Fifteen Minutes

chapter 5

Kelly Morgan had never been more thankful for Botox. Especially after six straight weeks of judging these crazy auditions.

She looked in her dressing room mirror and smiled. Her plastic surgeon had flown in yesterday and administered it himself. No one knew the landscape of her face, the curves and slipping ground the way he did. She looked a little closer, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. Not a fraction of give. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Never mind that she was knocking at thirty-seven. Her face and body said otherwise.

“Ms. Morgan, your trainer called. He’ll meet you here at nine tonight.” The production assistant looked barely out of college. She handed Kelly a small folded piece of paper. “He found a gym willing to stay open for a private session.”

“Good.” Kelly didn’t make eye contact. She opened the piece of paper and read what her trainer had written. Glutes. Nine o’clock. Private car will be waiting. Five minutes from the stadium. Be ready.

Kelly could already feel the burn. The sensation that reminded her she was still in the fight, still winning the war against the clock. She would do what it took to beat the hands of time. Even when she lived out of a suitcase the way she had since Fifteen Minutes auditions began.

Makeup and hair hurried into her dressing room at the same time. “Ms. Morgan.” The stylist stood at her side, confident. “Same as we discussed?”

“Go bolder. I want to make a statement for Atlanta. It’s the last city.”

“If anyone can make a statement, you can.” The woman opened her box of brushes and curling irons and started working. Both women were part of Kelly’s staff. Her regulars. She wouldn’t think about being a judge on Fifteen Minutes without them. Another ten staffers buzzed about, prepping her wardrobe, organizing a table of organic kale and celery and ginger and green apples—the ingredients of Kelly’s mandatory power juice. Kelly credited her looks to the juicing almost as much as the Botox.

The room was in full swing, everyone doing his or her job so that in an hour Kelly Morgan could take her place as one of the premier judges on America’s hottest vocal reality show.

Kelly loved the energy in the room. She closed her eyes and breathed it in as her stylist worked a brush through her famous blond hair. The hair that had helped make a name for her twenty years ago when she starred in her own hit TV show. Back then she was America’s sexiest sweetheart. Every day Kelly worked so America wouldn’t forget.

The phone in her hand vibrated. A quick glance and she frowned. Her manager shouldn’t be calling now. Makeup was already poised over her, analyzing the shades and colors and choices that would make Kelly look best under the studio lights. Kelly held up her hand and the makeup artist stepped back. Rudy Smith had been with her since the beginning so she took the call. “Rudy.” Her impatience was part of the routine. “We roll cameras in less than an hour. What’s up?”

“I know your schedule. I booked you, remember?” He sounded tired.

“Fine. What’s wrong? Tell me this is urgent. Otherwise you wouldn’t call me till tonight, right?”

Rudy sighed. “It can’t wait.” His words seemed slower than usual, as if he dreaded what was coming. His hesitation drove her crazy. “We presented Cal with the divorce papers today. Like you asked. Kelly . . . he won’t sign. He absolutely refuses.”

“What?” She didn’t mean to shriek. She couldn’t help it. She waved her team off and hurried from the chair to the hallway. Where no one could watch her or quote her or snap a picture of her with an expression that would damage her reputation. She dropped her voice. “He has to sign the papers. He said he would.”

“He doesn’t have to do anything.”

“Isn’t that what he said?” She paced a few feet away from the dressing room door and back. “I have a boyfriend, for heaven’s sake. I’ve moved on. Of course he has to sign.” She felt her heartbeat quicken, felt the heat in her face. She wanted to hit something. “What game is he playing? We’ve been over this.”

“He’s changed his mind. Says he wants to work things out.” Rudy sounded baffled. “He doesn’t believe in divorce. That’s what he’s saying now. He won’t sign even if you never talk to him again. His words.”

He didn’t believe in divorce? Kelly laughed, but it sounded more bitter than funny. “This is what people like us do. They get divorced. What do you mean he doesn’t believe in it?”

“You’d have to ask him.” She could almost see Rudy slumped in his big leather chair.

Kelly paced again for several seconds. She stopped and closed her eyes. The past grabbed at her and for a few seconds she could see Cal Whittaker III on the day they married, feel his arms around her, hear him whispering to her as they danced in front of their family and friends. “I’m never leaving you, Kelly . . . never.” They were just twenty-two.

“Kelly?” Rudy was waiting for her orders.

The image in her mind disappeared. Who were they back then? Time had changed them into different people. Cal had been photographed with Europe’s hottest print model, and Kelly was dating the nation’s most-loved singer, a guy ten years younger than her, an American Idol finalist from a few seasons ago. As for Cal, there was no way back to the people they used to be.

She let her forehead rest against the wall. “I’m tired, Rudy. Tell Cal to quit playing games. Give him two months to sign the papers. I don’t want our lawyers involved. The press will make it the story of the year.”

“Okay. Two months.” Doubt crept into Rudy’s tone. “I don’t think it’ll work, but I’ll tell him.”

“Fine. Update me tomorrow.”

The call ended, but Kelly stayed unmoving. Her dad’s face filled her mind, the words of his last e-mail pushing in on her. It’s time, baby . . . you need to make things right. With me and your mom . . . with Cal. Your kids need you.

The memory of his voice sounded so clear he might as well have been standing beside her. The man she once admired, the one she hadn’t spoken to in a year. Not since her first affair became public and her dad pulled the God card. His advice never changed. She needed to repent and seek forgiveness and make things right with Cal. Blah, blah, blah.

Kelly breathed in deep through her nose and adjusted her posture. She didn’t need this, didn’t need Cal making life difficult for her, didn’t need the memory of her father’s e-mail. This was the biggest gig she’d had in five years. She was making $5 million for her role as judge this season, and the pre-show publicity had shot her last three albums back to the top of the charts.

Calm. Everything’s okay, Kelly. It’ll be fine. She exhaled and thought about her stylist and makeup artist waiting in the other room. She would go back to her chair and they would transform her, peel away the years so she was even more beautiful than she’d been in her twenties. In an hour she’d be in front of the cameras. Where she belonged. Where she had always belonged. I don’t need Cal’s games. I’m on top of the world. I’m Kelly Morgan.

What does it profit you to gain the whole world and lose your soul?

Kelly jerked back as if she’d been struck by a bullet, straight to her very soul. Had someone said the words or was she only hearing them in her heart? And who was talking to her? She thought for a moment. The words were from . . . They were from the Bible, right? A message from her childhood. Scripture verses meant to make her feel guilty. Why would the words scrape against her anxious heart now, when she didn’t believe any of them?

Her father’s e-mail. That had to be it. Stirring up ancient reminders of guilt and recrimination. The list of things she shouldn’t do. The choices that would send her to hell. She clenched her fists and released them. Peace . . . take hold of peace, Kelly. Her therapist had taught her the trick. Clench and release. Clench and release. Peace is there for the taking.

She could hear the therapist’s voice from the tapes she had bought a month ago. She’d dropped three thousand dollars on them. The woman’s voice soothed her soul. “You have it all. You have goodness and health and beauty and wealth. Peace is yours. Take it. Own it. You define your truth. Choose positivity and energy. You are always master of your own destiny . . .” On and on and on.

Truth. Okay. Kelly clenched her fists and released them. Truth helped. She remained master of her own destiny. Yes, that was truth. Anything to get her mind off the Bible verse about losing her soul. She tapped her high-heeled toe in a rapid beat. The therapist’s truth . . . truth, truth, truth.

What else was true? She was in perfect health, fitter than she’d been at any time in her life. That was truth. That and the fact that her boyfriend was crazy about her. There . . . that was a start. Michael Manning was the hottest guy in music and he was completely in love with her. What else? She racked her brain. People magazine! Of course! She’d been voted one of People magazine’s most beautiful women the week after her role on Fifteen Minutes was announced. Next year she’d be on the cover. That was the sort of truth she needed to fill her mind with.

Peace began to wash over her.

Before she could return to the dressing room her phone rang again and the tension returned with a vengeance. Why couldn’t people leave her alone? Before she could throw it across the room a photo appeared on the home screen. She and Michael Manning locked in a passionate kiss. Michael. The guy had her heart. She took the call, silently chiding herself. Peace is yours. Take it. Own it. She found her most intimate tone. “Hey, sexy.”

“Hey, pretty girl.” Michael chuckled. “I’m higher than a kite, and you’re not here.”

“Mmmm.” Kelly closed her eyes and let her shoulder lean against the cool wall. The hallway was still empty, the moment hers and Michael’s. No one listening, no one taking pictures. “Where are you?”

“Morocco. Plushest hotel room ever. Just finished a meet and greet.” His voice was deep and slurred, the way he sounded when he first woke up. “A fan gave me the weed. It’s amazing.”

Kelly considered what else the fan might have given him. The fan was a girl, no doubt, like all of Michael’s followers. But how old? And had she followed him back to his hotel room?

“You there?”

“Hmm?” Kelly forced the thoughts from her mind. He loves me only. Truth. Stay with the truth. “Sorry. Just picturing you there . . . the room.” Her tone changed as she imagined him. “The bed.”

Michael groaned. “Don’t do that to me. Two weeks till I see you.”

“Then you’re home for a while.”

“In Nashville, yes. Unless you have a better idea.” He breathed deep. “Seriously, this is the greatest pot.”

Kelly was stuck back at the Nashville part. “I’ll be in New York City for the show.”

“I don’t have a place in the city.” His throaty chuckle filled her senses. “But if the most beautiful girl in the world lives there, then maybe I should look.”

She giggled. There was no way to measure the joy he brought her. Around him she felt young and beautiful and on top of the world. Like she always would be. “I might have a spare bedroom.”

“Mmmm. You asking me to move in with you?”

“Maybe.”

Before he could answer, the sound of other voices crowded the line. “Hold on, boo.” Frustration replaced the sleepiness in his voice.

“Is . . . someone there?”

“No. It’s housekeeping.” He was either nervous or much more sober. He cursed under his breath. “I have a privacy sign on the door.” He hesitated. “Hey, I like the live-in idea.” The calm in his tone returned but not the happy high. “I gotta go, okay? Get these people out of my room. I’ll call you later.”

She was about to explain that she’d be on camera for the next several hours, but he ended the call. A wave of uncertainty ran through her. Michael’s reputation had been scandalous before they started dating. He wouldn’t have fans in his room, right? Not when someone could catch him smoking, take a picture, and sell it to TMZ in an hour.

Either way she couldn’t say anything—it was one of his ground rules. Implicit trust. Michael loved his fans and he loved smoking. Two nonnegotiable aspects of their relationship. Kelly closed her eyes again. What had he told her? He wouldn’t touch another girl as long as they were together. When one of us is ready to move on, we say so. Love is freedom. No chains. When it ends, it ends. Until then, we trust.

Yes, that was truth. They had to trust each other. If he said the voices were housekeeping, then that’s what they were. She only wished she could be with him, with the good weed and the great room and the view of Morocco.

At first she worried about how much pot Michael smoked. But not anymore. Kelly had come to love it as much as he did, though she smoked only a couple times a month. Everyone in the industry smoked, but there was a cardinal rule for people in the brightest light, people like the two of them.

Don’t get caught.

Not in bed with her much younger boyfriend and not intoxicated. Not looking too fat or too thin or too old. Nothing that could be plastered in the tabloids and harm her contract with Fifteen Minutes.

Who were the voices in his room?

Breathe, Kelly. She gave herself the order, but she struggled with the reality. If I had some of that weed, maybe.

Your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit . . . honor God with your body.

What was this? She stood straighter, looking over her shoulder and down the hall as if she expected to see someone. Enough. The voices in Michael’s hotel room, the voice taunting her with outdated Bible verses. She took a deep breath. You are successful and young and beautiful and famous. There. That was the truth. She opened the door to the dressing room and swept back to the chair, a smile on her face. For the rest of the day only one set of voices mattered.

The voices of the contestants.

REESE WEATHERLY WANTED to turn off her phone and bury it out back behind the stable. Zack’s tweets were that frustrating. But she couldn’t. Other than one rushed conversation and a few short texts, Zack hadn’t talked to her. Very busy and all. Lots of demands. But somehow he’d had time for Twitter, time to update his followers and answer people who tweeted him.

People like this Zoey girl, whoever she was.

Reese took her phone out back, walked to the far fence and leaned against the worn wooden slats. She stared at the cloudy sky as if the answers might be there. Zack didn’t mean anything by the tweets. She knew that. He couldn’t help what other people said about him. Still, her heart hurt. It ached even while another part of her celebrated the fact that he’d made it through. She had seen this coming. The fact that Zack had made it this far was no surprise. Sometime in the next few hours he’d sing for the celebrity judges.

But Zack’s tweets were making Reese feel something she hated, something she had never felt around him. Jealousy. Reese pulled up the Twitter app on her phone and checked it once more. Zack had updated again.

In line waiting. Jesus, shine through me in front of the judges!

Reese could hear his voice, picture him standing in line, praying and telling the world about his faith. Despite the tension, her heart relaxed. He was keeping his promise, making the journey about Jesus. She went to her saved searches and clicked @ZackDylan. That brought up a host of tweets aimed at Zack—most of them from Zoey, @songleader. She was relentless.

In line behind @ZackDylan. Oh. My. Word. Girls you’re gonna wanna know this guy!

Reese read down the list of the others from Zoey.

How am I supposed to sing with @ZackDylan warming up in front of me? The guy’s voice is as gorgeous as he is!

Hey everyone! Follow @ZackDylan. I’ll be home in no time. He’s gonna be famous. Longer than #FifteenMinutes!!

Conversation with @ZackDylan. Zack: “I have a girlfriend.” Me: “I don’t see a ring on your finger.” #allisfairinlove

Reese stared at the tweets, confused. Was the girl serious? She didn’t care that Zack had a girlfriend? Of course Zack had told Zoey he had a girlfriend. The girl was either obsessed or immature. Maybe both. Reese clicked Zoey’s profile for the sixth time. Long blond hair, cheerleader. Another few clicks and Reese could read everything Zoey’s friends tweeted to her in response. Most of them gushed about how they agreed with Zoey, how Zack was “so hot” and how they couldn’t wait to hear him sing.

All of them loved Zoey’s tweet from earlier today. The one where she had attached a photo of her and Zack. Reese tapped the app a few more times and saw the tweet again.

Here we are, me and the next #FifteenMinutes winner. That’s right, @ZackDylan. #BeJealous

Reese clicked open the photo and stared at it the way she had ten minutes ago. If she squinted at it long enough, she could convince herself that Zack looked uncomfortable. Disinterested. She stared at the photo until she couldn’t stand it another moment. She clicked out of the tweet. Zack was doing the girl a favor, taking a photo with his first new fan. Nothing more. Reese checked his Twitter profile. Zoey might’ve been the first, but she wasn’t alone. Zack had gone from two hundred followers to nearly a thousand in a few days.

Word was getting out.

Knots twisted at Reese’s stomach. She had to stop looking, had to stop thinking about Zack at the auditions with girls like Zoey squealing over him. It wasn’t that she was worried. Not at all. Zack loved her and no one else. A few days away weren’t going to change that.

But could they change him? If he made it far enough, would he be the same Zack? The one who loved watching her help little Toby find confidence on the back of a horse? The guy who cared about the progress his sister was making and who worried every day about his family’s horse farm? Would that Zack still exist?

She stared at her phone as another of Zack’s tweets came across. I’m next. Pray for me! Here goes . . .

Reese looked at the words. Slowly, methodically, she turned off the phone and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans. Zack wanted everyone to pray that he’d sing his heart out for the judges. Reese stared at the sky and did what Zack had asked her to do.

She prayed for him.

Not that he’d be the best singer or that this would be his brightest stage moment ever. She prayed for something else, something that mattered more.

For God’s will, whatever it was.

That above all else.