Good Girls Don't Date Rock Stars(76)

“Oh, that’s too bad. Well, I hope he hurries home. Those fool reporters have been writing some serious whoppers; they ought to be strung up. At least Miss Know It All left you alone; there was barely a blip about you in today’s edition.”

Sure, if you call a quarter of a page a blip. Miss Know It All’s report that there might be trouble between them when Travis left town four days before his concert date was mild in comparison to what was in the major gossip rags this week, so she should be grateful. The gossip columnist could have gone with any of the headlines decorating the magazine covers and blaring from the entertainment TV shows:

TRAVIS BOWER’S SECRET LOVE CHILD WITH HIGH-SCHOOL SWEETHEART!

COUNTRY MUSIC’S #1 BACHELOR GETS HITCHED IN VEGAS!

TRAVIS’S DOUBTS: IS HIS SON REALLY HIS?

On and on they went, each one more humiliating than the last. Some had been so accurate, she’d been ashamed to read them, and others had just made her want to punch someone. If she ever discovered who’d brought this shitstorm down on them, she would teach them a lesson about what happens when you make Mama Bear angry.

Half an hour later, she was struggling to find her car keys in her purse when she heard a definite southern drawl ask, “Excuse me, Mrs. Bowers?”

Gemma looked up from her futile search and glared at the tall, brassy blonde with hair so high and stiff it must have taken a whole can of hairspray to achieve. “Yes?”

“Well, hey there, can I help you? You look like me when I drop my lipstick in my purse. Don’t know why I carry so much stuff. I guess I always think I’m gonna need it someday.” The blonde took hold of the cart handle, and Gemma grabbed her purse quickly as the strange woman pushed it forward.

“Um, Ms . . . .” Gemma protested.

“Oh, my name is Mrs. Lisa Collier, originally from the great state of Mississippi. Tupelo, to be exact. You ever been to Tupelo? Birthplace of Elvis, and believe me, we don’t let anyone forget it. Even got his likeness frosted on a window at our McDonald’s. ’Course, I’ve been living in Nashville since I was eighteen, and it’s where I met my husband, Nelson. Wouldn’t have looked at him twice, but we were in the same dorm in college and lordy, if he didn’t stand outside my window one night singing Kenny Roger’s song ‘Lady’. Mind you, he couldn’t carry a tune, but . . .”

“Mrs. Collier!” Gemma almost yelled, but geez, the woman didn’t even breathe from one sentence to the next.

Gemma’s sharp tone didn’t faze her. “Am I talking too much? Nelson always says I talk too much. My brain just goes a mile a minute, and I can’t seem to get my mouth to stay shut.”

Gemma coughed to cover a laugh. “So I see. You mind telling me why you’re trying to steal my groceries?”

“Huh? Oh dear, it seems I forgot to ask where you were parked. I swear, I would lose my head if it wasn’t glued on, and wouldn’t that be a sight?”

Gemma was caught between exasperation and admiration. The woman sure could disarm her victims, like a spider disorienting a fly. Gemma had no doubt in her mind that the woman was a reporter, but the question was, why hadn’t Gemma sent her packing yet?

’Cause I can’t get a word in edgewise?

“Okay, Mrs. Collier, I think I know why you’re here, and I’m sorry, but I’m not giving any interviews,” Gemma said as nicely as she could.

“Believe me, honey, I understand. I just got to the party today. I was covering another scoop involving an up-and-coming country singer and her married manager, but I ended up not going through with it, because I actually know the cheating bastard’s wife. I ask you, why is it no one believes in the sanctity of marriage anymore?”

“I couldn’t tell you. My parents were fully committed and married for thirty years until my father’s death five years ago,” Gemma said, forgetting for a minute that Mrs. Collier was the enemy.

“Well, bless your poor mama’s heart, I wouldn’t know what to do without my Nelly. He hates when I call him that, but I love it. So, I find it surprising that your parents had such a long, happy marriage and you ran off to Vegas to get married . . .” Mrs. Collier said.

“On that note, it was nice talking to you and good luck with your story,” Gemma said, trying to take the cart from her.

“Please, Mrs. Bowers, you’ve seen the headlines. They’re saying whatever they want because you’re sitting back and not setting the record straight. Don’t you want people to know the whole story?” Mrs. Collier asked.

Gemma paused, considering what she was saying. Travis had said the only way to squash a story was to give a no-holds-barred exclusive. Was he right? If she told her side of everything, would the vultures find other bones to pick? “Okay, say I give you an exclusive. How do I know you won’t screw me over and twist my words?”

“I can give you my word, plus three references from past interviewees who will vouch for my integrity. You won’t regret sitting down with me, Mrs. Bowers,” Mrs. Collier said, handing her a business card. “I’m staying in town through tomorrow.”

Gemma took the card and blinked. “Music City News? The TV show?”

“Yes, sorry, did I forget to mention that? It’s a great program, and we’re all about the truth, unlike some ‘news’ shows,” Mrs. Collier said with a sniff of disdain.