Double Minds (10 page)

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Fido was a trendy little café on 21
^st
Avenue, where Vandies—what the locals called the Vanderbilt students—worked at their computers as if they kept office hours there. Occasionally, someone with marginal fame would come into the place and start an acoustic jam session in the corner—creating a flurry of excitement. Parker noticed that same charge in the air as Serene pranced in—still in the dress in which she’d been photographed—and took a table near the window where passersby could get a glimpse.

Because she wasn’t famous and had no excuse not to stand in line, Parker waited at the counter for over ten minutes to order coffee and muffins for everyone in the group. She paid for it even though she couldn’t afford it, hoping that someone at the table would reimburse her. But that wasn’t how it usually worked.

Carefully, she carried the coffee to the table on its tray. Serene had saved a seat for her, so she slipped into the booth beside her.

“So Jeff Standard is coming to see me tomorrow, Parker,” Serene said as she took her coffee off the tray. “And you’re not going to believe this. He didn’t just buy out my contract. He’s buying the whole label.”

Parker shot her a look. “NT Records is a Christian label. All their artists are evangelicals. Why would he do that if he wants to ditch Christ?”

“He doesn’t want to ditch Christ,” Butch said, unwrapping a Tootsie Pop. “He’s allowing all the other artists to keep recording and producing what they’ve always done. But he wants to take a different approach with Serene.”

Parker looked at Serene. She had no doubt that her friend was a Christian. The two of them had been fourteen when they’d answered an altar call at a Dawson McAllister concert. If not for that, Serene might have committed suicide before she’d even been old enough to date. Her faith had sustained her for years and had provideda vehicle for her gift of song. “Serene, are you sure this is all okay with you? Spiritually, I mean?”

“I’m not going to abandon my faith now,” Serene said, “but don’t you think I can reach more people if I sell more records? I mean, think about it. Right now I’m playing to crowds of two to five thousand people. If Jeff keeps his promise to get us into bigger arenas, I could be playing for ten, fifteen, twenty thousand people at a pop.”

“Twenty thousand?” Parker asked. “Isn’t that a little high?”

“Maybe right now,” Serene said. “But once he promotes me and gets me secular radio airplay, the sky is the limit. All I have to do is take his advice.”

“Advice to ditch Christ,” Parker repeated.

“Would you stop saying that?”

Parker sighed. “What’s different about you if you conform to what everybody else is doing?”

“My
voice
is different,” Serene said. “And I don’t live my life the way everyone else does. They would see that I’m not like the brat pack, getting high every night. That’s not my thing. I would let them know that Christianity works.”

“But you already have crossed over to the
Billboard
pop charts. You were number one last month,
with
a Christ message.”

“That was one time. People think it was a fluke.”

“It was enough to get Jeff Standard’s attention.”

“Yeah, it was, and we’ve got to take advantage of the opportunity. Look, once I get going, I can do whatever I want. He knows I’m going to bring my Christian fan base with me, but if I can get a whole bunch of new people to like my songs—”

They were
her
songs, Parker thought.
She
had written them. They had
her
soul,
her
heart. She wasn’t fond of being a surrogate mother.

Butch took out his Tootsie Pop and pointed with it. “Parker, I’ve been thinking about your career, and the reason you can’t get a record deal.”

Now there was a topic she’d rather not discuss. She crossed her hands in front of her face, wishing for an escape.

“The reason is that you haven’t yet proven national demand for your product.”

“How can I prove national demand without a record contract?”

A slow grin came to his lips, and he looked at Serene across the table. “Tell her, Serene.”

Serene swallowed. “Honey, what you’ve got to do is build up a national fan base. You’ve got to establish some name recognition.” “Like that’s ever going to happen,” Parker said.

“It can happen. We’ve got a plan.”

Parker braced herself. Serene’s plans usually required a lot of effort from Parker. “I’m listening.”

“Jeff has already booked some huge venues for our upcoming tour, besides the usual venues—the bigger churches and small coliseums we already had booked across the south. If you could piggyback off my tour, people would begin to recognize your name.”

Parker wasn’t following. “What do you mean by ‘piggyback’?”

Serene leaned close and fixed her eyes on hers. “Parker, if you’ll rewrite these songs for me, and do it quick so we can record the vocals and still get the record out on time, I’ll let you do three of your own songs during my costume change on the tour.”

Parker almost choked on her coffee. “You mean I could perform? On stage?”

“Yes.” Serene’s eyes were dancing. “We’d have a special segment of my concert, where I’d introduce you as my friend and songwriter. Your band could step in while mine takes a break. Three songs, then I come back in a different fabulous outfit, and take over again. The crowd will go wild, and you’ll sell a zillion CDs.”

“But I don’t even have a CD ready to sell.”

“You have time to get one done. You could press enough to sell on the tour.”

Parker’s eyes narrowed. “And you think Jeff Standard would go for that?”

“I talked to him about it yesterday. He had no problem with it. He said it was a lot more interesting than instrumental or video while I change.”

“Well, what if he doesn’t like me?”

“What’s not to like?” Serene asked.

Parker couldn’t believe she would be so naïve. “Well, my Christian message, for one thing. If he wants the Christianity taken out of
your
songs, he sure won’t like mine.”

“He wants it taken out of my new album. But he’s smart enough to realize that the people coming to my shows now are Christians. He’s not asking me to go back and redo my whole backlist. My audience comes for my Christian hits, so of course I’ll be singing them. He’s just planning to put me in bigger venues, hoping that the crossover songs will draw a bigger crowd with new fans. I want to do this for you, Parker, because I think people should be introduced to your talent. You helped jump-start my career with your songs, and I want to return the favor.”

Parker felt the warmth of those words, but she knew they were empty if she couldn’t deliver. Serene had a voice that could pack stadiums. Parker didn’t.

“Do you think I could pull it off?”

“Parker, you have a great voice, and a really unique sound. I wouldn’t chance it if I didn’t think so.”

“Neither would I,” Butch interjected.

Parker couldn’t believe the producer would even consider this. “Really, Butch?”

“I do. What’s more, Jeff Standard does.”

She almost choked. “Are you serious?”

“We played him a demo tape of your song ‘Inscribed,’ and he liked it. He really appreciates your sound, and he said having you sing three songs to break up the concert was clever.”

Parker stared at her friend. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“It just happened. I’m telling you now. You only have a few songs left to record, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t know when I can get a studio again.”

“Can you get it ready in time or not?” Butch asked. “We’ve been working on the tour for a year. It’s only three months away. You could do it without a CD to sell, but if I were you, I wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity.”

“We’re going to be busting our bustles as it is to get
my
album out,” Serene said. “You don’t need as much of a print run. Just enough that you can sell them on the tour yourself. I know it’s a backward way to get a record deal, but when the labels hear that you’re a part of my show and that your CDs are selling like crazy, somebody is going to want to sign you.”

A thrill at the possibility rose up inside her. “But how will I pay for the tour? I’d have to pay a band. People aren’t going to do this for free. They can’t just leave their jobs and hit the road.”

Serene grunted. “Parker, you can work it out! This is your big break. Don’t you understand?”

It was almost too good to be true. Parker gave her a long look. “Are you sure you’re not just promising me the world so I’ll rewrite the songs?”

“No way, Parker,” Serene said. “We’re going to keep our promises. I want to take you with me. You deserve it. You’re the one who makes the magic.”

God
was who made the magic, Parker thought. He was the one who woke her up in the middle of the night with song ideas. He was the one who put Lola in her head. But maybe it was all part of his grand plan. Maybe he really did want to exalt Serene this way so that she could influence people by her example. Was it possible that quieting down her message would give her a bigger field of influence? Could it really work that way?

She saw Serene’s glance at the muffin Parker had bought her. She licked her lips, then forced her eyes away. She wasn’t going to eat it.

So much for that, Parker thought. She wondered how Serene’s anorexia would play if she got more famous. Would the press learn of it—or guess at it—and use it to mock her faith? Or was it such common problem that no one would notice?

Hardly, since a
New York Times
reporter was onto it.

“Okay, Parker, I need an answer,” Serene said. “Come on, girl. Tell us what you’re thinking.”

The opportunity to play in Serene’s venues made Parker’s stomach flutter. If that could really happen, her dreams could come true. She wouldn’t need
American Idol
or any cheesy reality show.

She’d have a ton to do between now and then. The thought of clearing all those hurdles almost shut her down. But she could do it. Her family could help.

A slow smile spread across her face. “All right, I’ll do it.”

Butch slapped the table. “Can you have the songs ready by tomorrow?”

“I’ll try. It’s not like flipping a switch. Not if they’re good.”

They seemed to understand that, but as Parker walked out to her car, she knew she’d been a little disingenuous. Though it sometimes happened that God gave her an idea that “flipped” her switch, she never waited for a muse to strike or for any special revelation to fall over her. She was a storyteller who wrote for a living.

She went home and sat in her backyard, where she often got ideas. She’d decorated it after watching HGTV do one just like it. She’d done an excellent job, if she did say so herself. It looked like an English garden with a sweet little swing and a hammock, and the smell of jasmine and rose vines climbing over the fence.

She heard the sound of children’s laughter. Her next-door neighbor’slittle boy screamed over the fence. She saw his head bouncing up, blond hair flying as he plummeted down to his trampoline. Some people liked living out in the country with lots of land, but Parker liked neighborhoods. She liked knowing people were close by, and she liked the sounds and smells of families cooking out or chasing their dogs. Even though she didn’t know most of her neighbors, it was good to know that if someone saw her house in flames, they’d care. Or if they saw some crazy killer stalking her house, they’d call the police. Even living alone—for the most part—she felt a part of things in this neighborhood.

On her patio table, she spread out the song sheets to “Double Minds,” her favorite of the songs Serene had chosen for this album. Butch had scratched through the “offensive” lines that she needed to change. Without those lines, it sounded to Parker like a love song. In fact, that was what it had been. A love song to Christ.

Her own father considered her talents wasted on her Creator, since he wasn’t big on faith. Pete James was a wannabe rock star. But the music business had almost done him in. For years they had tried to get him to stop drinking, and he’d made a valiant effort—for short periods. He paid lip service to Christianity, but in her heart, Parker couldn’t believe that he really understood what had been done for him on the cross. Christ had died to set him free, but her father was still in bondage. He was a double-minded man—professing one thing while his life showed something vastly different.

She looked down at the songs, sick that she had to rewrite the lyrics she’d been so happy with. After she did, they’d be like all the other songs that played on the radio every day—songs that had no eternal value, songs that people hummed for a few days, or maybe a month, and then forgot.

The phone inside rang, so she went back inside and reached for it. “Hello?”

There was a long pause, then a man’s low voice. “Her death was about you, Parker.”

Parker caught her breath. “What? Who is this?”

“It was about you,” the voice said again. “But don’t worry. I’m protecting you.”

The phone clicked off, the dial tone humming in her ear. She dropped it as fire flashed in her cheeks. Her heart hammered as she forced herself to pick it up again. Shaking, she dialed Gibson’s cell number. As she waited for it to ring, she hurried to every door and window, making sure they were locked.

Gibson’s voicemail clicked on. “You’ve reached Detective Gibson James of the Nashville Police Department …”

She waited, jittering, as the greeting finished. When it beeped, she almost yelled her message. “Gibson, some guy who didn’t give his name just called me and told me that Brenna’s murder was about me. I’m scared. Please call me back.”

She wondered if Gibson could trace the call. What had the man said again? That Brenna’s death was about Parker. He’d said it twice, and then he’d said he was protecting her. What did that mean? Was someone trying to kill her, after all?

She ran back to her bedroom, grabbed a duffel bag, and began packing it. She was getting out of here, fast. There was no way she was going to stay here another night alone, even if Gibson wound up on her couch. No, she would go home and stay with her mother.