Hillbilly Rockstar

by Christina Routon

  "But that's not his fault, it's his agent's fault." Tanya grabbed the bottle back and started painting the toes on her right foot.

  "His agent probably dropped him too. I had to call a few that no longer had agent representation. I think Boyd is considering Charlie's death as good for the bottom line. Now that he's the sole owner, he's trimming whatever he considers to be fat. If he can keep the client list going with the two managers he has left, he probably won't hire anyone else."

  "I wouldn't put it past him."

  "There are a couple of people on my list that I couldn't reach. One is Trace Harper."

  "Oh, I love him." Tanya jumped up from the floor and climbed on the flowered-chintz ottoman, holding her hairbrush like a microphone and began to sing Trace's popular song. "Since I found you, I'll never be alone again. Since I found you, my heart has healed."

  "Tanya, stop." Lisa laughed at her friend. "Neighbors will hear and think we're twenty-something instead of our mid-thirties."

  "You're only as young as you feel, Lisa, dear. So, why couldn't you reach Trace Harper?" Tanya stepped off the ottoman and settled on the floor beside Lisa, placing a neon orange and green throw pillow against the bottom of the couch. She leaned back against it and reached for her wine glass.

  "The phone number we have is disconnected. I called his agent, got voicemail, and he hasn't returned my call. I guess I'll have to send a certified letter and hope it gets forwarded."

  "I think he's performing somewhere pretty soon. I heard about it on the radio." Tanya reached for her phone, opened the browser and did a quick search. "Yes, he's performing tomorrow night at Six Guns and Sour Mash on Broadway. Hey," Tanya looked up from her phone. "We should go see him. After his performance, you can talk to him."

  "Tanya, I can't go see a client after hours, in a club, to talk about business. That's unprofessional."

  "Yeah, I guess you're right." Tanya punched a button on her phone, putting it back to sleep, and set it on the table next to her glass. She grabbed one of the magazines Lisa had lying on the table and was about to flick it open when she lifted her head, her eyes wide, and looked over at Lisa.

  "Uh, oh." Lisa said. "I know that look. What?"

  "What if you spoke to him, but not as you? Well, as you, but not as a secretary. What if you spoke to him as a manager?"

  "What difference would it make? I'm telling him he's being dropped."

  "No, you're not. You're going to tell him you're his new manager. You're Charlie's replacement."

  For a heartbeat Lisa considered the idea. Why not go out on her own, maybe save at least one of the business' former clients for her own. Why wait on a headhunter to call her back or for a phone call for an interview? Why not start her own company, work for herself?

  The second she thought about it, a cold-icy fear wrapped around her heart, squeezing it tight, and she felt shivers run across her back. I can't, she thought, not wanting to say it out loud. I can't do that.

  "Lisa? What do you think?"

  Tanya's question broke through her daze. She couldn't go through with it, but how could she explain it to Tanya?

  "That wouldn't be right, Tanya. I can't misrepresent the agency." Lisa sipped some wine, trying to steady her nerves.

  "You're not misrepresenting if you're self-employed, right? You can tell him you work there, but you don't have to actually say that you're a manager there. You could be a freelancer. You're looking for a new job anyway."

  "That's still not right."

  "Okay, then say you work with Cahill-Waters. Freelancers work for you guys, right? Tell him that you tried to reach him and his agent to introduce yourself as his new manager working with Cahill-Waters. You have your first solo client and no one at the agency knows anything."

  "It's all semantics, Tanya. Working with, working for, it all implies that I am attached to the agency as a manager. Besides, how would I 'manage' him when I'm tied up at work five days a week between eight and five?"

  "Don't pester me with details. We're going to check him out tomorrow night, and I'm not taking no for an answer."

  ###

  A line snaked around the club when Lisa and Tanya arrived. They secured their places, but Lisa kept checking her watch, feeling more frustrated as time ticked by, worried she would miss Trace's nine o'clock set.

  "How am I going to talk to him?" she asked Tanya.

  "Don't know. You'll figure it out."

  That was helpful, Lisa thought. She'd lost Tanya anyway, she realized, as her friend swayed along with the music thumping through the outside speakers and talked to the others standing in line.

  A half-hour had passed before they reached the entrance. Two bouncers were there, checking ID and collecting the cover charge. Lisa fished her ID from her purse and handed it to the large black man at the door.

  "Would I be able to speak to Trace Harper for a moment after his set?" she asked as he stamped her hand with a fluorescent symbol.

  "Sorry, nope. No one but staff backstage."

  "I'm from his management agency. Here's my business card." She handed him one of the generic cards from the front desk at Cahill-Waters.

  "Well, this is new. Usually fans tell me they're family members or something. But don't worry about it. Trace may just come find you."

  "What does that mean?"

  "You're a pretty girl and Trace likes pretty girls, so here's a tip. If you want to meet him, try to get up front around the end of his act, when he does 'Since I Found You.' Get up there then, and you might get a chance."

  "Okay, thanks." Lisa took her change and headed inside after making sure Tanya was behind her. She stood for a moment near the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Lisa took Tanya's hand and they meandered through the crowded club, searching for a table. Keeping the bouncer's tip in mind, Lisa wanted one near the stage. The second time they wandered through the crowd, she caught sight of a group gathering their things and leaving their table open.

  "Come on," Lisa yelled over the loud music, motioning for Tanya to follow her. They made their way to the four-top as quick as they could, squeezing past couples dancing, friends talking, the throng of Nashville locals and tourists having a good time on a Saturday night. After pushing through the crowd, Lisa was glad she hadn't let Tanya talk her into wearing a fancy dress and heels like her friend was wearing. Her casual bootcut jeans, layered t-shirt and tank and cowboy boots worked just fine in this group.

  The four-top wasn't as close to the stage as Lisa would have liked, but since she knew the Trace's last song, she was just going to have to make her way up to the stage and do her best to speak to him. The server appeared as soon as they sat down.

  "White wine," Lisa ordered.

  "Long Island Iced Tea," Tanya said. The server wrote the orders on her pad and headed towards the bar.

  Now that she was settled, Lisa looked up at the stage, trying to figure out the best path through the packed crowd. Either Trace was still pretty popular or Nashville just really enjoyed coming to Six Guns. She noticed a few country music stars in the crowd, hanging out with family or friends. It wasn't new to her, seeing performers in person. She'd met a lot of celebrities during her time at Cahill-Waters.

  Their drinks were delivered and the server wandered off, heading to another table. Lisa sipped her wine but before Tanya could taste her Long Island Iced Tea a handsome, dark-haired man walked up to their table.

  "Would you like to dance?" he asked Tanya, offering his hand.

  "Sure," Tanya said, her smile lighting up her face. She jumped up from her seat and headed off to the dance floor, waving at Lisa as she walked off, hand-in-hand with the cowboy.

  Lisa sipped her wine and watched Tanya dance, her dress twirling around her legs, her feet in perfect step during a line dance, even though she wore three-inch heels instead of boots like many of the dancers. When Tanya and her new friend were lost on the crowded dance floor, Lisa leaned back in her seat and waited for Trace's set to start.
r />   Chapter Three

  Awful was not the word for the set Trace Harper performed. Horrible, depressing, deplorable, unpleasant, ugly -- these words were closer to the truth.

  It was obvious Trace was drunk. Not tipsy, not buzzed, but high-as-a-kite drunk. He went through the set, forgetting words to songs he'd made famous only a few years before. He stumbled over the stage, laughing at his mistakes. When it came to his final ballad, the most famous of his career, he butchered the chorus that everyone else in the bar knew so well. No one seemed to mind, especially the women in the audience, in particular a bleached blonde in a halter top that barely covered her large breasts. She was standing below the stage, staring up at Trace as if he were a god to be worshipped -- and he seemed pretty happy to accept whatever worship came his way.

  Lisa watched him for a few minutes as fans greeted him, asking for pictures and autographs. He seemed to be having the time of his life, and either didn't realize -- or didn't care -- that his performance sucked. He was much different than the man she'd met at the office some years ago when he'd come in for a meeting with Charlie. She'd been new to the agency and to Nashville. Seeing celebrities around town and at work had fascinated her and there were a few times she'd embarrassed herself when speaking to them. It also didn't help that she'd had a huge crush on Trace Harper when he'd first come on the country music scene fifteen years earlier. But that was then, and this was now, and she wasn't a wide-eyed-twenty-something-girl with stars in her eyes anymore.

  Well, may as well get this over with. She made her way to the stage as the crowd around him thinned out, ignoring the blonde begging Trace for a picture.

  "Sure, honey." Trace flicked his black hat back on his head and put his arm around the woman. "Hey, you." He pointed at Lisa. "Come take our picture, sweetie pie."

  "I am not your sweetie pie, Mr. Harper." Lisa said.

  "Well, tonight you are, so take our picture."

  "Here," the blonde said, her voice high and squeaky. She handed Lisa her cell phone and cuddled closer to Trace, squeezing him around the waist and laying her head on his shoulder. Trace held up his beer and put his arm around the blonde's shoulders. Sighing, Lisa held up the cell phone.

  "If I take this picture, can I speak with you for five minutes, Mr. Harper?"

  "What is it with the Mr. Harper crap? Sure, whatever, five minutes. Take the picture so I will never forget meeting the most beautiful woman in the world."

  "Oh," the blonde cooed, looking up at him and smiling. Lisa hit the button on the phone and took the photo.

  "Take another one, just in case."

  "In case of what?" Lisa asked.

  "Just in case."

  "Last one," Lisa said, and pushed the button just as the woman placed her palms on Trace's cheeks and pulled his mouth to hers. The camera caught the kiss, exactly as Lisa assumed the woman wanted.

  "Thank you so much," the blonde said to Trace before taking her phone and heading back to friends, all similarly clad in various tank tops, halter tops, jeans and mini-skirts, at a nearby table.

  "Now, what would you like to talk about, sweetie pie?" Trace ambled over to her, waving off a few people that were asking for autographs. "Hold on, folks. I promised this lady five minutes."

  With groans and sighs the crowd dispersed, but didn't go very far. Lisa did not understand how people still wanted photos and autographs after his terrible performance, but there they stood, waiting for him to finish talking.

  "Mr. Harper, I work for Cahill-Waters Talent Agency. I've been trying to get in touch with you."

  "Yeah, Charlie's company. Yeah, sorry, I've had some issues with my cell phone recently. Wait." Trace flicked his hat back on his head again and came closer, his brown eyes focusing on her face, then down her body.

  "Do I pass?" She crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her booted foot on the wooden floor.

  "I know you from somewhere." He scanned her again and Lisa felt as if she were being inspected from her blonde hair framing her face, down her skinny blue v-neck t-shirt and flared leg jeans to the cowboy boots peeking from the hem. "You were at Charlie's funeral. The blonde in the black dress and boots, with the redhead."

  "That's right, I was there." It unnerved her to think of Trace seeing her at the funeral, seeing her now, and even remembering what she'd been wearing that day.

  He leaned in closer and she had to uncross her arms to keep him from bumping them. He bent just a little and whispered in her ear.

  "I loved that dress on you. I enjoy curves on a woman, and you got 'em in just the right places." He reached down, placing his hands on her hips.

  She pushed him away. "Mr. Harper, I am here as a professional. I need to speak to you regarding your representation with Cahill-Waters."

  He laughed, taking a step back. "Okay, not interested. I get it. What about my representation? You guys are just going to keep doing whatever you're doing, right?"

  Before she could answer, the crowd wanting his autograph had grown and were pushing closer them. A sea of bodies, primarily female, separated them and Lisa was forced to step back to the wall to keep from being crushed.

  "Hey, sweetie pie, I'll call you," she thought she heard Trace call out over the noise, then he was gone, trapped in a frenzy of female fans.

  Lisa headed back to their table and found Tanya snuggled in the lap of the dark haired man she'd danced with earlier. "Well, I tried."

  "You didn't get to talk to him? Oh, this is Doug, by the way." Tanya smiled down at the man and ran a finger over his cheek.

  "Hi, Doug. Lisa. I did, but I wasn't able to tell him everything. He hit on me."

  "Really?" Tanya looked up at Lisa in surprise.

  "Yes, really. Now, can we go? I want to get home and get some sleep." Lisa grabbed her purse and jacket from her chair and slung them over her arm.

  "Okay. Bye, Doug." Tanya kissed the man then slid off his lap, taking her purse from the back of the chair as she stood. "I had fun. You got my number?"

  "I sure do," Doug said, and winked at the cute redhead. "I'll be calling you later."

  "You better." Tanya waved at him before following Lisa out of the bar.

  "Looks like you found a friend." Lisa unlocked her sedan and they climbed in, buckling their seat belts.

  "Yeah, I did. Too bad you didn't get to speak to Trace. Well, except to get hit on."

  "Yeah, too bad." Lisa started the car, but didn't back up right away. She remembered the sound of his voice near her ear, the tickle of his five o'clock shadow on her cheek as he leaned close to her, his warm breath on her neck, the feel of his hands on her hips, and shivered.

  "What's wrong?" Tanya asked, noticing her shake.

  "Nothing," Lisa said. "Trace is a jerk, that's all. I'm not going to keep trying to call him. I'm going to send the letter to his agent. I have better things to do."

  She put the car in reverse and backed out of the lot, heading for home, determined to put Trace Harper out of her mind once and for all.

  ###

  "Lisa, I'm heading to Atlanta. I'll be back next week." Boyd Waters stepped into her office, his briefcase in his hand and his coat over his arm. "I emailed you a list of tasks I'd like completed by the time I get back."

  "All right." Lisa looked at him, and they stared at each other in silence. "Was there something else, Mr. Waters?" she finally asked him.

  "I think it's time for you to move your office closer to mine. There's no reason to work in here anymore, is there? When the audit of the business is complete this space will be free for two or three managers to share."

  "Right now I'm comfortable where I am, Mr. Waters. And in all fairness, you should be aware that I am currently looking for another position."

  Her announcement seemed to surprise him. "Well, I will be sorry to see you go. I appreciate you telling me." He turned to leave her office, then turned to face her again. "I almost forgot. Order some new business cards and stationery. Per the auditor's suggestions, and since Charlie is no
longer with us, the business name is changing. Have the cards and letterhead read 'Boyd Waters Talent Management.' Order about five hundred cards and two boxes of stationery."

  Sadness came over her and tears welled in Lisa's eyes. She felt helpless, unable to stop this man from taking over and erasing every part of Charlie that had been in the business. But no matter what he did or said, she would not let him see her cry.

  "Yes, Mr. Waters, I'll order them." Her voice shook.

  "Okay, I'm gone then." He walked out of the office. As soon as he was gone Lisa buried her head in her hands. She didn't want to be there anymore. There had to be a way to get out -- soon.

  Chapter Four

  Trace stumbled through the dark apartment, his head pounding. He tripped over the coffee table, falling to the floor, his head almost hitting the edge of the leather couch.

  "Damn," he swore, then climbed up on his knees. He stopped for a moment, allowing a wave of dizziness to pass before standing on his feet. He staggered across the room.

  "Shut up!" He yelled to the ringing phone, but the persistent blaring continued. He finally reached the slim phone hanging on the wall and lifted it with a jerk.

  "What?" he yelled into the receiver.

  "Hello?" A man's voice said on the other end of the line. "Is this Trace Harper?"

  "Yeah, this is Trace Harper. Who are you?" Trace's head continued to pound and his voice was booming in his ears. His eyes began to water and he rubbed them, trying to clear the fuzz from his brain.

  "This is Mike Elliott with First Tennessee Bank. There's a problem with your account and we need to see you right away."

  "What kind of problem?"

  "You are overdrawn, Mr. Harper, and your mortgage is several months past due"

  "Yeah, okay. You guys just charge whatever fees you need to charge, I'll pay you next week. I got a couple gigs coming up, it'll be okay." Trace sat up on the couch, wiping his hand over his face. Then something the man had said wormed its way through his brain. "Wait, mortgage? What mortgage?"