A grumbled laugh came from the other side of the barred door. An officer held a large key ring—the keys to Ethan’s freedom. “Rise and shine, rock star. Somebody’s busting you out.”
Ethan jumped from the cot, grabbed his forehead once more in attempts to suppress a shooting pain behind his eyes, and then realized that maybe he ought to rethink his anticipation. The thought of seeing his mom walk around the corner—having to deal with her livid expression—was almost enough to make him want to crawl onto the other cot and hide behind the snoring hairy man. Jail had to be better than the prison he was about to enter at home.
But then he caught a break.
“Bruce!”
Ethan’s agent, Bruce McCloud, pushed confidently past the cop to escort Ethan out of the cell. He wore a Dolce sports coat with a pair of designer kakis, and Burberry shoes from the new spring line. A pair of Ray Ban’s—the sunglasses that constantly remained attached to Bruce’s face no matter how dark of a room he entered—rested comfortably at the tip of his nose.
“I’m so glad it’s you, man. I thought you were my mom.”
Bruce chuckled. “No way, kid. I take care of my clients.”
Ethan and Bruce made their way toward the entrance of the police station while Bruce pulled out a huge pair of sunglasses and a hooded sweatshirt from the dark leather “man bag” that hung across his chest. “You better put these on. We've got places to go.”
When they reached the front, Ethan stepped forward to peek out of the tinted glass of the double doors. He was amazed, and a little confused. The parking lot was empty aside from the regular employee vehicles and the one that waited to take him away. Juicy gossip spread like wildfire in Hollywood. Paparazzi should be camped out in the parking lot, ready to pounce the second Ethan set as much as a toe outside of that door. Not that Ethan was complaining, but something didn't quite add up.
Ethan turned to Bruce. "What gives, man? Where are the reporters?"
Bruce smiled. “Not here."
"Yeah, I see that," Ethan said. "But why? How?"
"You'd be surprised what a little cash can accomplish when you want people to keep their mouths shut, kid."
"You paid off the medic guy," Ethan said, realization dawning. "And the cops? But that guy was really mad. Kept talking about going home to his daughter and how I almost killed him. There's no way he's going to keep quiet about this."
Bruce laughed. "He will considering that daughter needs braces. Look, kid, don't worry about it. Your pal, Bruce, has got things covered. Besides, if worse comes to worse and someone does squeal, then we’ll use it to our advantage. Publicity is publicity. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad. This is your first offense. Sure, you’ll have to put up with some hater columnists for a few weeks, but once the news dies down, this might be just what we need to jump start the promotion of your next album!”
Ethan couldn’t believe his ears. He was beginning to feel a pinch of relief, but then the sound of that low chuckle reentered his mind.
“But, Bruce, I was drinking. I'm going to have to go to court over this.”
“Nope, took care of that, too.”
“But . . . they’re cops . . . there are laws . . .”
An arrogant grin stretched across Bruce’s lips. “Face it, dude. You’re in Hollywood now. The cops here are more crooked than the road you wrecked on last night. I told you I had your back when I signed you on and I meant it. As long as you stick with me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Ethan laughed, feeling a twinge of relief. Still yet, a different, weird, feeling kept creeping in. He knew he deserved every bit of what the law ordered in his situation, and he knew that it was unfair for him to get off just because he was famous. But that didn’t mean he was going to turn around and march back into that jail cell and seal the door behind him. He worked hard every day to give his fans what they wanted. It would be downright cruel to allow himself to get into trouble when he had a solid way out. He owed it to them to get back out there and make more music.
Ethan took one more glance toward the cell that had been his home for the night. He pulled his arms and head into the sweatshirt and put on the sunglasses, just in case anyone was around outside that might recognize him. Bruce pushed the tinted police station door open and he and Ethan jumped into the black Escalade that waited to rush him from his short-lived punishment, and deep down, what he knew he deserved.
“So, where are we going?” Ethan asked after a bit. He sat in the back row of the Escalade, jammed in beside a suitcase and his body guard, Ted, whom he’d only heard say a handful of words since he’d hired him.
The driver completely bypassed the turn toward the Roosevelt Hotel, where Ethan was certain his mom was presently sitting, brooding over all the ways to make his life hell-on-earth once he arrived. But instead, they exited onto US Route 101 toward Los Angeles.
Bruce’s reply no longer held an amused tone. Instead, he sighed, seeming a bit irritated. “We are going to the airport. LAX.” He ripped his iPhone from his pocket and began vigorously clicking away with the tip of his right index finger.
Ethan didn’t understand. “What are you talking about, man? I’ve got a show at the Staples Center in eight hours. We’ve got rehearsals, sound checks, make up and wardrobe still to do. . . What is so important that we have to drive to the airport now?”
A sigh even heavier than the first escaped Bruce as he looked up. “Ethan, my man, you don’t have a show tonight. Not anymore.”
Ethan felt the heat rising in his cheeks and he spoke through gritted teeth. “And why is that?”
“Because your mother said so.”
There it was. Phase one of hell.
“What exactly do you mean, ‘my mother said so’?”
“Look, kid, when your mom heard about the stunt you pulled last night, she called it quits on the show, packed you a bag, bought you a plane ticket, and sent me to pick you up.”
“Are you kidding me? Bruce, she can’t do that! Does she realize we’re going to have to refund fifteen thousand tickets?”
Bruce grunted. “Fifteen thousand, six hundred, and twenty-one—to be exact.”
“But . . . but . . .” Ethan stammered, trying to fight back his anger and clear his thoughts. “This is ridiculous! Just tell her that she can’t do this! Too much is at stake . . . I can’t disappoint my fans . . . the show must go on . . . whatever! I don’t care, just tell her something!”
“No good,” Bruce said, sounding bored with the entire conversation, as if he had already heard it several times that day. “Already tried all of that, and more.”
“But, how is this possible? You can get me out of a DWI, but you can’t override my mom on a decision to cancel one of the biggest concerts on my tour?”
“Sadly . . . no. Until you turn eighteen, technically, your career decisions are in her hands. I tried to talk her out of it, but she threatened to cancel the entire tour. I took the best we could get.”
The driver slowed the Escalade and made a wide right turn. Ethan looked out his window to see jets taking off from the runway. The Los Angeles International Airport stretched out in the distance.
“What exactly was the best we could get, Bruce?”
Several things flashed through Ethan’s mind at once. He imagined all of the worst possible places his mother could have dreamed up for his punishment.
Bruce refused to look up. “Know anyone in Alabama?”
Ethan sunk down in his seat and he let out a helpless groan. It was exactly as he’d feared. The worst possible place his mother could have sent him. The middle of deep south USA in the small town of Fairhope, Alabama—also known as his grandmother’s house.
“Bruce, you’ve got to get me out of this, man. Do you have any idea what it’s like down there? The woman doesn’t even have cable!”
“Sorry, kid. Just look at it as a time of rest and relaxation. Ted’s going with you. If you get bored, you can talk to him.”
Standin
g a good six and a half feet tall, Ted was an African American man with a surly brow and muscles that threatened to break the seams of his jet black suit coat. To say that he was intimidating would be an understatement. Ethan glanced up toward Ted. The bodyguard’s eyes never shifted. Ethan could barely even hear him breathing. Ted didn’t budge an inch until the Escalade came to a stop at the entrance of the airport. Then, he grabbed Ethan’s suitcase, and stood outside the door, convincing Ethan that if a statue was ever made of a Men in Black character, it would look exactly like Ted.
Ethan let out one last exasperated sigh, popped two of the extra strength Tylenol he had swiped from Bruce’s “man bag” on the way there, and crawled reluctantly out onto the busy sidewalk.
On with phase two.
The plane ride to Birmingham was not quite what Ethan had expected. He realized his mom was mad when she insisted on banishing him to po-dunk USA for an indefinite time span, but he didn’t realize just how mad she was until he got ready to board the plane at LAX. Ted had followed behind like a well trained puppy while Ethan made his way through the airport, being forced to slow down every two steps to sign an autograph or take a picture with a girl who was so obsessed with him, she couldn’t even say hi without squealing and tearing up. Ethan hated that. The girls were cute, and they didn’t seem like they would be such basket cases, but it was always the same story, no matter where he went. They all acted the same, dressed the same . . . flirted the same.
That’s why Ethan preferred a private jet when he needed to travel long distances. It was much less invasive. But in this situation, just to keep from having to call his mom to argue, he would settle for the commercial jet. Ethan couldn’t wait until he was seated in his big cushy first-class chair, a cold sparkling water in his hands and a hot towel behind his neck, and had the chance to lay back and relax the rest of his hangover away.
There was only one problem with this little scenario. Ethan’s mother had planned for that, too. Relaxing was the last thing he was going to get to do. Instead, he reached the terminal to find out that his mom had booked him a seat in . . . COACH. Ethan got stuck between silent Ted and smelly Bob, a man who took up enough space that he technically should have bought two tickets.
It was a long flight.
Ethan spent the entire flight hidden inside the hood of his oversized sweatshirt, which was somewhat of an attention grabber in itself considering it was mid-June. His dark glasses never budged an inch. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to give a concert to the passengers midflight. After a couple of hours, Ethan was finally able to exit the plane into the Birmingham International Airport. Not surprisingly, his Tylenol had worn off at this point and the stabbing pain in his forehead was swiftly returning.
“So . . . Ted . . .” Ethan began as his bodyguard pulled the last piece of their luggage off the conveyer belt. “Where to now? Do we have a car rented already or do we need to find an Enterprise?”
Even though Ethan had asked him a question, he was still a little surprised when silent Ted voiced his reply.
“Mr. Carter, I believe our ride is already waiting on us.” Ted gave a slight nod toward the doorway of baggage claim.
When Ethan caught sight of the man Ted was referring to, he almost laughed, realizing that this was not only the first time he’d ever heard Ted speak, but also the first time he’d ever heard Ted tell a joke. He was a funny guy.
But then Ethan took a closer look at the man in the doorway. He was tall and lanky, and wore a plaid button up shirt underneath a pair of partially unbuttoned denim overalls. What was that he was holding? A sign? The words were written in . . . crayon?
Welcome . . . (the penmanship was terrible) . . . Welcome Ethan . . . Carter.
“Oh, crap.”
Ethan dropped his suitcase, leaving it behind for Ted, and ran to the man holding the sign, with his all too famous name on it, for the entire airport to see.
“What’s the matter with you, man? Are you crazy!” Ethan was panting by the time he reached the man. He took a brief moment to clumsily readjust the hood of his sweatshirt again before reaching up and snatching the resemblance of a kindergarten craft project out of the man’s hand and folding it in half, attempting to remove any evidence of his arrival. “You can’t just go around announcing that I’m here. If the paparazzi receive word that I’m in Alabama, they’ll invade the place.”
“Ah, sorry bout that Mr. Carter, but . . . uh . . . your granny had that sign made speshlly for ya and she told me ta bring it. Kept sayin somethin bout how your mom wanted ya to have a proper welcome or somethin like that.”
The man had one of the strongest Southern accents Ethan had ever heard.
“Yeah, that sounds like my mom, alright,” Ethan muttered bitterly. Ted reached his side, and sat his suitcase back down.
“I’m Ted, Ethan’s bodyguard.” Ted smiled kindly to the man and stretched out his hand. “Thank you very much for agreeing to meet us here on such short notice.”
“Notta problem tal, sir. I’d do anything for Granny Mae. A famly member a hers, is a famly member a mine. We didn’t even know Granny Mae hada famous famly! Name’s Hank, by the way. Hank Hinkle.”
Ethan snorted, trying hard not to let out a mocking laugh, but covered it up as though he was trying to suppress a cough. “So, uh, Mr. Hinkle,” Ethan began.
“No, no, boy! You call me Hank. Mr. Hinkle was my father!”
“Okay . . . Hank. Where is your car? I’m kind of exhausted and I’m looking forward to catching some zzz’s on the ride to Fairhope.”
“Oh, we got somethin way better than a car, Mr. Ethan,” An elated grin spread across Hank’s cheeks, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “When your momma called, she said you liketa fly when you go places, and bi-gollies, she asked for me personally to come fetch ya! I was so honored. I never flown any famous people fore.
“She said that, did she?” Ethan gritted his teeth. This couldn’t be good. There was no way that his mother was going to arrange a comfortable plane ride for him in the mood she was in. There had to be a catch. “I guess this is a lucky day for both of us.”
Ethan tried to look on the bright side. How bad could Hank’s plane possibly be? He imagined it had to be fairly small, but at this point, as long as he had room to lay his head back and catch a few minutes of sleep, it would be plenty big enough. Besides, it had to be better than the four hours it would have taken to travel by car.
But after about a two mile hike to the small private runway that sat to the side of the huge airport, Ethan realized that he could not have been more wrong. When he caught sight of Hank’s “plane”, Ethan became fully aware of just how ticked off his mother really was.
“Uh, Hank . . . what is that thing?”
The plane had two wings directly parallel, one on top of the other. Two little wheels extended out from beneath the body, and it had no ceiling! Two holes were visible in the top of the body that the passengers were expected to climb into. The plane looked like it had flown right off the pages of an American history book.
“She’s a beaut, ain’t she? This right here is called a biplane,” Hank voiced proudly. “Been in the famly for yers.”
“So you were related to Amelia Earhart?”
Hank laughed, not catching the fact that Ethan’s comment hadn’t been a compliment.
“Yea, the girl’s a lil’ old, but she’s still gotta lot left in her,” Hank ran his fingers along the plane’s body beside the propeller. I guess you aughta hop on in so we can get goin. Your granny’s gonna be waitin on ya if we don’t step on it quick.”
Ethan glanced back up at Ted, hoping that by some miracle he felt as nervous as Ethan did about crawling into the 1920’s hunk of metal, but it was to no avail. Ted had already picked up Ethan’s suitcase, flung it into the front hole of the plane, and was beginning to climb in.
“Ted you can’t be serious, man. This isn’t a plane! It’s a kayak with wings!”
Ted remained silent, but Et
han thought he caught the slightest hint of amusement in his expression. Ethan was nearing panic mode, but if he was anything, a whimp he was not. If silent Ted could do it, then so could he. Ethan reached a hand up to grab hold of the plane and hoist himself into the pit that would be his seat, but then he realized which hole he was about to crawl into.
“Uh . . . Ted . . . shouldn’t we be sitting in the back?”
Hank answered for him. “Not less ya wanna drive cuz that’s where the steerin wheel is.”
“Never mind. I’m good.”
Ethan paused to suck in one last deep breath before hoisting himself up into the plane to claim his seat beside silent Ted. He had never been afraid of flying, but he had also never ridden in a plane that didn’t have a roof. So much for catching a few minutes of sleep. Granted, Ethan’s eyes would be shut, but it definitely wouldn’t be due to sleeping. Hank jumped into the plane with ease, passed a helmet to both Ted and Ethan (a helmet??), and flipped a few switches. The propeller puttered and spat in protest, but finally roared to life like a bumblebee on steroids.
“Here we go!” Hank cried with excitement from the back.
Yep, Ethan thought as the plane began its trek down the runway. He squeezed his eyes tight and gripped the edges of his seat to the point his knuckles turned white. Here we go.
Chapter 3
Ethan
By the time the Biplane buzzed onto the Sunny Calahaun runway near Fairhope, Ethan had reached full blown mental hysteria.
Number one: at that very moment, he should have been in his dressing room at the Staples Center gearing up for his show. Number two: he had just flown over one-hundred miles in a piece of tin piloted by the long lost cousin of Elmer Fudd, with nothing to protect his head but something that slightly resembled a bicycle helmet. And lucky number three: the last five minutes of his death ride had restored in his mind all of the reasons why he’d hated visiting Fairhope past the age of twelve.
Redemption Song Page 2
