Hillbilly Rockstar (16 page)

"Sure," Lisa accepted, taking the plate, and they finished their meeting over breakfast.

###

"Caroline, Molly needs to be at the studio at seven tomorrow morning. I'll send a car for you two, all right?" Lisa switched the phone to her left ear and started playing with the earring in her right ear.

"That sounds fine, Lisa. Let me get this down." Lisa heard Caroline Sims rummaging for a pen and paper on the other side of the line. "I can't believe you got her on Nashville Today."

"It wasn't difficult. She is in the lead on the show right now, and popular opinion says she's going to win."

"That's great! But we still have four more weeks before the finale."

"I still say she's going to be on top. And you never know, Caroline, she may get a contract even without winning the contest. Look at some of the American Idol contestants, like Kellie Pickler. She didn't win, but she's got a fabulous career." Lisa doodled on her notepad.

"I would love for Molly to win, but regardless, I'm just happy she's doing what she enjoys. All right, you're sending a car in the morning. We'll be ready. The driver needs to buzz our apartment."

"I'll remind him." Lisa made a note on her growing to-do list. "I have a few more calls to make. I may be able to get another talk show next week."

"That would be wonderful, Lisa. I need to go too, and let you get back to work. But Molly did want to know if you were coming to the taping Saturday."

Lisa's stopped drumming on her notepad, her pencil still. The Saturday taping. She hadn't missed one since Trace had started on the show, but she hadn't planned to go anymore.

"I wasn't planning on coming, Caroline. You know that Trace and I aren't seeing each other anymore."

"I know, and I hate that. You two were so good together. But Molly would like you to be there."

It's part of your job, Lisa, she told herself. Put your personal feelings aside and do your job.

"Okay, Caroline, I'll be there. Let Molly know, and if I don't see you at Nashville Today in the morning I'll see you Saturday."

"Sounds great. Bye."

Lisa returned the goodbye and disconnected the call. Saturday night. She hadn't seen Trace since the previous Saturday. She'd spoken to Patrick, but both of them had kept the conversation all about business, even though she wanted to ask about Trace. Well, she had three days to get used to the idea of seeing him again. Lisa started doodling on the pad again, wondering what she could do to protect her heart within that short time.

Chapter Twenty

Trace stepped onto the marble floor of the lobby inside First National Bank. He didn't want to return here, but he'd received the next third of the money for the show and he was more than ready to pay off the balance on the bank loan. He wanted this bank and everyone else out of his business and out of his way. Getting the mortgage paid was the first part of that goal.

He walked back over to Peggy, still at the customer service desk. Maybe he'd ask her out. She was cute.

"Hello, sir." She said, looking up at him, and her eyes went wide.

"Hello, Peggy. Good to see you again." He tipped his hat towards her.

"You're -- you're the guy on that show."

"Yeah, I'm the guy on that show." Trace sighed. This was definitely a different greeting than he'd received last time. But what he wouldn't give to be known as a performer again instead of the-guy-on-that-show.

"I watch you all the time. Can I have your autograph?" She pushed a deposit slip towards him.

"I'll do this if you'll let your manager know Trace Harper is here. I'd also like to see Sheila Nichols if she's in."

"Yes, just a moment." Peggy went back into work mode while Trace signed the blank slip:
To Peggy, a beautiful gal. Trace Harper, aka the-guy-on-that-show.
 

"Mr. Elliott is on his way out. He'll take you up to Miss Nichols. Thank you so much!" Peggy took the slip from him and offered a big smile.

"You're welcome, Peggy. I'll just sit over here and wait."

Before he could sit in the same chair he'd sat in a few weeks ago and flip through the same magazine -- it didn't look like it had been moved at all -- Mike Elliott entered the lobby from the office area behind the reception desk.  

"Mr. Harper, hello. You know you could request security to walk you in the back entrance."

Yeah, this was definitely a different reception than he'd had a few weeks ago.

"No, thanks, I don't that. I'd like to see Miss Nichols, though, and pay off my loan."

"Pay it off? Well, that's fantastic. Let's go up."

Trace followed Mike to a bank of elevators. Soon after he pressed the button the doors opened and they were whisked away to Sheila Nichols' office on the third floor.

It was something, Trace thought when they exited the elevator. It was opulent, abundant. The bank did well here, especially with the country music business being based in the heart of Nashville.

His boots clicked on the marble floor. Granite columns on the wall held a great expanse of blue sky painted on the domed cathedral ceiling. And this was just the third floor lobby. He and Mike walked under the blue dome toward the offices in back. Bank employees sat at their desks or walked past them, ignoring them both.

The office area was more comfortable, more relaxed, than the lobby. Standard carpet ran down the hall floor, lit sconces were attached to the walls and photos or painted portraits of former bank directors alternated with windows.

Mike led him to Miss Nichols' office at the end of the hall. They stopped at her secretary's desk. "Trace Harper and Mike Elliott here to see Miss Nichols."

The secretary cleared the way for them to enter the bank president's office. Sheila Nichols' office was elegant, but understated. Antique furniture was mixed with more modern pieces. They were obviously expensive but meshed together well.  

He of Lisa and her shabby chic house she'd decorated with thrift store and flea market finds. Yeah, it takes a certain kind of person to make a house a home, no matter if it was furnished with expensive antiques or refinished yard sale finds. A germ of an idea inched into his mind, a possibility. "No." Trace said to this niggling worm of an idea. But it wouldn't let go.

"Hello, Mr. Harper. I'm glad to see you again. My husband loved the autograph. What can I do for you?"

Sheila Nichols shook his hand and before returning to her desk, looking at him expectantly.

"I want to pay off the mortgage on my house. The money can be transferred from my checking account."

"All right." Sheila turned to her computer and began typing in search parameters. Soon his loan application and all documentation showed on her computer.

"The mortgage balance is fifty thousand twenty dollars."

"Pay it. All of it."

Sheila Nichols checked the balance in his checking account, then completed the transfer. The house was his again.

"I'll be getting my deed back?"

"Yes, you'll receive your deed by next month. I'm sorry I can't be more timely."

"Not a problem," he said, and stood to shake her hand. "Thanks for your assistance, Miss Nichols."

He didn't wait for acknowledgement from either of them. Instead, he tipped his hat and left the office. His house was his again, and he'd protected it this time by filing a will with his attorney. This was never going to happen again, he would swear on it. As he left the bank, the niggling idea he'd had earlier crept up again. In fact, he realized, the idea had been there for a long time. He just hadn't been able to understand it.

###

Lisa took her usual seat near the front, but she was dreading the show. She smoothed down her dress as she sat, then stopped, recognizing her nervous habit. She wore a new dress, the same material as the green but this one was blue. She'd also worn her boots, but not because of Trace, she told herself. She wore them because they were comfortable and she fit into the casual crowd in the audience at the taping.

She hadn't seen Trace backstage when she'd gone back to see Molly. This would be the first time she'd seen him since their fight week ago. It will all be okay, she told herself. She'd made it through one week and she'd make it through another. It will all be okay.

Despite her mantra, Lisa found herself fidgeting in the seat again. "Good grief," she said out loud, then rose from her seat. If she had to stay, she wasn't going to sit in her usual seat up front.

"Excuse me." A man started bumping his way down the aisle before she could get out, heading for the empty seat near Lisa. With the man coming in and equipment blocking the other side of the aisle, Lisa knew it would be hopeless trying to move to another see. She sat back down, annoyed.

"Hello," he said, reaching out his hand to her for a shake once he'd settled next to her. "Herb Johnson. I hope I'm in the right place. The usher escorting me had to head back, some kind of emergency."

"Lisa Jenkins." Lisa shook his hand two seconds before her brain registered his name. "Herb Johnson? President and CEO of Johnson Records?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm here tonight to narrow down a couple of the performers I'd like to sign. I've been watching the show at home and I have to say I like quite a few of them."

Lisa could help Molly if she could set up a meeting with Herb Johnson. "Who do you like?"

"Well, I like the young girl, Molly. She's very fresh and personable. She could be an up and comer. And some of the other women, they're pretty good. She would be my top pick with Mary Lou Baskin as my second."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson, especially since I happen to be Molly Sims' manager." This time she offered her hand for a shake.

Herb took her hand, laughing. "Of course I'd sit next to a manager. Smelling blood in the water, huh?"

Lisa smiled. "You have managers confused with agents. They're the sharks. We're more like those little fish that hang around the sharks." Lisa smiled as Herb chuckled. "I know Molly is talented and I believe she'll go far in this business. She has what it takes for the long term. She's learning, she's still naïve in some areas, but she has drive and that's what is needed to stay performing and stay popular. She has what it takes, I know it."

Herb looked her over, nodded. "You don't have to sell me too hard on her, since I've seen her perform. How's next week for a meeting? I'll have my secretary call you with a date and time."

"Next week would be perfect." Lisa reached into her purse and fished a business card from her wallet. "Here are my contact numbers. I look forward to hearing from you."

Herb nodded and just as he did the lights dimmed. The show was starting.

Chapter Twenty-One

Trace knew Lisa was in the audience. He'd seen her when she came backstage to see Molly. His feelings for her hadn't changed. She was beautiful, with her blonde hair up in the messy bun she loved, wearing a blue dress that hugged her curves. And she wore the boots. Why? Could it mean something, a message for him? Yeah, the message is the boots are comfortable. Not everything is about you. But he had missed seeing her wearing them.

 
The idea he'd had Thursday morning had been growing, so much so that he couldn't get away from it. It occupied his mind most of the time. The only thing left to do was to take action, go along with the idea, see where it went, how it worked out. The big piece of this idea, though, included Lisa. She had to be a part of it, a part of his life, if it was going to happen.

"Hey, Cowboy."

Trace turned towards Michelle's voice. Since their talk Sunday morning things seemed to be much better between them. She'd dropped the flirting and they were back to being the friends they'd been ten years before.

"Hey, Michelle. How much longer?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes. You're not ready yet?" She walked over and helped him with his tie. "She's here, in the front."

"I know, I saw her. It doesn't matter, though. I told her to go."

"Trace, you are still being an idiot. Didn't you hear anything I said last week? There, finished."

"Thanks." As he checked out the rest of his costume in the mirror, Michelle's words came back to him. He was an idiot. He shouldn't let her go. He didn't want to let her go. And like a vision, a path became clear to him. "Michelle, is fifteen minutes long enough to write a song?"

"Write a song? Why?"

"I don't have time to explain. Help me?" He turned toward her, placed his hands on her shoulders. "We were a great writing team back then. And I think you'll like the type of song I'm thinking about."

Intrigued, Michelle dug a pad and pen from the cluttered desk in Trace's dressing room. Shaking her head, she uncapped the pen and made herself comfortable on the couch. "Let's write a song, Cowboy."

###

"Five minutes, Mr. Harper," Mary, the production assistant called through the open door to his dressing room. "Oh, I didn't see you, Miss Nelson. You too, five minutes."

"Thanks," Trace called out. "Well, what do you think?" He read over the words once more, strummed a tune on his guitar.

"I think it's great. When do you want to do it?"

"At the end, right after the last performer. Instead of doing our wrap up, I'll sing this. The problem is getting my guitar out there. The production assistants will be suspicious if I carry it with me."

"I'll get the guitar there, don't worry about it. Now, let's get out there before Mary comes back and bites our heads off." They left the dressing room, Trace carrying his guitar, and headed backstage.

###

Trace waited for his cue. Michelle had taken his guitar and gone to the other side of the stage to wait for her cue to enter from the opposite side.

"Okay, Mr. Harper," Mary, the production assistant, told him. "When you're cued, you and Michelle enter and meet in the middle as soon as Molly's done."

"Got it," Trace said, and Mary ran off to remind someone else of something.

Molly finished her performance, bowing multiple times to the tumultuous applause. Once Molly left the stage, he heard his cue and he stepped out, walking toward Michelle. They met in the middle and nodded, acknowledging the applause from the audience, just like they were supposed to.