Bryan ignored the reference to his previous bad behavior. “What about her career, B.T.? She’s a business owner in a small Southern town. What did you think would happen to her? Do you care that people all over the country think she’s a whore?” he snapped.
Then the unthinkable occurred to him. “Did you plant the story?” Planted stories were fairly commonplace, and B.T. did it anytime the band hit a publicity lull. He’d always cleared it with them before, and the stories had always involved other celebrities. While the idea that he would do such a thing without his consent would’ve been inconceivable before, now it seemed almost plausible.
B.T. gasped indignantly, “No, I didn’t plant the story! You know I always ask first. You’re like my own kid. Do you think I’d do that to you?”
“But what about what you’ve done to Callie?” Bryan yelled. “If you really loved me like a son, you couldn’t hurt somebody I love…” He broke off as raw emotion choked his throat. “You’re right, this won’t hurt Storm Crow too badly. Hell, it’ll probably be good for the band.” Tears welled up in his eyes as his voice dropped to a rasping whisper. “But you’ve destroyed the woman I love. You’ve wrecked us, killed our relationship, man. Just like always, I trusted you with her, to help me take care of her, and you betrayed both of us.” He took a deep breath, trying to ease the excrutiating pain in his chest. “And you know what’s funny?” He paused, pained laughter welling up from his throat. “You know what’s really funny, B.T.? I called you to go help her, to help me protect her. How stupid could I be, huh? Yeah, I was going to send you to Alabama so I wouldn’t have to leave your precious band. I took your advice, B.T., and thought about somebody other than myself. Too bad, you were only talking bullshit as usual. I’m such an idiot! It never occurred to me that you’d had anything to do with this.” Bryan took deep gasping breaths, trying to calm down before he became totally overwhelmed. “I suggest you find yourself another boy. As of right now, you don’t work for me anymore.”
With slow deliberation, Bryan replaced the receiver in the cradle. The dark chasm that had been with him since childhood yawned before him again, its pull almost tangible. He’d always seen B.T. as a father, the man who had rescued him from a fate worse than death. Now it was apparent that he’d never been more than a commodity to the man he’d loved for almost half his life. The betrayal on top of the realization that he’d probably lost Callie seemed more than he could bear. It was worse than losing Brodie because B.T.’s treachery had been a deliberate act. When the telephone began to ring, Bryan stared at it were as if it were an alien object. Then with a fierce movement, he pulled the cord out of the wall, flinging the telephone across the room. He sat there on the edge of the bed for a long moment, then slid down until he was sitting on the floor. He stayed in that position for what seemed an eternity, his body limp with anguish. Time came to a standstill as the agony reverberated through his very core. He sat there, motionless, almost as if the slightest movement would loosen the fragile link to his psyche, leaving him once again adrift in the void. Then, when he could contain it no longer, a sound heretofore heard only on concert stages around the world erupted from his throat. The primal scream that had sold millions of CDs now marked a raw pain Bryan could express no other way.
Edith Lawson looked up from the book she was reading. It was after eleven o’clock, and Cynthia and Addie had gone to bed an hour ago. Jesse was on an overnight turkey-hunting trip with friends, and she was in bed, taking advantage of his absence to indulge in some late-night reading. Jesse had taken these trips every spring for as long as she could remember, and had yet to bring home a single bird. His lack of success indicated that these excursions were probably more of an escape with his friends than any desire to actually acquire any turkeys. It was probably for the best that he didn’t know that she enjoyed these little breathers as much as he did.
She frowned. There it was again, the unmistakable sound of someone on the stairs. She hadn’t heard the girls’ door open, and no one else was supposed to be in the house. Just as she was about to get up to investigate, Callie appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. Only this was a Callie she’d never seen before. Her face was swollen to the point that she was almost unrecognizable. But even worse were her eyes, the eyes so like her own. Usually so alive with intelligence and simple joy of life, they were black pits of despair. Her shoulders slumping with dejection, Callie shuffled over to the bed and threw herself sobbing into her mother’s arms.
“Callie, what on earth…” Edith gathered her oldest child to her. “What’s going on, baby? You can tell Mama.”
Callie gasped and continued to sob as if her heart were breaking.
Edith patted her back. “Baby, what’s wrong, what’s happened? Are you okay? Did somebody hurt you?”
Callie only shook her head and mumbled something incoherent while her weeping escalated.
Edith continued to rock her daughter back and forth, knowing that she would eventually share whatever was causing her to cry so inconsolably. Finally, after several long moments, she decided to try again.
“Come on, Callie. You’re starting to scare me now. You’ve got to tell me what’s going on,” she said insistently. She handed Callie tissue from her bedside table.
“Darling, is it Bryan? Did y’all have a fight or something?” Edith knew that Callie had been unhappy because of their long separation, but she’d seemed content with the direction the relationship was taking. She couldn’t imagine what could’ve happened.
Callie paused in blowing her nose, and shook her head again. “No, Mama, it’s worse than that.” She settled herself on the side of the bed and told her mother about the tabloid story.
Edith listened in horror as Callie recounted the tale. “How can they say such things? Who told them this filth? How dare they call you a whore?”
“Mama, they make things up. That’s why I’ve always hated the tabloids.” At that moment she vowed that she’d never have them in her store again. She shuddered, if she still had a store. She looked hesitantly into her mother’s eyes. “You don’t believe any of it, do you?”
Edith Lawson tsked. “Callie, I know what I raised, and I didn’t raise no trash.” By all appearances, Callie was on the verge of collapse; the swelling of her eyes indicated a very long crying spell. “When did you find out about this?”
“First thing this morning.”
“Honey, why didn’t you call me?”
“Mama, I think I was in shock, I couldn’t do anything. We didn’t even open the store today, I just lay there on the bed staring at the ceiling and crying.”
Edith nodded her understanding. “Does Bryan know? What did he say? Surely he knows what to do.”
“I haven’t…I haven’t talked to Bryan. He called this morning, but I…I couldn’t talk to him.” Callie began quietly weeping again. “Mama, I’m going to lose everything…everything I’ve worked for all these years. People are going to think I’ve done terrible things,” she whispered, her throat aching with despair.
Edith pulled Callie to her. “Callie, that’s nonsense. You’re not going to lose anything because of these filthy lies. Folks in this town know you. They’ve watched you grow up. They’re not so ignorant as to believe any of this mess,” she said fiercely. “There’s nothing to be done tonight, but they’re going to regret messing with my child,” she swore. She peered at her daughter’s swollen, tearstained face. “But you need to lie down before you fall down.” She pushed the bedcovers down to allow Callie to recline next to her. “Lay down here next to Mama and rest, baby. It’ll all look better once you’ve had some sleep.”
Callie smiled at her mother as she curled up beside her on the queen-sized bed. She had had less than five hours sleep in the past twenty-four hours. Mama was right. She did need to get some sleep. Mama still had her back; maybe they could figure a way out of this mess.
* * *
“Bryan, I didn’t ask Robert, I asked you. Now tell me what happened!” Maria snapped.
Bryan groaned. These early-morning telephone calls were killing him. He had spent all of the previous day trying unsuccessfully to contact Callie. Today the band had a morning flight to Houston. At least it was direct; Bryan was in no mood to deal with airport personnel any more than he had to. Now Maria was picking at the ugly wound left by B.T.’s betrayal. For the love of God, couldn’t she at least let it scab over first? How did he tell a woman that the man she’d been married to for thirty years slithered around on his belly?
“Maria, I really don’t think it’s my place to tell you…” He tried to sidestep the issue.
“Bryan Andrew Spencer, start talking! Do you want me to come down there?” Maria had known from the moment she saw the tabloid story that something had gone seriously awry. Though she maintained a careful façade of blind wifely devotion, she was not oblivious to her husband’s machinations. When she’d mentioned the article to him, he’d mumbled something indecipherable. He’d done likewise when she asked about Bryan and the band. In their many years together, he’d never directly lied to her, but he was a past master at misdirection. If she wanted a direct, honest answer, Bryan was her only recourse.
Bryan pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes; a sleep deprivation headache throbbed there with sickening intensity. He tried to hedge again, “Oh geez, look Maria, we just had some artistic differences…”
“Okay, so now you think I’m stupid?” Maria snapped in disgust. “Artistic differences? I know my husband. Robert wouldn’t care if you played ‘Chopsticks’ every night as long as you could make money doing it! This is your last chance, Bryan. I want to know what happened, and I want to know now!”
Bryan sighed. Clearly she was not going to leave him alone until he told her the truth. “Maria, B.T. let a story run…”
“That story that was in
The Naked Truth? I wondered about that. You’re angry because that story got out? I assumed it was something you guys cooked up for publicity.”
“Maria, do you really think I’d let them call Callie a whore for any reason?” Bryan asked indignantly. Didn’t anybody understand how important Callie was to him?
“Well,” Maria reasoned, “you’ve done some pretty ugly stuff in the past. I remember when you got engaged to that porn star…”
Bryan didn’t want to talk about past publicity stunts. “Maria, that was not an engagement. Hell, I never even dated her. She was just in the video and B.T. thought it would help sales if the story ‘leaked’ to the press that we were engaged. I didn’t have anything to do with this crap. He did it on purpose, Maria. He back-doored me so he could break me and Callie up.”
Maria paused, stunned by this revelation. She knew her husband was capable of all manner of skullduggery, but this defied reason. “Why on earth would he want to do that? You were happy with Callie, happier than I’ve seen you in years.”
Bryan choked off a laugh. “He said…he said that getting serious about a black girl would be bad for my career.”
“Bad for your career? Who cares about that? She was terrific for you. Why, that hypocrite! Is being married to a Latina bad for his career?” Maria broke off mid-tirade; this wasn’t helping Bryan. She would take this up with Robert himself. She continued in a more soothing tone, “Hold on, precious, I’ll deal with Robert.”
“There’s nothing to deal with, Maria, I fired him,” Bryan said emphatically.
“Now, Bryan, don’t make any hasty decisions. I’ll take care of this. How’s Callie holding up?”
“She won’t talk to me, but Tonya says she’s in pretty bad shape. They closed the store the first day, but now they’ve reopened and the paparazzi are there all day.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Tonya thinks it might actually have helped sales. People are so interested to see what all the fuss is about that they are stopping by the store. But apparently even the prospect of making more money hasn’t cheered Callie up in the least. She doesn’t know how to handle this, Maria. I can’t go to her. If I walk out on the guys again…” Bryan broke off. The prospect of losing both Callie and his band was too horrific to contemplate.
Maria tried for a positive outlook, “Bryan, it’s only been two days. You know how these things go. I’m sure a bigger story will come along soon and knock this right off everybody’s mind,” she consoled.
“They called her a prostitute, Maria! Do you understand what that means to someone like Callie? She lives in a small town; everybody knows everybody. She’s always been a good girl; she’s not one of these party girls I usually hang out with. She’s a real person with a real life! This is going to destroy every dream she ever had.” He took a deep breath. “Maria, I love her, I’ve got to do something!”
Maria heard the desperation in the voice of her last remaining child. Unlike her husband, she understood the depth of emotion he felt for Callie. “Bryan, do you trust me to help?”
“Maria, you know I love you, I’d trust you with my life. But B.T…”
“Don’t you worry about B.T. I’ll take care of that,” Maria vowed, using his nickname for the very first time in Bryan’s memory. Apparently B.T. had lost his “my Robert” status.
Bryan was resigned. He was going to have to rely on Maria to help Callie, as he wouldn’t be able to do so himself. “Okay, Maria, please help her. If she’ll talk to you, just tell her I love her, and I’m so sorry I broke my promise.”
* * *
The hand on his shoulder was rough, the voice horribly familiar. “Come on, boy, wake up, we’ve got a lot of work to do and not a whole hell of a lot of time to do it.”