Page 35 of Ashes to Ashes

Grace was a consummate professional, the go-to for celebrity interviews. She didn’t do softball questions, but she also did her best to make sure her subjects weren’t on the defensive either. To think journalism hadn’t been her first choice of career came as a surprise.

“Wow, Maine?” I asked, settling into my chair as Sam, her large, silent cameraman, attached an inconspicuous mic to my sweater and adjusted the background lighting to avoid harsh glares and shadows.

“It’s my favorite place in the world,” she remarked as she took a seat across from me. “I’d move there in a heartbeat if I wouldn’t go stir crazy in about a month. I have a house there I visit so I get myfill.”

“I hope you don’t take offense, but I can’t picture you as a shop owner. You’re just … well, you’re an anchor, through and through.”

She laughed. “No offense taken. I’m good at my job and I do love it, but it’s high pressure too.” She turned to Sam and gave a brief nod. Then, shifting her focus back to me, asked, “If you could do anything else in the world other than be a singer, what would itbe?”

The shift from casual chit-chat to interview mode was fluid, which made it all the more startling. I glanced quickly out the side of my eye and saw the red light of Sam’s camera. We were rolling.

“Um …” I hesitated and Grace smiled encouragingly at me. “Honestly? I’ve never really thought about it,” I finally answered. “I’ve wanted to be a singer ever since I was a little girl, and everything I’ve done since has been in support of that dream.”

“That’s right,” she replied. “You were the first winner of Country Superstar. If you hadn’t done the show, what do you think would be different about yourlife?”

“Well, for starters, I doubt I’d have earned a Grammy nomination by the time I was twenty-one,” I answered, self-deprecatingly.

“And four more after that,” she reminded her viewers.

“Yes, five nominations in total.”

“Are awards important to youthen?”

Her questions were coming fast and furious. I hadn’t even answered the previous one before she jumped to another, entirely different topic.

Sensing my discomfort and discombobulation, Grace leaned forward and squeezed my knee. “I know I’m firing questions at you rather quickly, but I’ve found over the years it tends to produce more honest answers. If you’re not anticipating my next question, you can’t anticipate your answer either. Don’t worry about the conversation not making linear sense. We’ll go back later and string it together cohesively in post-production.”

“Oh, okay,” I replied, still slightly dazed. I’d been on stage most of my life, but the particulars of an intimate one-on-one interview, especially with a powerhouse like Grace Trombley, were still new tome.

Grace leaned back in her seat and cleared her throat. “Right now, I’m trying to give the audience a feel for who you are underneath all the fame and fortune to the backbone and steel resolve that exists within you. This way, when we get to some of your later life—the things you’ve never discussed before—we’ve primed the audience to see your inherent strength versus your weakness.”

“Um, thank you,” I responded, my cheeks reddening.

“No problem.” She turned and nodded at Sam to begin again.

“Are awards important to you, Rae?”

While Rocky had given Grace several stipulations for the interview, she’d had only one of her own: that I tell the truth to the best of my ability. Since this whole thing was about setting Ford’s lies to rights, being honest was my goal aswell.

I considered my answer thoughtfully and then took a deep breath. “The truth is, every artist wants to win awards for their work since it’s the pinnacle of professional validation.” Another deep breath. “But the other truth is that even though I’ve been nominated five times, I only thought one of them was deserved. The others came during years where better artists hadn’t put out any new music, so my efforts shone that much brighter.”

Grace did a superb job of hiding her reaction from the camera, but I could tell my answer startled her. “I’m sure you’re just being modest,” she said sweetly.

“I assure you, I’m not,” I laughed. “Ask my manager and he’ll confirm there’s not a modest bone in mybody.”

Without missing a beat, she pivoted to the subject that had precipitated our conversation in the first place. “It’s interesting that you would say that since your ex-husband, actor Crawford Madigan, has often said you’re very demanding and that you hold everyone to a very high standard.”

I licked my lips, suddenly parched, and took a drink from the sparkling water at my elbow. “Well, I don’t know that I’d say I’m demanding, but Ford’s not wrong when he says I hold people to high standards. I’d argue though that I don’t expect anything from others that I’m not willing to give myself.”

There, that was a good answer, wasn’tit?

“And would you say Ford not being able to meet those standards was one of the things that led to your divorce?” she volleyed right back without missing abeat.

I set my glass to the side, happy to see my hands weren’t shaking, and then met her stare. “I’d say there were several factors that led to the breakdown of my marriage, not the least of which was the fact that Ford wasn’t the man I thought he was when we got married.”

“Do you care to elaborate?”

I looked out the window briefly and noticed the sun was beginning to set behind the trees. Flicking my eyes back to Grace, I said, “I was very young when I first met Ford and, as I’m sure everyone knows, he is very charismatic. At first, I was flattered that someone as famous as he was knew my name, and then I was overwhelmed when he pursuedme.”

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