Grace Unplugged: A Novel (9 page)

As Grace walked over to the sitting area, she noticed what looked like a big celebrity walking past with a man in a gray suit. Not that she knew who it was exactly, but just the same she did a double take. Then, not wanting to look like a starstruck hick, she sat down on the couch and tried not to gape. Instead she just gazed around in wonder. Everywhere she looked there was something fascinating to see. Besides the videos playing on the flat screens, there were framed gold and platinum records and promotional posters of singers she admired, including Renae Taylor. It was like a musician’s paradise. And the palm trees outside just seemed to prove it.

She didn’t mind waiting for Mossy and was slightly caught off guard to see him approaching her, not wearing a suit like when she’d first met him, but dressed casually in jeans and a suede jacket. “There she is!” he exclaimed happily. “Good to see you again.”

She stood and smiled. But suddenly she felt awkward as he shook her hand. All this was so out of her element. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “You too.”

“Your flight okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It was great. Thanks for the limo too.” She was trying to act like a grown-up, but she felt more like a grade-school kid. Way out of her comfort zone.
Come on,
she told herself,
just chill
.

“You hungry?”

She shrugged. “I’m fine.”

He laughed. “Well, I’m starving. Come on.”

She felt slightly disappointed as they exited the building. But she told herself they would be coming back. Besides, she really was hungry. Or she thought she should be. However, she wasn’t even sure if she’d be able to eat. This was all so exciting. So much more than she’d expected.

Mossy chatted away at her as he drove her through the city. “We’re going to the Palm Restaurant,” he said. “West Hollywood.” He told her a bit about some of the places she was seeing as they rode, pointing out sights and giving her bits of Hollywood history. She could tell he was trying to help her relax. And she appreciated it.

After they were seated in the swanky restaurant, Mossy looked her straight in the eyes. “I’ll be honest with you, Grace, I don’t like doing this behind Johnny’s back. But I get it.”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s not easy for me either.”

“Some parents just don’t appreciate that their kids grow up and have dreams of their own.”

“That’s my dad.” She sighed as she laid the napkin on her lap and picked up the menu. “If you Googled the word
overprotective
, you’d probably find a photo of my dad posted there.”

Mossy laughed. “Well, when you’re on iTunes and Pandora, I’m guessing he’ll come around.”

As the waitress filled their coffee cups, she smiled to imagine how cool it was going to be. Staking her claim to fame—it felt awesome.

“Okay, now . . .” Mossy studied her closely. “Let me ask you something, Grace.”

“Yeah.” She laid the menu back down.

“You’ve come a couple thousand miles. You left everything you know. You don’t have any family out here, right?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

Grace considered this—what a big question to be asked first thing in the morning. Still, she already knew her answer. “I want to blow people away with my music,” she declared. “And I know I have what it takes.”

Mossy barely nodded, but she sensed his silent approval. Just then the waitress returned and, after fumbling through the menu, Grace finally made a choice, and the waitress left again.

“So you want to blow people away.” Mossy made a crooked grin, and she wondered if he was mocking her. “You and a million other girls.”

“Yeah, well,” she felt like someone was about to jerk the rug out from beneath her. Was Mossy going to knock her down to reality too? Was he just like her father?

“But there’s one thing you have that those million other girls don’t,” he continued.

She sighed. “Yeah, I know. A dad with a famous song. I get it.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You have me.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Grace. Being your dad’s daughter, that’s a good angle. And just like I did with him, I can do with you. I can take you anywhere you want to go. If you’re willing to put in the work and do what I tell you, I will get you there.”

Grace felt hopeful again. But then her cell phone rang, distracting her. Seeing it was “home” calling, she hit decline and dropped it back into her bag, smiling at Mossy. “I’m a hard worker,” she assured him. “I’m willing to do what it takes to be a star. I don’t expect anyone to just hand it to me. I want to earn it myself.”

“That’s what I like to hear. But I’ve been in the biz long enough to know that no one gets there alone. You need help along the way.” He grinned. “That’s why I’m here.”

As Mossy continued to talk about the business and what needed to be done, Grace tried not to imagine what her parents were doing or thinking. Sure, Mom would be freaking. She’d probably be pacing and calling all of Grace’s friends. For all Grace knew, Mom might’ve called the FBI or National Guard by now. But, really, what could anyone do? And Dad, well, he’d probably be glad to have her out of his hair. He’d have no one to mess up his perfect little worship services from now on. He was probably throwing a celebration party by now.

“I’ve already begun booking you gigs,” he explained. “And invites will go out to every A & R exec in town—including my friends at Sapphire—”

“Wait,” she stopped him. “Why not just sign with Sapphire. You work there, don’t you?”

“I’m a
manager
, Grace. I don’t work for any one label. Sure I work in the Sapphire building. They’re a few floors up. But I rep musicians.”

“Oh, well, on the phone you made it sound like—”

“I know, I know. It’s hard to explain, but you’ll figure it all out in time. This is how business is done in this town.” He sipped his coffee. “So tell me about yourself and your music, Grace.”

Grace was still stuck on the fact that Mossy did not work for Sapphire. Hadn’t he told her he did? Or was she just that naïve and inexperienced that she’d misunderstood. Whatever the case, she would have to sort it out later. “Well, I grew up loving music. I’ve been playing piano and guitar practically since I can remember.”

“You said you’ve written songs?” he questioned.

She just nodded, uncertain of how to answer. And she almost wished she hadn’t lied about that. But when he’d offered her this big opportunity, how could she possibly admit that she was a flop as a songwriter? Besides that was then; this was now. Surely she could pop out a song with so much at stake, especially if she really put her whole self into it.

“They’re not religious, right?” he pressed.

“No. Like I said, I write, and, I mean, I think my songs are really good, but . . . the more I think about it, I’m not totally sure they’re ready to record yet.”

“That’s all right. You’ll have time to work on them. I’ll push for an album, but I doubt we’ll get it right away.”

She tried to relax again, but that bit about songwriting had left her feeling nervous. What if Mossy knew what a fraud she was? Would he send her packing?

“So, who’s your favorite singer?” he asked as the waitress set the bill on the table.

“Probably Renae Taylor.”

He made a thoughtful nod. “Yeah. I see some Renae in you. We play it right, maybe you’ll open for her.”

“No way.” Grace felt a mixture of angst and hope.

His dark eyes twinkled. “Why not? Then one day maybe she’ll open for you.”

She tried not to look as thrilled as she felt to hear this. Did he really believe that? Or was he just stringing her along?

“You keep working on your songs,” he said. “But step one is just a daughter singing her dad’s hit, anywhere and everywhere. That I can sell. Any questions?”

She shook her head no, but the part about working on her songs threw her. What songs? What if she couldn’t get a song out? Still she was determined not to worry about that yet. For now she just wanted to enjoy this ride, her ride to stardom.

Chapter 8

M
ossy’s assistant had promised Grace that she’d have a place to live in LA. But when Mossy drove her into a less than glamorous neighborhood, Grace tried not to show her disappointment. Like he’d said, and she’d agreed, she needed to work her way into this business. No one was handing her anything. Besides that, she was finally going to be on her own—no parents breathing down her neck, studying her every move, criticizing her music. This was her ticket to freedom!

“So, uh, this is it,” Mossy said as he stopped in front of a door on the third floor and handed her the key. “You think you’ll be okay?”

“Sure.” She turned the key and opened the door, walking into a small furnished apartment. “This is mine?”

“Yeah, just for now.” Mossy sounded uncertain.

“For
now?
”

“It’s all about delivering, Grace. Things go well, you’ll buy a house in Malibu.”

She smiled as she looked around. Sure, it wasn’t the fabulous apartment she’d imagined, but it was hers. The little kitchen and living room were hers. The bedroom, which was smaller than her bedroom at home, was hers. She peeked out the window and was surprised to see a church across the street. Her eyes locked onto the cross for a moment, and then she pulled the drapes closed. Turning back to Mossy, she could see that he was uneasy about something.

“So, what do you think?” he asked in a worried tone.

“I love it,” she proclaimed. “Thank you.”

Now he looked relieved. “Okay, kid. I’ll leave you to it. My assistant put some food in the kitchen. And a few things she thought you might need since you left Alabama in such a hurry. Anyway, I’m sure you need a chance to catch your breath. But keep your phone on. I’ll be in touch.”

She thanked him again, and before he left, he reminded her to lock the door. He winked. “You’re not in Alabama anymore.”

She did lock the door, and then she proceeded to examine everything in the apartment more closely, opening cupboards and closets. Just like Mossy had said, there was food in the kitchen. And the bathroom even had some essentials like soap and shampoo and toothpaste. The assistant had even thought to put hangers in the closet. She went from room to room, checking it all out. She couldn’t believe it—her own place. She took her time unpacking. And then she sat down to play guitar, hoping that being in this new place—with no one trying to control her—she would be able to write a song. She played and made notes and played some more. But the song, if there was a song, seemed to be stuck somewhere inside of her.

“Doesn’t matter,” she told herself as she put her guitar away. “This is only my first day here. I have plenty of time.” And feeling celebratory, she pulled out her iPod and popped in her earbuds and, listening to a high-energy Renae Taylor song, she happily danced all around her apartment. If Renae couldn’t inspire her music, who could? Finally she was tired and decided to take a nap. After all, she’d only had about four hours sleep on the flight from Atlanta. But after about an hour of fidgeting on the couch, which was not as comfy as it looked, she felt too antsy to sleep.

She sat up and looked at her watch. If it was two o’clock here, it was four in Alabama. Rachel would just be getting off work in the bookstore. Grace waited a few minutes, giving Rachel time to clock out and go outside to her car, and then she called.

“Grace!” Rachel exclaimed. “Where are you?”

“LA,” Grace said calmly.

“What?”

“I’m in Los Angeles. I’ve already been to Sapphire Music, had breakfast in Hollywood and now—”

“But why?
Why
are you doing this? Don’t you realize your parents are frantic? They called me this morning, thinking that I knew all about it and—”

“Sorry, Rach. I suspected they’d call you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?” she demanded.

“I purposely left you out of the loop because I knew you’d be the first one they called.”

“But I’m your best friend . . . at least I thought I was.”

“You are my best friend,” Grace insisted. “You are the first one I’ve called.” Now she told Rachel all about her cool new apartment. And, as she walked from room to room, she knew that she was painting a lot better picture than it really was, but why not? Like Mossy had said, this was just the beginning.