by Nathan Roden
Veronica and several of the others looked at me with similar doubts.
“Perhaps the constant need to defend himself is what leads Mr. Westerhouse to assault his audience,” Veronica said. The statement dripped with some of the venom that I would bet she had stored up over the last year. This subject certainly came up fast. I knew that it would come up—I just thought it would take a little longer.
“I don’t refer to these people as part of my audience—,” I said before Q butted in.
“That—is how the court of public opinion works,”” Q said. He waved his hand toward the team gathered around the table. “Look at the team you have assembled. Look at the team you have to ensure that you have representation on every side. Now, imagine that you are trying to build up a fan-base inside of venues where any one boozed-up individual can show up and proclaim your ‘guilt’ to the entire world—without a fa—”
“Without a fair fight?” Veronica said.
Q leaned back in his chair.
“Yes,” he said, “Without a fair fight.”
“So, you expect Skyler’s legion of innocent children to accept her partnership with a barroom brawler who—”
“Stop it, Mother,” Skyler seethed through clenched teeth.
“What?” Veronica whipped around.
“Look,” Skyler said. “I don’t drink. I don’t do drugs. I don’t have a mugshot. There are no pictures or videos out there that show me out partying all night, and I don’t sleep around. But you know what? I might eventually do any or all of those things! Just like my fans might do any or all of those things!”
Skyler lowered her voice.
“You know what?” she said. “At some point, my living like a nun is going to start looking awfully unrealistic, and the fans won’t care anymore. They’ll disappear.”
“Don’t you realize how many others have been in this position before?” Veronica said softly. “In a similar position and at about the same age. Honey, all I’m trying to do is keep you from falling off the deep end.”
“All you’re trying to do is keep the hamster on the wheel!”
Most of the oxygen left the room, and no one could find a comfortable place to look.
“There are much better times and places for such discussions,” Veronica said without looking at her daughter.
“I agree,” Skyler said, “For once.”
Veronica said, “Maybe we should—”
“Maybe we should discuss what we came here to discuss, which is making Wylie Westerhouse a star,” Skyler said in a business-like tone.
There was another moment of uncomfortable silence.
“We’re looking at studio time beginning November twenty-third,” Chris Chadwick said.
“Black Friday,” Grayson Kilmister chimed in.
“That leaves about three weeks for picking songs and rehearsal,” Chris said. “I know you were looking at a New Year’s Eve launch for the tour, Sky, but that would be pushing it—”
Skyler shook her head.
“We’ll pull back on the date,” she said. “We’ll need more time to work up the choreography.”
“Are you talking about me?” I said, looking around.
Skyler winked at me.
“Let’s plan on a Valentine’s Day launch,” she said.
Gulp.
“What do you think, Sal?” Chris Chadwick was looking at Sal, the road manager.
Sal flipped his notebook over.
“February fourteenth….a Friday night. Perfect,” he said.
My head was swimming. This was really happening. Music industry heavy-hitters were making plans—plans that included me. It was exciting, but it also made me nervous. I had little money to my name, and my earning potential at Castle McIntyre was over.
“Where is this going to take place?” I asked. “The rehearsals, I mean.”
“Right here,” Skyler said.
“Okay,” I said. “There are lots of hotels not too far away.”
Skyler laughed.
“The dog-friendly hotel is on the other side of town,” she said. “Or did you forget about Toby?”
Crap. I had forgotten about Toby. And Duncan.
A sudden and unforeseen wave of depression washed over me. I had been so preoccupied with Skyler’s plan that it came as a shock how little thought I had given the important parts of my life. My face got hot and I felt like a shallow pig. Q kicked my foot under the table.
“You’ll stay here—in the guest house,” Skyler said. “That way we’re not losing time to travel. Our schedule will still be tight. We have to get you used to the bands, and start rehearsals, choreography, and PT.”
“PT?” I said.
“Physical training,” she said, like she couldn’t believe I had to ask. “Or, personal trainer. Either way.”
“Really?” I said.
“Have you ever seen a pop concert?” Skyler asked.
Some of the others found this to be funny, and they were fighting to keep from laughing out loud.
“Not really. But I have been to some pretty high-energy shows,” I said.
Skyler waved a hand.
“You’re still young, and not exactly in bad shape,” she said. “But you’ll need to move—a lot—and sing, while not sounding like you’re hyperventilating.”
I glanced at Quentin, who was making an effort not to stare at Veronica and pretty much failing. So, I kicked his foot.
“Is she insulting me? She’s so pretty that it’s hard to tell,” I asked.
That made Skyler smile, which was something that I was becoming addicted to.
“So, how does this thing work?” I asked. “Are we on a trial basis, or a handshake agreement, or a contract?”
“You should never work without a contract, Wylie,” Skyler said.
“That would be my department,” Skip said. He took some papers and spun them around in front of Quentin and me.
“This is a single album contract,” Skip said. “It’s from Skyler’s label—you’ll recognize the logo in the letterhead. Feel free to look it over for as long as you like. Take a look at the list of names at the bottom. Skyler’s record sales have put those people’s children through college. I doubt that you will find anything to object to. The deal comes with a hundred thousand dollar advance.”
I looked at Q and then back at Skip.
“Is that a lot?”
Skip laughed.
“For a first contract, absolutely. That’s a lot,” he said. “I don’t think that they’re worried about losing money. They expect to recoup that amount just because your picture will be on Skyler’s website.”
I hadn’t noticed that Skyler was now standing beside me.
She threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek while camera flashes lit up the room.
And, so it begins.
Twenty-Nine
Cyrus and Scottie
Branson, Missouri
Cyrus Findlay and Scottie Rose checked into their hotel rooms at two o’clock in the afternoon; jet-lagged and exhausted. They attempted to check in at eleven o’clock in the morning but were told that they would have to wait until three o’clock in the afternoon. They intended to pass the time sitting in the lobby, but neither could stay awake. They were rousted by the hotel staff when they began to snore loudly.
Cyrus and Scottie left the lobby and wolfed down their first and last American cheeseburgers. They left the restaurant and walked until they spotted a liquor store. They walked in and Cyrus bought two bottles without any discussion. They sat on a park bench and finished one of the bottles. When they walked back to the hotel, neither was able to walk in a straight line. Although it was only ten minutes before two, the desk clerk handed them their room keys and hurried them to the elevator.
Eleven hours later, Cyrus and Scottie were wide awake and hungry. The long flights and the time difference had their body clocks completely confused.
“Hey, look at this,” Scottie said. He was holding a Branson T
ourism magazine. The back cover featured an advertisement for one of Branson, Missouri’s newest attractions—the six-hundred-year-old Castle McIntyre.
“Well, that won’t be hard to find,” Cyrus said. “But the place will be crawling with people. This isn’t good.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” Scottie said. He pulled a fake beard from a hidden compartment inside one of his suitcases.
“You’re supposed to look a little more like a professor and less like Santa Claus, Scottie,” Cyrus said.
“But nobody suspects Santa Claus,” Scottie said.
“Don’t have nothin’ to do with what people suspect, Scottie,” Cyrus said. “It has to do with bein’ invisible. We’re supposed to look boring. We don’t want anybody remembering us at all.”
“That shouldn’t be hard,” Scottie said. “People have been ignoring us for years.”
“Yeah, well, let’s keep it that way,” Cyrus said.
“So, tomorrow we follow her?” Scottie asked. “And find out where she lives?”
“Yeah,” Cyrus said. “We can’t do nothing at that castle. I’ll bet the place has security cameras—maybe even security guards.”
“We should go and look it over right now,” Scottie said. “It’s not far from here. There won’t be anybody there and we can get a good look at the ways to get in and out.”
“All right,” Cyrus said. “We’ll need to get used to our disguises, so let’s put them on before we leave. We might as well do something. I’m not sleepy anymore.”
“Me neither,” Scottie said.
Cyrus and Scottie walked the mile and a half to the grounds of the Castle McIntyre. They were surprised by the number of people walking the streets at that hour. Neither man had experienced a tourist town of this size. They stopped in the shadows that surrounded the castle.
“It sure is strange, seeing her standing here on the other side of the world,” Cyrus said.
“Aye, that’s for sure,” Scottie said. “Other than that, she looks the same.”
“Yeah,” Cyrus said. “Looks like all the parking is here on this side of the building. That should make it easy to follow her.”
“Let’s get back to the hotel,” Scottie said. “We’ve got a whole bottle left.”
“We can’t be havin’ any of that, now, Scottie,” Cyrus said. “Play time is over. We have to pick up a car, and I have to be able to concentrate well enough to drive on the wrong side of the road. There’ll be plenty of time for celebratin’ after this whole thing is over.”
Cyrus and Scottie were getting ready to leave when a light on the ground floor of the castle came on. They scrambled to hide behind the trees.
“That’s her,” Cyrus whispered.
Holly McFadden walked out to trash receptacle at the curb, dressed in a robe and slippers. She carried a trash bag that she threw into a larger container before she returned to the castle.
“Do you think she lives here?” Scottie asked.
“It looks that way,” Cyrus said. “She’s wearing a bathrobe at two o’clock in the morning—doesn’t leave much doubt.”
“What do we do now?” Scottie asked. “Call the whole thing off? Should we ask Wellmore?”
Cyrus spit on the ground.
“And risk him having a colossal meltdown?” Cyrus said. “That lunatic is just barely holdin’ himself together, Scottie. He might just fly over here and put a bullet between our eyes.”
“We take her from here, then?” Scottie asked.
“We take the tour tomorrow, just like we planned,” Cyrus said. “We need to find out exactly where she’s living. There must be some sort of living quarters in there.
“One way or another, we grab her tomorrow night—just like we planned.”
Thirty
Wylie Westerhouse
St. Louis, Missouri
Quentin was quiet, and his thoughts seemed to be a thousand miles away. He watched, as six members of the KwyK security staff oohed and ahhed over the Aston-Martin. Maybe it was meeting Veronica that had him a little off-center. The way Quentin described Blair, the woman he met at the Majestic Mizzou Bar and Grill in Branson, he could have also been describing Veronica KwyK.
“I’m awake now,” Q said. He held out his hand for his keys.
“What’s bothering you?” I asked as we pulled away.
“Just a short list of things,” he said.
“A whole list, huh?” I said.
“I came here to support you,” he said. “It’s not my place to play Devil’s Advocate.”
“That’s what consultants do, I’m afraid,” I said. “They tell it like it is, whether it’s comfortable or not.”
“Okay,” he said. “First of all, I had no idea that you were planning to become a teen idol.”
“Well, that’s what Skyler is,” I said. “That’s what she and her people do. It’s what they know.”
“I’ve just always imagined you doing something a little edgier—a little looser,” Q said. “You know—a little more attitude, a little grungy. I’m not judging, though. If this is what you want, then I’m one hundred percent behind you.”
“Would this be my first choice?” I said. “No. But it’s not that far off from America’s Brand New Voice. They were already steering me in the same direction.”
“But…dance routines? Choreography?” Q said. “You know what? Forget I said anything. It’s none of my business. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”
“What do you mean, Q?” I said. “Of course, it’s your business. You’re my acting manager. Look at it this way—if I’m able to build an audience, I’ll earn enough clout that I can wreck the occasional hotel room. I might even inspire my fans to throw their underpants on the stage.”
“We can always dream,” Q said. “Hopefully, it will mostly be the girls.”
“What did you think of Veronica?” I asked. “She’s quite a glass of water, huh?”
Q laughed.
“That’s a ‘tall drink of water’, you young whipper-snapper,” he said. “Yes, sir; that is one beautiful woman. Correction. Two beautiful women. You know for that first second, I thought…”
“She looks kind of like Blair, right?” I asked.
Q nodded.
“We haven’t yet hit on my major concern, though,” he said.
“Oh, great,” I said, “There’s more?”
Quentin was quiet for a few seconds as he merged into highway traffic. He sighed.
“It’s the timing,” he said. ”I never imagined that this plan would be on such a fast-track. A few days from now you’re going to climb on a roller-coaster that’s going full speed, and you won’t have time for anything else.”
“Yeah, that’s the way it sounds,” I said.
“What about Holly?” Q said.
Q didn’t even glance in my direction. We rode in silence for a few more seconds.
“I know,” I said. “What do you think I should do?”
Q shook his head.
“Nothing that I’ve learned over the course of my life could help me with that kind of decision,” Q said. “I don’t have a clue.”
“There is one other thing that figures into this,” I said. “My dad moved back in with my mom.”
“Hey, hey!” Q slapped his hand on the steering wheel. “Wait. That’s good news, right?”
“Not….necessarily,” I said. “Dad’s new wife asked him to leave. Her first husband came back home from New York. He has a mental health condition that was only recently diagnosed, and now he’s being properly treated for it. I guess having six kids who are stoked to have their dad come home was enough to change everything. My dad lost his job and he moved in with Mom because he has nowhere else to go.
“Dad never really got over Duncan’s passing. He’s not doing so well, and Mom might not be able to support both of them.”
Q blew out a long breath.
“Mr. Westerhouse, your life is extremely complicated,” Q said.
&nb
sp; “That’s what I’m thinking, too,” I said. “It makes me want to…build a birdhouse.”
“Welcome to my world,” Q said.
I swept my hand in front of me.
“I’m picturing an entire tropical island getaway—filled with birdhouses,” I said.
“Now, that is a noble goal, Good Sir,” Q said.
“I could ask Holly to come with me,” I said.
Q thought for a second.
“You could,” he said. “But I don’t think that will work. The search for her parents—who knows what is going to happen there? I don’t picture Holly sitting around and watching you night after night—waiting patiently for the few minutes you have to spare.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It would be like putting a sparrow in a cage.”
“My thoughts, exactly,” Q said.
“She’s been through so much,” I said. “She has lost…it sounds cruel to even talk about it. She’s about to lose her second family in less than a year.”
“I know,” Q said. “I’ve decided to leave the castle open for tours as long as Holly wants to stay. I don’t care if the residential variance passes or not—I don’t have the stomach to make her life any more difficult.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I guess Duncan is leaving, too.”
“Yeah,” Q said. “That’s tough.”
“I can’t blame him,” I said. “If it was his purpose was to meet up with his soul-mate after five hundred years, then more power to him. We all have to believe in something—so I have to believe that one day this will all make sense, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Q said.
“A one-of-a-kind love story—a love that transcends time—a couple united after five centuries,” I said in my dramatic movie-announcer voice.
“Maybe your fairy-tale ending is in the works, Q,” I said.
“Don’t make me pull this car over, young man,” he said.
