by Holly Rayner
“Well, they get old so young these days.” She paused for a second before adding, “I should write a song about that.”
“And her taste in music could best be described as eclectic,” I added. “When I was her age, I listened to whatever was on the radio, and it felt like there were just one or two genres. But she’s into pop, hip-hop, country, bluegrass, indie, you name it. I even caught her listening to shoegaze a few weeks back.”
“Wow. You know, if she likes music that much she ought to think about making a career out of it. My best friend loves music, and she works as a DJ during the summers. It sounds like her and your daughter would get along.”
“I wish I could fly you both down here.” I stood up and strode to the window, stretching my legs. In the garden at the back of the house, I could see the bright blue sky reflected in a pool of clear water.
“Yeah, about that,” said Shannon. “I’m really tempted by your offer, but I think I would like to get to know you a little better first. I’m not a huge fan of over-the-phone calls, they don’t really give me a sense of the other person. It would be great if we could chat over video.”
“I’d love that.”
“Like I said, I’m on vacation for the next couple weeks, so my schedule is open. If you want to call me when you’re not busy—”
“I think I might have a better idea,” I cut in abruptly. “Why don’t we just meet in person?”
There was a silence on the other end of the phone, and I worried I had said the wrong thing. I had seemed too eager and now she was scared; she was having second thoughts.
“Would you really do that?” Shannon asked finally.
“Yes, of course. It’s no trouble to me. I visit the States at least twice a year, most years. I’m due for another visit.”
“Wow, I don’t know what to say. I’d love to meet with you in person.” Her surprise and enthusiasm were adorable, and I couldn’t help smiling. “You really don’t have to fly halfway around the world just for me.”
“I want to. I really do.” There was so much more I could have said—how she seemed like an even better person than she was a musician; how I was eager to meet her for more than just business reasons—but I didn’t want to scare her away. Not when we were so close.
“Well, if you really want to,” said Shannon. “Just let me know the date so I can get the mansion ready for you—”
“I can fly out of here tomorrow. Are you free on Monday?”
There was a noise on the other end as though she had set the phone down, and I thought I could hear whispering. Then: “Yeah, I think Monday would work. This is all happening so fast, gosh…”
“Well, we don’t have much time. Kalilah will be turning eight in a few days. I feel like she’ll be turning twenty the week after that—”
“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” Shannon said softly. “Anyway, I’d better get going. We’re about to eat dinner and then play charades. I’ve never won but I have a good feeling about tonight. I’ll send you my address so you know where to find me.”
“Sounds great. And again, thank you for being willing to host me on such short notice.”
“Hey, no problem. We’ll talk over logistics and whatnot when you get here.” When I didn’t respond, she said shyly, “Okay, bye!”
“Bye, see you soon.”
I set the phone down and went back to looking through the window, wondering how she had felt about my offer. She seemed thrilled, but a celebrity of her stature probably got calls like this all the time and after a while they must have all blended together. I’d have to text her before I touched down on Monday to remind her that I was on my way.
As for me, I was relieved to have made the sale. She was intrigued enough to have arranged a meeting in person, which boded well. I was so happy, I wanted to run downstairs and tell Kalilah that her idol would be coming to Sabah—coming to see her—but that would have to wait. I wasn’t going to ruin the surprise just yet.
Chapter 4
Shannon
“I think we might have a problem.”
I had just hung up the phone. Ginger, who had been hovering nearby, had overheard most of the conversation. Now she sat gaping at me incredulously from atop the arm of the chair.
“Did you just invite him to a house that you don’t own?” she asked.
“Okay, I think the headline here should be: ‘Middle Eastern sheikh books me for private concert.’ If he pays me what I think he’s going to pay me, that’s a minor issue.” When Ginger continued to scowl, I added quietly, “But yes, I might’ve lied to him about where I live.”
“Shanny, you really shouldn’t have done that,” she said heatedly. It was a shock to see the usually genial and easygoing Ginger so upset. “He’s going to find out you lied to him and that’ll be the end of it. You won’t get that money. You won’t get any of this.”
Just then the sliding glass doors opened and Brian and Dad came in from the back patio with Rob Roy trailing behind them, his bushy white tail wagging happily. “I would’ve won that last round,” said Dad, “if the sun hadn’t been in my eyes.”
“Sure, blame the sun, Dad,” Brian grinned. “I think you may have had one too many beers.”
“Nope, just enough,” he quipped. Turning to me he added, “Shannon, we were thinking pork chops, mashed potatoes, and asparagus spears for dinner.”
“Sounds great, Dad,” I replied. Quietly I said to Ginger, “Maybe we should continue this discussion elsewhere.”
I led her to my room at the back of the house, which Mom had preserved exactly as it was in my teen years. The walls had been painted a pretty pastel color and on the wall over the bed hung posters of my various celebrity crushes (mostly boy bands, though there was a framed portrait of Bowie). A plain brown desk of walnut stood by the window, on top of which lay colorful tea-light holders and a stuffed bear from the zoo. Ginger sank down into the pink papasan chair and covered herself in a blanket until only her head was visible.
“So, we need to think of a plan.”
“Can’t we just take one moment to be excited for me?” I asked. “This is a big deal. This guy wants me to visit his country and play a private concert for him and his daughter and their friends. I’ve been waiting months for an opportunity like this.”
“And I think that’s great, and no one has wanted this for you more than I have. But Shanny, why did you lie to him and tell him you lived in a mansion when you don’t? What are you going to say to him when he flies down on Monday and this—” she gestured broadly around—“isn’t a mansion?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know what came over me! I guess I just wanted him to think I was someone glamorous and important.”
“And you could have made that clear to him without lying. Shannon, you were up for awards last year. Your songs are on TV commercials!”
“Only on the hiking channel,” I reminded her, “and only that one song—the only song I’ve written that anyone listens to.” I didn’t consider “Small-Town Girl” to be one of my better efforts, but the public’s appetite for it was insatiable.
“And I don’t think you get how that sounds to a normal person,” Ginger hit back. “This guy probably doesn’t follow the latest songs, he doesn’t understand the ins and outs of the music industry. He just knows his daughter loves your music and he wanted to surprise her on her birthday. There was no reason to make yourself out to be bigger than you are. What you’ve accomplished would seem pretty dang impressive to most people.”
“I guess I just don’t get why you’re so bothered by this,” I said.
“I’m bothered by it,” she said, “because you were just handed this terrific opportunity and it feels like you’ve already sabotaged it. I really wanted this for you, but this guy isn’t going to be happy when he finds out he’s been lied to. He wouldn’t have cared if you had told him you lived in just a normal house.”
“I live in a rundown apartment.”
“I know, but you’re he
re every day. I knew you weren’t going to interview him in your apartment. This house is way nicer, and he would have liked it.”
I wished Ginger would stop talking. I knew I’d screwed up and I didn’t need to be reminded of the fact. What I needed now, more than anything, was to figure out how I was going to get out of this.
She seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “So… What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, but we’ve got two days to think of something.” I peered through the blinds into the backyard, where Dad was grilling pork chops. “We could rent a mansion for the day.”
“How are we going to rent a mansion?” Ginger demanded.
“I don’t know, but do you remember Madge who was rescued out of the cult bunker? The leader of this cult was renting a house and he built an underground bunker inside it. The owners of the house had no idea what was going on. But years later, after he had gone to prison, a news crew took Madge back to the house and filmed her walking around inside it.”
“How’d they get access to the house? Just journalist’s privilege?”
“I asked her about it and Madge told me they actually rented the house for the day, for like, fifty to a hundred dollars.”
Ginger sat up straight in the chair, hugging a plush hedgehog close to her chest. “So, that’s an idea. We could call around and see if anyone wants to rent out their mansion for the day.”
“True, but Woodfell isn’t exactly mansion city. How many people do we actually know who own one?”
“Hmm.”
As if compelled by some hidden instinct, Ginger rose and began pacing the floor, the blanket flung over her shoulders like a cape. I wished she wouldn’t pace, not when I was trying to think, but I had known her long enough to know that she was deep in thought. She had gotten some of her best ideas in moods like this. With her nose slightly crooked and her long hippie hair trailing behind her, she had the look of a school librarian sternly shushing children.
“What if…” I said quietly. “What if you came with me and pretended to be my agent for the day?”
“Mrs. Tessmacher?” said Ginger uncertainly. “What would your agent be doing in Ohio?”
“Why wouldn’t she be? Umar wouldn’t know any better—if he can travel across the world in a few days, she could surely fly across country.”
“What if he asks me a lot of questions about business to which I don’t know the answers?”
That was a fair point: if the conversation turned to business, I would be better off enlisting Brian, or even Brian’s girlfriend, Rita, who interned at a record label. But somehow I didn’t think Rita would be willing to assist my deception.
“I know it might seem scary,” I said finally, “but you know more about numbers and money than I do. And all you would really need to do is sit next to me and look professional. Glower at him occasionally from behind your glasses like a sexy librarian.”
“Sexy librarian?” said Ginger, laughing in spite of herself. “I didn’t realize we were doing a porno.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. So, we’ve got the agent; now all we need is the house.”
“Yes, the mansion that, need I remind you again, you do not own.”
“Well, as my agent, I thought you might have some suggestions.”
“I do not!” Ginger threw up her hands helplessly. “I have no suggestions.”
“We don’t have a lot of time here.”
“I know. I know.” She ran a hand through her hair. “At this point, it would almost be worth calling up the parks department and asking if they would let you use the old Winslow House.”
The Winslow House was an abandoned manor house in East Woodfell that was reputed to be haunted. One of the local radio stations was offering ten thousand dollars to the first person who could successfully spend an entire night in the house. So far, no one had lasted the night.
“The Winslow House, really? I’m desperate, but I don’t know if I’m that desperate.”
“If they would actually let you inside,” said Ginger, “you’d be a fool to turn down the offer.”
“Yeah, but isn’t it kind of run down?”
“Only from the outside. Ryan and I took one of those guided tours one year during Halloween and we were amazed by how nice it looked on the inside: gilt-framed paintings, fancy mirrors, Persian carpet, ottomans with velvet cushions, a cat bed that was, I swear to you, nicer than the actual bed I sleep in…”
“I think I get the picture,” I interrupted. “If we could get inside for the day, that would be perfect. We could pretend to be all fancy and drink tea out of porcelain mugs.”
“I could affect an old-timey Transatlantic accent,” said Ginger. She took a marker off the desk and dangled it from her lips like a long cigarette. “‘How dare you!’” she said shrilly. “‘I’ve never legged boots in my life!’”
“Wow, I think some people are getting way into this,” I said with a laugh. “Umar is going to think we’re nuts when we both start dancing the Charleston.”
“If you can get that house,” said Ginger, “he would be so impressed! He’d offer you the gig then and there.”
“Now we just have to figure out how.”
“Shannon, honey, with your connections, I feel like it wouldn’t be difficult. The cost of renting it for a day won’t be an issue, if they’ll let you.”
“I wish that were true, but you forget there are a lot of people in this town who don’t like me.” I picked up a stray hairpin from the desk and began pinning my hair up in the back. “And that obscenity in the paper this morning probably didn’t help things.”
“Well, you must know someone who knows someone who could get you into that old house. It’s just a matter of asking the right people.”
Ginger stood behind me with her hands at her sides, evidently expecting a reply. Dusk was falling outside and Rob Roy was running laps around the backyard, excited by the twilight cacophony of birds. I wished I could be sitting out there on the patio with the rest of the family instead of being barricaded in my room trying to undo my mistakes.
Dad stood at the grill talking on the phone while he flipped over the last of the pork chops. It sounded like he was talking with one of his colleagues in city management.
Turning suddenly from the window, I began sprinting for the door.
“Wait, where are you—”
“Shh!” I held up two fingers to signal for silence. “I’ll be right back.”
When I reached the yard, Dad had just hung up with his partner.
“Hey sweetie, dinner will be ready in a minute, we’re just waiting—”
“That’s great.” I kneaded my hands together nervously, hoping I wasn’t making another mistake, or making my first mistake even worse. “Dad, listen—can I ask you for a big favor?”
Chapter 5
Shannon
Dad made a few phone calls and by Sunday night, we had been granted permission from the parks department to rent the house for the day. Luckily, no one asked what we wanted it for; I think they assumed I was shooting a new video with a spooky backdrop. But once the arrangement had been secured, Dad confronted me about it in private.
“So, you’re borrowing the Winslow House?” he asked me as we stood in the backyard after summer, luxuriating in our success and in the faint scent of azaleas. In the distance, I could hear the steady tik-tik-tik of the sprinklers like a clock, counting down the hours until Umar’s arrival. “What for?”
There was no use trying to hide things from Dad: he could practically smell the deception wafting off of me. “You’re going to hate me for this, probably.”
“What did you do?” There was a sternness mingled with alarm in his voice.
“The thing is, I didn’t really have much of a choice.” I kept my eyes on the grass. “I got a phone call from a client in another country who wants to fly me out for a private concert.”
“And you checked this guy out? Is he safe?”
�
��He’s legit, and he’s sort of a big deal in his home country. If the arrangement goes through, he’ll be willing to pay top dollar. We’re talking ten, twenty thousand dollars minimum.”
“Sounds great. So why do you need the Winslow House? I thought he was flying you over there.”
“Well…” I grimaced, not knowing a polite way to say this. “He suggested meeting in person, and I sort of told him I live in a sprawling mansion.”
Dad looked utterly baffled. “Why on earth would you tell him that?”
“Because I got the feeling this guy thinks I’m Taylor Swift-levels of famous and I didn’t want to disappoint him. I don’t know. It was just the way the conversation was going, and you know how bad I am about correcting people once they’ve made up their minds about something.”
“You get swept along by the currents.”
“Exactly.” It was one of the reasons Katie Rees-Howells had said I would never make it in the music business—because I lacked grit and allowed other people to make my decisions for me.
“Shannon, you’ve got to stop doing this,” Dad said. “When you can tell someone is getting the wrong impression, you need to correct them. When they’re trying to get you to do something you don’t want to do, you need to put your foot down.”
“I know, but it isn’t as easy as you make it sound. You and Brian came out of the womb demanding your own way and I’m not like that. I don’t have the strength of character that makes a really successful musician, I guess. So, I make up for it in other ways, by being talented and sneaky.”
“Well, talent and deception can only get you so far.” Dad sank down into one of the white plastic patio chairs, looking suddenly tired. “And lying will get you a lot of places you don’t want to be. You were lucky that we were able to get the house for the day, but don’t ever, ever do that again.”
“I won’t.” I reached out and took his hand in mine. “Promise.”
