by Nikki Wilson
She glanced down at the Caller ID and almost didn’t answer it. Phone calls from the record label usually left her in a bad mood. “Hi, Kyle.”
“Katie? Is that you? Are you where you can talk?”
“Yes, I can talk.” She rolled her eyes at her mom. As an executive at the record label, Kyle was a bit on the dramatic side. Every time he called, he acted as if the world were ending, though his charm and rugged good looks usually helped her excuse his dramatics.
“Have you watched the news? Channel 10 has a piece about the concert. You’d better watch it—they have an expert coming on to analyze Duchess’s accent. They want to know if it’s fake.”
Katie couldn’t help her deep intake of breath. “What? What if they figure it out?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle answered. “Though I’m sure our response will be ‘no comment,’ no matter what they say.”
She found the remote to the flat screen TV on the wall and flipped to the channel.
“What’s going on?” Shirley asked impatiently.
“Watch.” Katie pointed to the news anchors on the television.
“Duchess performed in concert tonight at the Staples Center,” a female anchor was saying to a man like they were having a polite dinner conversation or something.
“Yes, she was, Heather,” the man answered. “Critics are already complaining about her performance of ‘Fish ’n Chips’ on the Fourth of July. The words make fun of Americans and the Revolutionary War. What a statement to make on the day we Americans celebrate our independence from England. But on top of all that, people want to know who she really is.”
Katie rolled her eyes. They needed to lighten up. Besides, most people couldn’t hear the lyrics through all the music and the synthesizers.
“That’s right, Bob. She rocketed to fame in a short amount of time, about a year and a half, but she remains a mystery. The rumor is that she’s another popular musician in disguise because she wanted to go with a different record label and didn’t want to break her contract.”
“That is one rumor, Heather. Yet another rumor is that Duchess is really British royalty and has to keep her identity a secret so as not to bring shame to her family name.”
“Yes, Bob. And to help us to shed light on these rumors is Mark Williams, audio expert. As I understand it, you often provide expert testimony about voice analysis in court?”
“Yes, I most certainly do. I have helped with several cases as of late.”
Katie cringed when she heard his British accent. There was no way he was going to think her accent was real.
“And have you had a chance to listen to the voice clips we delivered to your office?”
“Yes, I did, thank you. Though I must say, there really were not many audio clips to listen to.”
“This is all part of the mystery, Mr. Williams. She doesn’t do many interviews except for over the phone, and even those are with a synthesized voice. But do you have some thoughts about her accent?”
“Yes, I believe I do. Most Americans are a bit nasal when trying to speak with a British accent. It is a dead giveaway because Brits speak through their throats, emitting a softer tone.”
“Does Duchess have a nasally sound?”
Katie held her breath.
“No, she does not.” Mr. Williams answer grimaced at the admission. “But that can be falsified. So can Received Pronunciation English, also known as ‘Queen’s English.’ Duchess appears to use this accent.”
“What does that mean?”
“Received Pronunciation was once considered the intonation of the highly educated and affluent, though over the years, this has changed. It used to be heard mostly in southern England, but now one can come across it in several regions, making it difficult to pinpoint a country of origin for the speaker. Meaning, based on her accent, that she could be from anywhere.”
“Including America?”
Katie’s mom was now standing next to her. She reached out for Katie’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Yes, including America.”
“Are you saying Duchess’s accent could be fake?” The anchorwoman smiled like she could already see herself winning journalist of the year.
“It could be, but there are other factors to consider. For instance, when most Americans falsify an accent, they try to mimic the British sayings, but they tend to overemphasize them and use only the well-known terms. Many of their American terms slip into their speech reflexively. As far as I can tell from Duchess’s short interviews, she uses British vocabulary in a flawless manner. This leads me to say tentatively that her accent is most probably not false.”
Katie let the air out of her lungs in one large sigh. The anchorwoman suddenly looked like she had eaten a sour gummy worm.
“Probably? Could you be wrong?”
“It would help if there was video footage of her. Body language is also a good way to tell a true Brit from an imposter, but just based on the voice analysis, Duchess is more than likely from England.”
The news anchors continued to pepper the poor man with more questions, but Katie wasn’t watching anymore.
“You did it, Katie!” She forgot she was holding the phone to her ear until Kyle’s voice boomed over the receiver.
“What?” She couldn’t seem to grasp what had happened. She knew she’d worked hard on her accent. Having a friend from England had helped a lot as well, but fooling an expert? That had gone beyond her wildest dreams.
“You did it! We dodged another bullet! Life with Duchess is never dull, I must say that. Katie, when you first came to me with this outrageous idea, I have to admit, I didn’t think it would amount to anything, but look at you! You’re doing it, kid. What a rush!” Kyle’s voice continued to drone on, but Katie didn’t want to hear any more.
“Umm, yeah, thanks. I gotta go, Kyle. Bye.” She hung up, not caring that he was in mid-sentence. He would go on forever if she let him.
Katie clicked off the phone and turned to look at her mother. The tall white wig tilted to the side like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and the large cloak hung off one shoulder. Her mother clutched the sunglasses in her hand as she continued to stare at the TV.
“Mom?”
Katie’s mom jumped a little at her name. The look was in her eyes again, the one that said, “You can’t keep doing this.” Katie’s heart was still pounding in her chest and she knew her mother was right, but she didn’t see any other options. Despite what her mother said, they still needed the money. Besides, her mother didn’t know the details of the contract Katie had signed two years ago. She planned to keep it that way.
“Let’s go home.” Katie straightened the wig on her mother’s head and wrapped the cloak snugly around her. The sunglasses went on last. She smiled at the woman before her. The disguise wouldn’t hold up in the light, but in the dark and from the door to the open car waiting outside, it would be enough.
“Oh, yes,” her mother said, coming back to herself. She stood a little taller and put on her best British accent. “Come, dahling. Let us go.”
Katie laughed and felt all the previous tension melt away. Her mother was still with her, and that’s all that mattered.
Chapter Three
Looking out the window, Carter Chase watched as the bus snaked through the Santa Monica streets. He could see the ocean glittering on the horizon and hear the honking cars all around him. It was amazing how quickly this place had become his home. As the bus came to a stop, he stood and waited for the older woman in front of him to make her way down the aisle to the door. Taking a deep breath, he smelled the unique combination of sea salt and car exhaust. The smell reminded him of the first time he’d made this bus ride almost two years ago. He hadn’t known at the time what a big step he was taking to his recovery.
Shaking off the memories, he walked toward a rundown strip mall with flaking paint and broken signs. Before he could move past the woman in front of him, a loud bang sounded. Without thinking, he grabbed the old woman an
d pulled her roughly to the patch of grass next to the strip mall parking lot. Looking up, he scanned the area for the enemy while reaching for a rifle that wasn’t there. His vision immediately went cloudy, and he could see the battlefield before him. Instead of the streets of Santa Monica, he saw the streets of Baghdad, shelled buildings all around him. The enemy could be anywhere. Fear seeped deep into his bones as he waited for the next gunshot to ring out.
“Let go of me!” The woman lying on the ground hit Chase with her purse, causing him to come back to reality.
He’d thrown his body on top of hers to shield her, but from what? He looked up as an old truck rolled past with another quieter bang. It was only a backfire. There was no gun. There was no battlefield.
Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Chase rolled over, allowing the woman to sit up.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded as she looked at him. She opened her mouth to say more, but her hand landed on his right lower leg as she moved to push herself up, stopping abruptly at what she felt. The confusion on her face led him to lift his pant leg and reveal the foam and metal that formed Chase’s new excuse for a leg. “Oh,” was her response.
Chase watched as her anger dissolved into something else. Something he was getting used to seeing.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize,” the woman said as he pulled his jeans back over the prosthetic.
He swallowed down the anger that came after seeing the pity on the woman’s face. He wished she would go back to yelling at him.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” Chase rolled over onto his knee before pushing himself up with his good leg. Holding out his hand, he helped the woman up and noticed that a small crowd had begun to gather around them. “Are you all right?” he asked, trying to ignore all the stares. He couldn’t help but wonder how many of them had seen his leg. He couldn’t bring himself to look any of them in the eyes.
“I’m fine,” the woman said as she brushed the grass off her pants. “What about you?” The concern in her gaze caused him to look away.
“Fine,” he said brusquely. “Do you need me to walk you anywhere?” He knew that was a stupid thing to say as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Why would she want to walk anywhere with the man who threw her to the ground?
“No, I’m all right.”
“Um, okay. Again, I’m really sorry,” he said as he walked past the crowd that soon surrounded the woman. He wondered if they were going to call the cops. How would he explain his way out of that? Post-traumatic stress disorder was something most people didn’t understand. Unfortunately for him, it had become a part of his life, though he had thought he had it under control. This incident proved that wasn’t the case.
Walking toward the strip mall, he went straight to the door crammed between the check-cashing store and the taco shop. The words “Veterans’ Aid” were stenciled onto the glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows exposed the whole area to the parking lot. To the average person, it looked like a sad excuse for a gym, with weights and treadmills scattered throughout the space. A desk or two littered the area as well.
He entered, and a smile instantly lit his face when he saw Shirley standing behind the counter. The older woman had been volunteering at Veterans’ Aid almost as long as he had been coming.
“Shirley, you’re back! It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you.” His eyes narrowed at the way her clothes hung. He hoped she wasn’t going on one of those fad diets that were popular in L.A.
“Good morning, Carter. How’s my favorite soldier today?”
“Much better, now that you’re here.” He knew it sounded like flattery, but it had never been so true. He wasn’t sure how she did it, but just seeing Shirley made the earlier incident almost disappear from his mind. She was like the mother he’d always wished he’d had.
“Oh, you always know how to make an old lady blush.”
“Where’s the old lady? I don’t see an old lady.” He looked around the room in mock surprise as he leaned his arms on the counter.
“Carter, you’re a big flirt.” Shirley gave him a playful smack on his shoulder.
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Chase?” The exasperation in his voice was dramatized because he kind of liked that she called him by his first name, but he would never in a million years admit that to her.
“And how many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a soldier? I’m a mother, and mothers give their children a first name for a reason. I plan on using yours.”
A quick stab of emotion shot through him at the thought of his mother. He’d like to think there was a time when his mother had cared enough about him to lovingly pick his name. But in his experience, she’d only cared about her drugs. He wasn’t going to burden Shirley with those thoughts. Instead, he would imagine, not for the first time, that his mom had been more like the woman before him—selfless, kind, and a bit of a spitfire.
“All right, all right, I surrender!” He put his hands up in the air like he was under arrest. “You can call me Carter. But only you.”
“Like you could stop me,” Shirley shot back, and he chuckled as he stepped away from the counter.
“Have a great day, Shirley.” He started to walk away, but she called out.
“Oh, and Carter?” He stopped and turned back toward her. “Tommy Jones is waiting by the equipment.”
This information gave him pause. “How is he doing today?”
“His spirits seem to be a bit down in the dumps. Not unlike you when we first met.” She winked at him, and Chase was struck by the fact that apparently, not much had changed. He was still a mess, though not as bad as two years ago. Luckily, he found Veterans’ Aid when he needed it most.
“I guess that means there’s hope for the boy. After all, look how well-adjusted I’ve turned out.” His voiced dripped with sarcasm.
Instead of answering, Shirley snorted with laughter as he walked away.
“Hey there, Jones.” Chase walked up to the young man sitting in a wheelchair next to the weights. Unlike Shirley, Chase would only call the veterans who came here by their last names. One thing he realized in his own recovery was that he still needed to feel like a soldier. That was also the reason he kept his hair cut short and continued a daily routine of PT.
Jones didn’t look up, but just stared down at his new prosthetic leg. The shock of losing a limb wasn’t easy to overcome.
“How’s your physical therapy going at the VA?” Chase asked as he sat down on the weight bench next to Jones’ wheelchair.
“Fine,” Jones answered, then sat silently for a moment before speaking. “I feel like a toddler trying to learn how to walk all over again. It’s humiliating.”
Chase didn’t answer right away. It was like watching himself two years ago. He’d thought losing his leg was the worse pain in the world, but it didn’t take too long to find out he was wrong. There were worse things than losing a leg, like getting your heart obliterated. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. The first few weeks of coming to Veterans’ Aid, the founder had given him a speech. The words had struck him to the core, and he knew they were the words Jones needed now.
“You only lost your leg, Jones. Think of your buddies who lost so much more. Are you going to tarnish their memories by taking your life for granted? Think of the men who will never see their families again or hug their children or marry their high school sweetheart. You get to live your life. It might not be the same life you had before, but now, you’re not just living it for yourself. You’re living for each man who didn’t get to come home. Live the life you imagine they would have wanted you to live. Can you do that, soldier?”
“Yes, sir.” Jones held his head up a little higher and quit slumping in his chair.
“That’s the spirit. Now let’s get you onto the bench.”
As Chase stood up and turned around, he came face-to-face with Amber, who had tears glittering in her eyes.
“You remembere
d my speech?” Despite being older than him, Amber looked younger. Maybe it was the fact that the top of her head barely reached his chest. How she was able to juggle a husband, children, and run a charity, Chase didn’t know. But what he did know was that he owed her and the rest of the people at Veterans’ Aid so much.
“It was the only thing that would get through that thick skull of mine. And I share it with fellow soldiers who are as thickheaded as I am.” He smiled over his shoulder at Jones, who only shrugged back guiltily. “Besides,” he continued, “it helped me quit pitying myself and get to work finding out what kind of life I wanted to live. I can never repay you for that.”
“Well …” Amber suddenly looked devious. “Maybe you can.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t like the look in your eyes right now. What do you have up your sleeve?” Chase knew Amber well enough to be wary.
“It’s good news, actually. We’re going to have a benefit concert to raise funds for that new building across town.”
“That’s great, Amber. Who set that up?” Chase knew this could be just what they needed. With a bigger building, maybe they could get more weights and other gym equipment. Just thinking of it brought a smile to his face.
“Well, it’s not quite set up all the way yet, but I know I can count on you to make sure it works out.” Her smile rivaled that of the Cheshire Cat.
“Make sure what all works out?” He didn’t like where this was going.
“You’re going to meet with Katie Murphy on Friday. She’s the manager of Duchess!”
“Duchess? You mean that pop diva who dresses like a slutty version of Queen Anne? Why would I do that?” Chase narrowed his eyes.
“Because once we get Duchess to sign up, lots of big name acts will follow, and we can charge mega bucks for the tickets. Do you know how many rooms the new building has? Enough for two weight rooms and lots of treadmills, bicycles, and elliptical machines, and it has a kitchen. A real kitchen that’s been coded to cook in, not just to reheat stuff. Think of how many more people we could help.” She looked up at him with big, pleading eyes. She was changing the subject.