“Well,” Stevie finally exhaled after yet another rerun. “I think I’ve got enough to play with. I’m thinking we don’t need to attem—I mean, record the duet. I’ll mix the two tracks and get the master over to John David in the next few days. Might take me a little longer.”
Good old cut and paste, along with some audio voice brushing.
Faison nearly danced on his tiptoes. “Ooh, can I get a copy?”
Stevie sat back in his chair. “Ummm, no.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t be silly,” Camille cooed, slapping Faison’s shoulder. He had no understanding of the fact that he’d never own the raw tracks—he’d never own the rights to the song, for that matter. All that belonged to the producer and writer. “Let’s wait and let Stevie work his magic.”
“And magic it will be,” Stevie commented under his breath.
He stood and escorted Camille and Faison out the door while simultaneously motioning for his next appointment to come forth.
“Nice meeting you,” Camille said to Stevie as Faison bounded toward the reception area.
“You have a beautiful voice,” Stevie reiterated.
“Thank you.”
“But your partner ... sounds like he was having an off day. Waaay off.”
“I see. Thank you.”
She walked out of there like a dog with its tail stuck between its legs. Faison, on the other hand, was wagging his tail in the parking lot. “That was sweet!”
“No. It wasn’t. Faison, did you even read the words ahead of time?”
“Naw,” he admitted unashamedly. “Why? I don’t read the words before choir rehearsal.”
Camille decided to save her breath. Faison had done her a favor. Horribly, but still, he’d done it. She reached into her zipper bag and brought forth a twenty-dollar bill. She gave it to Faison, saying, “Here. This is for lunch. I’m not feeling too good. You’ll have to go without me.”
Sheryl was back to her pre-Fluffy, pre-Cat self. Bossy and demanding, cracking the whip in a never-ending attempt to increase the number of appointments. Camille found herself working through lunch to keep pace with her coworkers’ achievements. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why the computer kept putting her in touch with the meanest, rudest office managers in the entire central time zone.
“No! Someone from your company called last month. I already told them we do not need a stupid water machine!” a lady from an educational publishing house yelled.
“I’m sorry,” Camille apologized. “I’ll take you out of our system.”
“Thank you!”
Another ex-potential client fussed, “Don’t you people get the hint? Call here again and I’ll report you to the FCC.”
By the end of the day Friday, Camille had heard enough people tell her that they’d already been called by Aquapoint Systems that she figured she’d better say something to Sheryl. Just before clocking out (lest she dare work one minute past five o’clock), Camille cautiously let herself into Sheryl’s office.
Sheryl looked up, glanced at her visitor’s face, focused back on the papers before her.
“Uh, Sheryl, I just wanted to let you know that several of the companies I called on today had already been contacted by Aquapoint Systems in the past few weeks. I’m guessing maybe the system isn’t deleting previous contacts.”
Her boss laid the papers flat, looked Camille squarely in the eyes. “You’re programmed for callbacks.”
“Callbacks?”
“Yes, callbacks. Sometimes, the second time is the charm.”
“I’ve been working here for months, and I’ve never done callbacks before.”
“Well, Camille, there’s a first time for everything.”
Which begged her next question, “Is everyone doing callbacks?”
“No.”
Baffled, she asked, “So when can I stop doing callbacks and get back to regular, first-time office managers who haven’t already decided they don’t want Aquapoint Systems.”
“That will probably be when you start taking this job seriously,” Sheryl quipped.
Politely, she asked, “Who said I didn’t take this job seriously?”
“No one has to say anything, Camille. You just took off work Wednesday to ... what was it, audition?”
Camille joked, “So, it’s okay to take off for cats, but not careers ?”
“This is your career,” Sheryl fumed.
Camille intentionally resisted the urge to put her hands on her hips. No need in going all the way there with Sheryl just yet. She planned to keep a day job until she got at least six figures saved up from CD royalties.
Worst-case scenario, Camille hoped, would be John David deciding to pair her with someone on his dormant male roster who could actually sing, have them rerecord with Stevie, then submit the finished product to Ignacio. Since her track was near perfect, all of the studio time hadn’t been lost.
Too embarrassed to call John David but almost sick from waiting for him to respond, Camille sat on the couch, tucked her feet underneath her behind, and braced herself to call John David’s office. It had been four days already since the session. Granted, only two of those were business days, but surely, by now, Stevie must have finished the mixing. All he really had to do was nix most of Faison’s recording and duplicate the hook a few times. How long could that take?
Cat curled up next to Camille, hiding himself in the tiny cranny between Camille’s waist and the couch’s arm. He purred lightly and pressed his nose against her body, a gesture she had come to recognize as “hello.” He always seemed to know when Camille was on edge. Last week, when she’d forked over the money for the last payment on her ticket, Cat had laid his head on her lap as if to say, “It’s okay. I know you’re broke. I won’t eat that much this week.”
Chalking up her actions to nervousness, Camille stroked Cat’s back and tail in long waves as she pressed John David’s ten digits on her phone’s screen.
“Hi, Timber, it’s Camille Robertson. Is John David in?”
She sighed. “Yes, he is. But he doesn’t want to talk to you now or ever again.”
Panic slit a gash in Camille’s chest. This was worse than she’d imagined. “Bu ... but ... did he say why?”
“You know why.” She chuckled. “You nearly made a fool out of him. Faison is not Ronald, thankfully, and—”
“Wait!” Camille slithered through a cracked window of opportunity. “Timber, you know how serious I am about my singing career. I jumped through all John David’s hoops before he’d even officially agreed to represent me. I ... I have to fix this. I have to talk to him. Isn’t there anything you can do to help me? I mean, I did introduce you to Faison.”
Timber sighed again. Camille held her breath.
“Well ... only because of my boo. I’m going to step out of the office for a second. I won’t forward the phone to our other office or to voice mail, so John David may decide to answer it if you let it ring long enough. That’s all I can do, and I’m only doing it once.
“I’m getting up to leave now. You’ve got five minutes to make it happen.”
“Thanks, Timber.”
“Don’t show your gratitude just yet. You’d better hope this works or you’re on your own.”
Click.
Camille counted to ten, then she redialed. The phone rang seven times, no answer. She ended, redialed again. Nine times. Repeat. This time, on the twelfth ring, John David answered in an exasperated tone, “Yeah?”
Too bad she hadn’t thought about what she’d actually say when he answered the phone. Timber’s plan didn’t allow time for concocting a good lie. The truth would have to suffice. “John David, I am so sorry about the recording.”
“Is this Camille?”
“Yes.”
“You must think Stevie and I are total idiots.”
“That’s no ... no.”
“I’m hanging up the phone now.”
“No! Wait! I can explain everything!” S
he rambled through a truthful explanation, told him that Ronald was too religious to sing “On Top of Me,” and she’d tried to cover up with Faison. “I knew I had to come through with something or someone. I didn’t want to let you down.” Before she knew it, Camille’s eyes had begun to water and emotion slipped through her speech, splitting each of her words in two.
“And why on earth didn’t you tell me this before we wasted my money and Stevie’s time and expertise?”
“Because when we were talking to Ignacio, you practically promised him Ronald.”
John David clicked his cheek. “Aren’t they teaching you anything at that church you’re going to? It’s better not to agree to do something than to agree to do something and then not follow through.”
“I tried to—”
“Do you have any idea how many people would love to be in your shoes right now? Not just people, actual singers. Wonderful singers with way more integrity than you.” He laughed. “I should have known you’d stoop pretty low when you agreed to join a church so you could start singing again.”
Since when did he get so religious? Wasn’t this his bright idea in the first place?
“You’re the worst kind of client, Camille. You’re beyond daring or desperate. You’re dangerous. You’d sell me out to the next agent who offers you a bigger lollipop.”
Suddenly, this whole scenario seemed liked déjà vu, only ten years ago, she’d faced similar accusations from Courtney. She’d eventually lost everything after she lost Courtney. She couldn’t go through the same loss twice.
“I am sooo sorry, John David. I’ve learned my lesson. And this is my passion,” she begged for life. “Please don’t throw it away.”
“Don’t put this on me. You threw it away by lying.”
“Wait!” Camille shrieked. Then she proceeded to explain her revelation to John David. She told him about how she’d sold out her brother, how she thought she’d learned her lesson with him, but now she’d really learned it twice. “I promise, John David, I’ll never lie to you again. Please give me one more chance or else ... I don’t know what I’ll do with the rest of my time here on the planet, I’m serious.” Maybe that was a little dramatic, but she’d just poured out her entire heart to him. He had to believe her. He just had to.
John David spoke softly. “I’ll put your replacement on hold. You. Me. The real Ronald. Stevie. Tomorrow. Six AM at the studio. Not one minute late, or I’ll call in my backup, have her record it, and sell Ignacio on a much younger vocalist with a whole lot more character than the one I’m talking to right now.”
“Thank you, John David.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m only doing this because Ignacio loves your voice, otherwise, I’d have hung up on you ten minutes ago.”
John David didn’t trouble himself with a proper dismissal.
Six am? Worried, Camille briskly swiped her hand along Cat’s spine again. John David had had it up to his neck with her. If she didn’t produce Ronald Shepherd in the flesh in less than twelve hours, prepared to sing “On Top of Me,” her professional career was dead. Forever.
CHAPTER 28
It seemed a bit odd to pray and ask God to touch Ronald’s heart so he would agree to sing “On Top of Me,” but she figured it was worth a shot anyway. She slid down onto the carpeted floor, sank her elbows into the couch cushions, and laced her fingers. “God, I’m sorry about all the lies and joining the church for all the wrong reasons. I just didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know what to do now, either, but I know You know Ronald. Can You talk to him for me? This means everything to me, God. You created me to sing. My momma said so herself. I know this isn’t exactly the kind of song You want me to sing, but God, I know You work in mysterious ways. I’m hoping that this will get my foot back in the door. And maybe You will bless me with better opportunities later. All these blessings I ask in Your son Jesus’s name. Amen.”
Next, she rushed to the restroom to wash her face. Get her thoughts together. How, exactly, was she going to explain this to Ronald? What if John David mentioned Faison?
The logistics puzzled her as well. Studio at six in the morning. With Ronald present, Stevie would probably want to record several parts with both of them in the sound booth, which meant there was no way she’d make it across town and back to work by eight. Sheryl would not be happy. Camille had to face facts: This time tomorrow, she might not have a job.
How long will it take for them to legally evict me? Probably a good three weeks. Less than that if they found out about Cat. She could find another job. Temporary services were always hiring. She wasn’t sure how she’d answer the question, “Reason for leaving last job?” No way could she write, “Fired for going to the studio to record a demo.”
In the restroom, she prayed again and asked God to keep her from getting fired. In the past, she wouldn’t have had any problems with writing, “Moved away to care for a sick relative,” and then explaining in the interview that the relative had passed, so there was no need to worry about her having to take off again so abruptly. Sickness was a last resort, but Camille always rationalized that after losing her mother at such a young age, she’d lived through one of the worst things that could happen. She’d earned the right to play the dying-relative (or, most recently, ailing-pet) card every once in a while.
But now, things were different. Camille was tired of lying. Tired of pretending. Tired of waiting for the shoe to fall. Worshipping at Grace Chapel, singing with the choir, spending time with Ronald—this stuff was taking a toll on her conscience. Not to mention every time one of the girls from camp or Mentors and Models saw her in the sanctuary, they hugged her like a long-lost big sister, looking up to her in love and adoration. Their naïve respect for her weighed most heavily on her heart. Kept her awake at night. She’d been driven to depend on a cat for solace, for goodness sake, how much worse could it get?
Maybe, if she stopped lying now, everything from this stage forward would be okay.
Since it was almost seven, Camille figured she’d better get on with calling Ronald. He’d probably have to make special arrangements to get Brittney off to school since she didn’t ride the bus. Plus, he’d probably be late to work himself.
She tried his cell phone. No answer. Sent him a text. Thirty minutes passed. No answer. Called again. Same game. What’s going on? What if Faison said something to Ronald about the recording? What if Ronald knew somebody who knew somebody who knew Stevie, and they told him about the whole fiasco?
Quickly, she dialed Mercedes’s number. “Hey, Mercedes. How are ya?”
“I’m good, girl. Trying to nab me a machine at the gym. What’s up?”
Camille suppressed her anxiety. “I know this is weird, but do you have Brittney Shepherd’s number? I really need to get hold of her.”
“No, but I can get in touch with the lady who’s over at Mentors and Models. She has all the girls’ numbers. I’m sure I can get it from her.
“Is everything okay?” That Mercedes didn’t miss a beat.
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine. I just really need to catch up with Ronald, and he’s not answering. I’m hoping everything’s okay with him.”
“Hmmm,” Mercedes pondered aloud. “He’s usually pretty quick to get back. Let me make the call. I’ll text you Brittney’s number.”
Two minutes later, Mercedes came through. Camille wasted no time in calling her young friend. “Hi, Brittney.”
“Hey, Miss Camille! Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you called me!”
Taken aback by Brittney’s enthusiasm, Camille temporarily shelved her reason for the call. “It’s good to talk to you. How have you been?”
“Not too good.”
“What’s up?” Camille asked.
Brittney gave a drama queen sigh, then blubbered in a teary confession, “My dad. He hardly even talks to me anymore since ... you know.”
Putting her own life on hold, Camille paused for a moment to consider Brittney’s dilemma. Camille knew all to
o well the pain of losing the trust of a family member. “You have to give him some time to heal from this. Play by his rules, do everything you can to reassure him that this won’t happen again. This can’t happen again, you know that, right?”
“I know, I know. I’ve learned my lesson, Miss Camille. Why won’t he believe me?”
Did somebody put a recorder in my apartment?
“Trust me on this, Brittney. The way you earn trust back is by telling the truth. Admit what you’ve done wrong. Apologize. Have you apologized, by the way?”
“No! He won’t let me!” she cried. “Every time I try to talk to him, he just gets mad all over again, so I stopped trying. At church, when we’re around other people, he acts like everything is okay. But at home, we just walk around the house like strangers. I can’t do it anymore.” Brittney’s sniffles reached an alarming rate.
“Take a deep breath. Have you talked to anyone about this? Your grandmother, maybe?”
“No!” she wailed again. “I don’t want my grandmother or anyone else to know what happened. The only people who know are me, you, and my dad. If other people found out, I would, like, die of embarrassment.”
A loud meow came from the bathroom. Camille asked Brittney to hold for a moment while she checked on Cat. He’d gotten himself entangled in a mountain of toilet paper. Charmin was one of Cat’s crazy, inexplicable fetishes. “Ooh, this cat is crazy,” she told her young friend.
“You have a cat?”
“Yes,” Camille said, realizing this was the first time she’d actually acknowledged permanent ownership of the animal to anyone other than Sheryl. “I tried to give him away, but no one wanted him.”
“I want him.”
“For real?” Camille perked up.
“Yeah, but I can’t have him. My dad says I can’t have any pet until I master the art of keeping my room clean first,” Brittney lamented.
“Well, he’s got a valid point. Pets are a big responsibility.” She finished pulling the paper off Cat and shooed him out of the restroom, closing the door behind her. It was time she moved Cat’s litter box someplace else, away from this weird temptation.
Falling Into Grace Page 20