by Remy, Cate
“We’d better get down to business.” Jackson’s smile went away and his tone changed. “I’ve been reviewing the contracts for the artists here, and I see that you and your band haven’t released an album in over three years.”
“We’ve been working on new material.”
“Where is it?”
Deacon suddenly felt like the kid in class who forgot to turn in his homework. He dug his heel into the carpet. “I have some arrangements recorded at home. I didn’t bring them with me.”
“We need new music from your band. I have a new policy here at Peachtree: Any artist who doesn’t produce songs within three years will have their contract reviewed.”
He could tell Jackson had a law background. He didn’t need to understand legal eagle lingo to know what was going on. “You want us to get a new album out or else.”
“That or risk contract termination.”
“But we’ve been with this company for a decade. My band won a Grammy.”
“It’s a big achievement,” Jackson agreed. “However, Peachtree operates in the present, not the past.”
“Mr. Barnes,” Ash spoke up, finally. “What my client is saying is, he has a great track record for producing hits. He and the band won’t have a problem recording a new album.”
Deacon admired Ash’s quick save, though he thought this whole meeting was out of control. In fact, everything about the company’s new policy seemed too strict. Creativity and music flowed when it wanted. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. It couldn’t be rushed.
“That’s the end of our meeting,” said Jackson. “Get into the recording studio and be ready to drop an album in the next few weeks.”
Weeks? He almost sputtered the word aloud.
“Don’t worry,” said Ash. “Deacon will get it done.”
Deacon left Jackson’s office, feeling completely unaccomplished. He needed an energy drink. “I’m getting caffeine.”
“Hold up.” Ash caught up with him in the hallway. “We need to talk.”
He rubbed his temples. “Let it wait. I got a caffeine withdrawal headache coming on.”
“You’re about to have a career withdrawal. You heard Jackson. You’ve got to get an album together pronto.”
“I heard him. What do you think I’m doing? The band and I are writing and getting the songs together. We’re going to record soon.”
“You also need to clean up your image. The fans want to see something new, not this.” Ash gestured to him with his hands.
Deacon frowned. “What does ‘this’ mean?”
“Have you checked yourself lately? You’ve been dragging like you’re tired, but the band hasn’t toured or recorded an album in years.”
Deacon walked to the end of the hallway to reach the elevator, passing slick-suited record company employees and artists in designer duds. “You think I’m happy I haven’t had a hit since some of these artists here were in high school?”
Ash showed him no pity. “So what do you intend to do about it? Everyone sees you moping, and they think it’s because you still haven’t gotten over your ex.”
He hooded his eyes. No matter what he did, people always remembered that he and Rita were once a couple. “This dry spell has nothing to do with Rita. She and I were done a year ago.”
“No one thinks so because you keep walking around like you’re a lovesick dog. You don’t even look like you’re having fun at artist promo events anymore.”
The elevator doors opened, and Deacon stepped inside the empty space. He hit the button for the elevator to go down. The door closed as Ash ducked inside. “The scene isn’t how it used to be, Ash. Everyone churns music out so fast now. I’m not interested in going to promo events just to be comparted to artists who can’t sing without Auto-Tune.”
“So show them something better. Starting with your image. What about the girl who took pictures at the concert last night? The one with the glasses?”
“Oh. Her. She told me her name.” Deacon strained to remember it. “She spilled my drink all over my suitcase.”
“Forget about that. She made you look good in those pictures. Take a look at her work on Rocky’s Live’s Photogram page.” Ash handed him his phone as the elevator continued to descend.
He scrolled through the pictures of himself and the band. He had to admit, this photographer may have been clumsy with his drink, but she had expert hands when it came to the camera. The angles she took of him and the band were clean and sharp. He admired the choice of smoky lens she used to photograph Luka. He saw another one where she captured his own image at exactly the moment when he lifted his leg into a high kick. “She’s pretty good.”
“Which is exactly why you need her. Your band is about to start shooting the album cover and revamping the website. You need new images. Why not ask her to help you?”
Deacon saw that the photos she took already gained over three thousand likes on the photo-sharing website. “Let me see her other work.” He searched the caption of the photos until he found credits. “Tracy. Her name is Tracy Jordan.” He clicked on a link that brought him to her own business page.
She posted hundreds of photos. Some were from concerts while others were of popular local spots. She captured up-close images of nature scenes of a honeybee on a flower petal and others where she had a bird’s eye view from atop an Atlanta skyscraper. Her work was pretty versatile. “These are good.” He walked out of the elevator with Ash’s phone still in his hand.
He came across a selfie of Tracy. Her thick, reddish brown afro curls framed her brown face like a lion’s mane. Her quirky cat eye glasses covered half of her heart-shaped face, but she had a big, infectious grin. He wondered what she was laughing at in the selfie. He found himself smiling too. “You win, Ash. Find her and give her a call. Tell her I’m interested in giving her a job.” He handed the phone to his manager.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
“I didn’t. If this is something you think will work, I’m with you. You’re right most of the time.”
“We’re on the right track, Deacon.”
“We better be.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. He didn’t have time to waste or make mistakes. Could Tracy help him define a new image for the band before their contract got the ax?
Chapter Two
Tracy glanced at the Photogram page on her laptop before changing into her uniform to go work her day job at Jumpy Java Coffee Shop. The pictures looked good, if she had to say so herself. The new camera she got for Christmas from her sister Candace really made colors pop.
She eyed the photo she took of Deacon last night. Light shown in his dark hair, highlighting both the warm amber and cool ebony colors. He may not have been the best person to hang around, but he made a pretty nice photo study.
Her cell phone rang on the kitchen counter. Tracy buttoned the top of her collar as she made her way to it. She didn’t recognize the number. The caller ID said it was from Los Angeles. Who was calling her from LA? Was it one of those scammers again? She looked at the phone, hesitating. Maybe she should go ahead and answer it. If it was a scammer, she could always hang up. She hit the green button. “Hello?”
“I need to speak with Tracy Jordan,” said an authoritative male voice. Maybe it was a bill collector.
She straightened, preparing herself to explain yet again why she had been unable to make the full payment for her aunt’s kidney dialysis treatment last month. “This is she. Who’s calling?”
“I’m Ash Munsen, attorney and manager for the band Deacon Wonder. I got your number from Rocky’s Live. I just took a look at the concert photos you posted on the internet.”
She clutched her shirt collar. Was she in trouble? Was this a copyright issue? “I posted those photos as part of my job last night.”
“That’s why I’m calling. My client, Deacon Westmore, likes your work. How would you like to do a photo session for him?”
Her pulse jumped. “You mean, at another concert venue?”
“Sure, but as a hired photographer for the band.”
“Like a paid contractor?”
“Exactly. Is it something you think you can do?”
A part of her wanted to state an automatic yes because the job meant more money, but she didn’t want to sound unprofessional. Plus, she remembered precisely how Deacon treated her. “What kind of pictures is he looking for? Publicity shots, more concert photos?”
“All of those, but I don’t like discussing business over the phone. How soon can you meet at Deacon’s house so the three of us can talk?”
She glanced down at her cheap khakis and Jumpy Java polo shirt. “I was on my way into work. My first break isn’t until the afternoon.”
“Swing by around seven tonight. I’ll text you the address.”
“Um, okay.”
“One more thing. Keep it confidential. Deacon lives in a very private estate. When you get to the gate, hit the button, say who your name and you’ll be let in.”
“Got it.”
“We’ll see you tonight.”
She stared at the phone in her hand. She just got a new gig taking pictures. This was a big-name band, too, not just some guitar twangers at Open Mic Night. She couldn’t just run up to a rock star’s house wearing a coffee shop uniform.
She had less than five minutes to leave her apartment, but she darted to the closet and snatched a simple gray dress off the hanger. When was the last time she wore it? Maybe out on a college date. The dress was sleeveless. She reached for her favorite yellow cardigan and folded both into her backpack to change into later. Then she headed out the door, her thoughts on the phone call. She was going to see Deacon again, but she could handle his rude behavior for a little bit. She was short on cash and if this gig gave her a little bit of breathing room, it would be worth it.
TRACY WORKED THE ALL-day shift at the coffee shop downtown . By the time she clocked out, her feet barked at her to get off of them. She didn’t have time to rest. She went into the shop’s bathroom and changed into the clothes she picked out for her interview.
She looked in the bathroom mirror and did her best to fluff out her hair after having part of it crushed beneath a Jumpy Java visor all day. The visor made a dent that she tried to hide by twisting a few strands near the crown of her head. Should she wear her hair in a low bun? This was a job interview she was going to. She patted her curls in the mirror. Nah. She was headed to interview to be a band photographer, not take stock photos for a law firm.
She reached into her bag for the pair of ballet flats she always kept just in case her other shoes got uncomfortable. Her hand scraped the bottom of the bag. Where were her ballet flats?
She peered into the bag while someone knocked on the door. “Be out in a second.” She grabbed stuff out of her bag, including a makeup kit containing breath mints and hair ties. She found an extra work polo and a book she should have taken back to the library two weeks ago, but no ballet flats.
Tracy stared at the small dark smudges on the white toes of her black canvas sneakers. This was not a good look with the dress. She checked the time on her phone. She didn’t have enough time at all to run back to her apartment and grab a better pair of shoes. I’m going to lose this job before I even have a chance to get it. She zipped the backpack with a sigh and left the restroom.
Jamar, one of her co-workers, waved as she trudged past the counter. “Cute dress.”
“Thanks.”
“The shoes don’t match, but I guess you’re going for an irreverent look.”
“Good night, Jamar the English major. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He laughed. “Tell us how your date went.”
“It’s not a date.”
“Yeah, right. What other reason would you be wearing a dress?”
“Good night, Jamar.” Tracy cut out of the coffee shop before he and other co-workers could ask her more questions. She got into her old Kia and brought up the address that Ash texted into her phone’s GPS.
The route took her on the highway leading out of downtown Atlanta, past the ritzy suburbs and into the country. She drove past miles of tall Georgia pine and green grass. When she was a couple miles out from her destination, the GPS instructed her to make a right onto a quiet country road lined in wildflowers. She drove on it until it led right up to a black iron gate. A large modern mansion with solar paneling on the roof stuck out from behind it. Tracy saw a fancy red Alfa Romeo and a more conservative black BMW parked out in the driveway.
She double-checked her phone. This was the place. Nothing else surrounded the property except for green fields.
She rolled down the window and pressed a button on the intercom in front of the gate.
“Can I help you?” an Eastern European male voice carried through the speaker.
“My name is Tracy Jordan. I’m here for a seven o’ clock appointment to see Deacon Westmore and his attorney.” She figured the more formal she sounded, the better chance she would get taken seriously. She just hoped no one would look down at her shoes.
She didn’t get a response, only a buzzing sound. Then the gates opened. She rolled up the window and drove through. She got the car up the long, winding driveway. A short man dressed in a valet’s uniform stepped onto the driveway from the front of the house and signaled for her to stop. He came around to her side of the vehicle. “If you leave your keys with me, I’ll take care of your car.”
She grabbed her backpack and got out. She caught the valet looking inside the interior before he sat in the driver’s seat. She was embarrassed about him parking her old car. She raised her head to see the tall doors of the manor. A security camera glared down at her, its blue light blinking. She searched around the door for the bell.
Deacon answered it, to her surprise. He was dressed in dark wash jeans and a heather gray t-shirt. His wavy hair had an artful, messy look to it. He looked her up and down. His gaze stopped right at her sneakers.
She spoke to redirect his attention to her face and not her poor choice of footwear. “Hi, I’m Tracy.”
“I know. I met you last night at the concert. You spilled my drink.”
He still remembered. She cringed. “About that. Sorry for—”
“Come in.” Deacon turned his back on her and walked away from the door. “Ash is in the living room.”
She stepped over the threshold. The rubber soles of her sneakers squeaked on the marble floor. Down the hall, she saw a row of framed vinyl records lining the wall. She read the inscriptions. They were previous platinum hits the band recorded over the years.
She continued to follow Deacon’s shadow into an interior space decorated with modern furniture with metal accents. Ash sat in a chair with a laptop and notepad on his lap.
“You want a drink?” Deacon walked over to the bar and poured liquid from a decanter into a highball glass.
Tracy’s nerves were a little on edge, but she declined. “No thank you.”
He finished pouring the one glass and kept it for himself. He took a sip and looked at her over the rim. “I’m going to keep this short. I’d like you to do some photo shoots for me. I can hire you for the band’s new album cover and publicity shots.”
She nodded. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll pay you standard fare, plus travel and other related expenses. What do you think?”
He didn’t give her time to think. She gave her answer. “It sounds reasonable. I brought my laptop in my backpack if you want to see my other work.”
“No need. I want more of what I saw on Photogram.”
She heard typing, and looked to see Ash on his laptop. “How long is the job?”
He looked up. “One to two months, but we need those first pictures for the album soon.”
“So we need you to hit the ground running, Tracy.” Deacon took another sip of his drink. “I see you wore the right shoes for the occasion.”
She couldn’t tell if he was being funny or annoyed that she showed up in a mismatched outfit. She reflex
ively put one shoe behind the other. It squeaked on the marble floor. “I’m ready to get started.”
“Good. The hours aren’t regular. Sometimes we have early mornings or late nights. Think you can handle it?”
“As long as you can give me a little advance notice, I’ll let my supervisor at my other job know.”
“You have to be ready when the band’s ready,” Ash chimed in. “Like Deacon implied, this isn’t a conventional job.”
“Is it something you still want?” Deacon’s eyes peered into her.
Why did he sound like he was trying to talk her out of the job? Wasn’t his manager the one who called her this morning and wanted her to come over right away? Maybe it was some sort of weird test to see if she was up to it. “I want the job. I can get it done.”
“She’s direct. That’s good.” Deacon talked about her to his manager as if she weren’t standing within arm’s length of him.
“I’ve got her paperwork ready.” Ash hit a few buttons on the laptop keyboard.
Tracy spent the next several minutes getting everything signed and dated. While Ash filed her paperwork electronically, Deacon finished his drink. “Let me show you something.”
He exited the living room to go out into the hall. She glanced to see if Ash was going to get up and follow them. He remained seated. With a shrug, Tracy went out into the hallway after her new employer. She found him standing before his row of platinum records on the wall. He gazed at each one, slowly admiring them. She didn’t even think he noticed she was there with him until he spoke.
“Be honest. Do you even listen to my music?”
What did that have to do with anything? Tracy stopped walking towards him. Her shoes squeaked again. “I heard a few of your songs, not counting last night.”
Bad answer. His moderately full lips formed a line. “Start listening. You need to know what the band is about. Get a feel for the music so you can take good pictures.”
What was he now, a director? If he just hired her to do the photo shoot, didn’t he think she was competent enough to complete the job? “Don’t worry. I always figure out what my subjects are all about.”
