The Red Gloves Collection

by Karen Kingsbury

  Beth stood frozen in place, her mouth open.

  What had he said? That he wouldn’t try to stop her if she left after Christmas? That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? It’s what she’d wanted for two years. She’d expected to feel new and alive if Bobby released her, as if she’d been given a second lease on life. So, why didn’t she feel better about it?

  Instead her heart was heavy, and an emptiness made it hard for her to breathe.

  She sat back down on the edge of the sofa. “Stay through Christmas?”

  “Not for me.” His look was harder than before. “For Brianna.”

  Beth swallowed. If she was going to leave, better to go now, right? Wasn’t that what she’d decided when she made the plan? That way the holidays might take the edge off any sorrow Brianna would feel—sort of a softening of the blow.

  But now, with the facts on the table, Bobby’s argument made sense.

  Staying home would at least give Brianna a happy Christmas, even if her parents were separating. They could keep the truth from her until the end of the month so that whatever pain Brianna felt, it wouldn’t darken Christmas, too.

  “Beth?” Bobby shifted his weight and flexed the muscles in his jaw.

  “Okay.” She looked at the ceiling. “I’ll stay until the end of the month, but then we’re gone.”

  “And until then?” Bobby looked away. His tone was so cold it made her shiver from across the room.

  “Look… ” She thought about fighting with him, then changed her mind. Her lungs emptied slowly, emphasizing her sadness. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t … I don’t love you like I used to, Bobby. But Brianna doesn’t have to know that.” She hesitated. She hadn’t counted on having to share a house with him even after he knew her feelings. “I think we need to be civil. Otherwise I can leave tonight.”

  “Civil?” His eyes found hers once more and this time, despite his obvious effort at indifference, the pain shone through. “Telling me two weeks before Christmas that you’re walking out, Beth? Is that civil?”

  They went another two rounds of her reasons and his explanations and promises, but it got them nowhere. In the end they agreed to keep their distance and focus their attention on their daughter. On giving Brianna a wonderful Christmas despite what the New Year would bring.

  Beth kept to herself that evening. Sometime after nine o’clock she crept into Brianna’s room and laid down on the floor. Sleep didn’t find her at first. Instead a slideshow of pictures played in her mind. Bobby and her on their first date; Bobby and her playing in the snow; Bobby and her teaching Brianna how to walk. The succession of images was relentless, and all of it played out to the same piece of music. The haunting simple tune from earlier that morning, the one the old lady had written.

  Sarah’s song.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NOW THAT THE TWELVE DAYS were underway, Sarah found the transition from present to past an easy one. The words High Hopes were scrawled across the ornament in the second envelope, and when Sarah was certain the young caregiver wasn’t coming, she allowed the memory to move ahead.

  She arrived in Nashville that cold January evening with more high hopes than money, but that didn’t matter. Her expectations would be met; she was sure of it. She would take her songs to the first music company she could find, sing a few of her favorites, and let the executives explain the steps to getting a contract.

  Money wouldn’t have to be much up front. Just enough to make a living, nothing more. But touring was important. Anyone in the industry knew touring was the way to find a following and get a song on the charts. The recording company would have to send her on a tour; she would insist.

  Sarah took a hotel that first night and reviewed her plan. She had enough money to last a month or so, but it wouldn’t take that long. Two weeks and she’d be on her way, connected with a label and moving forward with her singing career.

  Her mother and father had prayed for her before she left. That first night, alone in a dark hotel room in a strange new city, the words to her parents’ prayer came rushing back.

  You know Sarah’s heart, God, and the future You have for her. Keep her safe and let her find the place, the purpose, and the plans You’ve laid out for her.

  Sarah repeated the prayer several times, adding her own requests. As she did, a thought came to her. This was the first time she’d gone to sleep without her parents nearby, and yet she felt at home, comfortable. Unafraid.

  Not once that first night did Sam Lindeman even cross her mind.

  When morning came she set out to find her record deal, but by dusk she’d found just one thing. A reality check. Getting a label to back her might be harder than she’d thought.

  The first week blurred into the second. She visited agents and production houses and the executive offices of recording studios. Once in a while someone would look her up and down and raise a curious eyebrow. Then they’d pass her off to a talent scout or an agent or someone on the other side of town.

  “Come back when you get a demo, kid,” they’d tell her.

  By the end of the first month, Sarah’s high hopes had dwindled to one: survival. She moved her things to a seedy hotel in what was obviously the worst part of town. Talking to God didn’t seem to help, so Sarah stopped praying. It was one more break with the routine of her past, and it felt good, more independent. Whatever happened next would be her doing—good or bad.

  Not the result of God.

  Sarah was sure her parents would be shocked with her new attitude, so she didn’t tell them.

  “You’re praying, right, Sarah?” her mother would ask.

  “Of course, Mama,” she lied. “All the time.”

  “Us, too. God will show you the way, honey. Just keep looking.”

  “I will, Mama.”

  Her father’s question was the same each time. “Finding any work?”

  “Still looking, Daddy, but don’t worry. Any day now.”

  Sarah spoke with her parents once or twice a week, and always the phone calls ended the same. Yes, she had enough money; yes, she was fine; yes, her big break was just around the corner.

  Never did they mention Sam, and Sarah didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know. She’d walked away from Sam and the church-girl life that had all but smothered her. She was a new person, and though she wasn’t always honest with her parents, she truly believed what she said about her future.

  Her break into the music industry was coming. Any day and she’d be on her way.

  Six weeks after arriving in Nashville, Sarah had been to every industry location in Nashville twice. She would take a cab to the general area and canvas every address in a ten-block radius. The answer was always the same—she needed experience.

  By then she had reduced her expenses to one meal a day—a buffet three blocks from her hotel. The food was bland and greasy and one dish tasted suspiciously like another, but she could eat as much as she wanted, and the meal kept her going. Late that week, she spread what was left of her money across her hotel bed and realized how dire her situation had become.

  She was down to eleven dollars.

  If she didn’t find work the next morning, she would have to leave the hotel, and then what? Call her parents and tell them she’d failed? Ask for money and risk having them see her dreams as sheer foolery?

  Sarah gritted her teeth and stared at her file of songs perched on top of the cheap dresser. No, she wouldn’t let that happen; she wouldn’t fail. The dirty walls of her lousy room closed in a little more each day, but they would have to crush her before she’d give up. She’d get a job tomorrow and she’d do it without anyone’s help.

  That night before she fell asleep she stared at the mirror. Her long blonde hair and church dresses made her look sixteen, not twenty-three. Maybe the industry officials would take her seriously if she changed her look. Tucked in her bag of personal items was a pair of scissors and a small sewing kit.

  With a building excitement, she grabbed them both, returne
d to the mirror and began cutting. Fifteen minutes later she’d given herself an entirely new look. Her short bob wasn’t the most professional she’d seen, but it took care of the girl-next-door look. Next she grabbed her most colorful church dress, laid it out on the bathroom counter and began cutting the skirt. When she was done, she hemmed it, slipped it on, and grinned. The dress had once fallen almost to her ankles, loose and modest around her hips and waist. Now it came to just above her knees. With the extra material, Sarah quickly fashioned a belt, fastened it around her waist, and undid the top buttons on the dress. She studied the mirror once more.

  This time she made a slight gasp, her eyes wide. She looked like a different person. Her figure was stunning, something even she hadn’t realized. And with her new haircut she could hardly wait for morning.

  The next day she walked into Trailway Records, the first office she’d been to when she arrived nearly two months earlier. A young man was working the phones and when she came through the door and removed her coat, he did a double take and spilled his coffee. He smiled at her and held up a single finger, silently asking her to stay.

  Sarah nodded and took a nearby chair. She held her portfolio of songs close to her chest and crossed her legs the way she’d seen showgirls cross them in the movies. Making sure the young man had a clear view of her curvy calves.

  In two minutes he was off the phone and on his feet. “Hi.” He walked around his desk and smiled. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” Sarah stood and gave him a look she’d been working on all morning. “I’m a singer.” She flashed him a slow smile. “I need a job.”

  “I see.” The man was nodding before she had the words out. “I think we can help you.” He introduced himself as Mr. Hamilton, and in a hurry he called to a man in a nearby office. Before Sarah could grasp what was happening, she was standing on a small stage in front of four men. One of them was at the piano, the music to her songs spread out before him.

  “Okay, Sarah,” one of the men said. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

  She sang three pieces, but after the first they no longer seemed to be listening. The three men brought their heads together and whispered. Sarah felt a thrill work its way through her body. They were talking over the details of her contract. Once in a while one of them waved at her to keep singing. Sarah was so happy she could barely remember the words.

  When they were finished talking, Mr. Hamilton approached her and motioned for her to stop.

  “So … ” She was breathless. This was it, the moment she’d been waiting for. They would present her with a contract and she’d be on her way. “Am I in?”

  “Well,” Mr. Hamilton smiled big. “Our office girl left yesterday.” His tone suggested this was the best possible news. “We’d like to bring you in, train you on the phones, the filing, that sort of thing.”

  Blood rushed to Sarah’s face and she felt faint. “Phones?” She blinked hard. “What about … what about my songs? My contract?”

  “Uh … ” Mr. Hamilton hesitated, then turned and looked at the three men waiting at the back of the room. When he met Sarah’s eyes again his smile faded some. “We might be able to get you some studio work, singing backgrounds, demos, that sort of thing.” A nervous laugh slipped. “Yeah, the uh … the contract, why, that comes later on. Down the road.”

  He explained the pay. Fifty dollars a week plus bonus money if they needed her for studio work.

  Sarah wanted to spit at the man. How dare he give her a job answering phones and filing paperwork? But she stopped herself. This was the first job she’d been offered, and the manager at the hotel wanted his money. He’d made her a deal—a hundred dollars a month if she cleaned her own room. The job would leave her enough spending money to eat and eventually buy a new dress or two.

  She thought about the alternative—calling home and asking for train money.

  “Fine.” She lifted her chin, too proud to smile. “When do I start?”

  The men looked at each other again and Mr. Hamilton cleared his throat. “Right now if you’re ready.”

  Sarah was, and by the end of the day she had the office system memorized. Before she left for the evening, Mr. Hamilton approached her. The others were already gone, and something more suggestive shone in the man’s eyes.

  “Want a ride?” He reached out and brushed his finger against her chin. “Maybe we could, you know, talk about that studio work you’re wanting.”

  A chill passed over Sarah. She slipped her coat on and shook her head. “I’ll take a cab, thank you. And it’s not studio work I’m wanting, Mr. Hamilton.” She snatched her packet of songs from the desk and glared at him. “It’s a contract.”

  That night she checked the mirror again and admired her new look. If she had to answer a thousand phone calls on the way up, at least she had a job in Nashville. A job she’d gotten on her very own, without handouts or connections or any praying on her part. It was hers, fair and square, and despite the circumstances Sarah was bursting at the seams.

  She had come to Nashville seeking a career in the music industry, and now she was on her way.

  “It’s just like I dreamed, Mama,” Sarah didn’t mention the phone work or filing when she reported home that night. “I’ll be singing in Nashville.”

  “Baby, be careful.” Her mother’s tone was always reserved, anxious about the entire situation. “I’m still praying.”

  Her father was more upbeat. “You let us know when you’ll be onstage, now. We’ll come and see you sing, all right?”

  “It should be sometime soon, Daddy. I’ll let you know.” Sarah bit her lip. The lie felt bitter on her tongue, but then, it wasn’t a total lie. She would be on a stage singing sometime soon. The people at Trailway Records were bound to see the light, and then the offers would come. A contract, a tour, a traveling band. All of it would happen, especially now that she was in with a studio.

  The weeks blended into months and Sarah found herself fielding more passes from Mr. Hamilton than phone calls or files. But every now and then he made good on his word and allowed her some studio work. Backgrounds for a small piece, or harmony on a demo tape.

  Each time she stood before the microphone Sarah felt the same way. One step closer to her dream. All she needed was a break, one single break. And at the end of her third month with Trailway Records, Sarah found it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE SECOND DAY Of Sarah’s Christmas ritual blended into the third, and the ornament read Excitement. Even now that was the only word that could’ve described the feeling Sarah had the day Mitch Mullins walked into Trailway Studios.

  Mitch was a country music star, an overnight phenomenon, a man on his way to becoming an icon. He’d broken onto the scene two years earlier and already he had six number one songs. His dark looks and smooth voice made him a heartthrob, and for a nation looking for purpose, Mitch’s soulful lyrics kept the industry hungry for more.

  Sarah was aware of him. She loved his music, and she’d heard enough chatter working at Trailway Records to know his wild reputation. Mitch was the kind of man her parents had warned her against. Not that it mattered. Nashville was a big town and Sarah never expected to meet him.

  But that month he was between contracts, looking for a new label when he came into the office for a meeting with the higher-ups. Electricity filled the air when Mitch and his agent arrived, though Sarah didn’t talk with him. She was in the studio all day working on a demo.

  Halfway through the day Sarah was trying to bring life to a worn-out song when Mitch walked through the studio doors, spotted her, and froze. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. He was even more striking in person. She felt her face flush under his gaze, but she kept her attention on the producer and his directions for the song.

  When the music ended, a break was called and Mitch meandered his way toward her.

  “Hello.” An easy grin tugged at his mouth. His eyes made a lazy trip down the length of her and back up again. He was only a fe
w feet away now and he held out his hand. “My name’s Mitch.”

  “Hi.” Sarah took hold of his fingers and the sensation sliced its way through her. She swallowed, searching for her voice. “I’m Sarah.”

  “Well, Sarah … ” Mitch released her hand and took another step closer. A presence surrounded him, something powerful, stronger than anything Sarah had felt. “Since when does Trailway Records hire angels?”

  She smiled and her cheeks grew hot again. This was Mitch Mullins talking to her, complimenting her. For a moment she broke eye contact and looked at the ground, not sure what to say. She reminded herself not to take the moment too seriously. If the stories about Mitch were true, he probably reacted this way to most women.

  “I was in the office talking with the guys when I heard you.” His tone was softer, genuine. “I had to see where that voice came from.” He took her hand again and guided her along the edge of the stage and down three steps. “You’re absolutely stunning, Sarah. Everything about you.”

  “Thank you.” Sarah hoped her palms weren’t sweaty. Calm down, she told herself. He says the same thing to all the girls. She scanned the back of the studio for the director. The break wouldn’t last much longer, even if she was talking to Mitch Mullins.

  “Sarah, look at me.”

  Her eyes found his again. “Yes?”

  “Let me take you away from here.” He caught her other hand and eased his thumbs over the tops of her knuckles. “Sing backup for me on my tour, and when we get back to Nashville I’ll make you the biggest star this town’s ever seen.”

  The floor felt suddenly liquid; Sarah had to brace her knees to keep from falling. Mitch Mullins wanted her to sing backup for him, tour with him? He wanted her to make it big, and he’d only known her for five minutes? “I … I don’t know what to say.”

  Mitch chuckled and squeezed her fingers. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in all the world, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Say yes, Sarah. You’ll never regret it for a minute.”

  That evening Mitch had a driver bring Sarah to his Nashville estate, where his staff served them steamed fish and wild rice. They drank sweet tea from crystal goblets and Sarah tried to convince herself she wasn’t dreaming. When they finished eating, he explained the situation. His backup singer had quit the week before to be with her family. His tour would start the following Monday—a ten-week bus trip through the south.