Take Four

  She would bring an authenticity to the role of Ella another actress would’ve had to fake. Ella was the most Christian character in the story. It was her belief that Holden Harris could be helped by the power of prayer and music, and in the end it was her determination that allowed his character to become unlocked—to step out of his prison of autism.

  He had asked the producers from the beginning if they would find a wholesome new face for the role of Ella—someone he could play off of easily, someone that would make his job of playing Holden Harris that much more believable.

  This Bailey Flanigan—whoever she was—couldn’t have been more perfect.

  Brandon watched her reel five times through, until he was so mesmerized by her eyes, he felt like a new person. Invigorated. The fear that had suffocated him all morning was gone completely. Bailey Flanigan, he said her name over and over again in his mind. He needed more information about her, more details.

  He stood, slipped his phone into his pocket, and padded through the house to his office. Two of the women on his cleaning staff smiled at him as he walked past. Not the sort of smile that approved of him or asked for more time and attention from him. The sort of smile that reminded him they were paid by him, and they would do their jobs. Even if they hated them.

  As he walked into the office and shut the door behind him, for the first time since becoming a star, Brandon felt embarrassed. The staff shouldn’t have to deal with random women in his bed or the sort of mess they’d cleaned up today. He gritted his teeth and gave a single shake of his head. It wouldn’t happen again. He needed to turn over a new leaf. His agent was right.

  He moved his mouse, and the screen on his Mac came to life. Maybe she was on Facebook. Maybe she had a Twitter account. He had to have a way to learn more about her. He started with a simple search of her name on YouTube and, sure enough, there was a two-minute clip of her and some guy singing a duet. Brandon scrutinized the wording that accompanied the clip. The guy was her brother? Good. Maybe she was single. He watched her perform, listened to her voice and again he felt his insides turn to mush. She was breathtaking, in every possible way. Maybe the screenwriter could work a musical number into Unlocked. That way everyone could hear her sing.

  When he’d exhausted his search on YouTube, he moved to Facebook. After a few searches, he felt his heart skip a beat. There she was, staring straight at him. Her blue eyes calling to him from somewhere inside the computer screen. He quickly pulled up her profile and immediately noticed something that made his heart soar. First, she didn’t have her Facebook set to private—because everything was visible for him to see. And second, she wasn’t in a relationship. At the same time, the photos just below her status showed her on a football field surrounded by what looked like high school players—some black, some white—and a younglooking guy who seemed to be a coach. He had his arm around her, which irked Brandon a little.

  Not that it mattered. Whoever the guy was, Brandon wasn’t worried. Bailey Flanigan simply hadn’t met him yet. When she did, she wouldn’t know what hit her. Because he could be charming if he wanted. He scanned her profile, reading her updates and checking out her other pictures. What he learned in the next hour told him Bailey was the real deal. A girl strong in her faith, with a great family. Something else caught Brandon’s eye, and he ran a quick Google search.

  Sure enough. Bailey Flanigan’s father was Jim Flanigan, offensive coordinator for the Indianapolis Colts. So little Miss Bailey was a rich girl, no doubt. used to the finer things in life. Maybe they weren’t that different, after all. He made a quick call to Keith Ellison and gave the go-ahead for the flight. He’d fly into Indianapolis early Tuesday night and be ready for Wednesday’s screen test.

  “Did you watch her reel?”

  “I did.” He tried to keep his enthusiasm from sounding too loudly in his voice. “She’s impressive.”

  “I think you’ll love her.”

  Brandon chuckled quietly because after spending an hour studying Bailey on Facebook, he already loved her. The fear and disgust from last night were little more than a distant memory after spending time with Bailey. He could hardly wait to meet her and test with her. After that, maybe they could hit the town, see what Bloomington was really all about. “She’s…she’s the daughter of a pro coach, right?”

  “She is.” Keith sounded skeptical, like he wondered why Brandon was asking.

  “So is she really, you know…all that innocent? The way she comes across?”

  A long silence met him in response, and when Keith started talking again there was a critical sound to his voice. “She’s definitely very innocent, Brandon. That’s why we’re thinking about offering her a contract.” He paused. “Based on your recent escapades in the tabloids lately, the two of you won’t have much in common. That’s why we need a screen test. If you have no chemistry, we want to find out now.”

  This time Brandon’s laugh sounded over the phone lines. “Oh, don’t worry.” He tried to sound nonthreatening. “We’ll have chemistry. Even if she is a little church girl.”

  Again there was a loud silence from Keith. “Brock talked to you, right? About the contract—the character clause?”

  “He did.” Brandon forced himself to be more serious. If he wasn’t careful, Keith really might fire him. And then he’d never get the chance to meet Bailey in person. And suddenly he wanted that more than he’d wanted anything in a long time. He cleared his voice. “Look, I’m sorry about the last few months. I…well, I let things get out of hand.”

  “Yeah, I’d say.” Sarcasm painted broad strokes over the producer’s words. “Completely out of hand.”

  “It won’t happen again.” He thought about the plans he had for that night. The guys were counting on him, but he’d have to turn them down. He needed a few nights at home if he was going to have his mind straight for the trip to Bloomington. “I mean it, Keith. I’m staying home tonight.”

  “Good.” Keith sounded relieved. “I’ll have my assistant book the flight and get the confirmation to you.”

  “First class, okay?” He laughed. “My private jet’s in the shop. Otherwise I’d find my own way out there.”

  “Of course.” Keith hesitated. He sounded far less friendly than the last time they spoke. “Just make sure you’re sober.”

  Brandon promised, and the call ended. He stared out the window at the hazy blue sky and thought about what laid ahead. He’d been telling the truth. His private jet really was in the shop—even though Keith probably thought he was trying to be smart. He shared the jet with a well-known pop star, and they took turns using it to get to location shoots or appearances, concerts, those types of things. He thought about Bailey Flanigan again. He pulled her image back up on Facebook and stared into her eyes. What would it take to get her attention, to make it so she was as excited to meet him as he was to meet her? Maybe he could convince her to take a trip with him when the jet was fixed. They could fly to New York…catch a Broadway show. That would turn her head, right?

  Of course, his name would be enough for most girls. But she wasn’t most girls. With a quick catch of his breath, an idea came to him. In a series of hurried taps on his phone he friend-requested her. A smile crept up his face as he pictured Bailey at home with her family, getting an email notice that Brandon Paul wanted to be her Facebook friend.

  Again he stared at her, at the innocence in her eyes and the passion in her expression. “You’re not like the rest, are you Bailey? I can see that,” he voiced the question out loud. “So what will it take?” He thought about how he’d dress and what he’d say to her, how he’d let her know he wasn’t ignorant to her faith or her values. They were something he could play off if he needed to. That’s why he had to stay away from the partying between now and then. Otherwise she’d see right through him. Whatever it took, he’d find a way to get her attention. Because one way or another he was going to make Bailey Flanigan fall in love with him.

  The job was as good as done.

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nbsp; BAILEY WAS HELPING RICKY WITH HIS MATH HOMEWORK, sitting at the game table in the corner of the family room, when the alert sounded on her phone, telling her a new email had come in. She ignored it at first, since Ricky was right in the middle of a word problem.

  “You get it right, buddy? If Susie walks two miles an hour and Bobby walks three miles an hour, and the walk from their house to school is four miles, then you see the formula, right? So you can figure out how long it takes each of them to get there?”

  “I think so.” Ricky squinted and tapped his pencil. Then, the way it sometimes happened with math, his expression changed and he grinned big. “Oh, I get it. I have to multiply.”

  “Right.” Bailey was happy to help her little brother. She’d struggled with math most of her life, so now it felt good to give back a little, use some of what her schooling had taught her so Ricky might understand math a little sooner than she did. All around her the boys were caught up in some form of homework. Shawn and Justin were on the kitchen floor, using glue sticks to attach photos and blocks of text on a poster board for a health project due tomorrow. BJ was reading on the couch, and Connor was playing the piano in the next room. After a full day of schoolwork and football, Connor usually spent an hour or so writing songs and singing. His music was the soundtrack of their home.

  Bailey smiled, because this was what she’d remember. The life and love and music in her home. When she left here—however that happened, whenever that was—she would always remember nights like this. Her dad was still at practice, but he’d be home anytime, usually before Monday night football. It was a family tradition to watch the game together, no matter who was playing. Tonight’s contest between the Green Bay Packers and the Minnesota Vikings was particularly important since both teams would inevitably have a shot at winning their division. The Flanigan kids knew those sorts of details.

  The only thing missing tonight was Cody. Normally he brought the boys home after practice and stayed around for the Monday night game. But Bailey hadn’t been able to reach him since yesterday, when he left so suddenly. They’d texted, but only briefly. Bailey finally got word from him around noon that day, but his texts were brief and without any of his usual sweet words or emotion. He told her his mother was going to be okay, and that he’d explain more later.

  But that afternoon Coach Taylor brought the boys home, and Justin came right up to her, his expression baffled. “What’s up with Cody?”

  “What do you mean?” Bailey felt a nervousness run through her. Everything had been going so well. If something was wrong, why hadn’t he told her?

  Shawn joined them. “He was like a different person today. Barely talked to anyone, barking out orders. He left right after practice.”

  Connor had gone straight for a glass of water, but he shrugged as he entered the conversation. “He seemed fine. Just a little distant, maybe.”

  That had been an hour ago, and since then Bailey had texted Cody three times—but he hadn’t answered any of them. She even tried calling, but like last night he didn’t pick up. If this was about his mother, why was he ignoring her? She was on his side. Whatever was wrong, he could tell her. Besides, she hadn’t told him about the audition yet. She didn’t want to tell him in a text, but she was practically bursting with the news.

  Ricky began working out the problem, and as he did Bailey remembered the email alert. She checked her inbox, and what she saw made her push back from the table. “What?” She let out a half scream. “I can’t believe this! Oh my goodness, this is unreal!” She held up her phone as she stood and did a little dance around the table. “Mom, listen!”

  Her mom had been in the kids’ computer room, just off the kitchen, working on a magazine piece about being a coach’s wife. The area was adjacent to the family room, so her mom slid her chair back so she could see Bailey. Her look was baffled. “Did Cody get ahold of you?”

  “No.” She ignored the momentary disappointment as she raised her phone in the air. “Brandon Paul friend-requested me!” She squealed again. “Can you believe it? Brandon Paul wants to be my Facebook friend!”

  “No way!” Ricky put his pencil down. “Wait’ll the kids at school hear about this!” He stood and pumped his fist in the air. “I think this calls for a math break.”

  “No math break.” Their mom smiled, one eyebrow raised. “Get a drink, and back to work.” She shook her head, more amused than bothered. “Brandon Paul is just a person like anyone else.”

  “I know, but still…” Bailey settled back down, still amazed. Was this really happening? Was she actually being considered for a lead role in a major motion picture opposite Brandon Paul? What would Cody think? The answer came immediately. He’d be thrilled for her, the way he always celebrated anything good that happened in her life. The way she rejoiced at his success as a football coach. She could hardly wait to tell him, and once more she tried calling. But again he didn’t pick up, and she tried to remind herself it was still a school night. She had homework, and so did Cody, most likely. Maybe his mom was sick and he was doing his homework at her house. But the fact remained, her whole world was about to change. Maybe she and Brandon could become friends…maybe he’d get to know her whole family and if she won the part, he might come to share the Flanigan family’s faith in Christ. The same way Cody did years ago.

  How great would that be?

  Bailey tried to sit still, tried not to bounce around the house bubbling over with excitement for all that laid ahead. As she worked through another half hour of math with Ricky, she prayed between problems that God would use her to make a difference in Brandon’s life. That she would be a very bright light and God would keep her steady and strong. Because she had a feeling the ride ahead would be the wildest one she’d ever experienced.

  For her and for Brandon Paul.

  Eleven

  THE SCENE AT THE JAIL HAD gone from bad to worse. His mother threw up, and then she passed out in her cell and bruised her head in the fall. The jailer told Cody he would have to wait until late Monday before he could post bail. She had to be sober before they would release her. Cody stayed with her, sitting in the jail waiting room most of the night, and barely dragging himself to class Monday morning. After football practice, he hurried back to the jail, ready to bail her out. In the end, Cody could only afford it one way: his coaching money. Her bail cost more than he would make in ten seasons coaching at Clear Creek High, but the bail bondsman wanted only a small percentage to spring her. So Cody paid it.

  The drive back to her house was marked with silence and tension, and halfway there Cody decided they should go to his off-campus apartment instead. Benny wouldn’t look for them there

  —at least he hoped not. The Iraq flashbacks had continued, and he hated the feeling—like he was entering a war without a weapon. Avoiding her house was at least one way to protect the two of them. As they crossed Bloomington, Cody wanted to ask his mom every question slamming around in his head. But he knew if he did, the questions would become a verbal attack, so he kept quiet. As he pulled up out front his apartment complex, he scanned the street for Benny’s red Honda. Just in case.

  “They haven’t caught him, have they?” His mom must’ve known what Cody was looking for, why he was acting so cautious.

  “No.” Cody stole a glance at her. Dark circles cut into her face beneath her eyes and her voice trembled. She looked like she’d been run over and left in the gutter overnight. She didn’t smell great, either. He clenched his jaw. “They didn’t catch him.”

  “He knows. I’m sure he knows.” She shuddered a little as they parked outside his apartment complex. “He’ll figure out where I am, and then he’ll kill me.” She turned to him, her eyes full of terror. “He would do it, Cody. He said he would. He would kill you, too.” She covered her face, clearly distraught at the possibility.

  He wanted to scream at her, but he restrained himself. “Why?” It took all his effort to keep his voice controlled. “Why would you date a guy like that?”
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  Slowly she lowered her hands, and shame deepened the lines on her face. She stared at her hands and then finally at him again. “Free dope…” she looked like she hated herself. “That’s it. Free dope.”

  He stuffed his anger as far down as he could. “Let’s go in.”

  He cooked scrambled eggs and toast, piling on the butter because she needed meat on her bones. Especially if she were headed back to prison, and she was. No matter what she testified about Benny Dirk. The officer and the bail bondsman had told him that much.

  Not until late that night did his mom open up about her slide back into drugs. “He told me I was pretty.” She was huddled in the corner of his sofa, her elbows and shoulders jutting out, her body more frail than Cody had first thought. “We partied together, and I told myself…I promised it would happen just one time. One night with a guy who thought I was pretty.”

  Cody didn’t say anything. He kept thinking about Bailey and how in the world he could ever tell her what had happened. He wished he were back on her parents’ porch swing, cuddled beside her and ready to ask her to be his girlfriend. Instead he was here, and the problem with his mother, the danger of Benny Dirk wasn’t going away.

  “Cody, say something.” She lifted weary eyes to him. “You’re mad at me, right?”

  “Mom…” He uttered a futile groan. “What sort of question is that?” He stood and walked to the window and back. He was angry and hurt and he felt like she’d betrayed him just when she was starting to live. He was afraid for her life, and for his…maybe even for the people he loved. People like Bailey and her family—or the kids at Clear Creek. There was no telling how crazy Benny Dirk might be. He exhaled, defeated. Telling his mom all that would destroy her. Instead, he walked closer and sat on the sofa beside her. “We’ll get through this.” He hugged her, and it occurred to him that soon enough he wouldn’t even be able to hug her. Not whenever he wanted to, anyway. “We’ll get through it.”