"Good," he said. "So go home and work on your songs. And call Serene. She's been calling everybody in the family, trying to reach you. She has good news. She's about to hit the big time."
Good news was relative. But Parker would have to talk to Serene. It wasn't fair to put her friend off any longer.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Serene's "Double Minds" photo shoot took place the next day at the Parthenon in Centennial Park, close to Parker's house. It was a popular park where people jogged or walked their dogs, where nearby college students studied on blankets on the grass. The building was modeled after the Greek original in Athens, and it was a common place for Nashville stars to be photographed.
Parker found the photo crew on the front steps. The location was cliched, if you asked her. She'd suggested to Serene that she try someplace different, but Serene was in a hurry to get the cover of her album done. Sometimes Parker wondered if she was the only creative person on Serene's team.
She strolled toward them, her fake Uggs squishing in the damp earth. A small crowd had formed a perimeter around Serene as she posed with wind blowing her long blonde hair--courtesy of a couple of fans provided by the photographer. Her band members stood off to the side, unshaven and artistically disheveled. Daniel Walker, the youth minister she'd been playing for the night of Brenna's murder, was clean-shaven, but someone had moussed and tousled his hair, as if that would complete his transition from minister to guitarist. They should have left him alone, she thought. His look needed no help.
Serene's manager stood behind the photographer, checking every picture digitally as it was made. Parker swept her hair behind her ears and stood back with the spectators. She met Daniel's eyes, and he winked at her. She smiled, maybe for the first time in days.
She remembered what he'd told the youth group about her, that she had left her concert early to keep from getting the glory and applause. He had a picture of her in his mind that wasn't quite accurate, but somehow, she wanted to live up to it.
The photographer finished with the band, and they came down the steps, leaving Serene for her solo shots. Parker knew it would be Serene's face that shone on the cover. The shots of the band would be reduced to a thumbnail shot on the liner notes. Still, she was glad Daniel would get some credit. His youth group would love it.
Daniel came toward her. "Hey, Parker." He hugged her. "Are you okay? I've been praying for you."
That warmth flushed through her again. "Yeah, it's been a rough few days."
The other band members mingled with the crowd, but Daniel took her hand and pulled her closer to the camera crew and away from the spectators.
"You did great the other night," he said. "I've been wanting to tell you."
"Thanks. Sorry I left you holding the bag."
"No, I love how you did that."
Guilt surged through her again. "Daniel, about the reason I left--"
Serene called out to her then. "Parker, I'm so glad you're here!We're almost finished. Don't go away!"
"I won't," she called back. She turned back to Daniel, saw him checking his watch.
"Wow, it's late. I have to get back to the church. We have a staff meeting."
Parker admired Daniel's devotion to his church. His music was a side business, something that supplemented his income while he went about the work of God. He was also a ripping guitar player, and Serene was lucky to have him.
Her explanation about the other night could wait. He packed his guitar. "So are you going to rewrite the songs so we can get back in the studio?" he asked.
Parker glanced back at Serene. "We're talking about it today."
He zipped the case and slung it on his back. "I understand your hesitation, but you don't want anybody else butchering up your songs, do you? You let these guys get hold of them, they'll sound third grade. Besides, I have a feeling Serene's about to make you an offer you can't refuse."
Parker's eyebrows came up. "Oh, yeah? What?"
"I can't say. I'm just the hired help."
The photographer finally shouted out, "That's a wrap!" Serene bounced down the steps to examine the digital images. "Parker, come see. Do I look too washed out? Did the camera make me look fat?"
Parker said good-bye to Daniel and watched as the shots came and went, Serene banishing some of them to the computer trash bin. To Parker, they were all good. Serene was a natural. But you couldn't put Parker on the steps of the Parthenon and make her look like a star. Her shoulder-length red hair was too short to blow in just that way, and she'd look ridiculous if she wore the costumy, flowing dress that Serene had on. Serene's star quality shone in every picture. She supposed that was why her friend was famous. That ... and because she could sing. Boy, could she sing. Serene's voice was what had pulled her from life's ghetto. It was her currency, her hope. Parker had recognized that when Serene was only thirteen.
Satisfied with the shots, Serene turned back to Parker. "We're going to Fido to get a bite. We'll meet you over there."
Parker stood there a moment as Serene signed autographs, then she turned and squished back to her car. As she was getting in, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the readout. It was George Colgate, her boss.
She clicked the phone on. "Don't tell me we're opening today."
"No, the building's still sealed. I need your help. We've got to shuffle around these session times. We can't have people immigrating to other studios. Can you get your brother to tell you how long before we can get back in? I'm losing tons of money every day that we're closed. And see if he'll give you your appointment book."
"I think he's logged it as evidence. He's even got my laptop, becauseit was on my desk."
"Come on! What are we gonna do? If we can't open, we at least need our schedule so we can move things around. Use your influence, Parker."
"I'll ask him if he can at least give me a copy. But even if he doesn't, I can call some of the labels this afternoon and try to shuffle things around. Since we can't make up the days we missed, maybe we could farm some of the groups out to other studios."
"Yeah, and take a huge loss. I'd rather just encourage them to record when the studios are available--like early morning hours."
Mornings weren't popular with vocalists, because their voices weren't at peak performance level. Most musicians preferred to record in the afternoons and evenings, and some would work all night.
"The hours from, say, five a.m. to noon would be open," Parker said, "if we could get anyone to come then. It won't be easy, but mixing and editing could be done then."
"It doesn't pay to have a girl murdered in your lobby. Why did we hire Nathan Evans's daughter anyway, for Pete's sake?"
"You hired her, George. And remember, she worked for free. She was a nice girl and a good worker."
"Just goes to show you, you ought to check people out, even interns. Are you sure they weren't after me? Or you?"
"Nobody's sure of anything yet, but I don't think so."
"I've decided to hire an off-duty cop for security."
"Great idea," she said. "It'll make me feel a lot better."
"Then it's done," he said. "I don't want any more shootouts at the OK Corral."
As Parker drove home, she wondered if her own death would have been such an inconvenience to the people who knew her.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Fido was a trendy little cafe on 21st Avenue, where Vandies--what the locals called the Vanderbilt students--worked at their computers as if they kept office hours there. Occasionally, someone with marginal fame would come into the place and start an acoustic jam session in the corner--creating a flurry of excitement. Parker noticed that same charge in the air as Serene pranced in--still in the dress in which she'd been photographed--and took a table near the window where passersby could get a glimpse.
Because she wasn't famous and had no excuse not to stand in line, Parker waited at the counter for over ten minutes to order coffee and muffins for everyone in the group.
She paid for it even though she couldn't afford it, hoping that someone at the table would reimburse her. But that wasn't how it usually worked.
Carefully, she carried the coffee to the table on its tray. Serene had saved a seat for her, so she slipped into the booth beside her.
"So Jeff Standard is coming to see me tomorrow, Parker," Serene said as she took her coffee off the tray. "And you're not going to believe this. He didn't just buy out my contract. He's buying the whole label."
Parker shot her a look. "NT Records is a Christian label. All their artists are evangelicals. Why would he do that if he wants to ditch Christ?"
"He doesn't want to ditch Christ," Butch said, unwrapping a Tootsie Pop. "He's allowing all the other artists to keep recording and producing what they've always done. But he wants to take a different approach with Serene."
Parker looked at Serene. She had no doubt that her friend was a Christian. The two of them had been fourteen when they'd answered an altar call at a Dawson McAllister concert. If not for that, Serene might have committed suicide before she'd even been old enough to date. Her faith had sustained her for years and had provideda vehicle for her gift of song. "Serene, are you sure this is all okay with you? Spiritually, I mean?"
"I'm not going to abandon my faith now," Serene said, "but don't you think I can reach more people if I sell more records? I mean, think about it. Right now I'm playing to crowds of two to five thousand people. If Jeff keeps his promise to get us into bigger arenas, I could be playing for ten, fifteen, twenty thousand people at a pop."
"Twenty thousand?" Parker asked. "Isn't that a little high?"
"Maybe right now," Serene said. "But once he promotes me and gets me secular radio airplay, the sky is the limit. All I have to do is take his advice."
"Advice to ditch Christ," Parker repeated.
"Would you stop saying that?"
Parker sighed. "What's different about you if you conform to what everybody else is doing?"
"My voice is different," Serene said. "And I don't live my life the way everyone else does. They would see that I'm not like the brat pack, getting high every night. That's not my thing. I would let them know that Christianity works."
"But you already have crossed over to the Billboard pop charts. You were number one last month, with a Christ message."
"That was one time. People think it was a fluke."
"It was enough to get Jeff Standard's attention."
"Yeah, it was, and we've got to take advantage of the opportunity. Look, once I get going, I can do whatever I want. He knows I'm going to bring my Christian fan base with me, but if I can get a whole bunch of new people to like my songs--"
They were her songs, Parker thought. She had written them. They had her soul, her heart. She wasn't fond of being a surrogate mother.
Butch took out his Tootsie Pop and pointed with it. "Parker, I've been thinking about your career, and the reason you can't get a record deal."
Now there was a topic she'd rather not discuss. She crossed her hands in front of her face, wishing for an escape.
"The reason is that you haven't yet proven national demand for your product."
"How can I prove national demand without a record contract?"
A slow grin came to his lips, and he looked at Serene across the table. "Tell her, Serene."
Serene swallowed. "Honey, what you've got to do is build up a national fan base. You've got to establish some name recognition." "Like that's ever going to happen," Parker said.
"It can happen. We've got a plan."
Parker braced herself. Serene's plans usually required a lot of effort from Parker. "I'm listening."
"Jeff has already booked some huge venues for our upcoming tour, besides the usual venues--the bigger churches and small coliseums we already had booked across the south. If you could piggyback off my tour, people would begin to recognize your name."
Parker wasn't following. "What do you mean by 'piggyback'?"
Serene leaned close and fixed her eyes on hers. "Parker, if you'll rewrite these songs for me, and do it quick so we can record the vocals and still get the record out on time, I'll let you do three of your own songs during my costume change on the tour."
Parker almost choked on her coffee. "You mean I could perform? On stage?"
"Yes." Serene's eyes were dancing. "We'd have a special segment of my concert, where I'd introduce you as my friend and songwriter. Your band could step in while mine takes a break. Three songs, then I come back in a different fabulous outfit, and take over again. The crowd will go wild, and you'll sell a zillion CDs."
"But I don't even have a CD ready to sell."
"You have time to get one done. You could press enough to sell on the tour."
Parker's eyes narrowed. "And you think Jeff Standard would go for that?"
"I talked to him about it yesterday. He had no problem with it. He said it was a lot more interesting than instrumental or video while I change."
"Well, what if he doesn't like me?"
"What's not to like?" Serene asked.
Parker couldn't believe she would be so naive. "Well, my Christian message, for one thing. If he wants the Christianity taken out of your songs, he sure won't like mine."
"He wants it taken out of my new album. But he's smart enough to realize that the people coming to my shows now are Christians. He's not asking me to go back and redo my whole backlist. My audience comes for my Christian hits, so of course I'll be singing them. He's just planning to put me in bigger venues, hoping that the crossover songs will draw a bigger crowd with new fans. I want to do this for you, Parker, because I think people should be introduced to your talent. You helped jump-start my career with your songs, and I want to return the favor."
Parker felt the warmth of those words, but she knew they were empty if she couldn't deliver. Serene had a voice that could pack stadiums. Parker didn't.
"Do you think I could pull it off?"
"Parker, you have a great voice, and a really unique sound. I wouldn't chance it if I didn't think so."
"Neither would I," Butch interjected.
Parker couldn't believe the producer would even consider this. "Really, Butch?"
"I do. What's more, Jeff Standard does."
She almost choked. "Are you serious?"
"We played him a demo tape of your song 'Inscribed,' and he liked it. He really appreciates your sound, and he said having you sing three songs to break up the concert was clever."
Parker stared at her friend. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"
"It just happened. I'm telling you now. You only have a few songs left to record, don't you?"
"Yes, but I don't know when I can get a studio again."
"Can you get it ready in time or not?" Butch asked. "We've been working on the tour for a year. It's only three months away. You could do it without a CD to sell, but if I were you, I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity."
"We're going to be busting our bustles as it is to get my album out," Serene said. "You don't need as much of a print run. Just enough that you can sell them on the tour yourself. I know it's a backward way to get a record deal, but when the labels hear that you're a part of my show and that your CDs are selling like crazy, somebody is going to want to sign you."
A thrill at the possibility rose up inside her. "But how will I pay for the tour? I'd have to pay a band. People aren't going to do this for free. They can't just leave their jobs and hit the road."
Serene grunted. "Parker, you can work it out! This is your big break. Don't you understand?"
It was almost too good to be true. Parker gave her a long look. "Are you sure you're not just promising me the world so I'll rewrite the songs?"
"No way, Parker," Serene said. "We're going to keep our promises. I want to take you with me. You deserve it. You're the one who makes the magic."
God was who made the magic, Parker thought. He was the one who woke her up in the middle of the night with song ideas. He was the on
e who put Lola in her head. But maybe it was all part of his grand plan. Maybe he really did want to exalt Serene this way so that she could influence people by her example. Was it possible that quieting down her message would give her a bigger field of influence? Could it really work that way?
She saw Serene's glance at the muffin Parker had bought her. She licked her lips, then forced her eyes away. She wasn't going to eat it.
So much for that, Parker thought. She wondered how Serene's anorexia would play if she got more famous. Would the press learn of it--or guess at it--and use it to mock her faith? Or was it such common problem that no one would notice?
Hardly, since a New York Times reporter was onto it.
"Okay, Parker, I need an answer," Serene said. "Come on, girl. Tell us what you're thinking."
The opportunity to play in Serene's venues made Parker's stomach flutter. If that could really happen, her dreams could come true. She wouldn't need American Idol or any cheesy reality show.
She'd have a ton to do between now and then. The thought of clearing all those hurdles almost shut her down. But she could do it. Her family could help.
A slow smile spread across her face. "All right, I'll do it."
Butch slapped the table. "Can you have the songs ready by tomorrow?"
"I'll try. It's not like flipping a switch. Not if they're good."
They seemed to understand that, but as Parker walked out to her car, she knew she'd been a little disingenuous. Though it sometimes happened that God gave her an idea that "flipped" her switch, she never waited for a muse to strike or for any special revelation to fall over her. She was a storyteller who wrote for a living.
She went home and sat in her backyard, where she often got ideas. She'd decorated it after watching HGTV do one just like it. She'd done an excellent job, if she did say so herself. It looked like an English garden with a sweet little swing and a hammock, and the smell of jasmine and rose vines climbing over the fence.
She heard the sound of children's laughter. Her next-door neighbor'slittle boy screamed over the fence. She saw his head bouncing up, blond hair flying as he plummeted down to his trampoline. Some people liked living out in the country with lots of land, but Parker liked neighborhoods. She liked knowing people were close by, and she liked the sounds and smells of families cooking out or chasing their dogs. Even though she didn't know most of her neighbors, it was good to know that if someone saw her house in flames, they'd care. Or if they saw some crazy killer stalking her house, they'd call the police. Even living alone--for the most part--she felt a part of things in this neighborhood.