Fifteen Minutes

chapter 12

Kelly Morgan stepped off the private jet at LaGuardia and hurried through the muggy August night air to the waiting Escalade. The whole six-hour flight back from L.A. she couldn’t wait to talk to Michael. They hadn’t had a conversation in three days. Not that worry consumed her. But her heart was anxious about her boyfriend’s tour schedule and crazy fans and the foreign countries where he was spending his time. Tonight his show was somewhere on the coast of South Africa.

Maybe the concerns were a by-product of her exhaustion. She and her fellow judges had just finished a crazy three-day media blitz in anticipation of the first Fifteen Minutes episode, airing this week. The heat on both coasts only made her more tired. It was almost ten o’clock at night and still a humid ninety-six degrees. Kelly realized she’d have to pace herself. The demands on her time would be crazy from here out.

Which was why she wanted a Skype date with her boyfriend. Now.

She thought about her Fifteen Minutes schedule on the drive through the Lincoln Tunnel to midtown Manhattan. The previously taped and produced first-round auditions from eight cities would air alongside the ongoing auditions in New York. Over three weeks the episodes would catch up to the live auditions at which point the final twenty contestants would compete for the win. The Atlanta and Chicago auditions would air first—the strongest of the city stops, according to Samuel Meier. After three weeks there would be another nine weeks of audience voting and at the end of October the next Fifteen Minutes winner would be crowned.

Twelve weeks from now.

Kelly sat in the backseat in silence. Her driver was an Irish guy who’d been in New York for two years. He knew to keep to himself. She stared at the stopped traffic ahead of them and felt her frustration double. Twelve weeks? Three months of Michael touring the world and Cal leaving her messages and her father e-mailing her? This morning she’d found another e-mail from her dad. Cal and her father. Two reasons why she would fall asleep tonight with the tapes. A positive inner voice. That’s what she needed. Something to take her back to the way she felt when she was young and love was new and all was right with life. That life no longer existed. With the tapes she could at least feel that way. That was the plan.

Kelly’s driver took her bags to the entrance of her bedroom and quietly left. Finally silence. Kelly let it wash over her. Her rented flat was four thousand square feet with a private entrance for the live-in help. Kelly wouldn’t see them today. They knew her schedule. When she returned from a trip she liked a clean house, a fridge full of fresh kale and chard, blueberries and almond milk. Fresh Atlantic sockeye salmon, baby organic spinach, and bottled organic egg whites. Special soy candles lit. And quiet. Perfect quiet. She checked the fridge and spotted the candles. She breathed in and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Everything would be fine with Michael. They just needed to talk.

She breezed through the entryway down the expansive hall to the kitchen. The air-conditioned spaces felt wonderful. On the way she checked her look in the mirror. She resisted the urge to frown. Travel aged her. She hated that. She pressed lightly at the top of her cheekbones. More Botox, sooner than later. More yoga. She looked herself up and down. At least her body looked young—mid-twenties for sure—thanks to the two training sessions every day, even on the road.

She stared at her image a little longer. Every week someone younger came onto the scene. A twenty-two-year-old Oscar winner, a fifteen-year-old American Idol winner. Some blond singer-songwriter who would take the nation by storm and win a roomful of Grammys before she was twenty.

Meanwhile, every day Kelly Morgan grew older, another day away from her prime. Relentless, ruthless age. Her opponent in the battle to stay at the top. She breathed in deep again. Amber and sage. The candles she’d chosen for her Manhattan home. The smell of peace. If things went well with Fifteen Minutes, she might be asked back. In that case, she and Michael might buy this place. They’d talked about it. The scent would stay.

Peace in the midst of the crazy city.

She poured herself a glass of cabernet and dropped to her spot in front of the kitchen computer. The screen was the size of most televisions, Apple’s biggest and best. Before turning it on, she tapped a button on the nearest wall. Instantly Michael’s music sang to her from a dozen hidden speakers in the kitchen. Another deep breath. There. That was better. She checked the time and her heart fell. After eleven at night in New York meant five in the morning in South Africa. Michael partied hard after a show, staying awake into the wee hours of the morning. But even he would be asleep now.

She thought for a moment. She would text him. Just in case he was up.

Home sweet home. Finished shooting Leno this morning and flew straight back to New York. Miss you, baby. You awake?

Without waiting for a response, she set down her phone and brought the computer to life. Another e-mail from her father. Two from Rudy Smith, probably about Cal and his refusal to sign the papers. Another few from the Fifteen Minutes production team. She would read them later. First she wanted to see how the media was handling the recent L.A. interviews, specifically how they were playing up her part in the show. Her fingers moved over the keyboard and she called up yahoo.com. Sure enough—the launch of this season’s Fifteen Minutes was the top story. The headline was favorable. “Kelly Morgan, Chandra Olson Set to Spice Up Fifteen Minutes.”

Kelly smiled. But before she opened the story, the one next to it caught her attention. A piece about Michael Manning. Her smile died. At first the words didn’t make sense, didn’t connect. They shouted at her and made her head spin, made her dizzy and breathless. Seconds passed before she could get the slightest grip on her panic, enough so she could read the story.

No, she told herself. No! This isn’t happening. It couldn’t be! He would’ve told me if . . .

Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest and she struggled to grab a full breath. Open the story. You have to open the story. The headline over the full-page piece was the same as the teaser. “Michael Manning Hooks Up with South African Star.” In case there was any doubt, the photo showed her boyfriend in two separate moments with a stunning blonde. In the first, they were walking down a busy street, holding hands and smiling into each other’s eyes. The second, they were in what looked like a dark-lit nightclub, locked in a passionate kiss.

Kelly could feel her stomach twisting, the nausea grabbing at her, suffocating her. This couldn’t be happening. They had promised each other. If they felt the need to move on, they’d say so. He wouldn’t have an affair without breaking things off with her first. That was his promise.

She stood and paced across the kitchen and then back. Her eyes found the headline again and for the first time she saw the second, smaller headline. “Fifteen Minutes Judge Kelly Morgan Jilted for Younger Woman.” Anger ripped through her veins making her head hurt. How could he? On the very week the Fifteen Minutes season debuted? Michael knew how important the show was, and how hyper-sensitive the media would be to any story dealing with Kelly Morgan.

She took her seat and despite the panic and pain welling up inside her, despite her racing heart, she read the story. The facts jumped out at her in jarring detail. Michael Manning planned to spend a few extra days in South Africa with his latest love—Saphira Sanders. At just nineteen, Saphira was that country’s hottest pop star. Manning had been in town for a series of concerts, and he and Saphira had been inseparable. On and on it went. The last paragraph etched itself in Kelly’s heart.

“Manning has previously been linked to a number of high-profile celebrities, including most recently this season’s Fifteen Minutes judge Kelly Morgan, a decade his senior. Good thing Kelly has the hit show. Otherwise she’d have a lot of time on her hands to handle her heartache. Then again, Kelly shouldn’t be surprised. Michael Manning has a track record, after all.”

Shouldn’t be surprised? Kelly felt sicker than before, her heart racing ahead of her. She ran to the nearest bathroom and dropped to her knees at the toilet’s edge. She couldn’t believe a word of it. He wouldn’t do this to her, not publicly. Her dinner sat perilously close to the back of her throat and she held her hair in one hand. Michael was her muse, her love, her life. The one she planned to share her future with. But if the article was flawed, the photos were not. The evidence was there for all the world to see.

Michael Manning had moved on.

Tears streamed down her face. How had this happened? Hadn’t she been enough for him? He had chosen a girl almost two decades younger—a princess in the one area where Kelly could no longer compete.

Age.

Kelly’s body convulsed at the reality, emptying her stomach and heart, her mind and soul of all things Michael. When it was over, when she had nothing left inside her, she struggled to her feet and with shaking hands she gripped the sink. For a long time she stared at herself.

She hated this, hated the feeling of her broken heart. Hated being alone. She breathed in, filling her body with the strength to survive another minute. At least that long, while she tried to think of what to do next. Maybe she didn’t need Michael. She was Kelly Morgan, star for two decades running. An American icon. But what about tomorrow? What about the photos of her boyfriend and his new love? The press would be unbearable. People would ask her about the broken relationship, and then what? She stared at herself awhile longer grasping for control, any control.

An idea began to take root. She could tell them the truth of her choosing. Not that she was jilted, definitely not. She thought another minute. Michael was a diversion, a hobby, that’s what she could say. The two of them were never really in a formal relationship. The possibility grew. She would tell the press the split had been mutual. Yes, that was it. She blinked, letting this version of the truth sink in. Mutual. Maybe that would stop the press.

Even if it didn’t stop her heart from breaking.

Kelly rinsed her mouth and dried the tears and water from her face. She would survive. Michael Manning wouldn’t dictate how the public viewed her or how her life was defined. He wouldn’t turn her into a victim. She was strong. Like every other hard time in her life, she would get through this.

Her feet moved slowly, her new reality taking shape around her as she made her way to the kitchen. She no longer wanted the wine. From the distance of the kitchen bar she stared at the computer screen, the image of Michael and Saphira remained, shouting at her. Confirming the truth. Whatever she’d had with the singer, it was over.

Anger added to her barrage of emotions. She hurried to the computer, sat down, and closed Safari. The screen saver was a stunning shot of New York City, one she’d snapped from the Top of the Rock. The observatory on the sixty-ninth floor of Rockefeller Center. She’d been on a date with Michael. She stared at the view and remembered the possibilities she’d felt that day.

With a few quick clicks she changed the photo. Something from a beach trip she’d taken with a few of her girlfriends two years ago. Blue skies, pale green waters and white sandy beaches. There. She leaned back and looked at the image. That was better. She exhaled. What did her counselor’s tapes tell her? With every out-breath a negative thought left her body. Yes, that was it. She could picture them leaving her heart and mind and soul.

Breathe, Kelly. Breathe out. Kelly exhaled and pictured Michael Manning leaving her. After four breaths her heart still hurt. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She should sleep. The camera would pick up every missed hour of rest when filming began in the morning. But she wasn’t tired. Nothing the tapes could tell her would change the fact.

She would survive, but tonight her heart was breaking. Not just for the loss of Michael Manning; for all the losses of a lifetime. For the dreams she and Cal had shared and the hope that had been at the center of their lives. She’d lost at love long before tonight.

Her eyes opened and without too much thought she checked her e-mail again.

She had two new letters from her dad and several from her manager. Nothing from Cal. Lately he seemed intent on going through Rudy Smith in his quest for reconciliation.

There were requests for donations and appearances and endorsements. Communication that should’ve gone through Rudy’s office. But people found her. If they could bypass her manager, they figured they’d be that much closer to getting what they wanted. Kelly forwarded them all to Rudy without opening a single one.

Next she opened the oldest one from her manager—dated three days ago, the morning Kelly and the other judges boarded a plane for L.A. Back when she thought her life was perfect. The first two were requests. Rudy passed on only the ones that stood a chance of getting her attention. A celebrity golf tournament in Palm Springs a year out. The event organizer was willing to pay her half a million dollars to be the spokesperson. And a request to sing on the Grammys. Both an easy yes, and Kelly quickly tapped out her response.

Rudy’s final e-mail was longer. We’ve been over this, he wrote. Cal wants to talk to you. He says you made a promise all those years ago before God. He won’t sign the papers. At this point I have to recommend the two of you meet to talk. Otherwise things are at a standstill.

Kelly closed the e-mail and gripped the countertop. Were the walls closing in or did the room just feel that way? Michael might be out of her life, but she wasn’t going back to Cal. He’d made a mockery of her and their marriage. She’d done the same to him. There was no going back.

Finally she opened the e-mails from her father. The oldest one first. Her defenses stood a mile high as she started to read.

My darling Kelly, the letter began. She blinked. His words wouldn’t trick her. The man was critical and judgmental. He never took her side when life got tough. She kept reading.

I haven’t been well lately. Lots of doctor appointments. But even so, with every breath I pray for you. The person you are—the one you really are inside—is lost right now. But God is chasing you, Kelly. I’ve prayed that the world you’re choosing will let you down. And once it does that you will see that God never has.

Tears fell on Kelly’s jeans. What was this? Why was she crying? She dabbed lightly beneath her eyes and blinked so she could see more clearly. Be strong, she told herself. Daddy is narrow-minded. He doesn’t understand. But no matter how she steeled herself against his words, her dad’s voice echoed in her mind. She kept reading.

My daughter, fame is a demanding lover. But fame is an illusion. Come back home, baby girl. Where you belong. We can sit next to each other in the front room and talk about you. The real you. I love you. Cal loves you, too. We’ve had the kids at our house this week. They know you’re busy, but they talk about you all the time. I tell them to pray for you. That’s what we’ll keep doing until you come back around. Your mother may write to you in the next day or so.

Love you lots,

Daddy

More tears slid down her cheeks. Kelly didn’t bother wiping them away. Her father didn’t understand her life, her situation. But she couldn’t deny the fact that he still loved her. She moved on to the other e-mail from her father, sent a day after the first one. As soon as she opened it, she saw it wasn’t from her daddy. It was from her mother. Her heart rate quickened.

Dear Kelly, it’s been a long time.

Kelly glanced out the darkened window, guarding herself against the guilt trip certainly coming. Her mother hadn’t talked to her since she and Cal split up. Her dad kept trying, but not her mom. The two had gotten into a fight the last time her mom called, and that was it. Kelly might not agree with her father, but here in the quiet of her own heartbreak she could at least acknowledge his effort. Since her breakup she could feel her mother’s disapproval in the silence and now in the opening words of her e-mail. Kelly exhaled slowly. My mother’s rejection is leaving my body. It can’t hurt me. The pain remained. She kept reading.

Your father is sick, Kelly. Very sick.

Kelly slid to the edge of her seat. What was this? How come no one had said anything sooner? Her mouth felt dry as she continued.

Your daddy was diagnosed with cancer of the liver a year ago. He didn’t want you to know. If you came back around he wanted it to be by your own choice, not because he was sick. Besides, you know your father. He thought he could fight it. The doctor saw him yesterday, and the truth is he doesn’t have much time. Six months maybe. He didn’t want me to tell you, but I insisted. You need to come home, Kelly. Before it’s too late. I love you even when I don’t say so.

Mom

Kelly’s hands began to tremble. She pushed back from the computer and crossed her arms in front of her, doubling over against the pressure of her fists in her gut. Her father was dying? It was impossible. Her daddy was bigger than life. The strongest man she had ever known. She’d been angry with him, of course. He was old-fashioned, stuck on his beliefs of the Bible. But he was still young and full of life. The way she would always see him. What had happened? How had he gotten sick? And how could she have just six months to make things right?

The events of the night swirled together, pressing in on her, sucking the air from the room. First Michael, then this. The tapes would be useless tonight. Tears filled her eyes again and became rivers running down either side of her face. Never mind how she looked in the morning. Her daddy was dying.

Suddenly everything about her life these last few years felt shallow and flat. What was she doing, running around with a twenty-seven-year-old womanizer? Regardless of her views on right and wrong, she’d made a public fool of herself and her family.

Her marriage was finished, her faith was a thing of the past, and her place on the celebrity A-list was always a photo away from extinction. But the little girl who lived inside still ached for her daddy’s arms. Deep inside she ached to be that sixteen-year-old nobody, in love with Cal and sure of Almighty God.

Tomorrow she would look terrible, but she no longer cared. She couldn’t go to sleep until she did the more important thing.

She pulled up her father’s e-mail and hit reply. For a few seconds she stared at the blank screen. Then gradually her fingers began to move.

Dear Daddy,

I read your letter and Mom’s, and I’m devastated by your news. How could you be so sick? There must be something we can do, some doctor who can help you.

She thought about her schedule. The soonest she could take a trip home would be midweek. Never mind their differences, she needed to go. She began typing again.

We’re taping Fifteen Minutes over the next few days, but then I’ll come see you. I’m sorry it’s taken this to make me come home. We can disagree about a lot of things, but not about family. I’ve been away too long. I’m sorry. I’ll call you this weekend and we’ll make a plan. We’ll find the right doctor. I love you, Daddy.

Kelly

A weight she couldn’t see or touch settled on her shoulders. She stood and trudged to her bedroom. There was no need to mess with the tapes tonight. Yahoo and a handful of e-mails had said all there was to say. If she’d had any remaining threads of belief in God, they were severed now. Michael was gone and her dad was dying. Her dad, the best man she knew. The kind of man the world needed more of.

If God were real, He never would’ve allowed that.