Riley had met Erika freshman year when her friend moved from Cleveland to South Chicago. Erika seemed like the only person on the planet who didn’t know about her appearance on Chart Toppers, and even better, Erika didn’t care, which made her the perfect new best friend.
“But what about Garrett? I didn’t like the way he was staring at me. Kind of like I was a fresh piece of meat that he was deciding how to devour.”
“Um, that sounds kind of fun.”
Riley glared at her.
“Sorry. He can’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”
“Thank you!” She waved her spoon in the air.
“He might be the hottest guy around, but why would you want to spend more time with him? He might try to kiss you and take you out, but don’t let him!”
“Okay, you can stop being supportive now,” Riley said, even though Erika was right. Garrett was good-looking, and there was something interesting about him. But there was no way he would ever get Riley to sing. Ever.
8
Riley entered the studio the next day hoping to go unnoticed and bury herself in work.
“Riley!” Tara called out. “I saw your videos. Why didn’t you tell me you were on Chart Toppers? That is so cool. I had no idea!”
“Hi, Tara. No time to talk. Busy night.” She kept her head down and kept walking.
“Wait! You’ve got to tell me about Jason Edgette. I was totally in love with him back in high school. Is he as hot in person as he is onscreen?”
Riley stopped. “I wouldn’t know, Tara. I was thirteen. He was thirty.”
“Oh.” Tara frowned. “Garrett’s looking for you.”
“Great,” she mumbled.
As Riley moved through the building, it appeared everyone knew about her turn on the reality show.
“Nice video,” said some grinning tech guy who she’d never even talked to before.
She turned into the break room to find one of the runners, Tim, buying chips out of the vending machine.
“Riley, you should come jam with my band sometime.”
She forced a smile and went to the equipment storage room to escape the badgering and closed the door. She put her hand against it and took a deep breath. They were just messing with her, but she didn’t really want to deal with it.
She turned and found Logan, wearing a Bob Marley T-shirt and surrounded by piles of tangled cords. “That looks fun. They’re more messed up than your dreads.”
“Can you give me a hand? Ron needs these straightened out and ready to use in a half hour.”
“Sure.” She dropped down next to him on the floor and grabbed a pile, glad to have something mindless to occupy her.
They worked silently for almost a full minute before Logan ruined it.
“You gonna tell me about those videos, or do I have to drag it out of you?”
Riley sighed. “Not you, too.”
“Everyone’s curious. We’re the people behind the scenes. We work for the people who have made it. You know that every one of us has dreamed of hitting it big. You actually did. That makes you special.”
“I didn’t make it big. Not even close. I got on a reality show that ate me alive. I embarrassed myself, apparently until the end of time.”
Logan looked at her, dumbfounded. “Why do you think that?”
“You’ve seen the videos. I lost it on national television,” she said, examining the tangled mess.
Logan stopped working. “You were a kid. No one cares about that stuff.”
Yeah, tell that to my mom and the kids at school. She shook her head. “The whole thing was a huge mistake. I was this kid with a dream and a little bit of talent. I had no business appearing on that show.” She pulled the end of the cord through the knots. “Most of those people had voice coaches and had been trying to break through for years. They were in bands and had street smarts.”
“But there were a bunch of kids your age, too, weren’t there?”
She thought of Kylie, who had been her best friend on the show. Kylie had done voiceovers on two animated movies and sung in talent contests.
“True, but even the kids my age were pretty savvy. They had stage mothers, and performed in commercials or regional theater. They were little divas.”
“Really?”
While she and Riley had been the same age, Kylie was already seasoned in the business. She came in second on the show and hit it big with a successful recording contract.
“Oh yeah. I was the token poor kid, way out of my league.”
“But you came in sixth.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And you know this how?”
“So I looked you up. Sue me. Riley, tens of thousands of people try out for those shows. You made it to the top six! That’s incredible. You have an amazing voice. And if you had been a little older, you probably would have done even better.”
Jason Edgette had said that, too.
“You should try out for one of those shows again, or get in a band.”
“Nah,” she said, wrestling with a knotted cord. “I don’t sing anymore.”
Logan’s jaw dropped. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Hardly,” she said with a laugh.
“And why did you stop singing?”
Riley sighed. She really didn’t want to go into this, but she liked Logan. “As I said, my last show on Chart Toppers went really bad. My mom didn’t take my getting the boot very well, and when we got home and I started back to school, the kids were horrible. To be fair it wasn’t all the kids, but there was a definite group of bullies that wouldn’t let it go. I couldn’t escape it.”
Like Greg Hensen, a popular kid who hung out with Jordan Marx, a cute boy she really liked. In gym class, Greg wailed out the song she’d performed, mimicking her in front of the whole class, acting overdramatic and sobbing. Everyone laughed, including Jordan. Riley’d run to the locker room in tears.
“In choir, I’d hear kids saying that they could have done better and how I never deserved to be on the show.”
“That sucks,” Logan said with sympathy.
“I quit choir. I didn’t try out for the spring musical. I kind of disappeared from everything for a while. I skipped school for a few days until the principal called my mom.”
Riley yanked at the cords. That period had been the worst in her entire life.
“You know they were jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Of you getting all that attention. Of having a natural talent. Kids are mean that way.”
“I suppose, but at the time, I needed to lick my wounds. That show was brutal. It looks all exciting and fun when you’re sitting at home, but it’s not when you’re on it. They tell you what to do every minute, that you’re too short, or your hair’s too thin, or that they don’t like the way you hold the mic. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
“I’m sorry it was so horrible, but that was a long time ago and I think you should reconsider.”
“Thanks, but I’m happy exactly where I am.”
The door opened and Barry popped in. “Riley, there you are.”
“Hi, Barry. What’s up?”
“About the other day. I didn’t know Garrett Jamieson was coming in until right before it happened. His manager called me as Garrett was literally stepping out of his cab. I owed him a favor.”
“It’s fine,” she lied. It wasn’t fine, but what could she do? She was the youngest person at the studio. Damn if that didn’t feel like déjà vu. She was always the youngest and most inexperienced in this business.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Barry said.
Riley smiled at her boss. “Seriously, it’s okay. I’m just so happy to have this job.”
“You’ll get your chance to shine, I promise. In fact there’s something big coming up that I think you’re going to love. The schedule isn’t nailed down, but it could be in the next day or so. But in the meantime could you help Garrett mic up the drums in Studio D?”
; “Are you saying your new assistant engineer can’t set up mics?” She couldn’t hide the disbelief in her voice.
Barry smiled and nodded. “That’s what I’m saying. But give the guy a break. He’s used to being behind the mic, not setting up twenty for a drum kit.”
Riley bit her lip before she said something she regretted. She glanced at Logan, who was struggling not to laugh, then stood and wiped off her jeans. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks,” Barry said. “And by the way, nice pipes. You ever think maybe you’re on the wrong side of the mic, too?”
She sighed audibly, and, rather than answer, escaped to help Garrett Jamieson.
But Garrett wasn’t in the live room or the control room. She looked in the records room and even checked the reception area, but Tara wasn’t there to ask. Garrett wasn’t reading Rolling Stone in one of the comfortable chairs as she half expected, either.
As she was ready to give up and complete the setup herself, she noticed the open door to the mic storage room. He probably didn’t know the difference between a condenser mic and a ribbon mic. She rounded the corner, ready to give the confused superstar an equipment lesson, but was startled when she found a pouty-lipped Tara up against the wall looking quite satisfied as Garrett leaned in close, his hand on the wall above her, and his mouth close to hers.
Oh, for Pete’s sake, it was high school all over again.
“Hello,” she called out. “I hear you need help plugging in a mic.” She laced the words with sarcasm.
Garrett turned with the grace of a wildcat, his eyes darting over her.
What a colossal jerk. She didn’t need his approval, or anyone else’s, for that matter. Still, her face warmed at his all too obvious study of her appearance, and she wished she’d worn something nicer.
“Well, there you are,” he drawled. “Tara, thanks for your help. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Anytime,” Tara purred as she strolled back to her desk.
“Making yourself comfortable, I see,” Riley said.
Garrett watched the seductive sway of Tara’s retreating curves. “Just getting my lay of the land.”
“The studio is the other way.” Riley pointed the opposite direction down the hall.
“Are you always this friendly?” he asked.
She wanted to spit out something smart and sassy, but nothing came to mind. “Come on.” She headed for the recording studio, not glancing back to see if he followed.
“Is there something in particular I did to piss you off?” He walked next to her with an easy gait.
Riley practically choked. Gee, maybe stealing her chance to be assistant engineer the other day, or his big announcement that he planned to produce her records. “No. Not at all,” she said, jaw clenched.
They entered the live room where the drum kit dominated. A mic bin sat on a cart and a couple stands lay on the floor.
“Let’s get started.” She selected a cardioid mic from the bin, attached it to a stand, and placed it in front of the kick drum. “Grab a couple of small diaphragm mics.”
Garrett fished them from the bin and handed one over. At least he knew his mics. “Put the other on that stand, would you?” She attached it to the stand and placed it next to the snare.
“Why are you scrubbing around working an entry-level job like this?” he asked.
Her shoulders tensed. She screwed the stand mount tighter and reached for another.
“What? It’s not that tough a question.” He held out another mic. She snatched it from his hand.
“I can’t believe you’re criticizing my job, heck, every job here.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he said.
She ignored him. “This job might be below you, but most of us are thankful to be working in an industry we love.”
“Bull. You don’t love doing all the grunt work. When you were a little kid, you weren’t dreaming of running around a recording studio fetching coffee and walking some washed-up singer’s dog.”
She chewed on the inside of her lip, fighting to hold back her words. He was baiting her. Her dreams had been much grander, but that was then.
“You belong up on a stage.”
She glared at him.
“What? Did I hit a nerve?”
She turned her back and placed the stand under the center of the snare.
“You know I’m right. You need to get behind a mic and sing.”
She flashed back to the fear she experienced onstage those last few times. Each time the stakes grew higher, the pressure mounted. She was so afraid to let everyone down and yet that’s exactly what she did. In grand style, too. She’d struggled to hold it together with all those cameras rolling, the judges ready to publicly rip her performance apart, and her mother promising their lives would be gold if only she could win.
Her chest tightened, and she forced down her panic.
“So now you’re giving me the silent treatment?”
Riley snapped back to the present. “You know nothing about me, Garrett. You have no idea what I’ve done or not done, so shut it and let’s get this job finished.”
She reached for another stand, but Garrett stepped in front of her.
“That’s not exactly true. I know that singing has been your dream since you were five years old. I know you used to wait outside the stage door of the Chicago Theater when you were young and try to get autographs. I know that you created your own harmonies to all the popular rock songs that your mom played on the radio so you could sing along as if it were a duet.”
Oh God, why did he have to dig into her past? Her body raged with frustration and her face became shamefully hot.
“I know you, Riley. Admit it,” he said in his cocky tone.
She turned on him. “You don’t know jack. Just because you spent all night watching old YouTube videos and reading press from my time on Chart Toppers doesn’t mean you know me. That was five years ago. Hell, it was before Jamieson hit it big. I’m not the same person. That starstruck little girl grew up.”
He laughed. “No. That girl is using a job at a recording studio to hide. If you don’t care about this industry, why aren’t you in college getting a degree in accounting or becoming an art teacher?”
She stopped what she was doing and turned on him. “Because my mother blew all the money I made on that show before I could even drive. That’s why.”
Garrett’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
She returned to her task. “Didn’t expect that, did you? The same woman who exposed all my deepest secrets to the press during the show also wasted what was supposed to be my college money on new clothes for herself, parties, and weekend jaunts to Vegas.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. Now butt out of my life.” She grabbed another piece of equipment and crouched to attach the mic directly to the snare.
He stayed silent for a minute.
“Riley, I really want to work with you. I think we can make some great music together. Let go of your past and move on. Hell, we can show your mother you’re the real deal after all.”
“What’s the matter with you?” she snapped. “Did you eat paint chips as a kid? I’m not singing for you or anyone else. You can’t walk in here and tell me what to do. That’s not how it works.” She twisted the screw on another mic stand.
Garrett kneeled next to her. “That’s exactly how it works. When opportunities arise, you have to snatch them up. This is a golden opportunity.”
“Go bother someone else with your deal.”
“I don’t want anyone else. I’ve seen the videos. There’s no one else out there that sounds like you. You’re original. You’ve got heart and guts.”
He placed his hand on her arm, and for that moment he seemed sincere.
“Why are you doing all this? You don’t even like me.”
He shrugged. “Well, if you wore a little more makeup and dressed like a girl, I would. But we can h
ire people to take care of that.”
Riley stood and stepped away. “You arrogant ass. Let me give you a little tip. This isn’t gonna happen.”
“We’ll see,” he said with a smug grin.
She stormed out.
9
Garrett and pop singer Candace Capri entered the artists’ lounge the next day to grab lunch from the buffet. Candace was all curves and big hair, and he couldn’t wait to get more familiar with her. Her first album had only produced one hit, but if the song hit big enough the label was willing to back a second album.
He wished he’d been the one to produce this album, but he’d been too late. If he could convince Riley to get over her personal baggage, she’d be the perfect project to help launch his producing career.
“Garrett Jamieson! No way, man,” a familiar voice called.
Garrett turned to find Brad Stone and Eric Gehrke of the Jade Monkeys. They were an indie rock band who’d hired Jamieson as their opening act back when he and his brothers first started out.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” The guys hugged like long-lost fraternity brothers. “Do you know Candace?” Garrett included her into their circle.
“We met last year at the Grammys,” Eric said, his six-foot-three-inch stature towering over her.
“Nice to see you again,” she said. Her phone beeped. Candace checked the screen. “Excuse me, I’ve got to take this.”
“So, what the heck are you doing here?” Garrett couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off his face.
“We’re trying to wrap up our album, but we’ve had a little personality issue, and our backup vocalist is a no-show. What are you doing here? I heard the band split up. That’s gotta suck.”
“It’s a long story, but basically I’m going to start producing records.”
“No way! That’s awesome. I can see you as a producer. Where are you staying?” Eric asked.
“I’ve got a room at the Acadia.”
“No, you don’t want to stay there. Come to my place,” Brad said. “I have a condo in the Marina Towers that sits empty most of the time.”
“Seriously?”
“Hell, yes. It’s a lot more private than a hotel, plus the House of Blues is right there, so you have a built-in night life,” Brad said.
Under the Spotlight Page 4