Little Mermaid II. They also recognized my family and guests from the stage and said it was a thrill for Disney to be able to host them for a week of Disney Magic. I said a few thank-you’s and pressed one of my hands into the wet cement. I was given some kind of pen and etched my name under my handprint.
During most of my life, my dad had been a concrete and cement worker. He regularly recruited the three of us kids, and my mom as well, to help him pour patios, sidewalks, and foundations. We were always strictly prohibited from putting a handprint or footprint into the wet, gray goop—and we wouldn’t dare write our name in it. But it had always been so tempting.
I was having a surreal experience at the Wonderful World of Disney—being with Mickey Mouse and being invited and encouraged to put my hand into a slab of fresh, perfect concrete and write my name in it as fans cheered.
I wondered whether, if the world had known that I was gay, I would have been there as a guest of Disney and Mickey Mouse? It’s my understanding that Disney is a very progressive corporation when it comes to the LGBT community. I believe that it has led the way in corporate America, as far as fairness and equality go with its employees. Even though I know that to be true about Disney, if I had been forthright about my sexuality within country music, would I have had the chance to become a public figure? Would I have had the chance to establish my name or my place in the entertainment world at all? Would Disney have invited me to sing for one of its movies?
From Sea to Shining Sea
After the events of September 11, 2001, I can’t say that my trips to see the troops increased in frequency, but they certainly increased in intensity. I continued to dedicate at least a couple of weeks out of every year to playing for those in uniform.
In June 2003, I was asked by the USO to be a part of the biggest entertainment tour abroad in the history of the organization. The major U.S. military action into Iraq had begun in the very early months of that year, and I, along with the rest of the world, watched with great concern and worry. I was particularly on edge, because my brother, Chris, was there. He’d gone in with the early waves of troops and was in the thick of it.
At that time, Chris was a crew chief on one of the Marine Corps’ most utilized helicopters, the CH-53. The Sea Stallion, as it is commonly known, is the largest single-rotor helicopter in the U.S. military’s inventory. Chris’s wife, Karla, had moved from Yuma, Arizona, back to the Kansas City area with their daughters shortly after he was deployed. Her family was there, and our family, for the most part, is there too. Karla and I were on the phone with each other nearly every day. Sometimes we didn’t actually speak. We’d just sit there, phones to our respective ears, watching CNN like hawks.
Occasionally, an e-mail from Chris would pop into my in-box and my heart would skip a beat. It was really too much to process that my brother was not simply on a training mission as usual—he was in a war. He’d been in the Marine Corps since 1990, and I’d become accustomed to his flying around to global destinations, but never in a war zone. His e-mails were cryptic in nature, and I was never really sure where he was or what he was doing, but I was able to determine that he was exhausted and he was in danger.
When the USO asked me to do the tour that would travel into Kuwait and Iraq, I said yes. None of the entertainers except Kid Rock would be taking their entire band and crew. I took just my tour manager, Jan Volz, Judy Seale, and my guitar player, Bruce Wallace.
In addition to music artists, there were professional athletes and movie stars. Kid Rock, Gary Sinise, Jesse James, John Stamos, Rebecca Romijn, Jason Taylor, Duce Staley, Wayne Newton, Nappy Roots, Alyssa Milano, and Brittany Murphy, to name a few. It was quite an undertaking, as there were well over a hundred people in the e
ntourage.
We flew from our respective locations to Washington, D.C., so we could get on one plane together and go. The USO had chartered a plane from United Airlines, but it was nothing like a commercial flight. Instead, the trip over felt more like a huge tour bus, with the drinks flowing, people up walking around during takeoff and landing, and a few people in the very back smoking skinny cigarettes and cigars. I suppose they were all thinking they’d live it up one more time, because in Kuwait alcohol is illegal, and it’s prohibited on military bases in Iraq.
We stopped in Amsterdam to refuel, then quickly headed off to Kuwait City. That would be our home base for the next seven days. Although Kuwait and Iraq are neighboring countries, the quality of life is markedly different. They’re both oil-rich nations, but the wealth is much more evenly distributed in Kuwait. In many ways, Kuwait City looks like any American city on any coast, bustling with resort hotels, shopping centers, and restaurants.
My brother, Chris, was with me when I played a concert in Iwakuni, Japan, for the Marines in 2002. He accompanied me to a press conference and answered a couple of questions the journalists had for him.
Another thing Kuwait and Iraq have in common is the heat. We landed late in the evening, and even though the sun had gone down hours before, it was still oppressively hot. Our bags were accounted for and word spread through the group that someone’s bag had to be confiscated because there was pot in it. I don’t think that any of us fully realized the strictness of the culture that we were about to enter.
Our hotel was modern, beautifully nestled on the beach of the Persian Gulf. The folks with the USO got us situated and sent us off to bed. I think I finally fell asleep around four in the morning. I’m not sure what time it was when I woke up, but it was early. The sun was just coming up, and in the near distance I heard chanting. It is my understanding that in the Muslim religion it is common to pray at sunrise and sunset and often there are periods of chanting. Although I was tired, I was fascinated and curious about what I was hearing. I thought there might be a mosque nearby because I could hear it so clearly. I loved how it sounded—it was serious and profound and sincere. Even the notes, in their configuration and rhythms, were foreign to me. I put my shoes on and headed out to take a look around. The chanting was coming from every direction. Almost as soon as I got outside, it ended.
