Sarah gritted her teeth and stared at her file of songs perched on top of the cheap dresser. No, she wouldn’t let that happen; she wouldn’t fail. The dirty walls of her lousy room closed in a little more each day, but they would have to crush her before she’d give up. She’d get a job tomorrow and she’d do it without anyone’s help.
That night before she fell asleep she stared at the mirror. Her long blonde hair and church dresses made her look sixteen, not twenty-three. Maybe the industry officials would take her seriously if she changed her look. Tucked in her bag of personal items was a pair of scissors and a small sewing kit.
With a building excitement, she grabbed them both, returned to the mirror and began cutting. Fifteen minutes later she’d given herself an entirely new look. Her short bob wasn’t the most professional she’d seen, but it took care of the girl-next-door look. Next she grabbed her most colorful church dress, laid it out on the bathroom counter and began cutting the skirt. When she was done, she hemmed it, slipped it on, and grinned. The dress had once fallen almost to her ankles, loose and modest around her hips and waist. Now it came to just above her knees. With the extra material, Sarah quickly fashioned a belt, fastened it around her waist, and undid the top buttons on the dress. She studied the mirror once more.
This time she made a slight gasp, her eyes wide. She looked like a different person. Her figure was stunning, something even she hadn’t realized. And with her new haircut she could hardly wait for morning.
The next day she walked into Trailway Records, the first office she’d been to when she arrived nearly two months earlier. A young man was working the phones and when she came through the door and removed her coat, he did a double take and spilled his coffee. He smiled at her and held up a single finger, silently asking her to stay.
Sarah nodded and took a nearby chair. She held her portfolio of songs close to her chest and crossed her legs the way she’d seen showgirls cross them in the movies. Making sure the young man had a clear view of her curvy calves.
In two minutes he was off the phone and on his feet. “Hi.” He walked around his desk and smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Yes.” Sarah stood and gave him a look she’d been working on all morning. “I’m a singer.” She flashed him a slow smile. “I need a job.”
“I see.” The man was nodding before she had the words out. “I think we can help you.” He introduced himself as Mr. Hamilton, and in a hurry he called to a man in a nearby office. Before Sarah could grasp what was happening, she was standing on a small stage in front of four men. One of them was at the piano, the music to her songs spread out before him.
“Okay, Sarah,” one of the men said. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”
She sang three pieces, but after the first they no longer seemed to be listening. The three men brought their heads together and whispered. Sarah felt a thrill work its way through her body. They were talking over the details of her contract. Once in a while one of them waved at her to keep singing. Sarah was so happy she could barely remember the words.
When they were finished talking, Mr. Hamilton approached her and motioned for her to stop.
“So … ” She was breathless. This was it, the moment she’d been waiting for. They would present her with a contract and she’d be on her way. “Am I in?”
“Well,” Mr. Hamilton smiled big. “Our office girl left yesterday.” His tone suggested this was the best possible news. “We’d like to bring you in, train you on the phones, the filing, that sort of thing.”
Blood rushed to Sarah’s face and she felt faint. “Phones?” She blinked hard. “What about … what about my songs? My contract?”
“Uh … ” Mr. Hamilton hesitated, then turned and looked at the three men waiting at the back of the room. When he met Sarah’s eyes again his smile faded some. “We might be able to get you some studio work, singing backgrounds, demos, that sort of thing.” A nervous laugh slipped. “Yeah, the uh … the contract, why, that comes later on. Down the road.”
He explained the pay. Fifty dollars a week plus bonus money if they needed her for studio work.
Sarah wanted to spit at the man. How dare he give her a job answering phones and filing paperwork? But she stopped herself. This was the first job she’d been offered, and the manager at the hotel wanted his money. He’d made her a deal—a hundred dollars a month if she cleaned her own room. The job would leave her enough spending money to eat and eventually buy a new dress or two.
She thought about the alternative—calling home and asking for train money.
“Fine.” She lifted her chin, too proud to smile. “When do I start?”
The men looked at each other again and Mr. Hamilton cleared his throat. “Right now if you’re ready.”
Sarah was, and by the end of the day she had the office system memorized. Before she left for the evening, Mr. Hamilton approached her. The others were already gone, and something more suggestive shone in the man’s eyes.
“Want a ride?” He reached out and brushed his finger against her chin. “Maybe we could, you know, talk about that studio work you’re wanting.”
A chill passed over Sarah. She slipped her coat on and shook her head. “I’ll take a cab, thank you. And it’s not studio work I’m wanting, Mr. Hamilton.” She snatched her packet of songs from the desk and glared at him. “It’s a contract.”
That night she checked the mirror again and admired her new look. If she had to answer a thousand phone calls on the way up, at least she had a job in Nashville. A job she’d gotten on her very own, without handouts or connections or any praying on her part. It was hers, fair and square, and despite the circumstances Sarah was bursting at the seams.
She had come to Nashville seeking a career in the music industry, and now she was on her way.
“It’s just like I dreamed, Mama,” Sarah didn’t mention the phone work or filing when she reported home that night. “I’ll be singing in Nashville.”
“Baby, be careful.” Her mother’s tone was always reserved, anxious about the entire situation. “I’m still praying.”
Her father was more upbeat. “You let us know when you’ll be onstage, now. We’ll come and see you sing, all right?”
“It should be sometime soon, Daddy. I’ll let you know.” Sarah bit her lip. The lie felt bitter on her tongue, but then, it wasn’t a total lie. She would be on a stage singing sometime soon. The people at Trailway Records were bound to see the light, and then the offers would come. A contract, a tour, a traveling band. All of it would happen, especially now that she was in with a studio.
The weeks blended into months and Sarah found herself fielding more passes from Mr. Hamilton than phone calls or files. But every now and then he made good on his word and allowed her some studio work. Backgrounds for a small piece, or harmony on a demo tape.
Each time she stood before the microphone Sarah felt the same way. One step closer to her dream. All she needed was a break, one single break. And at the end of her third month with Trailway Records, Sarah found it.
T
HE SECOND DAY
Of Sarah’s Christmas ritual blended into the third, and the ornament read
Excitement.
Even now that was the only word that could’ve described the feeling Sarah had the day Mitch Mullins walked into Trailway Studios.
Mitch was a country music star, an overnight phenomenon, a man on his way to becoming an icon. He’d broken onto the scene two years earlier and already he had six number one songs. His dark looks and smooth voice made him a heartthrob, and for a nation looking for purpose, Mitch’s soulful lyrics kept the industry hungry for more.
Sarah was aware of him. She loved his music, and she’d heard enough chatter working at Trailway Records to know his wild reputation. Mitch was the kind of man her parents had warned her against. Not that it mattered. Nashville was a big town and Sarah never expected to meet him.
But that month he was between contracts, looking for a new label when he came into the office for a meeting with the higher-ups. Electricity filled the air when Mitch and his agent arrived, though Sarah didn’t talk with him. She was in the studio all day working on a demo.
Halfway through the day Sarah was trying to bring life to a worn-out song when Mitch walked through the studio doors, spotted her, and froze. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. He was even more striking in person. She felt her face flush under his gaze, but she kept her attention on the producer and his directions for the song.
When the music ended, a break was called and Mitch meandered his way toward her.
“Hello.” An easy grin tugged at his mouth. His eyes made a lazy trip down the length of her and back up again. He was only a few feet away now and he held out his hand. “My name’s Mitch.”
“Hi.” Sarah took hold of his fingers and the sensation sliced its way through her. She swallowed, searching for her voice. “I’m Sarah.”
“Well, Sarah … ” Mitch released her hand and took another step closer. A presence surrounded him, something powerful, stronger than anything Sarah had felt. “Since when does Trailway Records hire angels?”
She smiled and her cheeks grew hot again. This was Mitch Mullins talking to her, complimenting her. For a moment she broke eye contact and looked at the ground, not sure what to say. She reminded herself not to take the moment too seriously. If the stories about Mitch were true, he probably reacted this way to most women.
“I was in the office talking with the guys when I heard you.” His tone was softer, genuine. “I had to see where that voice came from.” He took her hand again and guided her along the edge of the stage and down three steps. “You’re absolutely stunning, Sarah. Everything about you.”
“Thank you.” Sarah hoped her palms weren’t sweaty.
Calm down,
she told herself.
He says the same thing to all the girls.
She scanned the back of the studio for the director. The break wouldn’t last much longer, even if she was talking to Mitch Mullins.
“Sarah, look at me.”
Her eyes found his again. “Yes?”
“Let me take you away from here.” He caught her other hand and eased his thumbs over the tops of her knuckles. “Sing backup for me on my tour, and when we get back to Nashville I’ll make you the biggest star this town’s ever seen.”
The floor felt suddenly liquid; Sarah had to brace her knees to keep from falling. Mitch Mullins wanted her to sing backup for him, tour with him? He wanted her to make it big, and he’d only known her for five minutes? “I … I don’t know what to say.”
Mitch chuckled and squeezed her fingers. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in all the world, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Say yes, Sarah. You’ll never regret it for a minute.”
That evening Mitch had a driver bring Sarah to his Nashville estate, where his staff served them steamed fish and wild rice. They drank sweet tea from crystal goblets and Sarah tried to convince herself she wasn’t dreaming. When they finished eating, he explained the situation. His backup singer had quit the week before to be with her family. His tour would start the following Monday—a ten-week bus trip through the south.
“Hamilton tells me you write your own songs.” Mitch had dropped the slick one-liners from earlier that afternoon. Outside the studio atmosphere, he didn’t seem like the country’s fastest-rising star. He was genuine and likeable, a man oozing charm and utter confidence.
“Yes.” She made a face and took a sip of tea. “I’m surprised he remembers.”
“He said they were good.”
Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”
“Yes.” Mitch tossed his napkin on his plate and slid back from the table. He was across from her and his gaze never wavered. “I’m serious about the offer, Sarah. Sing for me on the tour and we’ll get those songs on the air before summertime.”
He stood and made his way around the table. With a familiar ease, he reached for her hand, waited until she was on her feet, then directed her into a sitting room. Before they reached the sofa, he stopped and turned to her. “Sarah,” he gave a gentle pull and she was inches from him before she knew what had happened. “You’re beautiful.”
For a single instant, Sarah remembered Sam telling her that. She refused the thought. Mitch was so close she could feel his breath, smell the hint of his intoxicating cologne. “Thank you, Mitch.”
Without waiting another moment, he drew her into his arms and kissed her, and suddenly there was no turning back. She quit her job the next day and gave herself to Mitch Mullins, heart and mind, body and soul.
“I’ve made it; I got my break,” she told her parents. “I’m touring with Mitch Mullins.”
Her father had doubts from the beginning. “He has a wild reputation, Sarah.”
“Dad.” She’d practiced her response, perfected the lie. “He likes my voice; nothing more.”
From the time she hit the road with Mitch, warnings screamed at her. Girls were crazy for him, throwing themselves at the stage and bursting into tears if he reached out and touched their fingertips. At each show, dozens of girls would toss him gifts—flowers or teddy bears or slips of paper bearing phone numbers and unmentionable promises. Sarah figured since she and Mitch were an item, he’d toss the numbers as soon as the show was over. Instead she walked into his dressing room one night and caught him with a phone in one hand, a slip of paper in the other. When she asked him about it, he shrugged. “A man’s gotta have friends, baby.”
But Mitch’s escapades were beyond shady, even if Sarah didn’t want to ask questions. Mitch would disappear after a show and return by cab the next morning just as the bus was ready to pull out. Other times he’d leave with a group of girls after a show, stay out until three or four in the morning, and still have the nerve to show up at her hotel door—shirt unbuttoned, lipstick on his cheek—looking for her affection.
Sarah wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn’t. No matter how many girls he toyed with, she was the one he kept coming back to, the one he was in love with. Besides, what more could she ask for? She was singing backup for Mitch Mullins, performing for a packed house night after night, the way she’d always dreamed. Mitch was going to make her into a star, even though he hadn’t talked much about it since they’d gone on tour.