Under the Spotlight

by Angie Stanton

  “You know better than to get mixed up with that. You can’t keep pulling this stuff. You’ve gotta keep your nose clean.” She picked up a fast-food bag and threw it in the trash.

  “Stop freakin’ out. I’ve got it under control.”

  She pulled the trash bag tight and lifted it out of the wastebasket. “Oh yeah, so under control you can’t bother to take the trash out?”

  “Why should I when I’ve got you here to do it?” He grinned.

  She leveled him a murderous glare. “Matt, you have to do better than this. You can’t be screwing up all the time. It’s going to catch up with you.”

  “Not everyone has a famous singer to find us jobs,” he said, referring to Jason Edgette, the amazing judge from Riley’s run on the reality singing show, Chart Toppers. He’d helped Riley land the job at Sound Sync Studio.

  “No, but you’ve got to prove to people you know how to work hard and that you can be responsible. No one’s going to trust you with a job if all you do is smoke, drink, and get into trouble.”

  “Whatever, I’m going to bed.” He went to his room and shut the door, leaving her alone. Where the heck was her mother? Out with her girlfriends again, or sleeping with some loser?

  Riley took the trash bag and placed it in the hallway. She could see Britta’s efforts at keeping the apartment clean. The gossip magazines her mom loved were stacked neatly on the scratched coffee table, and the mismatched kitchen table chairs were all pushed in. Dirty dishes were stacked neatly by the sink. Riley hated leaving Britta here on her own, but she tried to help as much as she could.

  After washing the dishes, she lay down on the couch. Her mom still wasn’t home. Riley should be used to her mother’s disappearing acts, but she really thought her mom would do better now that Riley wasn’t around to handle things. Except that here she was, dealing with it all again.

  All Riley wanted was to get a fresh start. A new life. One that was a couple steps up from this crappy apartment and her often unemployed mother.

  Riley had rented a cracker box of an apartment with her friend and worked at an awesome job at the studio. It was totally entry level, but she didn’t care. All she needed was a chance to prove herself. Of course, Garrett had stomped all over that. She sighed, closed her eyes, and let exhaustion take over.

  Riley woke a few hours later to the sound of someone fumbling with the door lock. The door opened and she heard the trash bag get knocked over. She opened a weary eye and spied her mom tossing her designer handbag on the counter.

  Riley pushed herself upright. “A little late, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, you startled me!” her mom said, swaying on her feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “Britta was scared to death and begged me to come. God, Mom. You didn’t even bother to call home.”

  “Lenny had some friends in town and invited me over after work. I was fine.” She kicked her heels into the corner.

  “I wasn’t worried about you. How about your ten-year-old daughter?”

  “Matt was here, there was nothing to worry about.” She dropped onto the couch.

  “Actually, he wasn’t. At least not until the cops brought him home.”

  Her mom picked up a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table, pulled one out, and lit up. “What’d he do this time?”

  “Broke into the school.”

  Her mom laughed and then coughed. She brushed her red hair out of her face. “That’s a first. Usually he’s trying to skip out of that place.”

  Riley got a whiff of her mother’s breath. “Are you still drunk?”

  “Of course not.” She took a long drag off her cigarette.

  Riley was used to her lying. “You should probably get in the shower. Don’t you have to work at nine?”

  “I’m going in a little late today. Bill won’t mind.”

  “Mom, please don’t lose this job.”

  “Why don’t you worry about your own business? If you’d have done that five years ago, we’d all be a lot better off right now.” She stared at Riley with a look of utter disappointment.

  Riley’s gut ached at the sudden attack.

  Her mother stood. “I’m going to bed.” She disappeared into her bedroom and kicked the door closed. Riley hoped she remembered to put out her cigarette before she dropped off to sleep.

  So here it was. Again. Anytime Riley called her mother out about acting responsibly, her mom blamed her. Riley had a chance to change all their lives five years ago. If she hadn’t screwed up, she could have raised them all out of the gutter and into something more respectable.

  She couldn’t fight the guilt over disappointing her family. She’d done the best she could. But it wasn’t enough.

  No matter what Riley said or did, her mom didn’t really care about her kids. She never had, not unless there was something in it for her.

  6

  A taxi dropped Garrett off at a trendy Michigan Avenue hotel at two a.m. He tipped the driver and entered the lobby, which featured a rotunda seating area, art deco coffee tables, and low-hanging chandeliers.

  “Welcome to the Acadia. May I help you?” a twenty-something reception clerk asked.

  “Hi, I’m checking in. You should have a reservation for Garrett Jamieson.”

  A smile lit the clerk’s face and he clicked away at the keyboard. “I thought I recognized you. We’re so happy to have you staying with us. Yes, here’s your reservation. We’ve been holding the penthouse suite for you. It boasts a beautiful city view and has its own terrace.”

  “That sounds perfect. I’ve had a long day.” He’d taken an early flight out of Boston this morning and gone straight to the studio. He craved a stocked mini bar and putting his feet up.

  A young couple burst through the door, clearly intoxicated and giggling. The guy wore a sharp suit, and the glossy blond woman on his arm shimmered in a sexy dress and heels.

  Garrett smiled, pulled out his wallet, and tossed his platinum card on the marble counter.

  The clerk ran his card and handed him his room key. “Here you go. The elevator is around the corner.”

  “Thank you,” Garrett said, stepping away from the counter.

  The young couple came forward. “Hi, reservation for Walker. We’ve got a suite,” the guy said.

  Garrett slipped the wallet in his back pocket. He leaned over to untangle the strap on his messenger bag from his guitar case handle.

  The clerk’s wide forehead wrinkled. “Let me see.”

  The wife slipped her arm under her husband’s jacket, as if she wanted to crawl right in. The guy smiled and kissed her.

  “I’m sorry, sir. There are no more suites available.”

  “That can’t be right,” the young woman said. “I made this reservation over a month ago. It’s our anniversary. We spent our honeymoon here. Please check again.”

  “Of course, I’ll take another look,” he said, but grimaced.

  Garrett had a sneaking suspicion he’d just taken their room. “Excuse me,” he said to the desk clerk. “I think you gave me the wrong key. I requested a room on a lower floor.”

  He set his key on the counter and pushed it forward. “I’m not a fan of heights.” He smiled at the couple.

  “Are you certain?” the clerk asked.

  “Absolutely,” Garrett said.

  The clerk issued him a new key, and a few minutes later, Garrett entered his hotel room. He went to the window and discovered a perfect view of the office building next door. If he craned his neck he could see the street.

  The small room lacked the energy of his hotel stays with his family. Now that he thought about it, he’d never really traveled without them before. He tossed the keycard on the desk, snatched a beer from the mini bar, and relaxed into a comfortable chair.

  He’d made it through the day. Walking into that studio had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Much harder than breaking into the business or pitching record companies. It was him alone, with no one to fall back on o
r to stand by his side.

  Garrett had wondered how Barry would feel about his request to learn the ropes of producing after all the music he had produced for Jamieson. But his concerns were unfounded. Barry welcomed Garrett to spend as much time at Sound Sync as he wanted, which made showing up alone, without his band, a little easier to stomach.

  He was tempted to call Peter and shoot the shit with him, but it was the middle of the night back in Boston. Plus, he was still pissed at him and didn’t want any of Peter’s bullshit encouragement about trying a new direction. If it weren’t for his brothers, Garrett wouldn’t be in this predicament.

  He took a swig of his beer and sighed. The recording session had gone pretty well. It took a bit to get the hang of things in the control room. He’d messed around on the control boards during the recording of Jamieson’s albums, but he’d never been scrutinized like he was today.

  The chick with the red hair and cute little diamond nose stud had been drilling lasers at his back the whole time. He didn’t know what her problem was, but if she was like most women, she’d enlighten him eventually.

  The next day, despite a poor night’s sleep and more family drama than usual, Riley was back in the live room of Studio B, finishing the guitar setup for Fever Pitch.

  Logan, Ron, Nick, and a couple other guys were gathered around the monitor in the control room, laughing. Must be nice to sit around, but she refused to take the slacker route. Still, they were having a heck of a good time. She didn’t know what was so funny, but then they noticed her watching, broke into huge grins, and gave her a thumbs-up.

  Okay, whatever.

  As she taped down a cord so no absentminded guitar genius would trip over it, Nick, one of the assistant engineers, spoke through the talk-back speaker.

  “Hey, Riley, nice feathers in your hair.”

  She glanced up. What the heck was he talking about? Feathers? She’d never worn feathers in her . . .

  No!

  Riley dropped everything and rushed into the control room. She stopped short when she discovered a YouTube video playing.

  The blood drained from her face.

  They were watching old YouTube videos of Chart Toppers.

  “Riley, we didn’t know you were a star,” Ron said, not taking his eyes off the screen.

  “Look at you. You’re adorable,” said Logan.

  Riley couldn’t believe it. She’d worked so hard to forget that time of her life. The only one here who knew about her dismal run on the reality singing show was Barry, who owned the studio, and he had agreed not to tell. The only reason he knew was because Jason Edgette, the nicest of the judges and mentors on the show, had contacted Barry to get her a job interview.

  “Check out those round little cheeks and freckles. How old were you?” Ron asked.

  “Thirteen,” Riley mumbled, unsure what to do now that her secret was out. She looked around the control room, feeling trapped. This would ruin everything.

  She wanted to make a name for herself here as a dedicated, hard worker with a talented ear. She wanted to be a sound engineer someday, but how would that be possible now? All they would think of when they saw her was the kid who lost on Chart Toppers.

  She needed to act professional right now, but all she really wanted was to rush out of the studio and hide behind the Dumpster.

  And then, to make matters worse, Garrett walked in. “What’s going on?” he asked, noticing the crowded room. His eyes dashed over her. Riley had slept on the couch last night, wore the same jeans from yesterday, and had borrowed a top from her mom that fit tighter than she liked. She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Our very own little Riley was on Chart Toppers! Look at that outfit. It’s like she’s trying to be a rocker,” said Tim, another runner and a total tool. He always wore a navy ski cap and never tied his shoes.

  Garrett joined the mob watching the video. Riley’s face flamed with embarrassment.

  “You’ve got pipes, girl. Why didn’t you tell us?” Nick said.

  She needed to get out of there, but she was assigned to this studio today.

  Tim brought up another video. She silently groaned. It was her first Fight for Your Life Challenge.

  Memories flooded back. She’d been so upset that day. Each week the pressure became more unbearable, and her mom kept demanding she do better.

  Her mom had lost her job again, and blamed Riley. She’d left work to come out to Hollywood to be with Riley during the live performances. The bills piled up at home, and if Riley won, it would make a big difference for her family, but the other contestants were so good.

  Riley’s husky voice sounded from the monitor. To her it sounded like wailing. She remembered trying not to cry. She was in the bottom two and would be sent home unless she could change the judges’ minds with this last-ditch effort.

  “That’s Riley!” Garrett said, looking at the monitor, then at her, and back at the monitor again. “You can see her feisty side, even back then.” He laughed.

  “Turn it up,” Nick said, moving closer to the screen.

  The guys ate up her embarrassment. She turned away from the monitor and focused on the studio setup she’d just finished. They continued to joke as the video played on.

  Riley couldn’t take it any longer. “Turn it off,” she said.

  “No way, this stuff is pure gold,” Tim said.

  The door opened and Barry walked in. “What the hell is everyone doing in here? Does no one work anymore? Destiny’s Demise is waiting for their engineer in Studio D, the setup in Studio A needs to be finished, and Logan, answer your calls. Your band is waiting to be picked up at their hotel.”

  “Yes, sir,” Logan answered. He gave Riley a quick thumbs-up before rushing out of the room. She rolled her eyes.

  “Sorry, Barry,” said Nick. “Did you know that Riley was on Chart Toppers?”

  Barry looked in her direction and must have sensed her embarrassment. “Party’s over, guys. Back to work.”

  The group dispersed, but Garrett remained. He didn’t say a word. With a small curl of a smile, he studied Riley.

  “Hanging around so you can gloat? Go ahead and get it over with. It ought to make your day for the big superstar to make fun of me as a kid.”

  Garrett leaned back in his chair. His eyes seemed to soak in every detail about her. She squirmed.

  He stood and smirked. “It makes my day, all right. You have no idea.”

  “Whatever. Now would you leave? I have work to do.”

  He walked past, so close she wanted to give him a push. “I’m going, but just so you know, this changes everything.”

  “How’s that?” she asked.

  “I’m going to produce your record.”

  And he had the audacity to walk out the door.

  “The hell you are!” She trailed after him.

  He turned and laughed, all confident, as if he could do anything he wanted.

  “You can’t produce something that doesn’t exist,” she snapped.

  “Then we’ll have to make it exist.”

  Riley couldn’t ignore his cocky smile. She wanted to smack him. “You’re not hearing me. This isn’t happening. I don’t sing anymore. I don’t even hum in the shower. And I’m definitely not recording a record with you, or anyone else!”

  Garrett didn’t seem fazed. He raised an eyebrow and gave her a half smile, half sneer. “We’ll see.”

  7

  Riley slammed the apartment door, rattling the pictures on the wall. Ten hours later and she was still steaming.

  “Have a good night at work?” her roommate asked from her spot on the couch where she balanced a bowl of cereal on her knees and aimed the remote at the TV.

  “I’m gonna kill him.” Riley tossed her bag at the armchair.

  “Kill who?”

  “Garrett Jamieson.”

  Erika put down the remote. “Excuse me? As in the hot, intense Garrett from the band Jamieson?”

  “I’d say more like the
entitled, arrogant jerk, but yes. That’s the one.”

  “You met him? At work?”

  “Yes, but I wish I hadn’t.” Riley dropped onto the couch next to her.

  “Why not? My God, have you looked at the guy? If it were me, I think I would have melted into a puddle right in front of him.”

  Riley rolled her eyes. “He showed up yesterday and took over my first chance to sit at the board with Ron and Barry. He’s horrible.”

  “Yeah, bummer. What else? Did he try to corner you in the supply closet? Steal your lunch?”

  “Not funny.” Riley beelined for the fridge, but inside nothing looked good or within its expiration date. She swung the door shut. “You know you could be a little more supportive here.”

  “There’s a half bag of chocolate chips hiding behind the macaroni. How’s that for supportive?”

  “It’ll work.” She dug into the cupboard and fished out the chocolate, along with a jar of peanut butter.

  “So what did he do?”

  Riley grabbed a spoon then closed the drawer with her hip and returned to the living room. “He said he’s going to produce my record.” She filled her spoon with a huge dollop of peanut butter and then dipped it into the chocolate chips.

  “What record?”

  “Exactly!” She nibbled off a chunk of chocolate and peanut butter and savored the sweet, creamy taste.

  “Why would he think you have a record to produce?”

  “Because he heard me sing.”

  Erika dropped her spoonful of cereal back in the bowl. “Back the truck up!”

  “Someone at work found me on YouTube and played all those horrible videos from when I was on Chart Toppers. Even worse, practically everyone saw them.” She bit off more peanut butter.

  Erika grimaced. “That sucks.”

  Riley nodded with her mouth full. “You know how hard I’ve worked to put that behind me. Now I have to deal with it all over again.”

  “It was a long time ago. They’ll be curious for a while and then forget about it.”