The agent managed to make his interest known, while at the same time maintaining a comfortable distance.
Media members swarmed at the beginning of the program, snapping pictures at a fast clip. Tyler noticed that Amy tracked the progress of the reporters. She looked bewildered by the degree of attention. As people moved through the room, a number of producers, back-up singers, technicians, and label execs from Exclamation Point stopped by to pay Tyler a quick, though discreet greeting.
Amy leaned close. “I feel like Alice falling down the rabbit hole.”
Tyler regarded her intently. The comment didn’t resonate with humor. He could tell by her reserved, closed-off posture that she honestly felt like she had entered an alternate universe.
Disquiet over Amy and confusion over Kellen, built as the evening progressed.
****
A couple hours later, his thoughts tumbling, Tyler left the fading party behind. He walked into the lobby, waiting for Amy to return from a visit to the restroom. Kellen had made only one overture about representation all night—that joke at the bar about selling Tyler via commitment to a happy relationship. Kellen didn’t push; he hadn’t hovered. Tyler appreciated those facts, but at the same time, came away perplexed, wondering about the agent’s lack of pressure.
Then there was Amy’s reaction to the evening. The mood he sensed from her wasn’t at all reassuring. She had been warm; she engaged easily when spoken to, but beyond that, she kept to herself, cataloguing the events of the evening in a manner Tyler could only describe as shuttered. He intended to ask her about that.
Beyond the glass doors of the hotel entrance, he spied a lineup of limousines. A few stray photographers milled about. The glamour of the hotel lobby drew his focus. Italian marble floors, a vaulted ceiling created of stained glass and overstuffed, luxurious furniture all vied for his attention, drawing him into a world he could most definitely admire, but never dive in to with complete abandon. The whole evening had affected him that way. A night of glitz and glamour was one thing; living in the constant glare of a spotlight was quite another, which was a new point to ponder.
As the thought evolved, a conversation nearby earned his interest; one of the voices he heard belonged to Kellen Rossiter.
“Rossie. You’re headed out, too?”
Kellen’s laugh reached Tyler. Only, the laugh didn’t seem warm, or overly humorous. “I hate being called Rossie, which you know full well, Clay.”
“Why else do you think I’d use it? You know how it goes—agent to agent nothing delights me like needling the competition.”
Tyler stayed out of range for the time being and watched the proceedings. Kellen stood near the entrance of the lobby, chatting with a short, pudgy man who presently chewed on an unlit cigar. In vague terms, Tyler remembered him from the party. Kellen kept an eye on both the ladies’ room and the line of cars outside. Waiting for his wife, Tyler assumed. If he recalled correctly, as the party disbursed, Juliet had headed out with Amy.
“Juliet’s getting tired and there’s no need to overstay my welcome.”
“Suppose not, especially since you seem to have achieved your agenda for the night: charming Tyler Brock. Everybody knows you’re after him in a big way. Seems you’ve made inroads. Have you clinched the deal yet?”
“What deal?” Though smooth in tone, Kellen’s voice carried with it a slice of tension that spelled danger to Tyler’s ears.
“The deal to add Tyler to your client list.” Clay’s reply was unapologetic and blunt.
“I’d love to represent him, but he’s not an agenda item. I came here to check up on Exclamation Point’s progress. The label is up and coming. Great portfolio of talent.”
Tyler still kept to the side, and away from their immediate notice; his brows pulled together. Kellen’s discretion and tact won Tyler’s appreciation—especially when Clay continued to push.
“A great portfolio of talent that includes Tyler Brock, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
The simple two-word response resounded with a steely warning. Tyler waited, expectant and on edge.
“Well, I guess I’m just a little curious is all. I mean, why are you hinging yourself on Bible-belt performers, Rossiter?”
“Because the music is good, and the message is even better. Since that equals a win/win situation, sure I’m exploring the genre. What about that equation doesn’t make sense to you?”
Kellen’s tone was casual, but once again Tyler sensed something just beneath. Something battle-ready and challenging that he could appreciate, and completely relate to.
“Hey, easy on there. Don’t be so defensive, I—”
“I’m not being defensive. You’re the one who asked. I’m just straightening out a misguided perception.”
Kellen’s companion shrugged in a show of magnanimous tolerance. “Whatever, whatever. It’s not a bad idea, really, to practice inclusiveness, especially when it comes to the Christian sect.”
Tyler bristled at the demeaning comment. He made ready to step forward, and make his presence known.
“What I’m doing isn’t about a sect.” Kellen answered sharply. “I believe in the music, and the artists I’m coming to know.”
The words stopped Tyler from interrupting. His footsteps stuttered to a stall.
Again came a shrug from the other guy, this one dismissive. “Gotta give you credit. You’ve always been ahead of the curve when it comes to pushing trends and pulling in the talent to do it. You’ve always known what buttons to push, but I have the feeling this will be your first stumble. After all, squeaky clean and righteous? Not sure how great that’ll sell these days. Too bland. Not enough intensity and drive to draw in that young, sexy demographic we’re all fighting to win.”
Kellen’s rumbling chuckle drifted through the lobby. “Well, to me, the idea of eternity is pretty intense, and can offer that demographic plenty of drive when given the right platform. I’m ready to give Christian music, and its more promising artists, the push they deserve.”
Absorbed by the scene, Tyler shook his head and gave a soft snort when he watched Clay sneer in a placating, completely insincere manner. “Good luck with that. Well, there’s my car. See you later.”
Kellen didn’t reply, continuing to wait for Juliet. That’s when Tyler finally re-found his footing. He crossed the lobby in a few short strides. “Kellen.”
If perturbed by the previous exchange, Kellen didn’t show it. He offered a warm smile and a nod. “Hey, Tyler.”
Kellen, he now noticed, carried two gift bags, his and Juliet’s. Since Tyler did the same for himself and Amy, they shared a grin and looked in the direction of the restrooms.
“Amy and Juliet really hit it off,” Tyler said.
“They did. It was a fun night. I’ll make sure I say as much to Paul.”
“Nice name drop,” Tyler teased.
Kellen, still being Kellen, was on the job. Paul was the president of Exclamation Point Records.
Kellen’s features went stormy. “You know? Sometimes it’s a battle to even try to do what I dream of. I wonder if you understand that. I’m not after anything. It’s just that I see tremendous potential in you and the other artists here at Exclamation Point. I see potential in the music you create. A potential I’d like to encourage. Paul’s a friend, that’s all, so I intend to thank him for a nice evening.”
Though taken aback by Kellen’s strident response, Tyler understood the undercurrent. Kellen’s mood obviously stemmed from residual steam that had built up following the previous exchange. “You know what, Kellen? I get that now. I really do.” Tyler took note of the skeptical expression Kellen wore, and went serious in a hurry. “That’s why I’d like to invite you to a recording session Saturday morning. After that, let’s plan to talk for a bit.”
Kellen went still, then he nodded, studying Tyler with knitted brows and narrowed eyes. “I’ll be there, but why the generosity?”
“Because you recognize a genre, not a s
ect. Because you recognize the message in the music. I appreciate that.” Tyler waited a beat, watching realization dawn in Kellen’s eyes. He gave Kellen a knowing grin.
The women joined them, and Tyler tucked his hand into Amy’s as she bid the Rossiters goodnight. “Juliet, it was a pleasure to meet you. Kellen, the session is set up for Saturday morning at eleven o’clock. Studio B.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Hearts Key
16
Surprisingly enough, it was the swag bag that re-released a floodgate of doubts for Amy. Especially the 14 Karat gold bracelet she had discovered inside, tucked into a black velvet jeweler’s box placed artfully amidst sparkling tissue paper. Also included were a myriad of high-end goodies like designer label cosmetics and generous gift cards to apparel stores she normally wouldn’t tempt herself by going near, let alone actually patronize. The bracelet now decorated her wrist. Amy touched the simple, shimmering cross that dangled from the chain; it captured the morning sunlight that poured in through a nearby window. She slouched at the small dining table in Tyler’s kitchen, lost in thought.
Where is this really headed? Is this nothing more than a week-long voyage down a primrose path leading to a mirage?
Amy’s entire being repelled the idea, even as practical logic snaked its way into existence all over again, pushing hard against each of her newfound joys and a tenuous hope for what the future could hold.
Following last night’s “A-List” style celebration for Exclamation Point Records, the prospect of media speculation, and a spotlight being shined on the stains of her past, continued to gain traction. Tyler was making headway into both Christian and mainstream recording markets. That was tremendous. And much deserved. But, what would fans, and media members, think of him being involved with a divorcee who coped with life as a single working mom following the end of a marriage marred by both physical abuse and alcoholism? Worse than that, what would the glare of a spotlight mean for an unsuspecting innocent like Pyper?
Additionally, thoughts of Mark crept into the corners of her heart. Would he catch wind of her relationship? Would he reemerge and exert pressure on her, via Pyper, in order to manipulate or extort? Certainly in such a case Tyler would step in, ever a source of strength and support. But Amy didn’t want him to have to contend with such an event. He didn’t deserve additional pressure and concerns about his image, his work—and his heart.
Gossip-laden headlines—based upon fact or fiction—would not bode well for Tyler and his forward momentum. Plus, constant scrutiny, and the idea of tarnishing Tyler’s life in any way, gave Amy a lot to consider.
She didn’t doubt Tyler’s depth of emotion. To do so was impossible. Nor did she question her own veracity of spirit. How could she? Guided by heartfelt sincerity and tenderness, Tyler drew them into the loving circle of his life with an expert’s precision. But those facts didn’t keep her from having to face a colder, harder truth: life with Tyler Brock would take her, and Pyper, far from the stability of the life they had worked so hard to build back in Michigan.
The Ruth and Boaz analogy Amy had embraced just one short week ago didn’t seem to make nearly as much sense any longer. Why? Because the story of Ruth and Boaz didn’t feature the life of a child—a child who desperately needed a solid and comfortable foundation.
Here, in Tennessee, they were happy, certainly, but upheaval was upheaval. Together, she and Pyper had struggled through so much life change that additional uprooting wasn’t a viable option. Especially when coupled with the intrusive speculation of tabloids and the thousands of media outlets clambering for details on the lives of celebrities—the racier and more controversial, the better. Several aspects of her relationship with Tyler would feed that quest.
Amy groaned aloud and balled her breakfast napkin into a tight wad of paper. Would a relationship be in Tyler’s best interests? He might think so. In return, she might long for just such a connection. In reality, however, “Tyler and Amy” would be a sticky, scrutinized model. Most likely, the situation would turn ugly for all three of them. That was a circumstance Amy couldn’t accept, nor in any way reconcile.
Fantasies involving Tyler and a picture-perfect life now struck her as impossible.
So, with forty-eight hours left on the clock in Franklin, Amy arose from her seat in the kitchen to a tune of growing discord and sadness. She took her dishes to the sink and rinsed them, weakened at the shoulders by sullen thoughts and an ache of tiredness that filled her soul.
Falling asleep last night had been a solitary experience; before the record label event, Pyper had proudly announced she wanted to give her room a try. Amy recognized the decision had much to do with the plethora of goodies stored there, and the gauzy netting of the canopy bed, which simply begged for a little girl to curl up beneath its protection and dream of glorious fairytales. Solitude proved a double-edged sword for Amy—peaceful, certainly, but echoing with the thoughts and doubts that churned through her mind.
At breakfast this morning, RuthAnne had joined them, and the meal struck Amy like the precious pieces of a family unit. Determinedly she rebuked that thought as fast as it arose, although outwardly she remained as warm and upbeat as possible.
Now, with everyone disbursed into the call of the day ahead, she stewed while she stored dishes in the washer.
Presently, Tyler showered and dressed. Amy, Tyler, and Pyper had decided to spend today at a slow pace and keep close to home so Pyper could play, and the adults could simply relax. The interlude was soothing, but Amy remained unsettled. Her emptiness correlated directly to a lack of confidence she couldn’t quell, or ignore. Not when all of the arrows in her life pointed away from the truest call of her heart.
For dinner, they went to Puckett’s, a Tennessee institution with standard American fare, live music, and a country-style atmosphere that roused the embers of her doused mood. After praying over their meal, Tyler dug in. “Tomorrow’s recording session will probably take a couple of hours.” Tyler helped himself to a stash of fries then bit into his hamburger. “Are you sure you don’t mind coming along? I really want you with me, so you can see how everything comes together, but it might be a little boring.”
The question cut into her thoughts, which had strayed once again. Amy gave herself an internal shake, drawn back to the appealing hubbub of dining out at a restaurant full of happy energy. Conversations swirled, glassware and dinner utensils chinked and clanged, footsteps creaked against worn wooden floor planks. Pyper swung her legs, errantly connecting with Amy’s calf from time to time. Pyper was lost to the atmosphere of Puckett’s, happily absorbing the crowd and some well-played banjo music.
“I can’t wait to hear what you’re working on. It’ll be anything but boring.” Amy smiled at him and forced herself into a more proper, upbeat demeanor. She propped her elbows on the tall, window-side table where they sat. Bathed by the golden light of late afternoon sunset, people milled through the streets, enjoying a gorgeous summer evening. She let the beauty of the scene seep into her soul.
Pyper chewed on her grilled cheese sandwich and looked up at Tyler with wide, pleading eyes. “Me, too? Can we sing together too, Tyler? Please?”
Amy cringed, preparing to interject at once, but before she could speak, Tyler rested his hand on top of hers and gave a warning squeeze that kept Amy silent for the time being.
“I need to record a couple songs with my group, but I’ll see what we can arrange. Maybe we can lay down a track of you and me playin’ Chopsticks.”
Pyper gasped. “And singing our ABC’s, too? We’re really good at that.”
He laughed and tweaked her nose. “We sure are, sugar beet. I think that’s doable.”
She nodded hard. “And know what else? I decided something. Something important.”
Amy braced herself for just about anything. “What’s that?”
“I’m gonna be a singer when I grow up. Just like Tyler.”
The statement worked right past every defens
e Amy possessed. And stirred up a world full of emotions: good and bad.
****
On their way out of the restaurant, Pyper weaved through a cluster of customers who had just arrived at Puckett’s. Amy watched after her daughter while Pyper charged toward the window display of a toy store they had passed on their way into downtown Franklin. Pyper leaned against the cement sill of the shop, looking inside with dreamy eyes.
“Pyper has certainly taken a major-league turn when it comes to you, Tyler. I’m glad for that.” The automatic way he reached for her hand warmed Amy’s heart despite the cold of her misgivings.
“I am, too. She’s happy, don’t you think? Confident.”
“Yes. Definitely.”
They meandered toward Pyper, down the length of a wide sidewalk dotted by ornate wrought iron street lamps, but then, Tyler’s subtle tug on her hand brought Amy to a stop. “You know? The same can be said for her mom.” His firm tone, the openness of his clear, hazel eyes, jammed any form of reply deep in her throat, right behind a thick swell of emotion.
She took a deep breath and swallowed. Removing her hand from his, she moved a few steps ahead. “I suppose so.”
Pointedly Tyler stayed in place. When Amy attempted to venture forward once more, he held his ground. “Really? Is that all you’re going to say?”
“What more do you want?” She wondered if the words even registered over traffic noise and the chatter of passers by. She kept her lips from trembling by pressing them together.
“I want everything, Amy.”
His intensity left her wanting distraction, so she looked toward her daughter. Pyper chatted with a little girl who joined her in admiring the toys that were framed in by a glass window. Happily occupied, they watched a twirling ballerina, admired a fully trimmed dollhouse and a chugging train. Amy resumed their stroll.
Hearts Key Page 17
