by Kristi Gold
His hand stilled against her arm. “She has a dad, and he’s a decent guy. He can give her what I never could. A life where people don’t invade your privacy because they think they have the right. He can give her his time.”
She lifted her head to look at him, stunned by the abject pain in his face. “But he’s not you, and he never will be. Maybe if you call her—”
“I don’t see the point,” he said. “It’ll only make it harder to let her go.”
“Then you’ve already decided.”
“She’s better off without me.”
“I don’t agree, and you’re definitely not better off without her. You’re hurting like hell and it’s not going to ever go away.”
“Well, I guess that’s just a burden I’ll have to bear. She’ll probably thank me for it later.”
Or she could hate him for it—a thought Cammie chose to keep to herself. He was already suffering enough.
He nudged her off his lap and stood. “I need to take a shower. Tim’s supposed to be here around six-thirty and that’s only two hours away.”
Just like that, he’d raised that same old emotional wall. A wall she’d hoped to tear down. Now she wasn’t certain she ever would. “Fine. I’ll use the guest bath to get ready.” She’d begun to feel like a guest, anyway.
Brett responded with a simple “Okay,” then disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and closed the door, in turn shutting her out.
Cammie felt she had to do something to encourage him to respond to his daughter, and that gave her an idea. It could very well backfire on her, but she didn’t believe he really wanted to let his daughter go without a fight. But if that happened to be the case, she worried she could be next.
* * *
CAMMIE HAD BARELY tossed the Caesar salad before the doorbell sounded. When she heard Tim and Brett engaged in casual greetings, she swept through the kitchen and out onto the stone patio carrying Brett’s earthenware dishes.
“Hey, there, Cammie.”
She set the plates down and turned to see Tim standing at the patio door wearing khaki slacks and a red golf shirt, an unlit cigar stump dangling from the corner of his mouth. She sincerely hoped it stayed unlit, at least during dinner.
She crossed the patio and shook his hand. “Can I get you something, maybe a beer or mixed drink?” Maybe a pamphlet on the dangers of smoking cigars?
“Scotch and water sounds good.”
“I’ll get it,” Brett said quickly, leaving Cammie alone with Tim for the time being.
She gestured at one of the white cushioned chairs she’d taken great pains to clean the past week. “Have a seat.”
After he complied, she took the chair opposite him and waited for Brett to return to bring the drink. She plucked at a thread dangling from the hem of her shorts, then smiled at Tim tentatively as she tried to think of something to say to break the awkward silence. “How are things going with Brett’s career?” Brilliant, Cammie. Like she hadn’t witnessed Brett’s booming success firsthand.
Tim leaned back, an exaggerated grin on his face that dwarfed the nub of the cigar. “All I’ll say right now is everything’s going to work out fine for both of you. I’ve got it all laid out. I’ll wait for Brett to explain.”
Baffled by the comment, she barely managed a smile. She’d assumed Tim was there to go into detail about Brett’s next tour and recording schedule. She suspected he could very well try to convince her to cut the track.
Brett walked onto the patio balancing three drinks in his hands. He set the first in front of Tim. “One Scotch and water, light on the water just the way you like it.” Then he handed her a red can of soda. “And the hard stuff for you.” After he sat down with his bottled beer, he turned his full attention on his manager. “What are you doing here, Tim?” he asked, revealing he was as clueless about the reasons for the visit as she was.
Tim took a long drink and shook his head, comically jiggling his jowls, reminding Cammie of a bulldog she once owned. “Good stuff.” He set his drink down on the glass-topped table and hitched his pants. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’m here because I wanted to confirm that we’re all set for Cammie to record with you.”
Exactly as she’d predicted. “Wait a minute. I still haven’t agreed to this.”
“Just hear me out, Cammie,” Tim said. “We want to recut ‘When You Know It’s Real’ just like you did it on the tour. We’re going to hold off releasing the single until we have you on the track.”
Cammie hesitated. “I don’t know, Tim. I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”
“You’re not even going to consider doing it?” Brett asked.
What they were offering was a life-altering experience. She wanted to say Sure, why not? But she didn’t like to be pressured. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I still have some reservations, though.”
Tim rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers together. “This is a good opportunity to hone your skills, Cammie. Many a singer would jump at this chance.”
“But I’ve never considered myself a singer in that sense.”
“The moment you sang onstage with Brett Taylor, you acquired that label. It’s not a derogatory designation. Hell, it’s a damn honor.”
Brett held up his hands to silence Tim. “Can I say something here?”
Tim sat back and sighed roughly. “Go ahead.”
He turned to Cammie. “All I’m asking is that you sing with me on one track. Hell, it’s a lot easier going into a studio where you don’t have to worry about performing in front of thousands of people. You just have to contend with a few producers...and me.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“Just give it a shot. If it doesn’t work out, no sweat.”
Not knowing where they were going in their personal lives only added to her concerns. “Can I have a few days to think about it? After all, you’re not going to the studio until next week.”
“All right,” Tim said. “But I need an answer by the end of this week. Now there’s something else I need to cover here.” His expression turned somber. “I don’t have to tell you that I was none too pleased about this living arrangement.”
Cammie looked toward Brett, who didn’t return her gaze. “This is the first time I’ve heard that.”
“Well, I’m not pleased,” he continued. “But I’ve faced the fact that you’re adults, you choose your path even if it affects your career.”
“Glad you see it that way,” Brett said.
“What about affecting his career?” Cammie asked, not willing to go on until Tim clarified his position.
“Brett has a reputation with the ladies, but that’s only part of it. Country-music folk are like one big family. Marriage is the acceptable norm, not shacking up. Now, no one exactly knows you and Brett are living together, but I’m trying to keep it out of the news.”
Clearly he hadn’t seen the tabloid. “And if it leaks out?” she asked.
Brett put his hand on her arm. “It’s okay, Cammie, I—”
“No, let him finish. I want to know what could happen.”
“Hard to say.” Tim flicked his ashes away with fingers as stubby as his cigar. “Might be nothing, could be some repercussions. Decreased ticket sales, CD sales.”
“But not likely,” Brett added. “People are more liberal in their views these days. After all, I sing about drinking and infidelity and divorce, not to men
tion sex. It all goes on behind the scenes.”
“I know that, Brett,” Tim said, a touch of scorn in his smile, his tone condescending. “Now, if you two were married, that would make a difference. But it would also create a whole new set of problems. Brett’s biggest fan base is made up of women who fantasize that they could be the one for him. If he gets hitched, that fantasy is over.”
Cammie inched forward and aimed her glare on Tim. “And I know that many women find a man who loves someone enough to marry her and have kids with her very sexy. Just look at the country legends who’ve been married for years. Men with names like George and Allan and Brad.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at the current burr in her backside. “I believe one of them is named Tim. I still see them playing to packed houses.”
Tim frowned. “You two aren’t planning to elope, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” Brett said, the first words he’d spoken in a while, and he’d said them a little too forcefully for Cammie’s liking.
She’d deal with Brett later. Right now she required further clarification. “So you’re saying we’re supposed to pretend that we don’t know each other. Is that right?”
“I’m saying it would be best if we keep your little romance under wraps, at least until we release the new album. No handholding onstage, no overt displays of affection.”
She let go a cynical laugh. “Obviously you haven’t seen the local tabloid yet. It seems they caught us pretending to be a couple, complete with a photo.”
Tim shot an acid look at Brett. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“I’ve handled it,” Brett said. “I called my publicist a while ago. She’s going to demand they print a retraction next week.”
On the verge of losing complete control, Cammie sprung out of her chair. “I suppose I can live with that. This arrangement is only temporary, anyway, kind of like a summer vacation.” She picked up Tim’s drink and resisted the urge to dump the contents in his virtually nonexistent lap. “Let me freshen this up for you.”
She should have known the past few weeks were too euphoric for something like this not to eventually come about. She remembered Mark’s complaints of how he had an image to uphold, that he was expected to dress a certain way, behave a certain way. She assumed that losing some of yourself was all a part of the trade-off to become a success in this business. Obviously Brett’s image would be tainted if he had a woman in his life, especially one that performed with him.
She hadn’t heard the door slide open again, but from the corner of her eye she caught Brett standing in the entry to the kitchen, an empty beer bottle in his hand.
“You don’t have to do this, Cammie.”
“Do what?” she said, dumping a shot of Scotch into Tim’s glass, then filling it with water and ice.
“Run away. Tim’s just trying to tell you how it is. I don’t like it, either.”
“But you agree with it. Otherwise, you would have never asked for the retraction.”
Brett moved forward and angled his hip against the counter. “No, I don’t. But things will be different after the new CD’s out in a few months. We can reassess the situation then.”
“So now I’m a situation?”
“I don’t know what you want from me, Cammie. I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances.”
She handed him Tim’s drink. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Closing yourself off to the possibilities of finding something real with someone, only now you’re using your career as an excuse.”
He looked as if he might throw something, like Tim’s drink. “I’ve worked long and hard to get where I am, Cammie, and sometimes this career dictates your personal life.”
“Only if you let it, Brett. But maybe it’s time I go before you start to resent me.”
He set Tim’s drink on the counter and framed her face with his palms. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It scares the hell out of me to think what I’d do without the singing. But it scares me more to think about what I’d do without you right now.”
Right now. That was the key. “I’m terrified that I’m going to be collateral damage if this whole thing blows up in our faces.”
He kissed her softly. “Just be patient with me, baby. I’ll figure it all out.”
She hoped he did, before it was too late.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LATER THAT EVENING, after the dishes had been put away and Tim had taken Brett outside for a private conversation, Cammie went to bed alone. Brett joined her but he didn’t stay long. He’d left her with a quick kiss and the excuse he wanted to go downstairs and work for a while.
Although she couldn’t be certain it was just an excuse, Cammie suspected there was much more to it than his work. She’d let him go without any argument, believing it best to leave him alone with his thoughts. But at half past two and he still hadn’t made an appearance, she began to worry and decided go downstairs to check on him.
Normally she’d be able to hear the strains of music coming from the basement-level room by the time she reached the kitchen. Instead, she noticed the usual household sounds: the steady hum of the air conditioner, a drip from the faucet, the creak of the floor underneath her feet, but nothing else that would indicate Brett was still working.
Cammie descended the stairs, stopping short before she came into his view. Brett sat on the beige carpeted floor, his back propped against one paneled wall, eyes closed, long legs stretched out before him, a nicked, well-worn guitar resting in his lap. At first she thought he’d fallen asleep, then he slowly shifted and ran a hand over his face.
“You look tired,” she said as she padded into the room.
His eyes met hers and she knew immediately something was troubling him.
“Just a little writer’s block,” he said. “What are you doing up?”
Cammie sat down on the high-backed stool next to him, resisting the impulse to hold him even though he looked like he could use a hug. “I couldn’t sleep a wink. My feet were cold and I didn’t have any hairy legs to slide them under. Not to mention that king-size bed gets a little lonely.”
She followed up with a smile, but Brett didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he stared off into space as if he hadn’t heard her.
“I had lunch today at the Sunset Grill,” he said from out of the blue. “Met an old friend, someone who was in my original band.” She was surprised by the sudden disclosure but let him continue without any response. “His name’s Jerry Neill. Do you know him?”
“No. Should I?”
“He plays for Mark Jensen’s band.”
It seemed fate was on a cruel mission to cram her past down her throat. “What did he want?”
“Actually, I called him. Since Bob Walker’s decided not to stay with the band, I need to find another replacement for Pat. Jerry’s one of the best bass players in the business. Got a pretty decent voice, too. He left me early on for a better offer but we’ve always been pretty good friends. Anyway, I heard he’s not happy with Jensen so I asked him to join us.”
That would go over like a lead balloon with Mark. “Did he accept?”
Brett stretched and rolled his shoulders. “He’s thinking about it. The biggest problem is going to be Jensen. Jerry’s still got a couple of months left on his contract.”
“I can understand his concern. Mark will probably make it pretty tough on him because of me. Unless he doesn’t really know about us.�
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Brett set the guitar aside. “He knows, all right. Jerry told me Mark’s been asking a lot of questions about you to anyone who might know anything. Some people thrive on making trouble, especially people you’ve pissed off at one time or another.”
“Surely you haven’t made anyone mad,” she said dramatically, finally extracting a smile from Brett.
“I’ve done my share.”
Cammie slid off the stool and joined Brett on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. He curled his arm around her shoulders, yet still seemed pensive. “You know, Camille, you’re sitting next to a conglomerate. Sometimes I don’t know where the company ends and I begin. I’m just property to most people.”
“Not to me.” She reached up to smooth away a strand of hair from his forehead. So many questions invaded her mind. How did he feel about her, where were they going, if anywhere? But she didn’t have the courage to ask him point-blank.
Cammie settled on a question that might lead to the more serious topic of the state of their relationship. Or he could exile her back upstairs. “Out of curiosity, what attracted you to me?”
“The great way you filled out your jeans.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Hey, I’m just being honest.” He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Before you, I hadn’t met anyone who didn’t look at me like I was a god. They want the larger-than-life star. Or at least my body. You were different.”
Cammie rested her head on his shoulder. “I want your body, so why am I so different?”
“At first you didn’t want any part of me. I think that was my attraction to you from the beginning. You didn’t come on to me or act like I was something special. You weren’t impressed with all the glory. You see something else in me. God only knows what that something is.”
When Cammie sought Brett’s eyes, her soul shook with the realization of how much she loved him, how much she needed him...and how much she needed to know how he really felt about her. “Now that the chase is over, what happens next?”
