“We’ve only been gone a week, but everything goes wrong when I’m away. My sprinkler system broke and created a lake in my backyard. One of my dogs got loose and probably got my neighbor’s dog pregnant, for the second time. My housekeeper is threatening to quit, and the gardener broke his arm and didn’t come. The guys were late coming to the studio this morning, and Sandy thinks she’s catching a cold, and we need her to lay voice tracks for the new album.”
“Are you sure you want to go sightseeing today? We don’t have to. I feel guilty tying up your time,” Stephanie said apologetically.
“We don’t have to. I want to!” he told her with his dazzling smile. He had driven over in the vintage Corvette he loved, and they left the hotel five minutes later. They went to the Parthenon in Centennial Park first, so she could see it in broad daylight, and he promised to bring her back at night, when it was even more impressive. He told her it had been built for the Tennessee Centennial Exposition in 1897. He was an encyclopedia of local historical facts, and she was fascinated by all of it.
Then he took her to The Hermitage, Andrew Jackson’s estate, to visit the house and the grounds. They even saw the log cabin Jackson and his wife had lived in from 1804 to 1820, the mansion they had lived in from 1820 onward, and the historic gardens he had designed for his wife. There was something so touching about it, as the docent who conducted the tour brought the presidential couple to life, with personal details that made them seem more human. And she explained that they had had a hundred and fifty slaves working on the property at the time to care for the plantation and the farm. Farming had been Jackson’s passion. Stephanie found it fascinating, and Chase admitted that he hadn’t visited the historic home in a long time, and enjoyed seeing it as well.
And after that they went to a little catfish place on Music Valley Drive for a late lunch. Then he drove her past the dozens of storefronts that doubled as music venues. It was here that one sensed that Nashville was all about music. Every store they saw had some kind of live music being offered. He explained to her that they were in the West End of the city, and the street they were on was called Music Row. And then he pointed out the renovated homes and old warehouses that housed the big-label music companies now. He said there were countless recording studios there as well, although he now preferred his own. But this was where all the action was in the music world that made its home in Nashville. Two blocks away he took her to Elliston Place, where he said all the nightclubs were, and she noticed a number of cafés with live music. He said some of the best music in town was played on that block, and he had played there himself when he was young. And on the way back to the hotel, they passed Vanderbilt University. It was late afternoon when they got back to the hotel, and they stopped at the Oak Bar for a drink. Her head was spinning from everything they had seen in a short time. And she said her favorite had been the tour of The Hermitage, Andrew Jackson’s home. And she was touched hearing about how much he had loved his wife. There was something both poignant and inspiring about it.
“It’s kind of cool that two hundred years later, we’re hearing about how much he loved her. I don’t think they would say that about anyone I know.” She was smiling as the waiter poured them each a glass of champagne. Chase toasted her to celebrate her arrival in Nashville.
“Well, they’re not going to say that about anyone I went out with, two hundred years from now,” he said as he took a sip of the champagne. He had enjoyed showing her the sights all afternoon. And he was going to take her to Brentwood, the suburb where he lived, that night. There wasn’t much to see there except stately houses—it was where many of the wealthier residents of Nashville had their homes. He had lived in Franklin before that, a small historic town, but he liked his much bigger new home in Brentwood. And he had a small cottage on the estate for Sandy, which gave them both a little space from each other. He had provided a wonderful home for her.
“What a terrific city,” Stephanie said, looking relaxed and happy. “It’s so alive.”
“San Francisco is beautiful too.” He had been there many times, and played concerts at the Oakland Coliseum, and Shoreline Amphitheatre in Mountain View, and the HP Pavilion in the city. And he had played the Fillmore when they were still booking him into smaller venues. He had always loved that one for its 1960s aura and history. But now they could only book him into larger ones when he went on tour, because the crowds at his concerts were so huge.
He hated to leave her after the champagne, but he said he had to get back and check on the band, and see how things were going in the studio.
“They’re like kids. They start slacking off if I’m not around.” He had arranged for his assistant to pick her up and drive her to Brentwood at seven o’clock. It was only twenty minutes out of the city, and he would drive her back himself in the Corvette. She had had a great time with him all afternoon, although everyone recognized him, but they would have anyway, no matter what he drove. “I have the day off tomorrow. And there are some other things I want you to see. I have a surprise.” He was trying to organize her introduction to Nashville, while keeping a hand in his work. And she knew they were playing a concert in six days. It had been sold out for months.
He left her in the lobby, and she heard the Corvette roar off two minutes later, as she went upstairs. She had had a fabulous day so far, thanks to Chase.
She changed into jeans and comfortable clothes for their time in the studio that night. And he said there would be plenty of food for everyone to eat. She couldn’t wait to see his house. She knew how much he loved it, and how important his home was to him. He talked about it a lot, and what a job it had been to renovate it. It was an old Colonial mansion on extensive grounds. It was part of an old plantation that had been divided into lots years before, and he had the main house and gardens closest to the house. The old slave quarters had been torn down when the property had been split up.
She hardly had enough time to check her e-mails and change her clothes before it was time to pick her up. One of his assistants was waiting outside the hotel in a 1940s panel truck. It was cherry red, and she was enjoying seeing all the things he had told her about that she knew he enjoyed. He had shown her a picture of the truck on his phone. He had rebuilt the engine himself. Wanda, his assistant, was a young girl about Michael’s age from Savannah, who had worked for him for three years, and it was obvious how much she admired him and liked him, as she raved about what a terrific person he was all the way to Brentwood. He was obviously good to work for, since the band said that about him too. Wanda chatted easily with Stephanie all the way to the house.
And when they got to Brentwood, she was amazed by the size of his home. It was an enormous, imposing, stately mansion that looked like something out of Gone with the Wind. And there were equally large homes and even a few larger ones in the area around him. But his was one of the most beautiful ones there.
“Wow!” Stephanie said, breathless for a moment, as she looked at Wanda. Nothing had prepared her for this.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Wanda said, with a vast understatement about his home.
“It certainly is,” Stephanie said, as she followed her inside, after they left the truck parked out front. It looked incongruous sitting there but somehow seemed perfect with his image. The fabulous house, and the vintage panel truck he had restored. And the moment they stepped inside, she was impressed with how quietly elegant it was. He had beautiful antiques interspersed with more recent pieces, and it all seemed to work. The colors were subdued, and there was something peaceful and welcoming about it. The inside of the house wasn’t showy, but it was exquisitely done. And he had some very fine paintings that she liked too. He had obviously put a lot of time and effort into doing his home. Despite his humble beginnings, he had refined taste and the money to indulge it. The house was like him, impressive and discreet.
Wanda led her into an enormous state-of-the-art kitchen, all done in beige and black granite, and from there you could see the beautif
ully kept gardens behind the house. There was a huge round table in the middle of the kitchen where more than a dozen people could sit comfortably for easy dinners. And they walked through the kitchen into the elaborate high-tech world he had set up behind it, which was the studio where they recorded. He had built it as an addition onto the house. And Stephanie could see Sandy’s cottage at the back of the garden, which looked like a little gingerbread house that was perfect for her. Everything about the house and what was in it was great, and infinitely more than she had expected. But she was beginning to know that it was typical of him. Nothing had been done to show off, it had all been designed to live in, comfortably and well, with beautiful things around him, where the people he cared about would be comfortable and feel at ease. It was both casual and impressive all at once. She found him in the studio, talking to the band, while two sound technicians were playing with the mix, and Chase was explaining what he wanted changed. He sounded patient, but looked intent, and totally focused on what he was doing. He didn’t even notice for a minute that Stephanie had arrived. Wanda said goodbye and discreetly disappeared. She worked in Chase’s office but had nothing to do with his music. And then suddenly he saw Stevie and broke into a grin.
“You’re here.” He looked pleased, and she nodded, still slightly overwhelmed by the house and everything she’d seen on the way in.
“This is quite a place,” she said admiringly. It made her realize again just how important a star he was. He made it so easy to forget. He was so normal and human scale, in his dealings with people and in the way he looked, that it was hard to associate his appearance and demeanor with his stature in the world. But even Jean had reminded her that Chase Taylor was a huge celebrity. And the house was in keeping with that, no matter how discreet it was, or how simply and tastefully he had decorated it. The art alone was worth a fortune, as were the antiques. “I love your house,” she said simply, and he looked thrilled.
“I was hoping you would like it,” he said, as an oversize golden retriever came to lick his hand and check her out. “That’s Frank. George is asleep upstairs.” She knew that George was an English bulldog he had brought back from Europe after one of his tours. They were his beloved friends. Frank was wagging his tail frantically with a ball in his mouth to get their attention, and she reached out for it. “Don’t even start,” Chase warned her. “He’ll never leave you alone after that. He’s obsessed. He follows me around all day with his ball. And he sings. He howls whenever we play. He can’t stay in the studio when we do, or all we’ll hear on the tracks is him.” Everyone laughed when he said it, because they all knew it was true. And Stephanie patted Frank’s head. She hadn’t had a dog since Charlotte left for college. Their Lab had died three years before, and Bill didn’t want her to replace him. He said it was too much work and made no sense with the kids gone. But she missed having a dog, particularly now, and she’d been thinking of getting another one. Seeing Frank made it seem like an even better idea. His devotion to Chase was complete.
“When can I meet George?” she inquired, and Chase promised to take her upstairs when they finished work. He shooed Frank out of the room then, and closed the soundproof door of the studio, and pulled up the stool he had gotten for her. It was comfortable and very high, and he placed it so she could see everything going on in the room and watch them work. And it was close enough so he could see her too. He handed her a set of earphones so she could hear the music on the tracks, and listen to the mix. It was an impressive high-tech studio, and she could tell that the equipment had cost a fortune, but this was where they recorded his albums. It was the heart and soul of his life, and his work.
They started a few minutes later, and she made not a sound for the many hours that they worked. They worked for four hours without taking a break, and then at a sign from Chase, they all stopped what they were doing.
“Let’s eat,” he said to everyone there. He was satisfied with what they’d done so far, and was finally willing to take a break, although they had several hours left to do. He turned to Stephanie then for the first time, and he looked at her intently. He was very serious about his work. “What did you think?” he asked her, although she knew nothing about his business. But she could tell how skilled and meticulous he was. He paid attention to every detail, and made them go over the same pieces again and again until they all got it right. And he was just as demanding of himself, and a relentless taskmaster with Sandy to teach her her craft. She had performed beautifully on what they’d recorded.
“It sounded fabulous to me,” she said honestly.
“We have a lot more to do,” he explained. “We won’t finish it tonight.” He walked into the kitchen and she followed him, and a lavish spread had appeared on the granite counters, of southern fried chicken, barbecued ribs, salads and pasta, sashimi, and cold lobster. It was an incredible meal, and they were all ravenous as they dug in, even Sandy. They had worked hard. And Stephanie heaped food onto her plate along with them. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was too until now. And the food looked too good to resist. She helped herself to lobster and sashimi and some ribs.
They talked about what they’d been recording, during dinner, and Chase outlined what he wanted to finish that night. He didn’t fool around while he was working, although he chatted with Stephanie while they ate, and made small talk with the others. They all helped themselves to thick slabs of chocolate cake and cheesecake, and an hour after they’d started eating, they went back to the studio and got to work.
It was three in the morning when they finished. Stephanie was surprised to see that they looked exhilarated instead of exhausted. It was obvious that they loved what they were doing, and equally so that they admired and respected Chase. Charlie said that he was a genius. He had an infallible sense for his music.
The members of the band left quickly and promised to be back the next morning. Chase told them he wouldn’t join them until the afternoon, and he looked at Stephanie mysteriously as he said it.
“We’re going somewhere tomorrow,” he told them, and no one seemed to mind. They had enough to work on, on their own, until he got back. He had given them all assignments and told Sandy to rest her voice. She had worked hard that night, and he didn’t want it to show in what they recorded the next day.
And then finally they were alone in the kitchen where he said he spent most of his time.
“Do you want to come upstairs for a minute?” he asked her with a mischievous expression. She had an instant’s hesitation, then quickly agreed. She was sure he was only going to show her the house and would never cross any boundaries with her, without her permission. He had always been respectful of her so far, and never took advantage of her or treated her as more than a friend, which was all she was prepared to be for now, in spite of Jean’s fantasies about them. She didn’t share her friend’s point of view, of sleeping with him for the hell of it, because he was handsome and who he was. She wanted more than that if she came to care about him. Stephanie had never been promiscuous even before she married Bill, or when she was in college. Bill was the only man she had ever slept with, and she wasn’t ready to move on. She still felt as though Bill was her husband, even though he was gone, and she had said as much to Chase.
He led her straight to his bedroom, down a long hall, with important paintings hanging all along the walls. And his bedroom was an enormous, simply decorated room overlooking the garden. She could hear George before she saw him. He was snoring louder than any man, lying on Chase’s bed, with his head on the pillow, his eyes closed, and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. It was the portrait of bliss. He looked at both of them then, opening one eye with acute annoyance, picked up his head briefly, glanced at her, dropped his head back on the pillow with his eyes closed, and snored even louder, as though to admonish them for waking him at all.
“That’s George,” Chase said with a fatherly tone. George’s face was one only a mother could love, and Stephanie couldn’t help laughing.
“He’s gorgeous.” Chase could see that she meant it, and was delighted by her response.
“He’s got really bad manners. And he’s a rotten host. He hates it when I have people over. Frank loves it. George never comes downstairs when anyone’s here. I took him to a hotel with me once, and the people in the rooms on either side complained all night because he snored so loud. The hotel never let me bring him back. He sounds like a 747 taking off.” But Chase was crazy about him, and she could see it. “I wanted you to meet him.”
“If this is some kind of test, he doesn’t look impressed.”
“No, he doesn’t. That’s standard behavior for him. If he didn’t like you, he’d growl. He’s fine. He’s just snoring. I have to wake him in the morning, or he’d never get up. He’s the laziest dog alive. Frank walks him around the garden on a leash, and George hates it. He’d rather stay in bed. And he eats enough for two men. I worry that he’ll get fat.” He already was, but Stephanie didn’t say it. They watched the sleeping dog for a few minutes, and then Chase put an arm around her shoulders and walked her out of the room and toward the stairs. “Come on, I’ll take you home.” He looked happy to have introduced her to his dog.
“You must be exhausted. I can take a cab.” She felt guilty making his night any longer than it had already been, after their intense work session.
“I’m fine. I’m used to this. And you’re not taking a cab anywhere,” he said sternly. He walked into the garage and opened the door to the Corvette for her to get in.
And on the way back to the hotel, he kept another promise. He drove her past the Parthenon in Centennial Park, so she could see it all lit up at night. It was even more beautiful than in the daytime, as he had said. And a few minutes later, they were back at her hotel. He got out to open the car door for her and looked down at her for a minute.
Country Page 12
