Under the Spotlight

by Angie Stanton

  “Garrett, your life is just getting started, and you have a lot of years ahead of you. You’ve had remarkable success, but life is filled with unexpected twists and turns.”

  “And this one is bullshit.”

  “Bands break up all the time. You boys started this at such a young age. It’s no surprise that things changed.”

  “Dad, I get that. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “No, but how a man deals with adversity defines him. Do you want to be a washed-up young rocker who becomes more famous for his screwups than his achievements?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then it’s time to pull yourself together and get on with life.” His dad settled his commanding gaze on Garrett.

  “And do what?” Garrett sighed as they walked on.

  “Whatever you want. You’ve certainly got the resources for it. You could go to college. That was always your mother’s and my dream for you and your brothers. But then that got put on the back burner.”

  “Garrett Jamieson sitting in a freshman English lit class? I don’t think so.” He bristled at the idea.

  “Have you considered going solo?”

  “A little, but I don’t know if I’m solo artist material.”

  As a group, Jamieson was in perfect sync. As a solo act, he didn’t think he was strong enough. He was no idiot. He didn’t have the voice and charisma of Peter, who could make girls scream with one look or shake of his hair. And Adam was bursting with charm and showmanship. Everyone loved him. Garrett was basically the intense, mysterious member of the group.

  “What do you think? Could I make it going solo?”

  “You want my honest opinion? I think it would be a career ender. You’d be chasing after the success of Jamieson and you’d never catch it.”

  Garrett’s heart dropped. “Gee, Dad. Thanks for crushing my dreams.”

  “It’s time for new dreams, son.”

  He stepped in front of his dad and walked backward so he could face him. “But this has always been my dream. I have no other dreams or skills. I can’t do anything other than perform.”

  “That’s not true. You’re damn good at making decisions that helped Jamieson become successful. Everything from selecting songs for the albums, production, and promotion. You have a talent for the business side of the industry.”

  Garrett fell back in step beside him. “I had to. That first business manager we hired was a total idiot.”

  His dad laughed. “No, Garrett. You have a talent for finding the gems among the dust. Peter may have written the songs, but you always knew which ones would hit it big.”

  He’d never thought of it that way. He figured they’d gotten lucky.

  “Have you ever thought about producing records? You like having control of things, and as a producer, you’d be calling the shots. You could select what artists to work with.”

  Garrett perked up. “I’ve never considered that before. Dad, you’re brilliant!”

  “We have enough contacts. I’m sure we can call in a couple favors, maybe find someone to show you the ropes a little, give you a chance to do some hands-on learning.”

  Finally, something he could get his head around. He could take some fresh new band, teach them the ropes, and produce their album. Hell, he could make his name all over again as a music producer. Not to mention showing up his brothers. They could wither away in the shadows while he struck it big without them.

  4

  Two days later, Riley patched the last cords into the sound board. She checked every last setup detail, finding everything in order. She may have been working as an entry-level runner for the past three months, but she’d soaked up every bit of knowledge she could from the engineers and their assistants.

  “How’s it look?” Ron asked, entering the control room. She still couldn’t believe that he was giving her this opportunity.

  “I think we’re about set. I’m entering the track names now, so all we need is the band.” Working with Fever Pitch was the best thing that had happened in a long time. It sure made up for the Nuggett fiasco.

  “Great. Let me take a look.” Ron settled into the middle seat in front of the board and pushed up his glasses. He’d be adjusting all the input levels, making sure they captured exactly the right sound. As assistant engineer, Riley would cue the tracks, set the recording, save and mark each take, patch in different mics as needed, and occasionally adjust equipment.

  “I’m going to grab some coffee while it’s still fresh. Can I bring you some?”

  “Thanks. That’d be great,” Ron said.

  Fetching coffee was a runner’s job, but Riley didn’t mind. Plus, she didn’t feel like waiting around for Logan. He was still a little sore that she got this session.

  As she finished pouring the two coffees in the break room, Tara rushed up, her long dangly earrings swinging like wind chimes in a storm. “Did you see who just arrived?” she asked, her tongue piercing flashing into view.

  “No, who?”

  “Garrett Jamieson! Can you believe it?” Tara’s face flushed with excitement.

  The band, Jamieson, was huge. They’d recorded their last two albums here, and Barry Goldman, the owner of Sound Sync Studio, had won a Grammy for producing their Triple Threat album, as did the band. The award hung prominently in the lobby along with awards from other big artists like Graphite Angels and Fever Pitch. “Seriously? I thought Jamieson broke up. Is he here to do solo work?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s meeting with Barry right now. Riley, you should see him. He is even better looking in person.” Tara fanned herself. “Wanna come peek through the meeting room door with me and check him out?”

  “I’d love to, but I’m in Studio B. I get to assist Ron and Barry with Fever Pitch.” If it were any other day, she’d have been next to Tara sneaking a fangirl look at the superstar. She had several of their hits on her favorites playlist.

  “That’s right, I forgot. Good luck. I better get back before they’re out of their meeting. Would it be weird if I asked for his autograph? Here?” Tara stuck out her chest and smiled with a naughty twinkle in her eye.

  “Go for it.” Riley laughed and carried the hot coffees back to the control room, shaking her head.

  “Here you go.” She handed a coffee to Ron, and set the other on a table next to her spot at the control board. As she was about to sit, the door opened.

  Barry, the producer on the album, entered. He stood tall, always wore jeans and a T-shirt, and so far had been an awesome boss. “Ron, Riley. I’d like to introduce you to a special guest.”

  In walked Garrett Jamieson, with dark hair pushed off his face, a confident set to his jaw, and a commanding intensity in his eyes.

  “Garrett, meet Ron Slater and Riley Parks. They’ll be working with us today on Fever Pitch’s new album.”

  Garrett stepped forward. The way he moved in his tailored shirt, dark designer jeans, and Sperrys gave him an air of casual confidence.

  Ron stood and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. Congratulations on the Grammy for your Triple Threat album.”

  “Thanks. We couldn’t have done it without Barry. He’s a genius.” Garrett’s eyes traveled to Riley, and he smiled. “Nice to meet you.” His voice softened.

  She shook his hand, noting his solid grip and the way his gray eyes sparkled. “Great to meet you!”

  Riley tried to control her breath. It wasn’t every day she bumped into a superstar barely a few years older than her. Jamieson’s music had soothed her through many difficult days. She first discovered them on YouTube when they were getting their start. The three band members were as popular as their music was chart topping.

  Garrett scanned Riley from head to toe, then abruptly turned his back on her. Riley’s smile fell. Had she failed some secret test?

  “Barry, I can’t thank you enough for giving me this opportunity,” Garrett said.

  “It’s nothing. We’re glad to have you here for as long as you want,” B
arry answered.

  What opportunity was he talking about? Was Garrett going to sing on Fever Pitch’s album? She couldn’t quite see that happening.

  A musician with curly hair hanging in his eyes and a dense beard entered the recording studio and picked up a saxophone.

  “The rest of the band is running late,” Barry said. “But we met with Tony, and he’s ready to lay his tracks, so let’s get started.”

  Barry took the producer’s chair on the right side of the sound board. The man was a genius. Riley always learned a ton when he was at the helm.

  As she was about to take her seat, Garrett slipped into her chair.

  She stared, dumbfounded, as he examined the board, taking in all the connections and settings she’d made. He picked up her coffee from the adjacent table and took a sip.

  Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me,” she said, a little more snappish than she meant to in front of her boss.

  All three men at the sound board turned to look at her. She stared at Garrett pointedly.

  “What?” he said.

  She glanced at Ron, who shrugged. Barry looked annoyed at the interruption.

  “Uh. That’s my coffee.”

  “Oh. Sorry about that,” Garrett said. “I prefer mine black, anyway.” He handed her the cup.

  Riley held her coffee as she waited for him to realize he’d taken her place at the board, and get up. But he didn’t.

  “Do you mind?” Garrett asked.

  She stared at him in confusion. “What?”

  “Coffee. Black.”

  Was he really that stupid?

  “Riley, please fetch Garrett a cup of black coffee,” Ron said, interrupting her frozen shock at Garrett’s audacity.

  “But . . .”

  “Riley.” Ron leveled a knowing gaze at her. “The coffee, please.”

  She spun on her heel and left.

  “This is bull!” Riley dumped her coffee down the drain. Five minutes ago she’d have loved to share coffee with the famous Garrett Jamieson, but now, it was tainted.

  Logan jumped out of the splash zone. “Whoa. They throw you out already? That’s got to be a record.”

  “No! Garrett Jamieson just hijacked my job. He walked in, tossed around his gold records, and stole my chair. And my coffee.” She pulled a fresh mug from the cupboard and slammed it on the counter.

  “That sucks.” Logan frowned.

  She pulled out the coffeepot to find it empty and shoved it back on the burner. “Great. Doesn’t anyone know how to make a damn pot of coffee around here?”

  She grabbed the empty coffeepot again and filled it with water. “Why can’t anything ever go my way?”

  “Don’t be so down. I’m sure Garrett’s only here for a couple of hours and then he’ll disappear with some groupie.”

  “I hope he catches something itchy.” Riley poured water in the pot, tossed a few scoops of coffee grounds into the filter, and pressed BREW.

  Tara walked in. “Are you guys talking about Garrett? Oh my God, Riley, I heard he’s in Studio B with you? You are so lucky.” Her eyes glittered—she was starstruck like a true fangirl.

  “Yup. Real lucky.” Riley leaned against the counter, her arms crossed.

  “Why aren’t you in there? I wouldn’t leave his side,” Tara said.

  “He wants coffee,” she muttered.

  “I wonder if he’s looking to put together a new band. Or maybe he’s going solo,” Tara speculated.

  “I don’t think so. He’s not good enough,” Logan said.

  “How can you say that? I’d buy his music.” Tara sat on the break table and reached for a hard candy from a basket.

  “Trust me. He could never make it solo. He might have a pretty face, but his voice isn’t good enough to go it alone,” Logan said.

  “Such a pity.” Tara sighed as if she somehow had a vested interest in the superstar.

  Riley pulled out the coffeepot, filled up her mug, and then filled the other mug halfway. She splashed some creamer in hers, then filled Garrett’s the rest of the way, turning his black coffee a light shade of beige.

  “Isn’t that a lot of cream?” Tara asked, popping a candy in her mouth.

  “Just the way he likes it,” she said, smirking.

  Riley carried the mugs back to the control room and handed the one that was more cream than coffee to Garrett.

  “Here you go,” she whispered in his ear, irritated when she noticed how good his cologne smelled.

  “Thanks.” His cocky smile would have brought Tara melting to the floor, but Riley found it patronizing. He took a sip and startled. He looked in the mug. “I said black.”

  “You did? I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t catch that.” She smiled.

  Garrett narrowed his eyes as she took a seat on the couch at the back of the room and sipped her steaming coffee.

  The next hours dragged and Riley’s patience waned as Garrett ineptly set up the tracks. Riley rearranged mics, brought in take-out food, and fetched guitar strings from Fever Pitch’s van. Garrett was so busy trying not to fail, he didn’t notice the daggers she stared at his back.

  The night grew late as Barry messed with the snare drum, trying to get the perfect sound. Not too tinny, and yet not hollow either. Riley was fighting to keep her eyes open when her phone rang at one a.m. She checked the number. It was her little sister, Britta. Not a good sign this time of night. Riley slipped out of the control room.

  “Hey, Britta, what’s up?”

  “Can you come home? I’m scared.” Her sister’s voice wobbled.

  “I’m working right now. What’s going on? Where’s Mom?”

  “I don’t know. She never came home. She had the early shift and said she’d be home tonight, but she’s not.”

  “I’m sure Mom’s fine. She’s probably out with friends again,” Riley said, mustering a chipper voice, but inside, her irritation steamed that her mother was still pulling her disappearing stunts.

  “The police brought Matt home. They caught him trying to break into the school. The officers were mad that Mom wasn’t here. I lied and told them she’d be back soon.”

  Riley leaned her head against the wall and sighed. “Put Matt on the phone.”

  “Matt! Riley wants to talk to you,” Britta called out to her fifteen-year-old brother.

  Riley glanced up and discovered Garrett watching her through the control room window and turned her back.

  “No,” Riley heard her brother yell from the background.

  Britta came back on the line. “He won’t talk. He’s mad because some guy stole his phone. He keeps throwing things. He already broke a lamp and a dish.”

  “Britta, just go to bed. Mom will be home when you wake up.” Couldn’t her mom see that her kids needed her? Of course not. That would mean she’d have to think about someone other than herself for a change.

  “No, she won’t. Twice last week she didn’t come home at all. And there are some guys drinking outside behind the bar. They’re really loud and it’s too hot in here to close the window.”

  Riley checked on the band and the guys in the control room. They’d have to deal without her. She wasn’t doing anything important anyhow. “Listen, curl up on the couch with your pillow and try to sleep. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  5

  After a thirty-minute trip on the “L,” Riley arrived at her mom’s small apartment located over a dive bar. She’d been so happy to move out from this place and in with her best friend, Erika, a few months ago. Riley thought she had escaped the chaos, but kept getting called back to deal with each new crisis.

  Outside the building she found her younger brother holding a cigarette and drinking a beer with a couple of other teenage derelicts.

  “Matt, what the hell are you doing?”

  He looked up, not surprised to see her. “Just hanging.” He inhaled on his cigarette.

  “Well, you’re done. Get upstairs. Britta’s scared and you getting dragged home by the cops didn’t h
elp.”

  “They’re a bunch of assholes. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  Riley grabbed his beer, poured it on the sidewalk, and tossed the bottle into a nearby trash bin. “Of course not. You never are. Come on.”

  She pushed him toward the door. He threw down his cigarette and took the steps to their second-floor apartment. Riley stepped on the butt, crushing it as she followed him up the creaky wooden steps.

  Inside she was greeted by the stink of trash that should have been taken out days ago. Nothing had changed since her last visit home. Why she thought it might, she didn’t know. Eternal optimism, she guessed.

  Britta sat with her legs curled under her in the corner of the threadbare couch, eyes glazed, watching some reality show with a bunch of women screaming at each other.

  “Hey, Britta,” Riley said.

  Britta turned her tired eyes on her sister. “You’re here!” She ran across the room and hugged Riley around the waist. Riley hugged Britta and rubbed her back, brushing her tangled mess of fine red hair out of the way.

  “Of course I am. I told you I would, but you should be asleep. You’ve got summer school tomorrow.”

  “Mom never makes me go. I want to stay here with you.”

  “I’m only here until Mom gets home. I have to work.”

  “Can’t you call in sick? Just this once?” Britta yawned.

  “Sorry, I need this job. But I’ll be here the rest of the night. It’s quiet outside now, so you should jump into your own bed. It’ll be cooler in there.”

  “You promise you’re staying?” Britta asked, used to being let down.

  “I promise,” she said, looking into Britta’s innocent eyes.

  “Okay, but don’t leave before I wake up tomorrow.”

  “I won’t.” She hugged Britta one more time and pointed her toward her bedroom.

  “Good night,” Britta said, and disappeared into her room.

  Riley turned to find Matt in the kitchen, digging into a bag of Cheetos. “What were you thinking leaving her alone all night? You know she gets scared. And breaking into the school? What’s wrong with you?”

  “She was fine. And I didn’t break into the school. Jimmy did. His older brother left some pot in his locker and paid Jimmy to get it out before summer weight training on Monday.”