Grace Unplugged: A Novel (15 page)

Johnny was sitting at his computer when Michelle came up from behind him. Tempted to close it before she read the headline, he knew that would only make her more suspicious. And so he just left it open.

“Did she survive?” Michelle asked stiffly.

“I, uh, I didn’t finish the article.”

Michelle leaned over his shoulder, reading aloud. “Rising young actress Jessica Skeens, brutally assaulted outside her Los Angeles apartment, remains in critical—”

He closed the lid shut with a snap.

“Sounds like she’s still alive,” Michelle said in a flat voice.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny let out a sad sigh.

“Sorry she’s alive?”

“No, of course not. Sorry you had to see that.”

“Well, apparently
you
had to see that.” Michelle came around to face him now. “How long are you gonna do this, John? Are you gonna find every story about a girl who gets hurt in Hollywood?”

He shoved the laptop aside. “I miss her.”

“Well, so do I.” She tipped her head toward his computer. “And, believe me, my heart breaks for this poor Jessica girl, and I will be praying for her family. But what does her story have to do with our Grace? Why do you keep going there?”

Johnny just sat there, drumming his fingers and trying to come up with a logical answer. Problem was, there was none. Logic had nothing to do with it.

“I should go,” he told her in a sharp voice.

“Tell Tim hello.” Michelle’s voice sounded flat and lifeless.

As Johnny left the house, he knew they weren’t handling this right. But how were they supposed to handle it? He felt as if they were grieving. And yet Grace wasn’t dead. In some ways it would almost be easier if she were dead. Johnny hated feeling that way, but it was true. Having her gone from her lives like this—well, it was just too painful.
Maybe it was like divorce,
he thought as he drove to the coffee shop to meet Pastor Tim. He’d heard divorced wives say that they would’ve preferred if their husbands had died rather than cheated on them. Maybe that was how he and Michelle felt. Except that he would never—never in a million years—wish his daughter dead. But the truth was it would probably be easier.

Pastor Tim was already waiting as Johnny carried his coffee over to the table. They exchanged the usual pleasantries, and then Tim asked how he was doing. Johnny tried to be as truthful as he dared with him, but not wanting to break down in public, he didn’t say everything that was tumbling through his heart.

“And Michelle?” Tim asked gently. “How’s she holding up?”

“She has her good days and bad—we both do.”

“Of course. So what’s the latest with your album?”

Johnny knew that Tim was graciously attempting to move on to a more comfortable subject. If that was possible. “Still on hold,” Johnny admitted. “Can’t bring myself to do it. Just doesn’t feel right. It’s hard enough getting up in front of the church every week.” He shook his head dismally and took another sip of his black coffee.

“You know what kills me,” he continued. “It’s that I’m responsible for all this. It was my old song, my manager. . . .” He ran his hand through his hair. “And, sure, having my music in front of millions was a dream come true for me. But you better know where to draw the line. You better be grounded. I wasn’t . . . and neither is Grace.”

Tim just shook his head. “God can bring good things out of evil, Johnny.”

“But I honestly thought I could somehow protect her from all of that. At least until I thought she was ready. . . . Obviously, I failed.”

“You and Shelly are good parents, Johnny. Sure, you’re not perfect. None of us are. But this isn’t about that. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”

Johnny wanted to believe Tim, but it was just too hard. “We call her,” he said. “E-mail, text her. Tell her we love her. Tell her we’re praying for her. But my own daughter won’t even talk to me.”

“That’s gotta be tough.” Tim just shook his head. “You think that’s how God feels sometimes?”

Johnny considered this. “It can’t be easy being God, can it? Just think how many kids He’s got who aren’t talking to Him.” He almost added, “including my daughter,” but stopped himself. Because, really, what good did it do to keep tearing her down? Especially seeing how she seemed to be doing a pretty good job of that herself.

Chapter 13

W
hen Grace deposited her first advance check from Sapphire, it had felt like winning the lottery. As a result she’d been enjoying the luxury of spending freely. If she wanted something, she simply bought it. It was awesome. However, she did have this underlying feeling that she should be more careful with her money. Having grown up in a frugal family, she knew what it was like to go without. When they were doing the church circuit, they got by on “whatever the Lord provided.” Sometimes it was mac and cheese and cheap hotels. Other times it was better.

Today was a lot better,
she thought, as she carried her grocery bags out to her car. No mac and cheese for this girl. She wondered what Mom would think of the foods she’d purchased just now. Not that she’d gone for junky things like chips and sodas. No way. She was in LA, and people here cared about healthy nutrition. Her bags were filled with granola and soy milk and Greek yogurt and pomegranate juice and all sorts of things Kendra and Phoebe had recommended. And, sure, she tossed in a package of Oreos too. Just for balance.

She was putting them in the back of the car just as her phone started to ring. Checking it first, as she ran around to the driver’s seat, to make sure it wasn’t her parents, she breathlessly answered. “Hey, Moss! What’s up?”

“Hey, Gracie girl, what’re you doing?”

“Grocery shopping,” she said as she tossed her purse onto the glossy photo book Mossy had given her yesterday. The book contained samples of the famed photographer Randall Preston. Apparently Mr. Preston preferred shooting his models in the buff. Embarrassed to be seen with such a book and not wanting it in her apartment, she’d intentionally left it in her car.

“Yeah, well, it’s good to eat,” he said. But something about the tone of his voice sounded more serious than usual.

“Something wrong?” She put her keys into the ignition.

“Oh, well. It’s a little early to tell, I think.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to worry you, Gracie, but the single has gone flat.”

She took in a quick breath—was it over already? “Flat?” she repeated. “What do you mean
flat?
”

“It happens. Airplay’s good. It’s just the downloads. They’re slow this week. That’s all.”

Gracie looked at her new car, trying not to consider how much it had set her back or how long she could get by on what remained in her bank account. Why hadn’t she been more frugal? “So, what do we do now?” she asked nervously.

“Relax. This is normal.”

“The video will help—
right?
”

“Of course. Don’t get all freaked out.”

But she was freaked out. The word flat kept reverberating around in her head, attaching itself to other words. Flat tire. Flat line.
Flat broke
. None of it sounded encouraging.

“Really, Gracie, I got it under control. You don’t need to worry. You just worry about your follow-up song, okay? When are we gonna hear it?”

“I . . . uh . . . I’m almost ready.” She shut her eyes tightly, as if she could block out the lie. “I want it just right, you know?”

“Sapphire just wants a demo, Gracie. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

New subject,
she was thinking as she pushed the grocery receipt into her purse. Then, seeing the skanky photo album, she decided to go there. “So I looked though Randall’s photos.”

“He’s amazing, isn’t he?”

“The girls aren’t wearing anything.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not true. Sure, there’s a little skin, but it’s classy. And when you start charting, we’re gonna need some killer photos. He’s the best there is, Gracie. We’d be lucky to get him.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” She flipped through some pages, then closed the book and put her purse back over it.

“He’s going to shoot Renae Taylor’s next cover.”

She considered this.
“Really?”

“Of course. I’m telling you, Randall’s our guy. You’re a beautiful girl, Gracie. Let’s make the most of it.”

She pulled down the visor mirror and peered up at herself. At least she looked like herself today. No excessive makeup or overdone hair.

“Hey, I just remembered something. Jay Grayson’s manager called. Apparently Jay wants to take you out.”

She flipped the visor up.
“What?”

“Apparently when Jay met you, according to his manager, you
charmed
him.” Mossy chuckled.

“Really?”

“Jay’s words, not mine. Well, his manager’s anyway.”

“And you were going to tell me this—
when?
”

“Hey, I just did.”

They chatted awhile longer, and then Moss said he had to go tend to business. Grace started her car and drove toward her apartment. Of course, as she was driving, her mind was in a world of its own—her first date with Jay Grayson. What would she say to him? “Hey, Jay, cool to see you again. Been looking forward to this,” she said aloud, as if he was with her. No way, she shook her head as she pulled into her parking space. Too corny. She tried it again. “So, how exactly did I
charm
you?” she would say coyly—putting him on the spot. Yeah, she liked that line. As she went upstairs, she tried another. “You know, this may sound weird,” she began as she slid her key into the door. “But I can
always
tell when a guy—” She stopped herself and looked at the door. Was it ajar?

Feeling uneasy, she looked around, trying to remember if the door had been cracked open or if she’d just been too involved in her daydream to notice. Probably the latter. And yet the hair on the back of her neck was sticking out. And her heart was pounding.

“Hello?” She called out as she pushed the door wide open. “Anyone in there?” Holding her grocery bags like a shield in front of her, she stepped inside the apartment and called again. Now she noticed that her bedroom door was open and the light was on. Had she left it like that? It was possible, but she really couldn’t remember. She waited and listened but heard nothing. Even so, this was enough to creep her out. She was not staying in here another moment until someone checked it out for her.

Hurrying for the door, with her bags still in her arms, she burst out of her apartment, colliding with someone who seemed to be coming in. The bag containing her produce split open, and she let out a startled scream.

“Easy there,” the stranger told her as he stepped into the apartment and set a tote bag down inside the door. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Who are you?”
Holding up a bottle of Paul Newman balsamic vinegar salad dressing as a weapon, she did a quick study of the intruder. Tall, well built, good looking, neatly dressed, probably not much older than her. Not exactly the profile of a criminal, but who knew?

“You just get home?” he calmly asked from within her apartment—like he thought he belonged there. “First time round I knocked, like ten times, I promise. No one—”

“Who are you?”
She swung the salad dressing menacingly toward his handsome face.
“Get out!”

“Hey, easy there. I’m Quentin. I’m interning with Sapphire. Kendra had me drop off some clothes, I think . . . for your video.” He nudged the nylon tote bag with his toe.

“How’d you get in?” she demanded, still on guard.

He kneeled to pick up her scattered fruits and vegetables. Gathering a melon, English cucumbers, pomegranates, and a bag of kale into his arms, he carried them over to the dining table and set them down. Not exactly the act of a serial killer, or so she hoped.

“The office gave me a key,” he said as he returned for a second load. “They weren’t sure you’d be here.”

“Well, you could’ve called!” Still feeling shocked, she cautiously came into the apartment, leaving the door open behind her, just in case. Meanwhile Quentin, if that was his real name, was setting the remainder of her produce on the table. For a moment their eyes locked, and he gave her a funny expression—almost as if he was slightly starstruck. Then, with a mango still in hand, he went over to get the tote bag he’d been carrying during their collision. She eyed the bag suspiciously, thinking it could contain anything—guns, knives, ropes—although she didn’t think so.