“That was the whole point of signing you. To record.”
“Yeah, and I have a full-time job, so you can redo your schedule right now.” She didn’t care who he was, or what contract she signed, he didn’t get to run her life.
“About that. You need to put in your two weeks’ notice.” He took a sip of his black coffee.
She stared at him in shock, tempted to knock the cup right out of his hand and onto his overpriced jeans.
“Don’t worry. Barry will understand.”
“I’m not quitting my job. I love my job.” She took a bite of eggs. They weren’t as good as her mom’s.
“You don’t love your job.”
“Yes. I do,” she said with her mouth full.
Garrett spread grape jelly on his toast. “You love running around town searching for Christmas ornaments in July?”
“Actually, I do. Plus, I need my paycheck. I have bills.”
“And you were given a check for twenty grand yesterday. So unless you have an addiction to online shopping or have suddenly started doing crystal, the money should tide you over for a while.”
She set her fork down. “I am not quitting my job.”
He ignored her and bit into his toast.
“Is quitting my job in the contract, too?”
“No, but I see now that it should have been.”
“Good. Because I’m not going to.” She resumed eating.
“You’re killing me here.”
“You think I’m enjoying this? Hardly.” But she did like beating him at his own game. She covered her smile by taking a drink of water.
“Okay, but would you agree to cut back your hours?”
“I’ll have to talk to Barry.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
She slammed her glass down a little too hard, and water sloshed out. “No! You are not interfering. I’ll talk to him and if he’s okay with me working less, I’ll let you know. If he’s not, then we’ll have to work early in the day and on the weekends. It’s not like this needs to take that much time.”
“What planet have you been living on? The recording process takes forever.”
“Not for me it won’t.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Could you please be a little more cooperative?”
“Hey, I’m here. You should be happy with that.” How much more could he expect from her? She was already practically prostituting herself.
“Fine. Listen up. I’ve started going over potential songs. I’d like to get together in a couple days and work through a few that I’ll have selected, to see if they work.”
“How can you have songs picked that soon?”
“I work fast. You keep underestimating me, and you shouldn’t.” He set his gray eyes on her.
Riley tried not to squirm under his piercing gaze. How could she not like him, and yet be so affected by his attention? She shook off the feeling. “Well, I want to pick the songs.”
“No.”
“And why not?”
“Because I can pick a hit better than you,” he said with that irritating, cocky set to his mouth that she hated.
“I’m not singing a song I don’t love.” Memories of the disasters on Chart Toppers raced across her mind.
He pointed at her with his fork. “You’ll sing whatever I tell you to.”
Riley laughed. “Don’t bother going there. It’s a dead-end street.”
He sighed again. “I’ve reserved a studio starting next week.”
Already? She had hoped getting started would take longer than he predicted and that she’d have a few weeks to get used to the idea of recording with him.
“There are some excellent studio musicians I plan to hire. In the meantime I want to set up a photo shoot. We better do it fast before you go dying your hair blue or some other idiot thing.”
“Hey, if I want to shave my head, I’ll do it. You don’t get to tell me what I can do with my hair.”
“Actually, I do. So lay off any other forms of personal expression you might be thinking about, and that includes piercings and tattoos. I’m trying to create an image here and I don’t want you to ruin it.”
The waitress appeared and topped off his coffee.
“Darn, and I was planning to get a tattoo of your face on my ass.”
The waitress startled and over-poured his cup.
“You wouldn’t be the first,” he said.
The waitress turned and left, her face contorted with laughter.
“Really?”
He nodded.
“That’s just sick.”
Her phone buzzed. She read the text and said, “Sorry. That’s work. I’ve got to run. The musicians are arriving and I have to make sure they get their presents from Jamie.”
“You can’t love a job where your primary objective is to hand out Christmas mugs stuffed with candy canes and hot chocolate packets.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Well, by the time we get through this album, I guarantee we’ll both know a whole lot more about each other,” he said.
Riley wiped her mouth and stood, pretending she wasn’t a little bit nervous and maybe excited about that.
34
Riley spent the rest of her day listening to the gorgeous strains of violins, violas, and cellos. As bizarre as spending a July day surrounded by holiday music was, it coaxed her into a relaxed mood, which was a miracle considering all the crazy in her world.
As the instrumentals lulled her into a place of childhood comfort, her mind drifted back to when her musical journey began on Chart Toppers, when she first met the judges.
Riley’s knees shook so violently, she was afraid they might buckle. This was her third and final audition in Chicago to make the show, but none of the others mattered.
This was the big one. These were the real judges, not unknown assistants or entry-level producers. The judges today would make or break the rest of her life.
Her mother picked at her shirt. “Why did you insist on this horrible blue top? You’d look much better in the pink. And don’t chew on your fingernails.” She slapped Riley’s hand away from her mouth and then fussed with her hair.
“Mom, stop.”
“You need to relax. Don’t worry about the lights or the cameras. Play to the audience. Be sure to look the judges in the eye. And smile, don’t forget to smile.”
Riley stepped out of her mother’s reach.
“I should have taken you for highlights. Your hair would look so much better.” She took Riley by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Remember to take deep breaths. You know you can nail it. You’re better than everyone here. I don’t care if you’re only thirteen. Oh no, I can still see your freckles. Hold on while I put more powder on your face.”
“Mom! You’re making it worse. How can I relax with you in my face? I can’t even breathe.”
Riley’s stomach churned with anxiety. Four thousand people would be watching, not to mention the judges. She rubbed her clammy palms on her jeans.
Her mom stopped fussing and instead looked into a mirror at herself, fluffing her hair. Her mom wanted to be the one on camera. She’d acted overly clingy and dramatic all day.
“You could be a little nicer. I took off work to be here for you,” she said, reapplying lip gloss.
Riley rolled her eyes. “You always have Tuesdays off.”
“You don’t have to say it so loud. They don’t know that,” she said, referring to the producers who wandered around backstage, making sure everyone was set.
A young woman named Wendy approached. “Riley, you’re next. This way, please.”
Suddenly, the waiting was over. It all came down to this moment. Riley turned to her mom, suddenly terrified to go out onstage. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“No, you’re not. You’re only nervous. It’s all in your head.”
Perspiration collected on her brow. “No, I’m going to be sick.” Riley rushed off in search of a wa
stebasket and found one just in time near a tech table. She fell to her knees and unleashed the contents of her stomach.
The cameras better not film her vomiting into the trash. Her carefully styled hair hung around her like a curtain. Her mom had spent an hour taming her unruly red hair. Now Riley needed to check it for hurl.
“Riley, how you doing?” Wendy asked, holding a box of tissues at arm’s length.
Riley grabbed a couple and wiped her mouth, dropping the soiled wipes into the trash, covering up the unfortunate contents. “I’ll be fine in a second.”
“Honey, you need to get up. It’s your turn and you’re creating a scene.” Her mother’s voice sounded in her ear.
Riley sat back and took a breath. She pushed the hair out of her face.
“Here’s a bottle of water. Do you need more time?” Wendy asked.
“No. I feel better now.” Somehow hurling cleared away her nerves. She stood and looked in the mirror of the makeup table. She looked a little flushed, but no one should be able to tell she’d just lost her lunch.
“All right. Makeup, give her a quick touchup and then you’re on.”
A minute later Riley stood in the wings off the mammoth stage as her name was called. Her mom had been corralled to watch from a monitor.
“Our next contestant is Riley Parks,” sounded a booming voice over the speakers.
The stage director smiled and nodded. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” She took a breath, smiled, and walked onto the brightly lit stage. A thunderous roar greeted her. Riley had dreamt of this moment her whole life, and now she had a shot.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. There before her at the judges’ table sat Morton King, a famous record producer; Jason Edgette, a chart-topping singer; and Desiree Diamond, a former teen sensation and well-documented diva.
Suddenly Riley relaxed; she waved at them.
“Oh, she’s so cute,” Desiree said.
Morton King smiled. “Hi, what’s your name?”
“Riley Parks.”
“How old are you?” Jason Edgette asked.
“Thirteen,” she said, loving that she owned the massive stage and the spotlights shined on her.
“And why do you want to win Chart Toppers?” Morton asked.
“Because I love to sing more than pretty much anything.” She blushed and for once didn’t even care. The judges all chuckled.
“Nice answer. What are you going to sing for us?” Morton asked.
“‘Eclipse’ by the Graphite Angels.”
“Wow, big song for a little girl,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready. The stage is yours.”
The panel went into judge mode with contemplative expressions. Desiree looked hard to please, but Jason offered an encouraging smile.
The lights on the judges dimmed. She gripped the microphone. Her knees started to shake again, but she willed it away.
Don’t screw up, don’t screw up.
The intro played, Riley sang, and her voice rang out strong and true. She put every ounce of her heart into the performance, losing herself to the music just like she did at home when she sang with a hairbrush for a microphone in her bedroom.
When she finished, the audience roared their approval. Riley’s eyes widened in surprise. Each of the judges smiled.
“Riley, you have a gift that would please God,” Morton said.
“He’s the one who gave it to me,” she answered, and the audience applauded more.
Jason Edgette spoke next. “Little girl. I’ve never heard a voice like that from someone so young. You are exactly what we’re looking for, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were opening for me someday.”
Riley’s heart soared. “I’d really like that!”
“Congratulations. You’ve left me speechless,” Desiree Diamond said.
Riley jumped up and down, unable to contain her excitement. The judges laughed.
“That’s three thumbs up. Great way to finish off the day,” Morton said.
“Thank you!” She ran offstage and into her mom’s arms.
“You did it, baby! They loved you. You’re going to be a star.”
“Riley? Riley?” Ron kept calling.
She startled out of her fog. “Yes?”
“Can you make reservations for the musicians? Jamie wants to treat them to a late dinner.”
“Of course, I’m on it.” She stepped out of the room and back to the present from that long-forgotten memory. Would her next experience singing go so well? Probably not. She’d been an innocent kid back then, living out her greatest dreams. What she was going to do now was cold hard reality.
35
Garrett spent the rest of the day at the apartment poring over the old recordings of Jamieson songs that he, Peter, and Adam had rejected for one reason or another. He finally selected a few songs that they had liked and almost recorded, but either the songs didn’t fit with the overall theme of the album, or they seemed better suited for a female voice, which turned out to be perfect for scoring songs for Riley.
Satisfied that he was on the right track, he set up a meeting with the music arranger that Jamieson had used on their last two albums. The man promised to get straight to work and deliver the first song in a few days. Damn, it was good to know people in the business. His dad was right again. Jamieson still carried a lot of clout, and Garrett planned to use it to succeed.
He stretched and looked at the time. Eleven o’clock already? Where had the day gone? His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since his late breakfast with Riley. She had to be the most stubborn girl he’d ever dealt with.
A vision of her with those bright streaks of blond hair mixed in with her dark red filled his mind. It looked terrific and gave her a nice edge, not that he’d ever admit it to her. She was hard enough to deal with, without pumping up her confidence even more.
He closed his laptop for the day and headed for the elevator. Time to find a bite to eat and celebrate all that he’d accomplished today. A night on the town was just what he needed.
Two days later, rock music blared as Riley danced her way from the stove to the counter carrying a pan of fresh-from-the-oven cutout cookies. Her hair up in a ponytail, and wearing old shorts and a tank top, she plopped the pan onto hot pads to cool. She spun to the beat, opened the oven door, and tossed the next pan of trees, stars, and bells into the oven. The kitchen window was open to let in some cooler air; the apartment was a hot box.
“Smells like my grandma’s house. What are you making?” Erika asked.
“Christmas cookies.” She grinned. “Want to help?”
“Only if I get to eat some, too.”
“Help yourself.” She pointed with her spatula to the cookies cooling on paper towels.
Erika hitched her hip against the counter. “I take it these are for Jamie Halloway and her mission to turn July into December.”
“Yup. I couldn’t find a bakery to make Christmas cookies this time of year, so I’m making them myself. I hope they’re edible.”
Erika broke the head off a Santa cookie and popped it in her mouth. “Tastes good to me. Where’d you find cookie cutters?”
“At my mom’s place.”
“And how’d that go?” she asked with slow caution.
“Perfectly fine. I went while she was at work.” And that’s the only way Riley would have gone over after all the horrible things her mom had done.
“Have you talked to her at all since the whole car accident news?”
“Only once, and I’ll be fine if I don’t talk to her again until . . .” She waved her spatula in the air. “Christmas.”
“Good. Your life is much calmer when your mom stays away. What do you want me to do?”
“You can start frosting.” She handed Erika a bowl filled with frosting the color of a Shamrock Shake.
“You’re in a good mood lately. That must mean things are either going very well with Mr. Jamieson or you’re giving him a lot of shit.”
Riley couldn’t suppress her grin. “A little bit of both.” Riley picked up a tree cookie and carefully frosted it. “I try to avoid getting together to go over songs, and he’s always finding ways to rope me in and force me to learn them. In return, I tell him how bad his taste is and that he’s wrong about what key they should be in.”
She should be nicer to Garrett, since he basically bailed her out of financial trouble, but she enjoyed irritating him.
“You are so evil.”
“I know, right?” She slid the spatula under a bell-shaped cookie and dropped it onto the paper towels. “But he deserves it for being such a jerk all the time. I must say though that pretty much all of Jamieson’s music is really good. I mean these are songs his brother wrote, and then yesterday he played a few songs that I loved.” She had started to enjoy their sessions together.
“That is so cool. You’re singing songs that Peter Jamieson wrote.”
“What’s even weirder is seeing this new side of Garrett. I’m used to him walking around like he knows everything and practically owns the place, but you should have seen him sitting there with his guitar.”
Erika put down her cookie and propped her chin on her hands to listen.
“It’s like he was a different person. Sort of a softer version of himself.”
“How so?”
She had met with him in a control room at the studio, facing each other on the couch, with music spread out between them, and his guitar rested on his leg.
It was the most honest time she’d ever spent with him. “I don’t know. It’s like he was in his true comfort zone. He strummed his guitar and sang in this low, rich voice, like it was no big deal. He wasn’t singing loud like in a performance, just soft and personal. It was . . . nice.”
“Are you falling under his spell?”
“What? No! I mean, yeah, it was fun and I got to see a new side of him, but that’s it. It’s not like he’s going to ask me to dinner or something.” She stacked cool cookies onto a platter. Her heart was melting where Garrett was concerned, and she wasn’t sure what to think about it.
“And if he did, would you go?”
“Trust me. He has no interest in me. It’s strictly business.” And if it were ever more than that, she had no idea what she’d do.
Under the Spotlight Page 15
