Authors: Alison Packard
Jessie ignored Wally’s
glare. “You have the worst timing,” she said, then looked at
Drew. “I’m sorry. Can we finish this conversation later?”
“Of course.”
As she moved toward the
door, he snagged her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as she
stopped next to him. “Just tell Annabeth what you told me and
you’ll be fine.”
An hour after Jessie
and Wally left his room, Drew was stretched out on the bed staring at
the ceiling. Except for the low whirring sound of the
air-conditioning unit, the room was silent. He’d tried watching TV
but couldn’t focus on it to save his life. Not while Jessie was
fielding questions about her past from one of the country’s most
popular television journalists, in one of the suites in the hotel.
If he didn’t know how
strong she was, what she’d had to do to survive, he would have been
worried about her. But he wasn’t. Jessie Grant, the woman who’d
knocked him for a loop the first night he met her, would show
everyone out there trying to vilify her just how gutsy and brave she
was.
Brave enough to face
him after he’d been a complete tool to her. He’d like to think
threatening to leave the tour was a brilliant plan to get her to open
up to him, but it wasn’t. It was a knee-jerk reaction that he’d
regretted the moment the words came out of his mouth. And then he
imagined what his father would think of him and felt like even more
of a prick.
With an angry grunt, he
covered his eyes with his forearm. If Jessie kicked him to the curb,
he’d understand. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d understand.
What had she been about
to tell him right before Wally busted in? From the expression on her
face it looked important. And on the important front, he had
something to tell her, too. Something he should have told her the
night she’d come to his apartment.
His cell phone rang. He
rolled over, grabbed it from the night stand and checked the caller
ID before answering. “Hey, Garrett. What’s up, man?”
“I’m looking for an
axeman at the Bluebird next week. You up for the gig?” Garrett Shaw
asked, in his usual laid back Tennessee drawl.
Drew swung his legs
over the side of the bed and sat up. That he and Garrett Shaw had
struck up a friendship still blew his mind. Of all the musicians his
dad had worked with in Nashville, Garrett was the one he’d
respected most. Drew had almost told Garrett that Andy Michaels was
his father a few times, but adamant about refusing to cash in on his
father’s name, he’d kept quiet.
“I’d love to, but
I’m not in Nashville at the moment.” Drew combed his fingers
through his hair. “I’m filling in for Kenny Lassiter on Jessie
Grant’s tour. I won’t be back in town until the end of
September.”
“Well. Damn.”
Garrett sounded disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that, but good
on you for helping Jessie out. From what I’ve seen on the news, she
can use all the friends she can get.” Garrett paused. “Give me a
call when you get back to Nashville, would ya? I passed your demo on
to the A&R guys at Full Moon. They’re interested in signing you
and want to set up an audition.”
Drew’s mouth fell
open. A&R stood for “artists and repertoire” but most
musicians in Nashville, and probably around the country, jokingly
claimed it stood for “attitude and rejection”. Without being
noticed by the A&R execs there was pretty much no way for an
artist to get a record contract with a major label. What Garrett had
just told him was huge.
“I can do that,” he
said, not able to keep himself from grinning. “Thanks for passing
my demo along, I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me.
It’s your talent that bowled them over. Not anything I said.”
Drew knew that Garrett
was being modest. The A&R department got hundreds of demos every
week. So many they never had time to listen to them all. That Garrett
passed it on meant something. That’s why they’d listened to it.
“If you say so.”
Drew laughed. “But seriously, I can’t thank you enough for
everything you’ve done for me.”
“Well, I was lucky
enough to catch a break early in my career, so I’m paying it
forward. Hey, do me a favor, and tell Jessie I’m behind her one
hundred percent. Everyone who knows her, and who’s worked with her
knows she’s got a heart of gold under that tough exterior. Watch
over her for us.”
“I will,” Drew promised, and
hoped Jessie would let him watch over her for a lot longer than the
rest of the tour.
A few minutes past
four, Jessie preceded Wally out of the suite where she’d just
repeated, almost word for word, the same facts she’d laid out for
Drew earlier. She put a hand to her flushed face and longed for an
ice cold beer and a shower, in that order. Between the harsh lighting
and the fair but probing questions she’d been asked by Annabeth,
her body was overheated. And since she had to perform in a few hours,
the beer would have to wait, but the shower wouldn’t.
“That went well.”
Wally fell into step next to her and they moved down the carpeted
hallway toward the elevators, with John following close behind.
“Do you really think
so?”
“Yes. Annabeth was
visibly moved by your story.” Wally hugged the wall and she moved
closer to him as a young couple rounded the corner. Holding hands and
talking quietly, the couple paid them no mind and passed them by.
“Hell, I think even a few of the crew were sniffling.”
“She didn’t seem
upset that I wouldn’t reveal the names of my foster families. As
much as I loathe the Palmers’, I just want this to die down. And
the Stiles’ don’t deserve the attention. They were kind to me
while I was with them.”
“I hate to break it
to you, but a good reporter will be able to get that information.”
“Isn’t it sealed or
something?” They rounded the corner and stopped in front of the
elevators. “I was a minor.”
Wally pressed the call
button, then turned to look at her. “Sealed or not. Now that
everyone knows your real name, there are bound to be people in
Hattiesburg who remember you, and who you lived with. Your classmates
and teachers come to mind. Odds are, the Palmers’ and Stiles’
will be outed as your foster families by tomorrow night.”
“Great.” She let
out an exasperated sigh. “I’m done talking about this, Wally. If
anyone wants an interview, tell them I’ll be happy to talk about
the tour and my album, but everything else is off limits.”
The elevator chimed and
seconds later, the doors slid open. Wally motioned for her to get on,
and John followed, as silent and watchful as ever. He pressed the
button for her floor and the doors closed smoothly as the elevator
car ascended. “They’re still gonna ask,” Wally said,
matter-of-factly.
She folded her arms
over her chest. “Then I’ll say no comment.” She looked at her
bodyguard. “If they ask again, I’ll sic John on them.” Jessie
laughed at the surprised look on John’s face. “You’d kick their
asses for me, wouldn’t you, John?”
“In a heartbeat,”
John said, and actually looked like he meant it.
When they got off the
elevator at her floor, she and Wally parted ways after arranging to
meet up in her dressing room before the show. Looking forward to a
short nap and then a shower, Jessie stifled a groan when she saw
Trista standing in the hallway outside her suite.
Trista’s extensions
were history and her new haircut, a layered bob, was infinitely more
attractive than her previous look. But judging by her somber
expression, she wasn’t happy with her hair make-over.
“Hey, Trista,” she
said, and motioned for John to use his card key to open the door.
“Your hair is darling.”
Trista gave her a
half-smile. “Thanks. I really like it.”
“Doesn’t look like
it to me.” Jessie tilted her head and surveyed the girl’s
troubled face. “Are you okay?”
“No.” Trista looked
past her with worried eyes. “Can I come in for just a minute? It’s
important.”
Jessie exchanged a
puzzled glance with John, then nodded. “Sure. Come on in.” Inside
the room, Jessie closed the door behind her and turned to face
Trista. “What’s got you so upset?”
Trista crossed her arms
over her midriff and bit her lower lip. “It’s Barry.”
“Was he mad because
you changed your hair?”
“No. He doesn’t
know yet.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “I decided to
tell him about my hair before the show, so I went to his suite.
Monica, his assistant, let me in. She told me he was on a business
call in the bedroom, and then left to go pick up something for him at
the front desk.”
Alarm pinged in
Jessie’s chest. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. It’s nothing
like that,” Trista said quickly. “His suite is nice.” She
glanced around the room, then pointed to the table and chairs by the
window and not far from the bedroom. “He has the same set-up. I
wanted to see the view so I walked over to the window. While I was
standing there I heard him tell someone that he was the one who’d
leaked the information about you to the press.”
Jessie gasped. “Are
you sure that’s what you heard?”
Trista nodded
vigorously. “He said something about Charlotte, and how lucky it
was that he’d heard you and Wally talking about your past.”
“But we were in my
dressing room. Did he plant a bug? Or sneak inside?”
“He didn’t have to.
My dressing room and yours had adjoining doors.”
Jessie shook her head.
“I didn’t see a door. I think I’d remember seeing one if it was
there.”
“That’s because it
was behind that huge full-length mirror.” Trista’s cheeks turned
pink. “Okay, I confess that I was curious and I opened the door
once. It wasn’t locked, so I peeked inside. All I could see was the
back of the mirror, and then I heard you and Nikki talking about how
her husband wanted to name the baby Harley, because he’s into
motorcycles, so I closed the door. It didn’t seem right to
eavesdrop.”
Jessie’s blood began
to simmer. She remembered the mirror, and the conversation with
Nikki. “Did Barry know about the door?”
Trista hung her head.
“He saw it himself, but I’m the one who told him it wasn’t
locked. But I never thought he’d listen in on your private
conversations.” She looked up at Jessie with watery eyes. “I’m
sorry,” she said, her voice wobbly. “It was my fault.”
Jessie couldn’t bear
the guilt she saw on Trista’s face. “Oh, sweetie, it’s not your
fault.” She moved toward the girl and hugged her. “You had no
idea Barry would do what he did. Don’t blame yourself.” She
rubbed a soothing hand up and down Trista’s back. “Shush now.
Don’t cry,” she said as Trista cried quietly against her
shoulder.
“What did he have to
gain by doing this?” Trista asked, in a voice that was slightly
muffled but still understandable. “He knows how much I respect you.
Why would he do something so awful?”
“I don’t know. But
I’m sure as hell going to find out.”
Jessie stared at her
reflection in the dressing room mirror, and for the first time in ten
years, she didn’t see a trace of Mary Ellen Dickson looking back at
her. She’d heard confession was good for the soul; maybe there was
some truth to that old saying. Drew might have been the catalyst, but
finally opening up about her painful past had lifted a weight from
shoulders she didn’t realize she’d been carrying until it was
gone.
With a sigh, she lifted
the cup, warming her hands, as she sipped her tea and honey. In less
than thirty minutes, she’d be on stage singing her heart out, and
at this moment, she had no clue if there’d even be an audience to
sing for. The arena had been sold out for months, but how many of
those people would actually show up? In the music business, it didn’t
take much to go from the top of the charts one day, to a has-been the
next. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility her career could be
over.
A knock at the door was
followed by Wally’s voice. “You decent in there?”
“Yes.” She set her
cup down and swiveled her chair around. “Come on in,” she said,
and smiled at Wally as he entered the room and shut the door. “Did
you ask Barry to join us?”
“I found him on stage
watching Trista’s set. He said he’d be here shortly.”
“Good. I know we
can’t prove he’s the leak, but I believe Trista. I think he did
it.”
Wally nodded and
slipped his cell phone into the pocket of his black sport coat. He’d
tamed his thick, white hair and looked a lot more relaxed than he had
this morning. “I had that girl pegged all wrong.”
“Me too. I had no
clue that Barry was the one forcing Trista to be a Taylor Swift
clone. I think she decided to follow his orders, and then go rogue on
him when she turned eighteen.” She crossed one leg over her knee
and sat back in the cushioned chair. “Now she can call her own
shots. I can’t wait to see the look on Barry’s face when he finds
out.”
A devilish gleam
sparkled in his eyes. “I do love a blindside.”
Jessie laughed. “I’m
glad I was wrong about Trista,” she said, with newfound respect for
the girl.
Earlier, after Trista
calmed down, Jessie called Wally, and no more than five minutes
later, he was knocking on the door of her suite. At Jessie’s
urging, Trista repeated her story to him, and then asked him for
advice on firing Barry and hiring another manager. Trista was a lot
smarter than Jessie had given her credit for, and she admired
Trista’s sense of right and wrong. Although only eighteen, Trista
had a good head on her shoulders. That, and her voice, would take her
far.
“Before Barry gets
here,” Jessie began, “I’d like to ask you for your advice on
the duet. If I can talk Drew into it, do you think we should do it?”
“Definitely,” he
said. “I’m not sure why, but ever since Drew agreed to help us
out, I’ve had that song in my head. I never considered it for you
and Kenny, but I think it’s perfect for you and Drew.” He
scratched his head and frowned. “But I’m worried about the lack
of rehearsal time.”