Grace Unplugged: A Novel (21 page)

She absently dropped the lingerie onto a box on the couch and went straight for her phone. Pushing the number she’d assigned to speed dial for him, she waited, longing to hear his voice. Instead she got his voicemail. Now she had to figure out what she wanted to say.

“Hey, Jay,” she said in what she hoped was an enticing tone, “it’s Gracie. So I was just thinking about you . . . and the other night. And, hey, I don’t even know what I said exactly. I was a little . . . well, you know. Anyway, give me a call when you get this, okay? And I, well, I guess I’ll see you when I see you. Bye.”

As soon as she hung up, she wished she hadn’t done that. So lame. So middle school. And she knew she sounded desperate . . . pathetic. If only there was a way to undo a message after it was sent. She was about to call him again, ready to leave him another message. She would say, “Hey, forget that first message and have a great day!” But before she could hit speed dial, there was a knock at the door.

Could it be him? She fluffed her hair and poised herself, ready to act sophisticated and nonchalant. He didn’t need to know how silly she’d just been. “Coming,” she called cheerfully and, without even checking the peephole, she swung the door wide open and was taken aback to see that instead of Jay it was Quentin.

“Oh.” She frowned at him.

“Not who you were expecting?” he said cautiously.

“No, I mean, no I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded but looked unconvinced.

She tried to act natural, but something about him standing there, studying her, it was almost like he could see right through her. And she did not need anyone—especially this obnoxious intern—to start judging her.

“Anyway, sorry to bug you,” he said. “I’m here to pick up the clothes for the shoot. Kendra asked me to come—”

“Oh, yeah.” She stepped out of the way. “They’re over there.”

Now Quentin held out a Ziploc bag of cookies toward her, making what seemed an embarrassed smile. “These are, uh, from my mom.” He grimaced like this was uncomfortable. “Chocolate chip. Homemade. Mom, well, both my parents, remember you pretty well. You know from that night at our church in Florida.”

Grace took the bag of cookies, wondering,
Who were these people?
But she tried to act natural. “Oh, cool.” She forced an awkward smile. “Thanks. Tell your mom thanks.”

“No problem.” He went over to the couch now, stacking up the boxes.

Not wanting to stand there staring at him, she took the cookies to the kitchen, then sat back down at the dining table. She picked up her notebook, pretending to be studying some of the few lines that seemed to have potential, and acting like she was in the midst of some serious songwriting, waiting for him to gather up the stuff and just leave.

“So, what are you up to?” he asked as he set a stack of boxes by the door.

“Oh, just working on my new song,” she said lightly.

“Cool.” He returned to the couch. “How’s it coming?”

She looked up, trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t make her feel like too much of a liar and a hypocrite since for some reason it seemed like this guy knew the difference. But instead of answering honestly, she simply said, “Good.” And that’s when she saw it—Quentin was reaching for the box where she’d tossed the red lacy lingerie. Without saying a word, he picked it up—like he thought the skanky underwear was going to be part of her video shoot.

She jumped up to retrieve them. “No, not these,” she said quickly as she grabbed them up. “Kendra got them by mistake, so we . . . they’re not going.”

“Okay.” He picked up the stack and took them over to the door.

Feeling awkward and self-conscious, she returned to the table, once again pretending to be focused on the important work of songwriting.
Hurry and go
, she thought. But he seemed intent on taking his time, even making small talk, as he first stacked the boxes beside the door, then leaving the door ajar, he slid them outside.

“Oh, hey,” he said when it looked like he was about ready to leave. “I made a promise.” He came over to the table looking a bit like a shy schoolboy. “And it’s gonna sound totally crazy ’cause you don’t even know us, but my mom . . . she wanted me to tell you that if you ever want a home-cooked meal, well, she’d love to have you over.” He made a sheepish grin. “So there. I kept my promise.”

“Oh, wow.” She set her pencil down. “Tell your mom thanks . . . and for the cookies too.”

“Yeah, I will.” He smirked. “And don’t worry, I already told her that you’re a big star and that you’d never spend time with someone like her.”

Grace frowned. “You said
that
?”

“No.” He chuckled. “Kidding. But, anyway, no pressure. But I will tell you this, my mom makes a mean—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Never mind. . . . She’s a horrible cook, but she’s a nice lady. I’ll see you at the shoot.” He headed for the door.

“Yeah, see ya.”

“And I’ll be praying for your new song.”

She thanked him again, waving as he closed the door. Then she jumped up and after she dead-bolted the door, she grabbed the skimpy red lingerie from the couch and tossed the embarrassing pieces back into the box, closing it up, and then she went and slid it under her bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

The big day had come, and Grace felt ready for it as she walked into the recording studio where they planned to shoot the music video. The film crew was already setting up with Mossy looking on. Introductions were made, then Mossy told her that Kendra and Phoebe were waiting for her in the dressing room. “It’s gonna be a great shoot,” he told her. “Full of surprises.”

“Surprises?” She frowned at him.

He chuckled. “Good surprises.”

“Oh. . . .” She nodded.

“Go get ready,” he commanded. “Time is money right now.”

“Yes sir.” She hurried off to the dressing room where Kendra and Phoebe were ready to go.

“This is your first outfit.” Kendra pointed to the rack, then returned to steaming the wrinkles out of a dress.

Before long Grace was dressed up and made up, with every hair in place.

“Perfect,” Kendra proclaimed.

“You look hot,” Phoebe concurred.

“It’s fun having such a gorgeous girl to work with,” Kendra said.

“Thanks.” Grace smiled at them.

“Yeah, if this music thing doesn’t work out for you, you might consider taking up modeling,” Phoebe teased.

“Yeah, right, Phoebs.” Kendra rolled her eyes. “Maybe you haven’t heard her sing.”

Phoebe laughed. “Yeah, yeah, the girl’s got it all going for her. A triple-threat in the world of music—she sings and writes and is beautiful.”

Grace forced a smile.
If only they knew.

“Ready in there?” Mossy called from outside the door.

“I’m coming,” she told him as she reached for her guitar.

“Let’s rock this thing,” Kendra said.

And soon Grace was rocking it. Lip-syncing to “Misunderstood” in front of the green screen, she danced and moved and air-played her guitar. Meanwhile the crew did their work, moving in and out for shots, running the fan to blow her hair, encouraging her that she was doing a fabulous job. And then it would be time for a quick wardrobe change, and they would do it all over again. She couldn’t quite imagine what the footage would look like, but she knew once it was edited and put back together, it would be good. She trusted these guys. She could tell they knew their stuff.

Through the whole thing Mossy watched on approvingly, making suggestions occasionally but mostly just standing by the door with his arms folded across his chest. Quentin remained on hand too. At first it bugged her. But whenever anyone needed anything, Quentin was the one they sent running. And he never complained once.

Eventually Grace had gone through most of the outfits, and they’d done dozens of takes. She really thought they should be about finished. She knew she was getting tired of this. How many takes did they need for a few minutes of video?

Still, she didn’t let her impatience show as she emerged in what seemed to be the last ensemble. Stepping into place, she listened as they directed her, rocking out to the sound of her own voice playing in the background. Then about midway through the song, someone walked into the studio, and the filming stopped.

“Didn’t you see the ‘Do not disturb. We’re recording’ sign?” a cameraman growled. Now everyone turned to see who’d interrupted their session, and Grace could not believe her eyes. Standing there, looking around the room with a slightly bored expression was
Renae Taylor
.

“Okay, cut,” the director said. “Hey, Renae.” He grinned at her.

“Don’t stop for me,” she told him.

“I think we got it,” he told her.

Renae nodded toward Grace. “You’re wonderful.”

Grace steadied herself, trying not to look too starstruck. “And you’re Renae Taylor.”

“Everybody take ten,” the director called out. “Meanwhile, we’ll check out the footage and see if we’ve got enough to call it a wrap.”

“Why don’t you girls get better acquainted,” Mossy suggested. He pointed to a door. “That conference room is free.”

Soon they were seated at a long table, where Grace was trying not to gape at Renae Taylor. Was this for real? And, if so, how did it happen? What did it mean?

“I’ve been hearing a lot about you,” Renae told her. “I love your song.”

“Wow.” Grace took a gulp from her water bottle. “I, um . . . you’re a big reason I’m even out here. I’m a huge fan.”

“That’s very kind. You’re probably wondering why I’m here.” Renae picked up a pen from the table, twirling it around in her fingers.

“No, not really. I mean I’m just pumped meeting you. But he did mention, I mean my manger, he said you might stop by sometime . . . that you were thinking of me for your opening act—which would be amazing.” She took another gulp of water.

“Well, I’m considering several girls.” Renae seemed to be scrutinizing her now. Was she trying to decide if Grace measured up?

“Oh, yeah, totally.” Grace tried not to act as uncomfortable as she felt.

“I try to get to know people before I think about traveling with them.”

Grace nodded. “Yeah. I get that.” She made a stiff smile.

“I read the WideSpin spread. Sally’s so convincing it’s hysterical.”

Grace nodded again, trying to act like she knew what Renae meant, but feeling a little lost. “Yeah, she’s . . . she’s cool.”

“I loved the bit about the flowers being delivered right during the interview. Seriously, whose idea was that?”

“The roses?” Grace was confused. “From Jay?”

Renae laughed. “Come on.”

“They were from Jay Grayson,” Grace clarified.

“You’re funny, Gracie. And I like that.” She made an amused nod. “Seriously, a guy like Jay Grayson wouldn’t think to send flowers to his dying mom.”

Grace shrugged, trying to play along, wanting Renae to like her. “Yeah, maybe not.”

“So how long do they expect you to play house with him?”

Grace felt even more confused. What did Renae mean? Did she think they were living together? Still, she didn’t want to show her ignorance—not to Renae Taylor. “They . . . uh, really didn’t say.”

She gave her a knowing look. “Well, you just have to beat them at their own game. And use them more than they use you.
All
of them. You’ll get there. I can tell.”

Grace really had no idea what Renae was saying—use who? Jay? Mossy? Her stylists? “Yeah,” she murmured. “I appreciate the advice.”

“And remember this, Gracie Trey,” Renae glanced at her expensive watch, then stood. “Your body is the biggest asset you have. Tons of girls can sing. But very few of them have your good looks. It’s your currency. Spend it freely.” And just like that, Renae Taylor turned and left.

Feeling confused and bewildered and slightly disappointed, Grace just sat there trying to make sense of it. Renae wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Oh, sure, she looked like Renae Taylor, superstar, but she had been so cool and aloof and jaded. Nothing like she came across on the stage or during interviews. It was almost like there were two completely different Renae Taylors.

But more concerning than that was how Grace got the distinct feeling that Renae did not like her. As if she didn’t even
want
to like her. Renae certainly showed no interest in getting to know her better. In fact, it felt like Renae had already made up her mind about her. But then Grace wasn’t sure. Maybe that was just how Renae was, playing her cards close to her chest. After all, Grace reminded herself, Renae couldn’t have made it as far as she had in this business if she wasn’t tough. And maybe that was what Renae was trying to tell Grace—be tough. Still, it made Grace sad. Renae Taylor in real life was nothing like Renae Taylor in concert.
Nothing
.

Chapter 18