Cherished (11 page)

Kelli huddled closer to them. “But Rita said we can't do that.”

“We can't shove demos in their faces,” Stephanie said, “and we don't have one anyway. But what if I tell them how fabulous you are and they
ask
to listen? Rita didn't say you can't sing for them.”

“Oh. Yeah. They don't have time to listen to a demo but an impromptu concert? No problem.”

Stephanie arched an eyebrow. “
All
things are possible.”

Kelli looked at Cyd, and they both shook their heads as Stephanie led them to the closest row available and planted herself on the aisle. They chatted with others around them as people trickled steadily into the room. None of the panelists had arrived yet.

Kelli wasn't sure what she thought about it all. Until recently, her world was filled with résumés and query letters to public relations firms and corporate marketing departments. That was why she'd gone to graduate school. That was where she'd built her career. But for the past week, all she'd thought about was music. And here, all she'd talked about was music. Funny how it all seemed to coincide with her return to St. Louis—and to church. Was she to believe this was God? Or was she setting herself up for a giant fall?

And why was Brian popping up all over the place? She wouldn't let herself process what happened last night, refused to talk about it with Cyd and Stephanie. When he entered her thoughts, she kicked him back out—though, admittedly, she had to do it several times. Brian? In the music industry? Even now, she had to admonish herself not to go there. His life was his business and none of hers. She hated that he was still in St. Louis, at Living Word, no less. But she'd made up her mind. She wouldn't stop attending Living Word because of him. If she ran into him, she'd look past him. She'd do what she'd been doing the last seven years—pretend he didn't exist.

“What is
she
doing here?”

Stephanie was looking toward the back entrance, so Kelli turned as well. In fact, many were taking a gander at the woman with the sleeveless deep V-neck top and skinny jeans and the long flowing hair.

“Who is that?” Kelli asked.

“Heather,” Cyd said.

“Hold up.” Stephanie shifted to get a better look. “Why is Logan with her?”

Heather
. Kelli remembered the name. The one who had the affair with Scott.

Heather's eyes connected with theirs . . . and fell. She whispered something to Logan and sat in the back.

Cyd turned back around. “So Heather's a songwriter?”

Stephanie shrugged. “Who knows? Opportunist more than anything.”

Logan walked up from behind and whispered something to Cyd. She got up and followed him out of the room.

Stephanie stared after them. “What in the world?”

From a front entrance, Rita Miller walked in with her husband, followed by Monica Styles, Mallory Knight, and Ace Vincent. Everyone but Rita sat behind his or her nameplate at the front. Rita stood behind a lectern at the end of the table and waited as the room quieted.

“Good morning,” she said, her smile bright. “I'm so excited about our first workshop session this morning. Typically we focus on the technical and creative aspects of songwriting, the business of songwriting, and so on, and that's all good. But this morning we're going to take a step back. We want to talk about the most important aspect of this ministry of songwriting—and it's not a pen, a piece of paper, or an instrument. It's the heart.

“Songs of worship begin with a heart of worship and a life of worship. So we're calling this session ‘Heart of a Psalmist.' Our panelists are going to be open about their struggles in keeping a right heart in the midst of all the busyness and the disappointments and the successes. Temptations do come, and if we yield to them, we can be taken off track. If our focus is not ever and always on glorifying God—trust me—it's easy to lose our way.”

Heads nodded around the room, Kelli's among them. She remembered when songwriting was as natural as breathing, back when her relationship with God was strong. In all these “off track” years, she hadn't heard a new melody or lyric in her head.

“Let me introduce our panel members,” Rita was saying. “To my immediate left is my husband, Jim . . .”

Kelli turned as Cyd slipped back into her seat.

“. . . and there's Logan Duncan,” Rita said, looking toward the back, “who apparently had lost his way.”

The attendees chuckled as Logan gave a sheepish grin and took his place among the panelists.

Stephanie leaned toward Cyd. “What was that about?”

Cyd whispered, “Tell you later.”

“Was it about Heather?”

“Later.”

“. . . and lastly, Ace Vincent, drummer and songwriter for No Return,” Rita said. “Thanks, all of you, for giving of your time for this conference.”

The room applauded.

“Monica, I want to start with you,” Rita said. “You told me something just now in the hallway and said you didn't mind sharing it with the group.”

Monica nodded. “But I have to warn you, I didn't say I'd share it with a right heart—because it's still fresh, and I'm kinda mad!” She laughed at herself.

Kelli smiled. She liked the way Monica kept it real.

“Last night I told y'all during the concert that I was still working on my album.” She took a breath, shaking her head. “I was supposed to be back in the studio next week to do the last song. Got a call
thirty minutes ago
that the song I
thought
I was doing was given to another artist, a secular artist. Excuse me?” Her hands flew up. “Is that legal? Can we sue? Those were my first—and second and third—thoughts.” She expelled a sigh. “I had planned to write all the lyrics for the album, but
they
approached
me
, and I happened to love the song. Now they leave me in the lurch?” She paused and pasted on a smile. “‘Heart of a Psalmist,' that's what we're talking about, right? It's times like these that really test me, and I know I have to keep my heart in the right place and trust—instead of going off on somebody.”

Stephanie leaned over. “See, I like her, and she's better than me . . . 'cause I would've gone off and
then
got my heart right.”

Rita stood facing Monica. “Oh, that's terrible, and yet it's an excellent real-life illustration. Things will not always go as planned in this business. Sometimes it's just plain wrong. It's in those moments that we remember who we are as believers, and we have to ask ourselves how we will respond.
Will
we trust God? Will we believe that all things work together for good?” She looked back at Monica. “We'll be praying for that to be resolved, dear heart. God'll give you a song better than the one you had.”

“Amen!” several people said.

Stephanie looked at Cyd and Kelli. “This is our opportunity. The girl needs a song. Kelli's got songs.”

“Me and everyone else in the room, not to mention thousands more in the world.”

“You know what, Kelli?” Stephanie asked. “Just go ahead and thank God I'm in your life, 'cause somebody needs some bold faith around here. You just watch. I'm believing I'll get Monica to listen to your songs.”

Cyd was shushing her, so the three turned their attention back to the front.

“We've all heard tales of moral failure in this business—and by ‘moral failure,' people usually mean an affair outside of marriage. But what about staying pure as singles? That's a heart issue, isn't it? Is it even possible to stay pure in this business?” She looked down the panel.

“We've got two good-looking single men right here—Logan and Ace. I don't know how that happened.” Rita lifted her hands in an amused shrug. “Don't mean to make you squirm, guys, but you signed up, so I'm putting you on the spot. Let's start with Ace. You travel the country, play various venues. Tell us how you keep a right heart in the midst of that life.”

Ace sat back in his seat. “I guess I'll admit it's not easy.” He stroked his chin, half smiling. “People are attracted to what they perceive as fame and fortune, and—we can be real, right?—women throw themselves at us all the time. So, for me, it's important to surround myself with people who keep me accountable, like my band, and stay prayed up and in the Word.”

Was it Kelli's imagination, or was Logan staring down the panel at Ace with a funny look?

“It also helps,” Ace was saying, “to have a very special woman in your life, and mine is right there.” He nodded toward the front row. “When I think about her, no one else really matters.”

Kelli heard the back door open and turned around. Heather was heading out, but the door didn't close right away. She seemed to be holding it for someone else.

Brian.

Kelli felt the breath get sucked right out of her. Her head snapped back around, and she hoped he didn't see her.

“I love what you said, Ace,” Rita was saying. “Accountability, prayer, Bible—perfect ingredients for maintaining a right heart.” Her eyes lifted. “And lookie here,
another
good-looking single guy joining us. Come on up, Brian, or, uh, Alien.” Rita smiled. “Monica told me you might be coming. We saved you a seat at the front.”

From the corner of her eye, Kelli saw him pass. He took his seat at the end of the row, and someone brought him a handheld microphone.

“Brian, we're calling this session ‘Heart of a Psalmist,'” Rita said, “and we're sharing how we need to keep a right heart in this business, which can be a struggle. I don't know how long you'll be able to stay with us, so I'll ask you now. Is this something you think about as an artist? Is it important for you to keep a right heart before God?”

“Absolutely,” Brian said.

He turned to face the people in the room, and Kelli's heart reacted. The onstage Brian was a persona, someone she didn't know, from whom she could distance herself. But seeing him this close and hearing his speaking voice had an altogether different effect. She remembered how much a part of her he'd once been.

“I think about it all the time,” he said. “It's a huge weight, trying to represent Jesus like I should, not just onstage, but always. I don't want to be a fraud or a hypocrite. You know?”

Really, Brian? Since when?

“So I'm constantly asking God to help me do the right things, make the right choices, be who He wants me to be.”

Kelli's arms started to shake, and she held herself.

“One of my favorite prayers is from Psalm 24: Lord, give me ‘clean hands and a pure heart.'”

Kelli looked up now, her every fiber trained on him, and it was as if he sensed it. His eyes connected with hers, and she could tell he was stunned. She saw him lower his microphone—and it was the last thing she saw. Kelli scooped up her things and grabbed her bag, leaning over to Cyd. “I'm stepping out. I need to be alone for a little bit.”

She wanted to hold it together long enough to get out of the room, but the walk up the aisle seemed an eternity. She got to the door finally and opened it. Then she stood on the other side . . . and cried.

nine

I
LOVE THAT PRAYER
, B
RIAN
,” M
ONICA SAID
. “A
ND
I have to tell y'all, he really is the same person onstage and off. I'm one of his biggest fans, and it's mostly because he does have such a good heart.”

Brian's stomach was in knots. “Thanks, Monica. I appreciate that.” It was all he could do not to jump up and run out. He'd thought he was seeing things at first. But by the way she looked at him—and her quick departure—it was Kelli. If he missed this opportunity to talk to her, he'd go out of his mind. But he couldn't just leave. How would it look? He'd just gotten here.

“We've gotten some excellent nuggets so far.” Rita acknowledged her panelists. “We'll hear from Logan and Mallory, then we'll open it up to questions.” She gestured to Logan. “You lead a choir and a praise and worship team each Sunday, and they often sing songs you've written. How do you maintain an authentic heart of worship week after week so it doesn't become drudgery? And do you feel a responsibility to make sure your choir and worship teams do the same?”

“It can definitely start to feel like a job with all the related drudgery if I'm not careful . . .”

I can't do this
.
Not when Kelli's out there
.

Brian walked over to Rita and leaned in, whispering, “I'm sorry. Something just came up, and I have to go. Can't promise, but I might be able to make it back for a later session.”

“Sure, sure,” Rita said, nodding. “It was a bonus to have you at all.”

Once he started up the aisle, he was practically jogging. He pushed the door open, looking right and left. No one. Just conference rooms with doors ajar and faint voices wafting into the hall. He continued to a busier section of the hotel, gazing about all the while, then stopped near the Starbucks, sighing. He wouldn't find her. She'd gone up to her room. Why didn't he follow her immediately? How could he have hesitated one sec—