Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9)

by Heather Wardell

  "I thought it kept enough of the Misty sound. But okay. I won't try again."

  She gave him a crisp nod as if his agreement had been a done deal. I suspected it had been; I didn't get the impression that Jo tolerated much dissension in her ranks.

  Tim, CD in hand, turned to go, and I realized the melody he'd played for us was still dancing through my mind. It had been gorgeous. Thinking my lyrics deserved such a song was quite a compliment, even though his assessment of my music as 'bubble gum' wasn't. "Thanks, though, Tim. It really was pretty."

  "I'll let Jez know," he said, and left without another word.

  Jo shook her head. "Don't let him change you, okay? He's always trying to get my singers to do what he calls 'something real'. I'm surprised he didn't say that to you today. Feel free to kick him if he does."

  A sudden sharp anger flashed through me, probably a delayed response to the 'bubble gum' comment. "Absolutely."

  *****

  I spent an hour or two rehearsing with my backup dancers then returned to Jo's office to meet my three potential assistants. Before letting the first one in, Jo assured me they were all very qualified so I should pick whoever I liked most. One, apparently, had worked for Angel Dove for a while, but when I asked Jo why that ended she simply shook her head and said, "That girl," and I didn't feel like I should push for more details.

  The first candidate could have given Roberto and Jacques a few style lessons, and his half-sneer when he looked at me didn't make me want to work with him, but I asked the questions Jo had given me and noted his answers like I was considering him since it felt rude to snap, "Never mind, next!"

  Second came a young woman in a sleek black pantsuit, clearly high-energy and bubbling over with ideas about how she would help me grow my career and keep everything moving and make sure all of my communication was exactly "on point". Her answers made sense, but the longer she talked the more tired I felt. I'd never be able to keep up with her, and she'd always make me feel slow and dopey.

  When she left, looking a little surprised at not being immediately offered the job, she passed without comment through the door being held for her by a woman probably in her late thirties.

  This third candidate was brown everywhere: eyes, hair, slightly too small but immaculate suit, older shoes buffed to a high gleam. Though she was clearly nervous, she answered all of my questions, and the few Jo lobbed into each interview to keep the candidate off-guard, with a calm relaxed manner, and just being near her soothed me. She didn't have the polish of the other two, but then again neither did I. I was an outsider in this wild glamorous world, and it was clear to me that this Cindy was too.

  When she left and I told Jo I wanted her, she gave me a surprised look. "Not Katie? She seemed so energetic."

  "Bordering on hyper. I liked Cindy."

  "Well, she did do a good job for Angel, so sure."

  I blinked. "I assumed it was Katie who'd worked for Angel."

  Jo shook her head. "Angel ditched her after a few months, since she wanted her assistant to have a more 'appropriate image'." The snark in her voice at this was clear, and I smiled. Jo smiled back and added, "But Cindy worked incredibly hard, so you could do a lot worse. I nearly took her on myself but I didn't need another assistant. Want me to call her now?"

  I did, and I smiled when I heard Cindy's excitement through the phone Jo held.

  Chapter Nine

  Cindy proved to be a great choice. She immediately took over my schedule and made sure I always knew where I needed to be and got there in plenty of time, Marcus loved her for nudging me to stay on my diet plan when I craved chocolate, and I greatly appreciated how she sympathized with me when I complained about Jason.

  My boyfriend, home for a few days before he'd be returning to Dubai, didn't like much about my career but especially couldn't seem to cope with how much time I was spending with Tim. Yes, we spent hours together, since Jo had granted me the time now that my image was well in hand, coming up with new songs and revising some of his existing ones for me, but it was entirely work-related. I'd never cheat, and even if I would I didn't have the time or energy. Misty's schedule was all-consuming.

  Tim and I had grown bored with the same four walls of Sapphire Angel's small conference room so we'd decided to spend Thursday afternoon, and probably the evening too depending how the songs were flowing, at a spacious but windowless coffee shop where all the celebrities hung out. The place was so exclusive that despite having lived in Toronto all my life I hadn't known the unmarked door went anywhere until Tim told me, so we wouldn't be bothered there.

  Except maybe by Jason, because at the end of our lunchtime phone argument over my time spent with Tim I'd snapped the address at him and said, "Come see me work if you don't believe me."

  Deep into a song with Tim, too engrossed even to sneak peeks at the three movie stars sitting across from us discussing their possible future projects, I'd almost forgotten about telling Jason where I'd be. Working with Tim challenged me too much to think about anything else. He pushed me hard, and sometimes I resented it, but with him my lyrics were better than I'd ever thought possible. He didn't let me get away with good or even great words, encouraging me instead to find the one perfect line to give a song more depth without taking away the lighter tone.

  "Come on, Amy, think. There has to be a better way to end this verse."

  I screwed up my face and shut my eyes, singing the words to myself over and over. I could feel it, tickling at my mind. The words were there. I just needed to let them out.

  Before I could figure out how, raised voices at the front door made me open my eyes.

  "You don't belong here."

  "My girlfriend is— Amy! Over here!"

  Tim shot me a look that said, "He shouldn't be attracting attention to you like that," but as Jason was released by the doorman and stalked toward us I decided I'd let it go this time.

  I pushed a chair out for him with my foot. "We could use a break for a few minutes, I think. Jason, this is Tim, my lyricist. Tim, Jason's my boyfriend."

  They shook hands, then we sat in an awkward silence until Jason said, "I'll go grab myself a coffee. You guys need anything?"

  We didn't, so he went to the counter a few feet away.

  Tim said, "You looked like you almost had that last line."

  I nodded and tapped the back of my head. "It's right here."

  "It'll fall out when you least expect it. Hey, saw your video last night. That came out great."

  I couldn't hold back a grin. The video's concept, basically me trying on an endless array of prom dresses and matching wigs before going out to meet and dance with my unbelievably gorgeous date, had seemed ridiculous to me while filming, but when Jo showed me the finished product after the assistant interviews I'd been stunned and delighted by how vibrant and exciting it was. It would go live Friday at midnight, along with the song itself. In less than two days. I could hardly get my head around that. "Thanks. I'm really happy with it."

  "Did you go to your prom?"

  My happiness faded and I shook my head. "After Giselle, my friend, died in September, I wasn't in the mood for prom."

  I saw him wondering why I still hadn't been in the mood by the spring, but he didn't ask. Good. I wouldn't discuss the breakdown I'd suffered my senior year of high school.

  Jason returned, and brought the awkward silence back with him. Eventually Tim broke it. "So, Jason, what do you think of all this?" His hand gesture took in me and the papers on the table and the private coffee shop.

  Jason shrugged. "It's up to her, of course."

  "Sure, but what do you think?"

  He obviously didn't want to say what he thought in front of me.

  "What did you call me yesterday," I said to Tim, "bubble gum?"

  He winced. "I shouldn't have—"

  "Well, I think Jason thinks the same thing."

  Jason didn't deny it. To Tim, he said, "I just think she could be doing something better, more meaningful."r />
  Tim said, "Sorry, Amy, but I feel the same way."

  "Don't remember asking either of you," I said, trying to hide my hurt in fake grumpiness. I was more hurt by Tim saying it, which surprised me, but Jason bothered me too.

  "Well, you know I feel that way." Tim gave me an apologetic smile. "I guess I made it clear yesterday."

  Jason frowned at Tim. "It makes sense I'd think that, but I wouldn't have thought you would. I mean, you're in the business too, right?"

  Tim blinked. "Which is why I know she's able to do bigger and better things."

  It seemed to hit all three of us at once, how differently they meant 'better', but Jason decided to articulate it. "You think she should be doing music?"

  "Without a doubt. She's great at it." Tim looked at me, his eyes warm, and gave me a salute. "You are, you know."

  I had to smile, amused by the appearance of the saluting thing Jez had mentioned and touched by his clear sincerity and by what I knew was meant to be an apology for the 'bubble gum' thing, and he smiled back then turned to Jason and said, "I only agreed with you because I thought you meant she should be doing deeper songs."

  Jason mumbled something about how of course that was what he'd meant, but we all knew it wasn't. He didn't think my new career was worth anything no matter what I sang. I sighed, annoyance and hurt rising in me.

  "Well, that's good," Tim said, as if he believed Jason. "She's going to be crazy busy for the next while so I'm glad she's got your full support."

  Sarcasm crept into his voice at the end, their eyes met and locked, and I wondered whether the coffee shop had ever seen a fistfight and whether it was about to get one now.

  Then the lyric I'd been hunting for appeared in my mind like a gift from above.

  "Breathing it all in!"

  They looked confused, but Tim's face quickly cleared and he clapped me on the shoulder. "Perfect. Write it down so you won't forget."

  I did, although it was so right I couldn't imagine I'd lose it, and Tim explained to Jason, "She was looking for a line and it wasn't cooperating." Back to me, Tim said, "That feels good, eh? Finally finding it?"

  I grinned at him. "Terrific."

  Jason leaned over and gave me a kiss, not quite long enough to be blatantly offensive to Tim but definitely long enough to stake a claim he didn't need to stake. "Congrats," he said when his mouth left mine. "We'll celebrate tonight."

  Uncomfortable, I ducked my head. "Thanks. Look, we should probably get back to work."

  "Oh, sure," he said. "When do you expect to be home tonight?"

  "I'll aim for nine."

  "I'll be waiting," he said in a mock-sappy voice. Then he stood up. "Nice meeting you, Tim."

  He held out his hand, and Tim stood and drew himself to his full height, a hair taller than Jason, before shaking it. "You too."

  When Jason had left, Tim said, "Nice guy," in a voice so neutral it made Switzerland look hopelessly biased.

  "Don't. He's my boyfriend, and—"

  "What? I said he was nice."

  Did I want to fight this? Was there any point? Jason had acted like a top-notch jerk, kissing me like that and actually admitting he didn't think a music career was worthwhile, and Tim wouldn't believe my defense of Jason even if I wanted to do it. Which I didn't. "Well, fine then. Let's get back to work."

  Chapter Ten

  I sat, accompanied by Jo and Tim and Jez and Steven and Cindy, in Jo's private viewing room in front of an enormous flat-screen television. Pizza boxes and pop cans littered the conference table before us but I was too nervous to eat. "Prom Night Promise", Misty's first song, was debuting on the MusicLand channel in the States and Canada's MusicStation in five minutes, and my whole career could be over in ten.

  "Come on, one slice. You need food."

  I probably did, since we'd been working hard all day on the video for "Out Loud". But Marcus wouldn't like me going off his diet plan, and my stomach was flipping around too much to handle greasy food anyhow. "Sorry, Cindy, I don't think I can handle it."

  She patted me on the shoulder and picked up her own plate, and Tim slipped out of the room, returning with a pack of plain crackers from the vending machine in the cafeteria. "You like these, right?"

  I laughed. Marcus had approved them as a snack so I'd been eating at least a pack a day while working with Tim so I wouldn't instead eat cookies or chocolate. "Is it that obvious?"

  He smiled and handed me the crackers. "Nah. I'm just observant. And maybe a diet ginger ale too?" He held one out to me.

  My throat tightened at his sweetness, but I cleared it and said, "That'd be great. Thanks."

  He smiled and tapped his fingers to his forehead in a small but nonetheless clear salute. I still thought it was a little weird but I was getting used to it.

  The food and drink did help, but when the manically energetic MusicStation host began raving about me and "Prom Night Promise" terror flooded me. If I bombed here, I'd never make the money for the center.

  "Breathe, kiddo." Jo patted me on the back. "I know. I'm nervous too. But it'll be fine. It's terrific."

  The video began to play, and we sat in silence and watched the images and heard the song we all knew so well. Then came the moment we were both waiting for and dreading: the audience reaction.

  They went wild.

  Granted, most of them just wanted a few seconds of fame so acted as excited as they possibly could so they'd be shown on TV, but when the host had them vote via a little electronic buzzer on whether they liked the song I could barely breathe until...

  "Ninety-five percent approval!" Jo crowed, and hugged me so hard I could still barely breathe.

  Ecstatic, I hugged her back, but had to ask, "What did the Americans think?"

  She flipped to her recording of their show, and we cheered at the approval rating of ninety-seven percent, apparently a new record for a debut artist.

  Jo turned to me, her eyes sparkling. "Misty, baby, you are a star."

  *****

  Despite my massive success, Jo wasn't content to rest at all. Once we'd finished congratulating each other, she said, "I'd love to see you bring out a new song every Friday until your tour. That's four more. And hey, let's do two extra to release during the tour. You can do that, right?"

  Before I could answer, Jez groaned. "Mother, come on. She's not a machine."

  "Sapphire Angel did two full albums in two months."

  "With the help of various illegal substances, and did you or did you not have both your drummer and a guitarist quit the band after those two months?"

  They locked eyes, then Jo grabbed her daughter's hair in both hands. "You are a nightmare child. I should never have let you read my autobiography."

  "So true. I'm still in therapy for it." She winked at me and I snickered. I'd asked Jez earlier that day whether she'd felt her mother's fame had helped her career and had been surprised when she'd admitted she'd fought her desire to write and record music for several years because of Jo's connections in the industry. "Didn't want to look like I just followed her in and rode on her coattails. But I couldn't fight it forever. It's what I'm meant to do. I love it way too much not to." I'd choked up a little at her words, which didn't make much sense, but then I often got teary when I was tired.

  Tired? With what Jo was asking, I'd end up looking back fondly on my present exhaustion, reminiscing about the good old days when I was merely tired instead of comatose.

  Jo released Jez and said to me, "I know it's a lot, but we need to keep up the momentum. You are white hot right now and we have to go after it. Deal?"

  With the excitement of my first single's release and the public's rave reviews thereof, I couldn't say anything but, "Deal."

  But oh, what a weekend. She let us go home but insisted Tim and I come back to work on lyrics at nine in the morning, when Jez and Steven and the other musicians would begin laying down tracks for my third song "Strike It Right", another of Tim's that was a typical party anthem but still with a hint
of 'be who you are' that I liked.

  I spent most of Saturday with Tim, mostly adding my own touches to his already written songs because we didn't have time for me to write my own although we did take a short break and write half a new one together, then I hit the recording studio to add my voice to "Strike It Right" before grabbing a few hours sleep in my blissfully empty apartment. Jason had gone to visit his parents outside of Toronto. He hadn't invited me, but I wouldn't have been able to go anyhow.

  Sunday was more of the same, with the added wrinkle that there was an open rehearsal session in the afternoon for which I was stuffed into a hot-pants-and-bra-top costume and ogled by various media flacks. By the time we finished recording, at two in the morning, I was so tired I could barely walk to my waiting car.

  The driver Mac smiled at me. "Good evening. Or morning, I guess. Want a mint?"

  With all the hot-water-and-honey I'd drunk to soothe my throat, my mouth tasted sickly sweet. "Yes, please. Thanks so much."

  I lay back against the padded seat, dozing, as Mac drove me home. The whole driver thing seemed ridiculous to me, but I couldn't exactly take the subway any more. I'd be mobbed.

  Mac pulled into the sleekly manicured grounds of my new apartment building and stopped in front of the door. "See you later, Misty."

  I sighed inside. I'd tried to convince him to call me Amy but he'd simply said, "Jo said no," and that was the end of that. "You too. Thanks."

  He smiled, and I walked past the security guards to the elevator then let myself into the apartment.

  Jason sat on the couch, arms folded.

  Oh, hell. I did not need this now. He'd been silent about my crazy schedule, but the kind of silent that said much, and he was clearly about to break that silence. "Jason, can we do this tomorrow? Please."

  "You won't have time tomorrow."

  I wanted to protest, but he was right. My day was full of interviews and rehearsals and probably another late-night video shoot. I sank onto the couch, though I longed to go to bed. "Fine. What's up?"

  He shook his head. "The Dubai deal fell through."