Grace Unplugged: A Novel (6 page)

“You know . . . the business with Moss,” he explained.

“You regretting your answer?”

“No, no, that’s not it at all.”

“I’m sure Mossy thought he was making you a tempting offer.”

“Yeah, and I can’t blame him for trying.”

“Didn’t turn your head?” she said in good-natured teasing. “Hearing about that
American Idol
kid? Not even a little?”

“I stand by my decision.”

“Then why do you seem troubled?”

“Just seeing him again takes me back. You know?”

She nodded, snuggling in closer. “Yeah. Me too.”

He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. “And I feel kinda bad for Moss’s sake. He seemed so hopeful. I felt like I busted his balloon.”

“And rained on his parade,” she added a bit glibly.

“Uh-huh.” He sighed. “But he’ll be alright. Moss is a survivor.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s just that I haven’t thought about all that stuff, Michelle. You know, for so long.”

“What stuff exactly?” she asked.

“I don’t know exactly—just the past in general, I guess.” He sighed. “You know I used to talk about everything pretty openly, back when we were doing the church ministry. But getting settled here in Homewood these past few years, it’s almost like I lost touch with that part of my life. Like it didn’t really happen. You know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Thinking about it all tonight, it just kinda hit me—how I shouldn’t even be here.” He turned to look into her face. “The drugs alone should’ve killed me.”

“But they didn’t.” She gave him a sleepy smile. “Because God had different plans for you, Johnny Trey.”

He hugged her. “Am I thankful for that.”

“Don’t worry about Mossy,” she said quietly. “He’ll land on his feet.”

“Uh-huh. He always does.”

The next afternoon Grace walked into the bookstore, searching for Rachel. She’d called earlier, explaining how she really needed to talk, and Rachel had offered to take her afternoon break with Grace. “Just as long as you understand I have to be back to work on time,” she’d warned. “My break is only twenty minutes, you know.”

“Rachel’s in the break room,” Lindy the cashier told Grace.

“Thanks.” Grace hurried to the back of the store, finding Rachel reading a magazine and sipping on a soda. “You started your break without me?” She frowned at her friend.

“Sorry, we take our breaks when we’re scheduled to take them.” She gave an apologetic smile. “What’s up, drama queen?”

Grace resisted the urge to argue this. Instead she launched into yesterday’s meeting with Mossy. “I couldn’t believe it,” she said. “He’d come all this way to see Dad. And he’s working for Sapphire Music. You know that’s Renae Taylor’s record company too. So Mossy informs Dad that his one-hit-wonder ‘Misunderstood’ is making a serious comeback because some Swedish kid sang it on
Idol
and won.”

“A Swedish kid won
American Idol
?” She frowned.

“American Idol, Sweden,”
Grace corrected. “Anyway, he’s offering my dad this incredible deal—like on a silver platter—you can record anything you want, man, just sign on the dotted line.”

“Uh-huh?” Rachel offered Grace her bag of chips.

Grace waved her hand. “And my dad rejects his offer. Flat out rejects it. Mossy offered to let Dad think it over, but no, Dad says he’s certain. He did not want a record deal.”

“But why not? I thought your dad was getting ready to do a worship album. Why not just do it with this Mossy character?”

Grace sighed. “Because they don’t want religious songs.”

“Oh.” Rachel nodded with a knowing look. “Well, then I don’t blame your dad at all. He made the right choice.”

Grace fought back the urge to yell at her best friend. Why was Rachel acting like this? Always taking her dad’s side? Whose best friend was she anyway?

“I honestly don’t see why you’re so upset about this, Grace.”

Grace honestly did not see why Rachel was being so dense. But somehow she had to make Rachel get it. She had to get Rachel to act like friends were supposed to act—sympathetic, seeing her side of things. “So then Mossy leaves, and my dad launches into this, like, ten-hour speech on
motives
and
temptation
and how the world was so empty for him when he was making music. And he was talking about how everyone has a different calling, and how he’s so fulfilled now, and everything. Like it was supposed to be this fabulous teachable moment for me.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Nothing! Except that I’ve heard it, like, a million times. He said it in every single church we ever played at! Sheesh, I was there, okay? And yet my dad acts like I’d never heard it before.”

“Oh.” Rachel set down her soda can with a thoughtful look. Like maybe she was finally getting it. “You have to admit that it’s pretty cool your dad’s song is getting so many hits.”

Grace just shook her head.

“Sorry.” Rachel sounded defensive. “I just think it’s kinda cool.”

“Whatever.”

“I mean ‘Misunderstood’ was recorded so long ago. And now it’s making this great comeback. That’s got to feel good.”

“What difference does it make?” Grace demanded. “Dad turned them down. He’s so lame. Do you know what he told Mossy?”

“Obviously not. I wasn’t there, Grace.”

“Dad told Mossy that if ‘Misunderstood’ was so big, Sapphire should just get someone else to do a remake. Can you believe that? He just handed over his one and only big hit. Like he didn’t even care.”

“What did the guy say?”

Grace’s mind was moving down another track now. Suddenly she saw the answer to this dilemma—as if it was written on the sky or at least on a rock concert poster. “Huh?” She looked back at Rachel who seemed to be waiting for some answer.

“What did that Moss guy say when your dad told him to get someone else to record ‘Misunderstood’?”

“I don’t remember.”

Rachel downed the last of her soda then pointed at the clock by the door. “That’s just as well since my break time is officially over. See ya!”

Grace kept sitting there in the break room, running a crazy idea around and around inside her head. Who was to say it couldn’t happen?

Suddenly Grace remembered that today was Monday. And her parents had their small group tonight, which meant she would have the house to herself, which meant she could make as much noise—rather music—as she pleased. The plan was clicking into place.

Once she got home, she spent some time in her room, getting everything lined up and worked out. She would have between two and three hours tonight—to get it just right. After she felt she’d gotten her ducks lined up—as well as she knew how—she went down to help Mom with dinner. Acting like the perfect daughter, she even chatted with Mom about the classes she might end up taking at Monroe—as if she really planned on going. By the time Dad came home, they appeared to be the perfect little Christian family, all sitting down to a friendly meal together. Little did her parents know, she was just counting the minutes until she would have the house to herself.

“I’ll clean up the kitchen,” she told Mom when they were finished eating. “That’ll give you more time to spruce up for your group thing.”

Mom blinked in surprised. “Well, thanks. I’m happy to take you up on that offer.”

Dad looked surprised too, but he also looked slightly dubious. “What’s up with the good-daughter routine? You getting ready to hit me up with a request for money?”

She gave him a look. “So I try to act in a more mature fashion, and you make fun of me?”

He held up his hands. “No, no, I’m not making fun.” He smiled. “In fact, I like this.” And before she could show him how exasperating he was, he hurried away. With her parents out of the kitchen, she haphazardly loaded the dishwasher, not even bothering to rinse the dishes like they usually did. Instead, she piled them in, added a generous measure of dishwasher soap, then turned it onto the pots and pans cycle and proceeded to wipe down the countertops and table. She was just finishing up when she heard them calling good-bye, and when she peered out the window, they were getting into the car and pulling out. Just like clockwork.

She threw the dishcloth into the sink, then raced up to her room where her laptop was already propped up, just the right height on a stack of books on her desk. It was all set and ready to record. She took a moment to fluff her hair and apply some fresh lip gloss. Then, satisfied that she looked good, she grabbed her guitar.

Her heart was pounding with excitement as she strapped on her guitar—almost as if she were getting ready to stand before a packed coliseum. But first she wanted to do a little warm-up. She played some chords and ran through some vocals. Finally, confident that she was ready for this, she hit “record” on her laptop. Then, positioning herself on the hot pink Post-it note she’d stuck to her rug earlier, she took in a deep breath and began to belt out a guitar-and-vocal solo she felt certain was about to launch her career in music.

She did several takes before she was satisfied she had a really good one. Even then she watched it four times before she decided that it was perfect—or as near perfect as she could get in her small, impromptu recording studio. And then she pulled up the carefully worded e-mail she’d written and saved as a draft this afternoon, and she attached the song to it and hit “send.”

She looked over at the alarm clock by her bed, relieved to see it was only 8:45. She had time to spare. And now she realized, she would be playing the waiting game. How long would it take?

On Tuesday morning Frank Mostin didn’t feel the least bit eager to go back to his office. Because Monday had been a travel day, he had scheduled his meeting with Sapphire for Tuesday afternoon. Of course, at the time he’d imagined himself showing up the hero—he would tell the story, embellishing as needed, of how he’d won back Johnny Trey to the music business. It had seemed such a solid plan last week—a real slam dunk—that he’d pushed to have their meeting as soon as possible. And Larry Reynolds had gladly cleared his calendar to accommodate Mossy.

But if Mossy could’ve delayed the inevitable for another day or two or three or ten, he would’ve gladly done so. To say he wasn’t looking forward to meeting with his friend and president of Sapphire was an understatement. However, as he rode up the elevator to his own office, just a few floors down from Sapphire, he reminded himself that Larry Reynolds was his friend and had been for years. But as the sleek chrome doors slid open, he remembered his old motto—
Friends are friends, but business is business.
And this was business. He had failed to deliver Johnny Trey to Sapphire. Period.

He tipped his head to the receptionist as he passed through the lobby area on his floor. As usual, he kept up his bravado. No one would guess that his mission down south had been unsuccessful. At least not until after the one o’clock meeting at Sapphire. It wouldn’t take long for the news to leak out after that. By the time he went home from work today, everyone in the industry would know. And, unless friendship meant more to Larry than money—and Mossy doubted that, Frank Mostin’s name would be mud at Sapphire. And everywhere else too.

He went into his office and closed the door. By this time next week, he’d probably have to start working out of his home again. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like working from home—the commute was a breeze—he knew that clients didn’t take him quite as seriously as when he had an office downtown where the action was.

He sighed as he opened his briefcase and removed his laptop. Maybe he was getting too old for this business. Music was for young people, and he’d be sixty in a couple of years. Maybe he should look into something else, like real estate maybe. He was a natural salesman. But the real estate market was still in a slump. Kind of like his life.

As his computer warmed up, he quickly checked his phone messages, flipping through them quickly, holding onto the slimmest hope that Johnny might’ve changed his mind and called. Of course, he hadn’t. Besides, if he was going to call, he would’ve used the cell phone number on the business card Mossy had given to him. When his computer screen lit up, he decided to check his e-mail too, just in case. Usually he let his assistant sift the posts for him—so much junk to wade through—but still hoping that Johnny might’ve come through after all, he carefully skimmed down the list.