Fifteen Minutes: A Novel

by Karen Kingsbury

  Meier stopped cold. He wore a tailored charcoal suit jacket over a pale aqua V-neck and expensive dark skinny jeans. His blond hair couldn’t have been more perfectly styled. “Strategy?” He hesitated, then found his smile again. “Oh. That.” He clearly hadn’t intended for Chandra to hear him. “It’s nothing.”

  “Something about Christians?” Chandra didn’t want to create tension, but she needed to know. She had her reasons.

  “Just that after the first few weeks, the candidates with the more outspoken faith are asked to tone it down.” His smile grew bigger. “So we can get to know other sides of their life and personality.”

  “Hmm.” She paused. “Got it.” Chandra nodded and hid the fact that her world had just tilted off its axis. Of course there was a strategy. Now it all made sense. Six years ago she had been asked by the contestant coordinator to limit her comments about God, find other ways to make a name for herself. At the time Chandra had been more than willing to cooperate. Fifteen Minutes was a singing show, after all. No need to preach to people.

  It creeped her out to think of Meier himself making a strategy to quiet people of faith. Was there a strategy to keep people from talking about their sports obsession or city or whatever else defined them? Of course not. Meier left the judges and busied himself near the cameramen. She studied the document in front of her, the same one Cullen and Kelly had. It gave the names of the contestants and a few lines about them. Cullen was right—at least two were known for their strong faith.

  Chandra breathed deep. Were the walls closing in or was it just her imagination? The sense of meaninglessness came over her again. What was the point of any of this? Fifteen Minutes was a machine, churning out new talent for a public whose appetite for celebrities was never satisfied. Meier wasn’t the only one with issues. If faith was so important to certain contestants, then why were they here? Shouldn’t they be leading Bible studies or taking the gospel to villages in Africa? Did they really think being on Fifteen Minutes would give glory to their God, like she once thought it would? Or was this the easiest way to justify their very human desire for fame? Chandra stared at the blue sky and tried to remember herself back then, her own first week of auditions. Her motives had been sincere, right?

  “Ready on the set?” one of the grips shouted from the side stage. The makeup artists finished in a hurry and disappeared to the wings. Someone snapped a slate. “Camera up. Roll sound.”

  “How do I look?” Kelly turned to Chandra, the compact hidden away.

  Chandra wanted to laugh. But Kelly was serious, her insecurities as much a part of her as her voice and her beauty. “Perfect.”

  “Really? Not shiny?” Kelly smacked her lips again.

  “Not at all.”

  Kelly found her red-carpet smile and turned toward the door at the back of the room. Auditions were taped in their entirety, though only the strongest clips would be used when the show aired. Even so, Kelly never allowed a less than perfect moment.

  Back when Chandra was more of a praying person, she would’ve felt compelled to talk to God about Kelly. But the cameras were rolling and the next contestant was entering the room. A waitress from Mississippi, early twenties, Harvard dropout. Chandra forced herself to listen to the girl’s introduction.

  She was still trying to remember why she’d agreed to this gig in the first place.

  KELLY MORGAN LEANED forward, elbows on the table, and watched the waitress begin to sing. Like so many of the girls, this one sang an Adele song, which created two problems. First, no one could sing exactly like Adele. Second, Adele’s style was so distinct that if contestants covered Adele correctly it became impossible to hear their own style. But the girls sang Adele anyway.

  The waitress wasn’t bad. Her tone was nice, but halfway through her song a fly buzzed up near the girl’s mouth and she freaked. She screamed an obscenity and waved at the insect, spitting a little and shaking her head. “He . . . he flew in my mouth!”

  With the cameras rolling, Kelly was certain the segment would make the show. Cullen was the first to comment. “Didn’t we pay that little bugger to come on earlier?”

  Kelly laughed out loud and then—in a mock show of kindness for the struggling contestant—she covered her mouth with the papers in front of her. On her other side, Chandra stared helplessly at the table.

  After an awkward few seconds, Kelly giggled again and gave her fellow judge a light rap with the papers. “Cullen! That’s terrible!” She motioned to one of the grips. “Can we kill that fly? Please? Somebody?” Kelly looked at the waitress. “Is the fly gone, dear?”

  “Yes.” The girl gulped. “I think so.” She stood perfectly still, terrified and blank-faced. “Do . . . you want me to start again?”

  “Let’s not.” Cullen held up his hand. “Tell me, dear, why’d you leave Harvard?”

  “I wanted to sing.” She shifted to her other foot. “You know, full-time. Like a professional.”

  “Okay,” Kelly chimed in. If she wasn’t careful Cullen would steal the show. She had to make her mark to be asked back next year. “What were you studying at Harvard?”

  “Law.” The waitress’s cheeks were red. She would no doubt remember this horrifying moment the rest of her life. She cleared her throat. “Medical law, actually.”

  “Is it too late to get back in?” Cullen adjusted his red headband. “Because something tells me you’d make an excellent medical attorney.” He shifted his gaze. “Chandra? What do you think? Is she through to New York?”

  Chandra clearly felt for the girl. “Hi, honey, you doing okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The waitress relaxed a little. “Sorry about the fly.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” She hesitated, struggling to find the kindest words. “As for your voice . . . I think Cullen’s right. You have a nice sound, but maybe not original enough for Fifteen Minutes.”

  “It’s a no for me.” Kelly sat back in her chair, ready for the next contestant.

  “Yes, sorry. I’ll have to say no this time.” Chandra hesitated. “Maybe Harvard again, or voice lessons. Something.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The waitress was already taking a few steps backward. “Thank you.”

  “Next!” Kelly straightened her papers and folded her arms, ready to move on. The middle seat at the table suited her. She felt in charge, sort of like the head judge. She looked at the next name on the list. Zack Dylan. Worship leader at his church. Grandfather raised a Kentucky Derby winner. Strong Christian.

  Kelly rolled her eyes. Just what we need. Another believer. Cullen was right.

  Daughter, don’t harden your heart . . . I am here. I am calling out to you and—

  No! She closed her eyes and gave a slight shake of her head. Not now! She smiled at the door, ready for Zack Dylan. Maybe the fly would stick around for one more contestant.

  Kelly could only hope.

  chapter 7

  Zack hadn’t stopped praying since he entered the holding area. He and nine other contestants sat in a small room not far where Kit Barker stood conducting interviews with contestants before and after their time with the judges.

  Zoey sat next to him, one of the ten. Something Zack was beginning to see as less of a coincidence. He’d texted Reese while he was waiting, but no response. Did she even know that he’d made it through the morning round?

  “Texting your girlfriend?” Zoey leaned over his shoulder.

  Part of him liked the girl’s attention, if he was honest with himself. Which couldn’t be right. But his patience with her was waning. “Yeah.”

  “Is she excited for you?”

  Zack held his breath. “She’s praying. I know that.”

  “That’s cool.” Zoey smiled at him, her eyes more guarded than before. “You and her, your faith being so strong and all.”

  “Yeah. It’s important to us.”

  “Clearly.” She sat back and pulled one knee up to her chest. She wore a pink T-shirt and pale blue jeans. Anyone would’ve thou
ght she looked very pretty. The judges were going to love her. She tried to catch a look at Zack’s phone. “What’s her name?”

  Zack had told her before. “Reese.”

  “Reese. Right.” Another pinched smile. “Lucky girl.”

  Around them others were humming quietly, pacing the small floor or stone-still, eyes closed, focusing. “Hey, I need to get ready.” He stood and stepped away. “Sorry.”

  “No, yeah. Go ahead. Me, too.” She leaned her head back and launched into a vocal exercise that jarred the entire room.

  Zack moved to the window and stared at the busy street below. God, is this You? This opportunity? If it is . . . please, help me stay true to You. You alone. He blinked and thought about the people of Atlanta, busy people going about their business, working their jobs, climbing their ladders. If Atlanta were like any other city in the U.S., lots of the people on the street below watched Fifteen Minutes. Could his faith touch their hearts? Could something he said or did on the show cause one of them to think differently about God or to believe for the first time? He searched his heart. Check my motives, Lord. Keep me on the straight path.

  “Zack Dylan?” A perky young assistant with a clipboard appeared at the door. They’d seen her before, but then, lots of people worked for the show.

  Zack stood. “That’s me.”

  She smiled at him. “This way.”

  “Hey.” Zoey reached out and caught his hand as he walked by. “You’ll make it. I know you will.”

  “Thanks. You, too.” He turned and followed the well-dressed assistant. If he and Zoey both made it through, he would have to be very careful. She was attractive and crazy about him. That was bound to be flattering, no matter how much he loved Reese. He wasn’t interested, but the girl was relentless.

  Out in the hallway, the assistant turned to him. “She might be right.”

  “Ma’am?” Zack walked alongside her, confused.

  “That girl. She said you’d make it through.” The assistant gave him a quick once-over. “If you can sing, you’re in. They need to find two hot guys in Atlanta. From what I’ve seen, you’re the hottest.” She tossed her hair and looked straight ahead as they walked. “Just saying.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” Zack laughed, surprised. He would’ve expected an employee of the show to be more professional. They rounded a corner and the assistant’s demeanor changed. She lost her smile and nodded at the show’s famous host, Kip Barker. “Zack Dylan, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Kip held out his hand. “Zack. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Zack was shaking the host’s hand when he caught a sly wink from the assistant as she headed back down the hallway. Zack kept his focus on Kip. “Is there anything I should know?”

  “We’ll do a little interview out here, and then, well”—he shrugged—“you know the rest. Go in and sing your socks off.” Kip motioned to the cameraman and the guy came closer. Kip smiled at Zack. “Ready?”

  Zack exhaled, searching for the calm he’d felt that morning in his hotel room. “Ready.”

  Zack wasn’t worried about Kip Barker. The guy had been with the show from the beginning. He was a former baseball star from the Dominican Republic, half-Hispanic and half-Irish with an uncanny ability to put contestants at ease and connect with America.

  Zack’s interview turned out to be one of the few exceptions.

  “Your faith is important to you, so does that mean you were praying in the holding room?” Kip talked fast and almost always smiled.

  “Yes.” Zack grinned. “One of the biggest days of my life. I’ve been praying all day.”

  “All day. Right. So does that mean like . . .” Kip dropped to one knee, planted his elbow on the other knee and bowed his head. Just as quickly he looked back up at Zack. “Sort of like this? Tebowing in the back room? ’Cause I’ve always wanted to see someone Tebow in person.”

  Zack laughed, which was the expected response. “Tebow’s a great guy, but I pray my own way.”

  “Why don’t you show us? Can you show us, Zack? Like a demonstration?” Kip was back on his feet, his likable smile aimed at the camera. “Maybe you’ve got the Zack Dylan drop. Flat on your face.” He spread his arms like an umpire making a safe call.

  Again Zack laughed. “Nothing that crazy.”

  Kip gave him a friendly shove in the arm. “Just teasing you, Zack. It’s okay. So who’d you bring to the audition? Good-looking guy like you? Girlfriend or wife? Both?” He laughed at his own joke.

  “Not married.” The guy was bugging Zack. “Here by myself, actually.”

  “That’ll be great news to the ladies out there. So are you nervous?”

  Zack hadn’t meant to leave Reese out of the equation, but the questions were coming too fast. The interview ended and Kip settled into his usual chill personality. “Sorry about the Tebow comment.” He chuckled, his microphone relaxed at his side. “No harm intended.”

  “No worries. I get it.” Zack stuck his hands in his jeans. He thought about asking Kip if he believed in God, then changed his mind. No time for that kind of conversation. He would be singing in front of the judges in a few minutes. Kip excused himself and moved into a meeting with what looked like part of the production staff.

  Father, it’s almost my turn. Shine through me. I’m Yours alone. I’m ready. If it’s Your will, please let me go through to New York.

  The female assistant was back. She gently touched Zack’s elbow. “It’s time.” She led him through the door to the audition room. “Break a leg,” she whispered.

  “Thanks.” He looked at the panel of judges. They were all watching him, the cameras trained on his every move. Immediately Zack found his comfort zone. Like the athlete he’d been in high school, he walked confidently to a small X on the floor in front of the old wood table.

  The moment felt surreal. This season’s judges looked back at him. Chandra Olson, Kelly Morgan, and Cullen Caldwell. Some of the most famous names in pop music right here in person. Kelly raised her eyebrows and muttered something under her breath to Cullen.

  “Hey.” Cullen turned to Zack. “She says you look like her boyfriend.” He laughed as he looked down at his notes and back at Zack. “Just so there’re no secrets between us.”

  Kelly grinned like a high school girl caught crushing on the guy in her biology class. She gave Cullen a lighthearted punch. “Thanks a lot.”

  “No problem.” Cullen chuckled and shook his head at the camera. “What I put up with.”

  Chandra’s eyes were kind and deep. “You’re Zack Dylan?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Zack squared his shoulders.

  “Okay, Zack.” Kelly rebounded. “Where’re you from?”

  “Nowhere near New York.” Cullen patted Kelly’s shoulder, a smirk on his face. “Settle down, you little Sheila. Give the bloke a listen.”

  “Yes, tell us about yourself, Zack.” Chandra leaned forward, the only one who was serious.

  “Okay.” He chuckled, going along with the situation as best he could. “I’m a worship leader from Danville, Kentucky. My family owns a horse farm and one day I’d like the chance to raise a Kentucky Derby champion.”

  “Your great-grandfather did that, correct?” Cullen reined himself in.

  “He did. Yes, sir.”

  “Well, good on you, Zack. You look a little like a young Elvis Presley. Anyone ever tell you that?” Cullen stroked his chin, surveying Zack.

  “Once in a while.” Zack shrugged, his smile in place.

  “Better-looking than Elvis.” Kelly seemed to speak under her breath but her words remained loud enough for the camera to catch. She seemed to gather herself. “Okay, Zack. Let’s be serious here. What’re you going to sing for us?”

  “ ‘Dream Like New York’ by Tyrone Wells.”

  “Mmmm.” Cullen nodded. “Nice song. Strong artist.” He waved a pencil in Zack’s direction. “All right, mate. Let’s hear it.”

  Between his earlier audition and this one Zac
k had practiced almost constantly. The song was one of his favorites. He’d sung it a thousand times at least, and as he opened his mouth his voice wrapped itself around the notes and words with hardly any effort at all.

  The song had a rhythmic feel, like ocean waves on a summer afternoon. It didn’t push his range, but the chorus was high enough to let him shine. Zack looked beyond the judges while he sang, through the window and toward the deep blue over Atlanta. Dream like New York, as high as a skyline, aim for the stars . . . above those city lights . . .

  Something happened while he sang, while the song played out. The judges began to smile. No one made a move to stop him or cut him off, and when he sang the last note, all three judges were clapping and Kelly Morgan was on her feet, bowing toward him.

  “What in the world?” She laughed and did a little dance standing in place. She put her hands on the shoulders of her fellow judges. “Did you hear that boy?” She did a celebration shout and then pointed at the closest camera. “Listen up, America! You just met Zack Dylan! You can say you saw him here first.”

  Zack’s heart raced. This was beyond what he had hoped or imagined. Kelly sat back down, but still the judges were laughing and shaking their heads. “Okay . . . all right.” Cullen slapped the table. “Bring it in. What are we going to do with Zack Dylan? Is he through to New York?”

  “I’ll say yes.” Something in Chandra’s smile held a familiar depth. “You have a beautiful voice, Zack. If you’re careful, I think you can go far in this competition.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Is this really happening? The floor beneath Zack’s feet felt suddenly liquid. He tried to stay focused. “Thank you.”

  “It’s a yes for me.” Cullen leaned back hard in his seat. “I’ll make the prediction right now. You’ll be one of the finalists. The ladies will love you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Zack Dylan.” Kelly grinned at him. She stood again and threw her hands in the air. “You’re through to New York!”