Authors: Terri Blackstock
Despite everything, Serene was brilliant on stage the next night. From backstage, Parker watched her friend perform. Serene had been as weak as a sick kitten just last night. Now she danced and shouted and had the energy of a star as she brought the house down.
Parker waited backstage, jittering like she had the DTs. After two more songs, Serene would do Parker’s introduction, then change costumes while Parker performed her three songs. Her armpits were perspiring, but it didn’t show through her outfit. She wiped the bubbles of sweat from her top lip with the back of her sleeve, then realized she’d wiped makeup onto her shirt. Panic spilled through her, and she turned around, searching for something, anything, to get it off. Maybe someone had one of those sticks that erased careless marks. Why had she done that? She needed to erase herself. She was so stupid.
She saw Serene’s makeup lady standing in the hallway, waiting for Serene to come off. She almost tackled her. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have anything that’ll get this off?”
The woman smiled. “Sure, hon. I have everything.” She ran back up the hall, and Parker followed.
“Hurry, please. I’m about to go on. The camera’s going to show my hands on the JumboTron as I play piano. My sleeve will show.”
“Calm down, baby.” The woman popped her gum as she got out one of those Tide sticks and began rubbing the tip on her sleeve. “It might look a little wet, but the spot’ll be gone.”
Relieved, she saw that the stick worked. Parker heard Serene transition to the next song—“Trying.”
The woman whose name she didn’t know grabbed her hands. “Honey, you’re shaking and you’re all out of breath. You’ve got to relax. You can’t play piano like this.”
How true. But Parker had no time to get a massage or do yoga.
Parker thanked her and headed back to the darkness of the backstage area. Her father and brothers were there now, decked out in jeans and shirts that looked unintentionally showy. She glanced at her father to see if he looked drunk. Her brothers had promised to keep him away from alcohol tonight.
He looked fine.
Thank you, Lord
.
All three turned to her as she came back to the curtains. “Ready, Parker?” LesPaul asked.
Parker’s lungs felt like a tightly shut cage. “No. I’m gonna faint.”
Her father set down his guitar and came to her. Taking her hands, he said, “Look at me.”
She did, nodding. The chorus of “Trying” rose and fell. The music faded, and she heard Serene’s clear voice asking the audience to sing with her. She heard the sheer number of people who would see her perform tonight, their voices filling the place.
Thousands and thousands, more than she’d ever sung for at any other time in her life.
Pete bent down to her face. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I don’t have time to breathe.”
“In, long breath, hold it…. out, long breath … Come on, do it with me.”
It wasn’t working. She grabbed her brothers’ hands. “We have to pray. Hurry!” They formed a circle, eyes closed, as Serene resumed singing the chorus, and the band started back in.
“Father, help us. You’ve brought us this far. Calm me down, steady my hands. All I ask is that I do my best.” She hadn’t expected tears. Now what would she do? She opened her eyes, dabbing the corners, and tried to breathe again.
Gibson took over the prayer. “Lord, remind Parker that you gave her these songs. You’re letting her deliver them. Fill her up. Calm her down.”
They waited, listening, as Serene sang the fourth and most passionate verse of “Trying.”
“Listen, baby,” her dad whispered against her ear. “That’s your song they’re singing.”
She felt the warmth of answered prayer wash over her, steadying her hands.
“You’re ready for this,” LesPaul said. “You’ve been preparing your whole life.”
She banished the fear that they wouldn’t like her sound. If she sang like Serene, she wouldn’t have this chance. It was precisely
because
of her unique sound that Serene was bringing her along.
She stepped to the side curtain, looked in and saw her best friend, in all her skinny glory, lit up and moving across the stage, the long, filmy pieces of her top blowing like her hair in the air flooding the stage …
Serene was born for the stage. Parker stood there for a moment, forgetting her own nerves and smiling at the mastery of her friend. That motherless little girl who had sat alone in the lunchroom had become a phenom.
Look what God can do
.
The thought came like a whispered encouragement into her heart. He could do it with Parker, too. There was no limit to what he could do.
The song was winding to an end. “Let’s go, guys,” LesPaul said, and as the lights fell to darkness, illuminating only Serene, her father and brothers took the stage, transitioning with Serene’s musicians. Parker waited to be introduced. She looked down at her hands. They were steady.
After a moment of all the musicians playing together—Serene’s and Parker’s—Serene’s musicians moved off the stage. Not a note was missed. Daniel Walker came off, his guitar in his hand. He smiled as he spotted her standing there, and he leaned close. “Break a leg, Parker,” he said. “We got them all warmed up for you.”
She couldn’t speak. He stood there with her, his hand on her back, waiting as Serene made the introduction that would bring Parker out.
“And now, I have a special surprise. I want you to meet my best friend, the girl who writes all my songs. The force behind ‘Trying’ and ‘Ambient,’ and all of the other songs I’ve recorded.” The crowd burst into applause. “She’s not only a fabulous songwriter, she’s also a gifted performer. I think you’re going to love her. Please welcome my friend … Parker James.”
Parker sipped in a breath as her brothers and father began to play “Inscribed.” She walked out to the stage. As the crowd applauded expectantly, she took her place at the grand piano. A light came on directly over her, casting a glow on the keyboard … and lighting her up like a star.
Serene disappeared off-stage into the darkness as Parker began to sing.
Three songs later, Parker played the last note, and sat silent for a second. Tears stained her face. She hadn’t expected that, but as she’d sung, she’d felt the Holy Spirit taking over. Calm had enabled her to do her best.
For seconds after the note stopped resonating through the arena, she heard silence. Then, a smattering of applause that seemed to be contagious. It spread across the arena, growing slowly. Not wild applause, demanding an encore, but the kind of applause that happened after a passionate performance in church, when people were caught in prayer that they didn’t want to end.
Serene’s band members came back on stage, her keyboarder playing the transitioning chords. As Daniel walked past her, she saw tears on his face. He mouthed the word “Perfect.”
And it had been—as perfect as she could do with what she’d been given. Floating on gratitude, she went off the stage as Serene came back out, dressed differently for her second set. Now the crowd went wild.
Pete lifted her up in his arms. “That was fabulous, baby!”
LesPaul and Gibson hugged her, too, and she could see the joy on their faces.
“That was
awesome
,” Gibson shouted, punching the air.
“All the hard work,” LesPaul said. “It paid off. Now go find your table and autograph your heart out.”
Parker’s nerves took a rest the following day as they hit I-20 and made their way to Jackson, Mississippi. Her mother had sold three hundred CDs the night before, and Parker had autographed dozens. While she’d hoped to sell more, it had been a good start. Three hundred people had found her worthy of shelling out fifteen bucks for their musical pleasure.
The fact that Jeff Standard was coming to the Jackson Coliseum to watch the show made Parker nervous all over again. She told herself the tycoon wasn’t here to see her, but Serene.
But that night, before she played, he stood backstage, watching without emotion as Serene blew out all the stops. Parker felt his censure as she sat down at her piano to do her part of the show.
But like the night before, she felt the Holy Spirit’s presence as she performed her three songs. Again, there was a moment of silence after she played her last note, then a crescendo of applause.
When Serene took back the stage, Parker floated off. Jeff Standard stood in her way. She decided not to try to dodge him, and stuck out her hand. “Mr. Standard, I’m Parker James. Nice to meet you.”
His smile was cool. “Good show,” he said. “You have a real way about you.”
She didn’t know if that was a compliment. Somehow it had the ring of George’s comment about her “different” sound. But she thanked him and pushed past to her father and brothers, who were celebrating again. Then she hurried toward her table to sign autographs. As she walked the perimeter of the coliseum, she basked in the sounds of her songs coming from Serene’s gifted pipes. There weren’t many people trolling around on the concourse. They were all in their seats, hanging on Serene’s every note.
Parker glanced through the door and caught a glimpse of Sereneat her best. She stepped inside and observed the audience from the last row, saw the joy on the faces of those whose rapt attention Serene held. Her gaze swept out over the backs of the heads in the crowd.
And then she saw him.
One man, looking back at her. He looked like Mick Evans.
She sucked in a breath and backed away from the door. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Stepping outside into the concourse, she tried to catch her breath. Was that Mick? She had to know.
She stepped back in the doorway and looked in the section where she’d seen him. Her eyes scanned the backs of the heads. She couldn’t find him. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the pattern of lights and shadows had created an illusion.
She backed out again and ran back around the way she’d come, down the steps to the backstage area.
She’d forgotten her access badge, so the bouncer standing there wouldn’t let her past.
“I’m sorry, you have to have a badge.”
“I’m Parker James. I just performed. Didn’t you see me?”
“Sorry, ma’am. No badge, no access.”
She didn’t have time to change his mind. “Could you please radio security in the backstage area and get someone to come and clear me? I have to get in touch with my brother. He’s a cop.”
She waited as the security guard made a call, then decided to let her through. She ran into the area behind the stage, searching for her brothers. She found Gibson back in their dressing room.
She bolted in and leaned back against the door. “Mick Evans might be here!”
Gibson sprang to his feet. “Where?”
“I thought I saw him in Section 14C. I’m not sure it was him, but is there some way you could find out?”
Gibson bolted out to talk to security. After a moment, someone who looked in charge appeared. She couldn’t hear what Gibson was saying to him, but they motioned for Parker. “Come with us, Parker. Show us where you saw him.”
She led them up the stairs to the concourse and out into the hall. She ran around the building, seeing Serene and the crowd every few yards as the hall opened into the auditorium. She took them to 14C, and pointed to where she’d seen him.
Gibson went in and walked, unnoticed, down the steps, pausing at the section Parker had pointed to.
The lights were down, and it was difficult to see. Parker began to despair. She must have been mistaken. Why would he be here, when the police in Nashville were searching for him? Why would he come out in public when his face had been flashed on the national news in connection with two murders?
Gibson came back shaking his head. “He may have seen you and left.”
She felt like an idiot. “I’m probably wrong. The lights were low. It probably wasn’t even him; just someone who looked like him.” She sighed. “Should I go ahead to my table?”
Gibson looked unsure. “I’ll come with you.”
“Don’t tell Mom. No need to get her all upset.” She led him around the concourse, glancing inside to the people at every openingin to the concert hall.
“I won’t. But I’m going to go talk to security.”
By the time they reached her table, Parker was certain she’d made a mistake. It would make no sense for Mick to come out in public when he was wanted for two murders. That would be ridiculous.
She stepped behind the table and plastered on her smile for the people waiting for her autograph. Her mother was jubilant and threw her arms around her. “Great show, honey. I’ve never been prouder!”
Gibson withdrew the weapon from his ankle holster. He’d thought of leaving it in his hotel room and leaving security to those who knew their way around the Jackson Coliseum. But he’d been right to bring it.
He hoped Parker had made a mistake, that the lights had distorted her vision, that she really hadn’t seen the killer in the crowd. Still, he followed the security director back to his office, where screens lined the walls with camera shots of various angles of the building.
“Like finding a needle in a haystack,” Roy, the director, said. “Short of locking the place down, I don’t see how we’d ever find him if he was here.”
“Can you just show me the exits?” Gibson asked. “And rewind it about ten minutes. Maybe he left after Parker spotted him.”
Roy pointed out the screens with those shots, rewound, then sped through the footage. Only a handful of people were leaving. A woman with two children. Four kids who looked like they were middle-school aged, probably sneaking out for some mischief before their parents picked them up. Several scattered couples and small groups.
If Mick was among them, Gibson couldn’t spot him. He stood there with Roy, watching the screens capturing activity in every part of the coliseum. Mick could have blended into the crowd, and they’d never see him. If he left when the crowd flowed out, it would be almost impossible to see him.
“Any way we can lock all but one exit so I can watch as people leave?”
Roy gave him a look like he was deluded. “No, man! I can’t do that without orders from our police department. We got over ten thousand people in there who’ll be trying to get out all at the same time. No way I’m blocking the exits.”
Gibson knew he couldn’t convince them to do that. Knowing it was a long shot, he left Security and went to the front exit himself, hoping that if Mick Evans were here, he’d come out this way.