Marking Time

by Marie Force

  “Too late.”

  He got into bed and rolled over to face her. “Stay here for a while. Until you feel stronger.”

  When she ran her fingers through his hair and leaned in to kiss him, a wildfire erupted between them. His kiss was full of love and longing and need—a need so powerful it should have frightened her, but it didn’t because she knew he loved her.

  He pulled back to look at her, his eyes heated. “Not like this, Clare. When we make love, and we will, soon, it’ll be for us. Not for comfort and not out of sympathy.” He settled her into the shelter of his arms. “Stay with me for now?”

  “Okay,” she said, hoping she would be able to overcome her own demons when the time came.

  Chapter 23

  Kate checked the address on the business card again and looked up at the dilapidated building with dismay. This wasn’t Music Row. This was so far from Music Row it might’ve been in another city. Harvey Welshiemer, the producer who’d given her his card at a party before Christmas, had been delighted to hear from her and insisted she come right over to his office.

  She pushed the door open and was hit by the odor of greasy food and what might’ve been urine. The stairs creaked as she made her way to the second floor where a small plastic sign next to a wooden door said “Harvey Welshiemer, Decade Records.” Kate looked around at the dingy hallway with the chipping light green paint. The blare of a television came through one of the other wooden doors. She thought about turning around, but he was a producer, so she forced herself to knock.

  Harvey answered the door, and his ugly face lit up.

  “Kate, honey, you made it. Come on in.”

  With a wistful look over her shoulder at the stairwell, she stepped inside, suddenly aware that no one in the world knew where she was at that moment. She could tell right away this was his home, not his office.

  “Um, I thought we were meeting at your office,” she said as he ran around grabbing discarded clothes and scooping up dirty dishes.

  “We are. Have a seat.”

  She cast her eyes around for a spot where she could sit without fear of contracting a disease. “I’ll stand, thanks.”

  He pushed the front half of his comb-over back into place and lowered his pear-shaped body into a cracked vinyl chair. “I’m awfully glad you came by. You’re just the kind of young talent Decade Records is looking for. I’m going to make you a big star, little girl.”

  Kate took a step back toward the door. “I’m not so sure about this.”

  He jumped to his feet faster than he should’ve been able to. “Where do you think you’re going? I haven’t even told you what I’ve got in mind for you.”

  She leaned against the door with her hand on the doorknob behind her back, knowing with every fiber of her being that she wanted nothing to do with whatever he had in mind for her.

  “We’ll start you off at the Grand Ole Opry. Get your name out there. Do you have your own material?” He rattled on before she could answer. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got a guy who’d love to write for a voice like yours.”

  “Mr. Welshiemer—”

  “Call me Harvey, honey. We’re going to be good friends. Now, let me get the contract I need you to sign before we go any further—”

  “Mr. Welshiemer—”

  His eyes flashed with anger. “Now, darlin’, you’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t call me Harvey.” He reached under a pile of magazines on an uneven coffee table, and pulled out a legal-size sheet of paper. “This is your standard entertainment industry contract that lays out all the ways I’ll be working on your behalf to make you a star.” He produced a pen from the depths of his stained shirt pocket. “Sign right here, and we’ll get to work.”

  He was so caught up in his spiel he didn’t notice Kate opening the door. She was halfway down the stairs before he caught up to her. When he grabbed her arm to stop her descent, she shrieked.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “Get your hands off of me,” she said in a low snarl.

  He let go so abruptly she almost stumbled down the last half of the stairwell. “We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he said, his sweaty face an inch from hers. “If you don’t want to be a star, that’s just fine with me, but if I were you, I’d get my pretty little ass up those stairs and sign that contract. Do you honestly think you’re any different than the million other girls who are singing their hearts out all over this city? How long have you been here? How many producers have given you their cards? I’ll bet I’m the first one you’ve even talked to.”

  His words struck close to home—too close. But even if she never made it as a singer, she’d sell her soul to the devil before she would spend another minute in the company of this repulsive man.

  “Our business is finished,” she said with a look that dared him to lay one finger on her. “I’d rather work at the Waffle House than work for you.” With that she turned and bolted down the remaining stairs.

  “You bitch! Who the hell do you think you are?”

  The last of his tirade was cut off when the door to the street swung closed behind her. Kate gulped the fresh air as she half ran, half walked from the building. She got to her car, jumped in, and locked the door before she allowed herself to cry. Only the fear that he might follow her motivated her to start the car and drive away.

  She got to her apartment and ran for the shower. Her encounter with Welshiemer had left her feeling dirty and sick. After ten full minutes under the pulsing water, she finally managed to stop sobbing. When she thought about what could’ve happened in that filthy apartment, she began to shake.

  In an effort to take her mind off the hellish encounter, she forced herself to think of something pleasant. Her thoughts shifted naturally to Reid and the New Year’s Eve they had spent together. She smiled when she remembered what they’d been doing at the stroke of midnight, and all at once she felt better. He would freak if he knew what’d just happened, but he was working in Knoxville and wouldn’t be back until the next day.

  When she was finally able to breathe normally again and her hands had stopped shaking, she picked up the phone to call Ashton.

  “This is a nice surprise,” he said when his assistant put through her call.

  “Happy New Year,” she said in an effort to sound normal.

  “Same to you. What’s going on?”

  “I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”

  “Of course, anything you need.”

  “Do you know anything about a producer named Harvey Welshiemer? Decade Records?”

  Ashton gasped. “Jesus, Kate, that guy’s bad news. We have three clients trying to break contracts with him. He has them signed to ironclad agreements that make it impossible for them to work anywhere, and he’s doing nothing for them.”

  Kate winced. Why hadn’t she called Ashton before she went over there? Thank God she hadn’t signed anything.

  “Kate? What? Oh my God, you didn’t sign something with him, did you?”

  “No, no,” she said weakly. “I met with him, but he skeeved me out, so I split before he could force me to sign anything.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Ashton muttered. “Are you all right?”

  “I am now.”

  “Okay, listen to me, from now on, you don’t talk to anyone in the music business—and I mean anyone—without me with you, you got me? The next time you see me, give me a dollar.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s my retainer. Once you pay it, I’m officially your attorney.”

  She laughed. “You’re awfully cheap, counselor. How do I know you won’t cheat me?”

  “I’m serious, Kate. You could’ve gotten royally screwed by that guy today, and your career would’ve been ruined before it ever got started. This is nothing to joke about.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  He sighed. “I don’t mean to be a hard ass, but you have to be so careful.”

  “I know that now.
Thank you, Ashton. I have a dollar right here with your name on it.”

  “Jeez, you almost gave me a heart attack.” He exhaled a long deep breath. “Why don’t we grab some dinner later. Are you free?”

  “I have rehearsal with the band until seven, but I could meet you after.”

  “F. Scott’s at eight?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be there. And thank you for the advice.”

  “Any time. Remember what I said about talking to people in the business, Kate. I mean it.”

  “After what happened today, you won’t have to tell me again.”

  F. Scott’s was hopping when Kate arrived five minutes late to meet Ashton. She crossed the fancy black and white-tiled floor to find him waiting for her at the bar. Since he wore a suit and tie, she assumed he had come right from work.

  “Hi,” he said with a kiss to her cheek. “You look great.”

  “Thanks,” she said, embarrassed by the way his eyes skipped over her face with obvious interest. “So do you.”

  “Our table will be ready in a minute. Want something to drink?”

  “Some water would be great. I’m always so parched after practice.”

  He asked the bartender for the water and got up to offer her his seat at the crowded bar. A jazz trio played on the small stage across the room.

  Ashton’s body formed a protective barrier around her from behind. A queasy feeling went through Kate as she came to an unsettling conclusion: this felt an awful lot like a date.

  “Do you have something for me?” He held out his hand with an expectant expression.

  “Oh, yes. I almost forgot.” She reached into the pocket of her jeans and retrieved the dollar she’d stashed there earlier.

  “Thank you. I’m now officially your attorney. Use me and abuse me,” he said with a raunchy grin, his words rife with double meaning.

  Kate took a deep breath. “Ashton.”

  “What, darlin’?”

  “We need to talk.”

  The maitre d’ picked that moment to tap Ashton on the shoulder to tell him their table was ready. They followed him to a secluded corner. When they were seated, Ashton ordered a glass of red wine. Kate stuck with water.

  “What’s wrong, Kate?”

  He was so adorable and so genuinely concerned about her that she couldn’t help but love him, just not in the way she suspected he wanted her to. “We’re friends, right?”

  “Of course we are. Why would you ask that?”

  “Um, well, I don’t want to presume anything, but—”

  He reached across the table for her hand. “Spit it out, darlin’.”

  “I want us to be friends.” She swallowed hard. “Just friends.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment before he looked away. “I’m sorry you feel that way. You’re a real special girl, Kate, and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like to be more than just friends with you.”

  “I’m sorry. I enjoy your friendship so much. I don’t want to lose that.”

  He rallied quickly. “Don’t be silly,” he said with a big smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “That won’t happen. Besides, I’m your attorney now, so you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, touched by the hurt he was trying so hard to cover up.

  “Don’t be,” he said, studying her. “Whoever he is, he’s one lucky son of a bitch. I hope he knows that.”

  “He does,” Kate said softly, sick at heart over what she—and his father—were keeping from him.

  Ashton picked up the menu. “Well, then, how about you let your attorney buy you some dinner? What looks good to you?”

  In Knoxville, Reid ventured into the hotel bar to have a drink. It was late, and he was tired from a day of nonstop meetings for five different developments he had going in the city. Lately, he’d been thinking about phasing out some of his activities outside Nashville. The traveling was getting to be a drag, especially now that he had a good reason to stick closer to home. But then he thought, as he always did, about the many people he employed all over the state. His obligations to them kept him going.

  Obligations, he thought, as he nursed a scotch on the rocks. He had half a lifetime of them behind him and years more ahead before he could conceive of retiring. Sometimes when he let himself think about what he really wanted, he pictured a tiny house on the beach in the Caribbean—a house he could take care of himself. He’d never had any choice about where he lived, and that had begun to rankle him. Recently, he’d begun to imagine Kate with him in his daydream. They could sail and swim and make love on the sandy beach.

  He sighed. With a home that’d been in his family for generations, a business that employed three thousand people, and the economies of several Tennessee cities reliant upon his contributions, the idea of chucking it all for a shack by the sea was at best frivolous, at worst irresponsible.

  Reid snapped out of his introspection when the room began to buzz with an undercurrent of excitement. A hulking figure plopped down on the next barstool, and Reid did a double take when he glanced over at him.

  “Well, wadda ya know?” said Buddy Longstreet. “Look at what the cat dragged in.”

  The bartender shot a dirty look to a group of women who were working up the nerve to approach Buddy at the bar.

  Reid laughed and clapped his oldest friend on the back. “Of all the gin joints in all the world…”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.” Buddy tilted his black Stetson to reveal the sleepy golden eyes and neat goatee that’d driven his female fans crazy for years. “How are ya, man? I’ve been meaning to call you to find out what the hell happened between you and Mama. She’s mad as a wet hen, and she won’t tell me why.”

  Reid took a long sip from his drink. Buddy was Martha’s son and a country music giant. He and his wife, Taylor Jones, were among Nashville’s royalty, mostly because they were two of the nicest people in a town not always known for nice people. When Reid told Kate he knew people in the business, he wasn’t kidding. “Let’s call it a difference of opinion,” Reid said in answer to Buddy’s question.

  “Must’ve been some kind of dustup if neither one of you is talking. What’re you doing here anyway?”

  “City council meeting. Trying to get approval for an office building we’re doing out by the airport. I knew it would run late, so I’m staying over. What about you?”

  “That barbeque chain I’m into with Freddy Perkins and George Gentry,” Buddy said, rattling off two other big names in the music business. “We’re opening our tenth franchise here next month. I came over for a look-see.”

  “It’s good to see you, Buddy. It’s been too long.” They’d grown up like brothers in different parts of Reid’s house.

  “We’re either on the road or hibernating with the kids.”

  He and Taylor toured only together and only three months a year so their four kids could have a somewhat normal life. Reid had a lot of respect for the way they handled two high-powered careers but still kept their priorities straight.

  “So your mama’s really pissed, huh?”

  “Yeah, she is. I’d been after her for years to retire to that house I built for her on my property, but she always said she couldn’t leave you alone. Then one day she shows up and moves into the house like she’d been planning to forever.”

  “It was time for her to slow down anyway. I’m just sorry she left the way she did.”

  “You oughta come by and see her. Kiss and make up. Taylor would love to see you, too.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Reid said, but he didn’t think he’d be welcome with Martha in light of the way they’d left things.

  They drank in silence for a few minutes while Reid mulled over another thought that’d been running around in his head since he looked over to find Buddy sitting next to him. She told me not to pull any strings. But I could make it so easy for her. It’s not like she doesn’t have the talent… But she told me not to, and she meant it. Oh, what the h
ell?

  “Say, Buddy, there’s this girl I know. She’s the daughter of a college friend of mine, and she’s come to town to chase the dream.”

  Buddy groaned. “Oh, come on, you’re not going to pull that shit with me, are you? Do you know how many times a day I hear about someone’s little girl coming to town with stars in her eyes?”

  “This one’s different.”

  Buddy sat back to study his old friend. “How so?”

  “She’s got a huge talent. You just can’t believe how good she is.”

  “Oh, yeah? What makes you such an expert?”

  “I’m no expert, but when she sings I get goose bumps, if that’s any indication.”

  Buddy chewed on a small plastic straw. “What’s she look like?”

  “What the hell does that matter?”

  “Ya ever see a total dog on stage at the Opry?” he asked with the big smile that’d made him a fortune.

  “She’s a drop-dead gorgeous blonde with the most incredible blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  “Hmm,” Buddy said. “She’s that good, huh?”

  “Honest to God.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Hmm,” Buddy said again.

  “What does that mean? Hmm?”

  “I’m just wondering if this eighteen-year-old goddess with the voice of an angel has anything to do with why my mama’s so fired-up pissed with you.”

  Reid kept his expression blank, but inside he churned. He should’ve known Buddy would see right through him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I said she’s my friend’s daughter. She’s talented. I thought maybe you’d have an idea of how she can get a leg up. That’s it.”

  Buddy studied him in silence for another charged moment. “Okay, if you say so. Where can I find her?”

  “She’s playing with a band called the Rafters. They’ve got a gig at Mabel’s next Thursday. Are you in town?”

  “Yep. I’ll stop by. If she’s as good as you say she is, I’ll see what I can do. No promises though, ya hear?”

  “I got it. And keep this between us, will you? She’s hell-bent on making it on her own. She doesn’t want any help.”