Private Scandals

everyone’s ready for a great show.” She scanned the audience as she spoke and was pleased with the demographics. It was a good mix of age, sex and race—an important visual for the camera pans. “Anyone here a Deke Barrow fan?”
    She laughed heartily at the next round of applause. “Me too,” she said, though she detested country music in any form. “I’d say we’re all in for a treat.”
    She nodded, settled back, legs crossed, hands folded over the arm of her chair. The red light on the camera blinked on. The intro music swung jazzily through the air.
    “ ‘Lost Tomorrows,’ ‘That Green-Eyed Girl,’ ‘One Wild Heart.’ Those are just a few of the hits that made today’s guest a legend. He’s been a part of country-music history for more than twenty-five years, and his current album, Lost in Nashville, is zooming up the charts. Please join me in welcoming, to Chicago, Deke Barrow.”
    The applause thundered out again as Deke strode out onstage. Barrel-chested, with graying temples peeking out from beneath his black felt Stetson, Deke grinned at the audience before accepting Angela’s warm handshake. She stood back, letting him milk the moment by tipping his hat.
    With every appearance of delight, she joined in the audience’s standing ovation. By the end of the hour, she thought, Deke would stagger offstage. And he wouldn’t even know what had hit him.
     
    Angela waited until the second half of the show to strike. Like a good host, she had flattered her guest, listened attentively to his anecdotes, chuckled at his jokes. Now Deke was basking in the admiration as Angela held the mike for excited fans as they stood to ask questions. She waited, canny as a cobra.
    “Deke, I wondered if you’re going by Danville, Kentucky, on your tour. That’s my hometown,” a blushing redhead asked.
    “Well now, I can’t say as we are. But we’ll be in Louisville on the seventeenth of June. You be sure to tell your friends to come on by and see me.”
    “Your Lost in Nashville tour’s going to keep you on the road for several months,” Angela began. “That’s rough on you, isn’t it?”
    “Rougher than it used to be,” he answered with a wink. “I ain’t twenty anymore.” His broad, guitar-plucking hands lifted and spread. “But I gotta say I love it. Singing in a recording studio can’t come close to what it’s like to sing for people.”
    “And the tour’s certainly been a success so far. There’s no truth, then, to the rumor that you may have to cut it short because of your difficulties with the IRS?”
    Deke’s congenial grin slipped several notches. “No, ma’am. We’ll finish it out.”
    “I feel safe in speaking for everyone here when I say you have our support in this. Tax evasion.” She rolled her eyes in disbelief. “They make you sound like Al Capone.”
    “I really can’t talk about it.” Deke shuffled his booted feet, tugged at his bola tie. “But nobody’s calling it tax evasion.”
    “Oh.” She widened her eyes. “I’m sorry. What are they calling it?”
    He shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “It’s a disagreement on back taxes.”
    “ ‘Disagreement’ is a mild word for it. I realize you can’t really discuss this while the matter’s under investigation, but I think it’s an outrage. A man like you, who’s brought pleasure to millions, for two generations, to be faced with potential financial ruin because his books weren’t in perfect order.”
    “It’s not as bad as all that—”
    “But you’ve had to put your home in Nashville on the market.” Her voice dripped sympathy. Her eyes gleamed with it.“I think the country you’ve celebrated in your music should show more compassion, more gratitude. Don’t you?”
    She hit the right button.
    “Seems like the tax man doesn’t have much to do with the country I’ve been singing about for twenty-five years.” Deke’s mouth thinned, his eyes hardened like agates. “They look at dollar signs. They don’t think about how hard a man’s worked. How much he sweats to make something of himself. They just keep slicing at you till most of what’s yours is theirs. They turn honest folk into liars and cheaters.”
    “You’re not saying you cheated on your taxes, are you, Deke?” She smiled guilelessly when he froze. “We’ll be back in a moment,” she said to the camera, and waited until the red light blinked off. “I’m sure most of us here have been squeezed by the IRS, Deke.”