“This was one of the best groups we’ve seen.” The man looked surprised. “Most of you look more suited for a Halloween party than a hit reality show.” He took a piece of paper from his assistant. “That said, we’ve chosen four of you to move on to the next round. Here are those contestants.”
The man read a number and across the tent one of the gospel singers screamed. He grabbed the necks of his friends one at a time. “Praise Jesus . . . hallelujah!”
“Quiet, please.” The man waved his paper at the guy. “No celebrating until I’ve read all four numbers.”
“Yes, sir.” The gospel singer whipped back around, breathless. “Sorry, sir.”
The next number caused a vampire to drop to the ground, her hand across her mouth. Her companions looked more disappointed than happy for her. Zoey’s number was called third and she was immediately engulfed by her cheer squad.
Zack could already feel himself walking back to his truck. What had he expected from a situation like this? Instant success? No, he would go home with his future and his answers firmly in hand. And he would work three jobs if that’s what it took to save the—
“Our last contestant from this round is . . .” The man rattled off the number.
CHANDRA OLSON COULDN’T take her eyes off the television monitor.
This was the first day of Atlanta auditions, and for the most part—since this was the last weekend of city stops—Chandra knew the routine. She hadn’t paid much attention to today’s tent singing. She and the other judges weren’t needed until tomorrow afternoon, and in the meantime the show’s producers kept them busy with local media.
The judges had suites at the downtown Hilton, but they also had custom trailers in the back lot of the Georgia Dome, each with a live feed to the mass performances happening in the tent. Chandra had done interviews here all day and spent dinner with local network executives, so she hadn’t made it back to her hotel room.
She had just wrapped up a phone call with her manager and was about to grab her bag and have her driver take her to the Hilton when something caught her attention. The group of contestants filing into the tent. Six of them looked like gospel singers from a high school or college. She could sense something different about them even through the satellite feed.
Chandra turned up the volume and sank slowly into the trailer’s leather sofa. She watched the hodgepodge mix of singers, some who looked barely out of middle school and others who might be seizing their last chance at fame. William Gaines, the show’s contestant coordinator, led the audition process. Chandra smiled to herself as he barked at the contestants. She remembered this, the first step. How it felt to be crammed into a tent ready to sing alongside so many others.
After a few minutes of instructions, the singing began. Several sweet voices stood out among the chaos. Chandra focused on the gospel group. It was tough to pick out which of their voices sang so beautifully above the rest.
She watched them, suddenly aware.
Could it be one of them? Was this why she was a judge? So she could warn one of the innocent-eyed kids in that group about the perils of winning?
The trap of having the whole world idolize them?
Chandra stayed till the singers stopped and waited, watching William tally the results. Four of them had survived—more than any other group. Chandra slid to the edge of her seat. How could they know what lay ahead? That every perceived victory was only a step closer to losing themselves, losing life the way they’d known it. There would be no going back, but none of them knew that now. The choir group linked arms, waiting. They were dressed for church, nice and respectful. Not crazy like most of the contestants around them.
William took the podium and made his announcement. One of the gospel guys was in. Chandra gasped softly. She moved to the small screen anchored to the wall of the trailer. Her fingers brushed the surface, the spot where the choir guy celebrated. Sweet boy. You’re just like me. Chandra wanted to shout at him, warn him not to celebrate. Fifteen Minutes swallowed up church kids like this, like Chandra had been back then. Innocent, regular people with light in their eyes. The show loved that kind of singer. Who of them ever counted the cost?
“Boy, you have so much to learn,” she whispered to the screen even as William announced the other names. A vampire, a cheerleader, and then . . .
Chandra squinted at the white boy whose number was called last. Slowly she stepped back from the screen, scrutinizing him, his dark hair, his fine features. He looked like a young Elvis. Better, maybe. Taller, more fit. But there was something else about him, a charisma and energy. He looked like top-ten material. The gospel guy could probably sing, and the same had to be true for this guy. But this one had that intangible quality a person couldn’t fake or learn. Like he was destined for fame.
The feeling remained strong, so strong Chandra didn’t have to wonder if she’d have a chance to talk to him during the audition process. She was convinced. As she turned off the TV monitor and the lights and left the trailer, she did something she hadn’t done in a long time. She prayed. For the handsome black singer and every other contestant who’d made it to tomorrow’s round.
And for the guy who looked like Elvis. Especially him. Because if her hunch was right, the boy would need it.
Maybe more than all the others combined.
IT TOOK ZACK three full seconds to realize why the cheerleaders had shifted their celebration to him. Since the man was finished, the contestants were free to talk again. The cheers and screams were almost as loud as the singing had been earlier.
“Zack, we both made it!” Zoey yelled to him from across the tent where she was receiving congratulatory hugs from a dozen singers. “Way to go, Zack!”
The news was still trying to find a place in his mind. He’d made it through? He was one of the contestants chosen for the next round? Clarence Brown, the gospel singer who’d become Zack’s friend, hadn’t made it through. Now he smacked Zack on the shoulder and hugged him. “You got a gift, man. Keep singing for Jesus.”
“I will.” Their eyes met. For the first time that day Zack felt like himself, those two words summing up his word and his promise to God. “You, too. Keep singing. This isn’t the only stage.”
“I know it.” Clarence pointed up. “God’s got a plan.” He tapped his finger at Zack’s chest. “Go shine for the rest of us.”
The tent began to clear and the four contestants made their way to the front platform. Again the guy running things seemed impatient. “You’ll meet at the stadium gates at nine tomorrow morning. Once you enter we’ll usher you into a large room where you’ll wait your turn. You’ll have one round with our producers. Eighty of you will survive that. Tomorrow afternoon those eighty will go before the TV judges.” He nodded toward the tent flap. “Thank you.”
Zack and the others headed out as the next group filed in. The vampire girl was hitting on the gospel singer before they reached the bleachers. Zack did the only thing he wanted to do—he silently thanked God, promised to sing for Him always. No matter what.
That done, he couldn’t wait to tell Reese. He pulled out his phone, turned it on and was about to call her when a producer with a camera crew motioned the group closer. “Winners over here. We need an interview.”
The questions weren’t easy. This was the part of the process where the show executives figured out who was in their midst, what set them apart and what aspect of their lives might be featured on the live show if they made it that far. The questions went on for half an hour and after that an escort took the four of them to an office near the players’ locker rooms. There they were given a packet of paperwork to fill out.
The show’s producers had booked hotel rooms for the winners but it was nearly three in the morning before Zack checked in. He shot out a single tweet on his Twitter account. I made it through! Someone tell me this is really my life! Thank you, Jesus! His roommate was the gospel guy, but both of them were too tired to talk. Not until he hit the pillow did Zack realize
he hadn’t called Reese. Frustration dampened the elation of the evening, the excitement of surviving the first round. He honestly hadn’t had a single minute, and now he’d have to call her in the morning. He checked Twitter. Forty-three new followers. More than he’d had all year. A strange thrill passed through him. This could be huge. The stage, the platform, the chance to shine for God.
Zack’s whole body buzzed with adrenaline. He could still feel the nervousness and hear the songs from those few crazy minutes in the tent. How had he gotten through? He must’ve projected better than at any time in all his life. He blinked a few times in the dark, picturing the moment. Then the truth hit him. God had gotten him through the tent audition. Not his own ability. How had he lost sight of that? He let the moment pass. God had given him his voice, so whether he got through on his own or by some miracle, God got the credit.
And now . . . now he would sing his heart out tomorrow and who knew? All those years of leading worship in Danville, and now this.
Suddenly anything was possible.
He closed his eyes and settled into the pillow. A certainty filled him and helped him fall asleep. Reese would understand why he didn’t call tonight.
No one believed in him more than her.
chapter 5
Kelly Morgan had never been more thankful for Botox. Especially after six straight weeks of judging these crazy auditions.
She looked in her dressing room mirror and smiled. Her plastic surgeon had flown in yesterday and administered it himself. No one knew the landscape of her face, the curves and slipping ground the way he did. She looked a little closer, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. Not a fraction of give. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Never mind that she was knocking at thirty-seven. Her face and body said otherwise.
“Ms. Morgan, your trainer called. He’ll meet you here at nine tonight.” The production assistant looked barely out of college. She handed Kelly a small folded piece of paper. “He found a gym willing to stay open for a private session.”
“Good.” Kelly didn’t make eye contact. She opened the piece of paper and read what her trainer had written. Glutes. Nine o’clock. Private car will be waiting. Five minutes from the stadium. Be ready.
Kelly could already feel the burn. The sensation that reminded her she was still in the fight, still winning the war against the clock. She would do what it took to beat the hands of time. Even when she lived out of a suitcase the way she had since Fifteen Minutes auditions began.
Makeup and hair hurried into her dressing room at the same time. “Ms. Morgan.” The stylist stood at her side, confident. “Same as we discussed?”
“Go bolder. I want to make a statement for Atlanta. It’s the last city.”
“If anyone can make a statement, you can.” The woman opened her box of brushes and curling irons and started working. Both women were part of Kelly’s staff. Her regulars. She wouldn’t think about being a judge on Fifteen Minutes without them. Another ten staffers buzzed about, prepping her wardrobe, organizing a table of organic kale and celery and ginger and green apples—the ingredients of Kelly’s mandatory power juice. Kelly credited her looks to the juicing almost as much as the Botox.
The room was in full swing, everyone doing his or her job so that in an hour Kelly Morgan could take her place as one of the premier judges on America’s hottest vocal reality show.
Kelly loved the energy in the room. She closed her eyes and breathed it in as her stylist worked a brush through her famous blond hair. The hair that had helped make a name for her twenty years ago when she starred in her own hit TV show. Back then she was America’s sexiest sweetheart. Every day Kelly worked so America wouldn’t forget.
The phone in her hand vibrated. A quick glance and she frowned. Her manager shouldn’t be calling now. Makeup was already poised over her, analyzing the shades and colors and choices that would make Kelly look best under the studio lights. Kelly held up her hand and the makeup artist stepped back. Rudy Smith had been with her since the beginning so she took the call. “Rudy.” Her impatience was part of the routine. “We roll cameras in less than an hour. What’s up?”
“I know your schedule. I booked you, remember?” He sounded tired.
“Fine. What’s wrong? Tell me this is urgent. Otherwise you wouldn’t call me till tonight, right?”
Rudy sighed. “It can’t wait.” His words seemed slower than usual, as if he dreaded what was coming. His hesitation drove her crazy. “We presented Cal with the divorce papers today. Like you asked. Kelly . . . he won’t sign. He absolutely refuses.”
“What?” She didn’t mean to shriek. She couldn’t help it. She waved her team off and hurried from the chair to the hallway. Where no one could watch her or quote her or snap a picture of her with an expression that would damage her reputation. She dropped her voice. “He has to sign the papers. He said he would.”
“He doesn’t have to do anything.”
“Isn’t that what he said?” She paced a few feet away from the dressing room door and back. “I have a boyfriend, for heaven’s sake. I’ve moved on. Of course he has to sign.” She felt her heartbeat quicken, felt the heat in her face. She wanted to hit something. “What game is he playing? We’ve been over this.”
“He’s changed his mind. Says he wants to work things out.” Rudy sounded baffled. “He doesn’t believe in divorce. That’s what he’s saying now. He won’t sign even if you never talk to him again. His words.”
He didn’t believe in divorce? Kelly laughed, but it sounded more bitter than funny. “This is what people like us do. They get divorced. What do you mean he doesn’t believe in it?”
“You’d have to ask him.” She could almost see Rudy slumped in his big leather chair.
Kelly paced again for several seconds. She stopped and closed her eyes. The past grabbed at her and for a few seconds she could see Cal Whittaker III on the day they married, feel his arms around her, hear him whispering to her as they danced in front of their family and friends. “I’m never leaving you, Kelly . . . never.” They were just twenty-two.
“Kelly?” Rudy was waiting for her orders.
The image in her mind disappeared. Who were they back then? Time had changed them into different people. Cal had been photographed with Europe’s hottest print model, and Kelly was dating the nation’s most-loved singer, a guy ten years younger than her, an American Idol finalist from a few seasons ago. As for Cal, there was no way back to the people they used to be.
She let her forehead rest against the wall. “I’m tired, Rudy. Tell Cal to quit playing games. Give him two months to sign the papers. I don’t want our lawyers involved. The press will make it the story of the year.”
“Okay. Two months.” Doubt crept into Rudy’s tone. “I don’t think it’ll work, but I’ll tell him.”
“Fine. Update me tomorrow.”
The call ended, but Kelly stayed unmoving. Her dad’s face filled her mind, the words of his last e-mail pushing in on her. It’s time, baby . . . you need to make things right. With me and your mom . . . with Cal. Your kids need you.
The memory of his voice sounded so clear he might as well have been standing beside her. The man she once admired, the one she hadn’t spoken to in a year. Not since her first affair became public and her dad pulled the God card. His advice never changed. She needed to repent and seek forgiveness and make things right with Cal. Blah, blah, blah.
Kelly breathed in deep through her nose and adjusted her posture. She didn’t need this, didn’t need Cal making life difficult for her, didn’t need the memory of her father’s e-mail. This was the biggest gig she’d had in five years. She was making $5 million for her role as judge this season, and the pre-show publicity had shot her last three albums back to the top of the charts.
Calm. Everything’s okay, Kelly. It’ll be fine. She exhaled and thought about her stylist and makeup artist waiting in the other room. She would go back to her chair and they would transform her, peel away the years so she
was even more beautiful than she’d been in her twenties. In an hour she’d be in front of the cameras. Where she belonged. Where she had always belonged. I don’t need Cal’s games. I’m on top of the world. I’m Kelly Morgan.
What does it profit you to gain the whole world and lose your soul?
Kelly jerked back as if she’d been struck by a bullet, straight to her very soul. Had someone said the words or was she only hearing them in her heart? And who was talking to her? She thought for a moment. The words were from . . . They were from the Bible, right? A message from her childhood. Scripture verses meant to make her feel guilty. Why would the words scrape against her anxious heart now, when she didn’t believe any of them?
Her father’s e-mail. That had to be it. Stirring up ancient reminders of guilt and recrimination. The list of things she shouldn’t do. The choices that would send her to hell. She clenched her fists and released them. Peace . . . take hold of peace, Kelly. Her therapist had taught her the trick. Clench and release. Clench and release. Peace is there for the taking.
She could hear the therapist’s voice from the tapes she had bought a month ago. She’d dropped three thousand dollars on them. The woman’s voice soothed her soul. “You have it all. You have goodness and health and beauty and wealth. Peace is yours. Take it. Own it. You define your truth. Choose positivity and energy. You are always master of your own destiny . . .” On and on and on.
Truth. Okay. Kelly clenched her fists and released them. Truth helped. She remained master of her own destiny. Yes, that was truth. Anything to get her mind off the Bible verse about losing her soul. She tapped her high-heeled toe in a rapid beat. The therapist’s truth . . . truth, truth, truth.
What else was true? She was in perfect health, fitter than she’d been at any time in her life. That was truth. That and the fact that her boyfriend was crazy about her. There . . . that was a start. Michael Manning was the hottest guy in music and he was completely in love with her. What else? She racked her brain. People magazine! Of course! She’d been voted one of People magazine’s most beautiful women the week after her role on Fifteen Minutes was announced. Next year she’d be on the cover. That was the sort of truth she needed to fill her mind with.
Fifteen Minutes: A Novel Page 6