Hearts Key

by Marianne Evans

  He was easy, and friendly.

  So far.

  Kellen wore a gray silk suit, a crisp white dress shirt, and a deep blue tie that added a splash of color to the ensemble. Tyler would have felt a bit underdressed, since he wore simple black slacks paired with a loose fitting polo shirt, but Kellen was all about business, and since this was the start of his day, the attire was to be expected.

  Tyler ticked off the seconds until he could reclaim his peace of mind, and enjoy spending more of his time with Amy. Once this breakfast and the meeting to follow was concluded he’d rest a lot easier. First things first, though; he needed to give Kellen Rossiter his full attention, and do so with an open heart, and mind.

  About mid-way through a delicious and hearty meal—during which Kellen’s recommendations were accepted and enjoyed—the hostess checked in at their table. “How is everything, Mr. Rossiter?”

  “Very good, as always. Thanks.”

  She smiled at Tyler. “I wanted to say that I’m glad to see you here, Mr. Brock. I’m Janie Field, the hostess here, and I’m a big fan of your music. Congratulations on its success.”

  That took Tyler by pleasant and unexpected surprise. He gave her a friendly smile. “Thank you very much. I appreciate you saying that.”

  “You’re welcome, and keep it up. Enjoy your meal, and if you need anything, just let us know.”

  Tyler watched her leave, still flushed by a thrill that never diminished when he came upon people who enjoyed, and were influenced by, his music. He gave Kellen a quick glance before digging in again. “They sure do take good care of you here, Kellen.”

  Kellen continued to eat, but his lips twitched, as though he could barely contain a chuckle. “Humility is such a rare treat to find in my neck of the woods, Tyler. Thanks for that. Janie came over here to meet you, not cater to me. Trust me on that.”

  Tyler shrugged it off. “Mm-hmm.”

  They finished breakfast; Kellen leaned back after sliding a credit card into the padded bill holder. “Shall we continue this at my office?”

  Nerves came back with a wicked force. “Sure. Thanks for breakfast. It was great.”

  The bill was taken, and settled. “Glad to do it, Tyler. C’mon. We can walk from here.”

  ****

  Once again, the walk helped. Motion cleared his head. By the time they reached the high-rise office building, Tyler had offered up final prayers for calm, and God’s answers. By the time they walked into the elevator, and Kellen directed them to the twentieth floor, Tyler felt emotionally and physically prepared for whatever might come.

  The doors opened upon an impressive suite, but he had expected no less. In Kellen’s office, Tyler’s gaze trailed to a pair of unframed abstract paintings that decorated the wall. He wandered across the threshold, continuing to look around. A glass-topped desk, trimmed in mahogany, was accented by a leather chair that looked plush and comfortable. The chair resided at a slight tilt before a panoramic view of downtown Nashville framed by floor-to-ceiling windows. A thick, cream area rug, bordered and slashed by deep burgundy, silenced their footfalls, and he now noticed an inlayed beverage service, bookshelves illuminated by recessed lights. A pair of leather chairs were positioned in front of the desk. Tyler sank into one, trying not to be obvious about the way he clutched the arms of the chair. Kellen sat behind his desk and thumbed fast through a small stack of messages.

  OK, OK, I get the message—this is the big leagues, Tyler thought.

  Kellen tossed the paper slips aside and stretched back a bit, giving Tyler a smile. “Let’s get down to it, huh?”

  Tyler nodded, and leaned back as well.

  “Obviously I want to represent you. My idea is this: you’re a phenomenal Christian artist. But the inherent problem with contemporary Christian music, as I see it, is a lack of mainstream exposure. The music’s good, but the artists aren’t getting the push they need to be heard by more listeners.” Kellen shrugged. “Some artists, in my view, have the chops to bust through that barrier and cross over. Obviously you’re here because I believe you’re that caliber performer. I want your professional growth to match the potential I see in every one of your recordings.”

  Tyler didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied the man before him and constructed a figurative blockade against any kind of pride, or selfish pleasure that declaration might inspire. Only then did he weigh in. “Likewise I’m sure I don’t need to build a ladder to the doubts I have. The doubts have nothing to do with you, per se, or your intentions, per se. I’m honestly flattered to be here. My fears come in at the exact point where I might be expected to give up parts of who and what I am in order to satisfy the ‘greater PR good.’”

  Kellen seemed about to speak, but Tyler continued on. “Furthermore, what about the people I work with? What about Dave, and Rebecca, and the team who’ve seen me through everything, right from the start? I don’t want wholesale changes just because I sign on with an A-List agent.”

  Throughout Tyler’s turn at bat, Kellen’s lips tightened into a firm line. He sighed. “You’re still not getting it, Tyler, and that puzzles me. I’m not about changes; I’m about enhancements to a package I already believe in wholeheartedly. I believe so much that I’ve already taken a bit of initiative. Let me show you something.” Kellen slid open a desk drawer to his right and extracted a stapled set of papers. He held them out. “Give this a look.”

  Puzzled, Tyler took custody. “OK.”

  Kellen rose. “Can I get you some water?”

  “Sure, that’d be great. Thanks.”

  Kellen went to the beverage service. While ice chinked into glasses and water splashed, Tyler looked at the information Kellen provided. What he found was a playlist—dated two weeks ago—for WNIC radio in Detroit. Over the span of two days, Amazing Grace was highlighted six times.

  Tyler blinked. “You did this? You set up ’NIC to play Amazing Grace?”

  Kellen looked over his shoulder, his gaze tagging Tyler’s. He shrugged, waiting.

  “You did this, while I was back home in Detroit, performing at Woodland?”

  “I thought it would be a good idea to deliver a bump to your exposure while you were home.”

  “But you had no right to do that! I’m not your client!”

  Kellen was nonplussed by Tyler’s agitated retort. “I made a phone call, that’s all. Consider it a freebie. My only intent was for your song to get added airplay, and, yeah, for you to catch a glimpse of what I can do for you. If you walk away from the gesture, no harm done, but the facts remain.” He gestured toward the papers. “It worked. It worked because your music is good, Tyler.”

  “Actually, I heard it when I was at my pastor’s house.” Tyler studied the play list again, and he couldn’t quell the wash of disappointment. The exciting moment he had shared with his family and friends dimmed now, as though a slight “cheat” had taken place to give his song a push. Or had it? Was he being overly defensive with regard to a harmless, helpful act on Kellen’s part? Tides were sweeping him onto a new mission field, whether he welcomed it or not. “It’s just…I thought the song had received air play on its own merits.”

  Kellen returned from the bar service and shot him a hard look. “It did.” He approached his desk carrying two crystal glasses. He handed one to Tyler and resumed his seat. “The song, the music, the message, it’s all based on merit, and it’s all you. I just touched base with a connection—reached out to the programming director at WNIC and put you on his radar. Tyler, that’s what I do.”

  Tyler sighed, and he couldn’t stifle a nervous, uncomfortable shift.

  “You know, you might want to get over yourself a little bit.” Kellen bit off the words. “I’m not the devil in this scenario, and if you want to know the truth, I think that’s part of what’s got you so riled up and unsettled right now. It’s also part of why you’ve been avoiding me. You’re running scared from opportunity.”

  “Nice job of salesmanship.” But talk about finding him
self convicted.

  “I don’t sugar coat.” Kellen paused strategically. “And I didn’t get where I’m at by being a pussycat.” He leaned forward against the desk; his eyes went narrow. “I’m tenacious and relentless about going after whatever will serve me and my clients for the best. I’m not asking you to give up who and what you are. That’d spell disaster. I’m not asking you to spew expletives on stage in front of hundreds and thousands of zoned-out fans. That stuff turns my gut as much as it does yours.”

  “I don’t sugar coat either, so let me be just as frank.”

  Kellen gestured openly and sat back in his chair. “Please. That’s what today’s all about.”

  “No matter what you want from me, expect from me, or try to accomplish with regard to my career, my symbol is a cross. It’ll never be a bar chart in some media popularity poll. You’ll end up asking me to compromise. You’ll end up asking me to move just far enough away from a Christian message to dilute my mission. For the sake of sales and exposure. It’s not worth it.”

  “Wrong. I’m asking you to loosen the reins just enough to reach more people. People who need what you offer. I want to help you spread your message on a larger stage. Isn’t that why you perform? Isn’t that why you’ve created that Christian message to begin with? To reach people?”

  Tyler had no ready rebuttal to that piece of analysis. Kellen nodded slowly, his eyes unflinching. “A large number of Christian artists have remained true to their message of faith and Christianity, but at the same time they moved forward into mainstream markets. I play hardball, but I have convictions, too. My convictions lead me to the belief that your time is here. You possess exactly the degree of talent, charisma, and message to swing open a powerful door. Take it to the next level, Brock. You’ve got the will to make that happen? You ready? If you are, I’ll make it come to be.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. God will make it come to be, not you.” Tyler fought against two diametrically opposed forces in his nature: Ambition versus mission. Passion for music versus passion for God. He had to fight hard to make sure he remained true to himself, and his faith. “I won’t move forward without God, and who and what He brings to my music. That’s my final answer.”

  Kellen leaned back, steepling his fingertips, tapping them lightly against his lips. “I respect that. But I also believe you can do both. In fact, maybe that’s why God has put me into your pathway. Think about it.”

  Kellen’s challenge left Tyler off center. Would this extraordinary offer mean serving two masters? Dividing his heart and loyalty? In the heat of this charged, electric exchange, he didn’t know the answer. He needed prayer time. Serious prayer time.

  That, Tyler promptly recognized, was God’s answer, wafting through his heart, providing that needed certainty of course.

  “I’m not sure yet, Kellen. Until I am, and I’ll let you know my answer either way, give me some time to think about this, and pray about it. In peace.”

  Kellen’s lips curved. Admiration shone from his jet-colored eyes. “Fair enough, Brock. Fair enough.”

  The man was a tiger. Tyler had to give him credit for that, and part of him recognized clearly that Kellen Rossiter would be a formidable champion—if black and white could ever be comfortably reconciled.

  As those thoughts crested through Tyler’s mind, Kellen ropened the desk drawer and removed a Bible. Tyler could tell instantly the item was no prop. The spine featured numerous, deep creases. The cover was worn and a bit frayed at the edges.

  Kellen handed it over. “Look it over for a second,” he invited quietly.

  Tyler paged through the thin, onionskin pages with reverence. It was full of penned notations, highlights of verses, all of it in various shades, but all of it in one person’s handwriting. On the front page, the Bible was inscribed to Kellen, from his parents, with a confirmation date inscribed just beneath.

  “I’m not trying to sway you with religion,” Kellen continued. “That’s not how I operate. My faith isn’t something I use as a bargaining chip. But in this case, I want to demonstrate commonality.” He gestured toward the black-leather volume. “I can’t share this with many of the people I come into contact with. It’s just not built into the nature of this business. But when I come upon an artist like you, when I see your message, and recognize its impact, I get hungry. On your behalf, and on God’s behalf.”

  Stunned, Tyler lifted his eyes briefly. Kellen regarded him in steady silence. Tyler continued to turn pages, and he ended up in Proverbs. Though he didn’t really believe in playing “Bible Roulette” he didn’t think and ended up at Proverbs 3:5-6 by mere happenstance:

  Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.

  Last night’s conversation with Amy played through his mind. In regard to their relationship, in regard to Kellen Rossiter, in regard to his career, no words from God could have struck his soul with richer impact.

  Hearts Key

  12

  Amy came awake in slow, pleasant degrees, her body lulled by soft breezes that circled in through an open window, her mind soothed by the steady crescendo of bird-song. She stretched, issuing a quiet, happy sigh.

  And then she got whapped on the forehead.

  The contact came from her daughter’s stray hand when a still sleeping Pyper tossed from her back to her side. Amy winced, and rubbed her head, but she squelched a pained sound because Pyper resettled instantly, softly cooing while she snuggled into the depths of her pillow. Amy re-tucked the blankets around Pyper’s body, then kissed her cheek.

  She rolled out of bed and prepped herself for the day as fast as she could. She was eager to find out if Tyler had returned from Nashville and what he was up to. The intimacy of sharing with one another last night had happened so naturally, with such ease. It had been perfect to while away a beautiful evening side by side with Tyler, lulled to contentment by the steady motion of a creaky porch swing, tucked together perfectly.

  But she knew today’s meeting with Kellen Rossiter rested heavy on his mind, and she wanted to know its outcome.

  Amy’s slumber had been completely serene; her world unblemished by mixed-up dreams, taut muscles and the anxieties that bore down on her day in and day out, even at rest. It was part of being a single mom, and draining though it might be, Amy wouldn’t trade an instant of Pyper’s life, and finding happiness for them both outside of the horrors Mark had inflicted. So, this morning she had slept in way too late. Following the call of fresh-brewed coffee, she walked down the staircase, making her way to the kitchen. The area was vacated, although a set of breakfast dishes were rinsed and stacked in the sink, most likely by RuthAnne. A flutter of disappointment moved through her at missing Tyler’s aunt. Amy looked around, now noticing something that caused confusion, and then a smile. The kitchenette featured two settings of cheery, orange stoneware placed with care upon thick, dark blue placemats. Silverware and linen napkins were stationed nearby. An envelope rested atop one of the plates, bearing her name in Tyler’s increasingly familiar handwriting.

  She tore into it like a Christmas present.

  Amy (and Pyper, too!) ~ Bacon and eggs are warm and waiting in the oven, courtesy of RuthAnne. She’ll be back around 10, 10:30. She’s indulging her weekly produce market fix. I’m out front when you’re done, so no worries. Wake up slow, and enjoy. ~ Tyler

  Amy nipped her lower lip, trying so hard to fight that lovely dissolving surrender to the belief that this could become real—and permanent—in her life.

  She poured herself a mug of coffee and set it on the table. Next she found a hot pad hanging on a wall hook, and slid a serving platter full of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, from inside the oven. She trailed her fingertips along the arched back of the whaler’s chair, lost in thought as she dished food then sat, preparing to dig in, and re-read Tyler’s note, just because it made her feel…treasured.

  She filled an empt
y and grateful tummy, with Tyler’s note her accompaniment. The gesture got her to thinking. She really needed to put together something for him to commemorate his recent visit to Woodland. She should create something special, like an album of the best pictures she had taken at the concert. Or maybe something even more immediate, like—

  “Mornin’!”

  RuthAnne entered the kitchen through its side door, delivering a happy nod as she hefted a stash of bags onto the counter with a thud. She began to unpack groceries, and Amy stood to help. Her arrival couldn’t have been more perfectly timed. It synced right up to the idea Amy had brewing.

  “Good morning, RuthAnne. How was the market?”

  “Excellent selections, I tell you. Sit down and finish eating! I’ve got this.”

  “I’m done. No problem.” There were all kinds of fragrant, fresh vegetables, some cantaloupe, a watermelon, and a couple packs of blueberries. Amy stored what items she could, then turned to Tyler’s aunt. “Hey, RuthAnne, do you happen to know what Tyler’s favorite dinner is?”

  RuthAnne paused and thought about it for a moment. “I make a chicken stew that he always seems to love.”

  “Would you mind showing me how to make it? Sometime in the next day or two I’d like to treat him to something special, if it’s not a family secret or anything.”

  “Oh, it’s no such thing. I’d be happy to share it with you.” RuthAnne continued to put away the food. “We’d need some chicken breasts—maybe we could make a run to the store and pick them up. We’d have to prep it in the morning and let it stew for the rest of the day.”

  “Thank you! I think that’d be wonderful.”

  “Y’all are off to the falls today, right?”

  “Yes, we are. And I guess Tyler’s out front.”