PRESLEY
The worse you feel, the higher the heels. In other words, just because you’re swimming in molasses doesn’t mean that you can’t look good while doing it. Southern Girl 101: a can of hairspray, a tube of lipstick, and a syrupy smile can do wonders in just about any given situation. Notice I said just about any given situation. If you happen to find yourself in one of those double-decker dill pickle doozies that blindside the best of us from time to time, be sure and throw Bless Your Heart into the conversation. That’s sure to disarm your adversary faster than those four buckets of KFC that disappeared at the Madison family reunion last summer.
Maybe it’s because I’m 5’ 3” tall—okay, if I’m telling the honest to goodness truth, I’m 5’ 2 ½”, but what’s the harm in rounding up? Mathematicians do it all the time. Where was I? Oh, yes, I’m one of those odd people who actually enjoy wearing heels. My brother Donnie says the doc should’ve made it official and attached heels to my feet at birth. He thinks he’s freaking hilarious, but I’ve got news for him—that would’ve been fine and dandy with me. Between my big hair and heels, I can almost pass for tall. Well … tallish.
I’m sad to say that not even my Mt. Everest tall heels can keep my nerves from jumping like a gang of frogs trying to escape a hot tin bucket. Did I mention that the bucket’s not just hot? It’s about to burst into flames. Or maybe it’s my face that’s two degrees away from igniting. I’ve been dreaming of this moment since I was old enough to hold a guitar. And yet, this meeting is turning out nothing like I imagined. My dream has been gutted, leaving me with only the rotting carcass. Okay, that’s a little over-the-top. A more apt description is that I’m being presented with the double fudge chocolate cake that I’ve been salivating over for eons. I know every swirl of the frosting … every sprinkle. I take a bite, only to discover that the baker used salt instead of sugar. And I’m supposed to just gobble it down with a polite smile, pretending that it’s not making me want to gag.
I turn to Alden whose smile is so wooden that I swear he must be a cousin to Pinocchio. “Do something,” I mutter. Alden is not only my manager but also my boyfriend. He, of all people, should have my best interest at heart. But no, he’s too starry-eyed to see the big picture here—too busy dreaming about the big, fat deal that Gold Field Record Label is offering. Heck, I want the deal too. I’ve worked hard to get my music noticed. But I don’t want to sell my soul to the devil to climb the ladder to stardom.
“Alden,” I say in exasperation. He shoots me a look that says, Pipe down before glancing across the conference room table at Lovie Barnes, the president of Gold Field Records. She’s flanked on both sides by an arsenal of lawyers in their tailored suits, with bad haircuts. Good Golly, Miss Mollie. Do they all use the same barber?
Oh, and another thing. Who in their right mind names their kid Lovie? The name obviously jinxed the woman because nothing about Lovie Barnes is remotely lovable. With her plain-Jane clothes and perpetual scowl, she’s tougher than cold taffy.
Lovie lifts an eyebrow, her voice laced with impatience. “What’s it gonna be?” She looks from me to Alden.
The moment of truth is here. I can hear the Jeopardy music chiming in my head. Trust me, I’ve heard it enough times to know the tune. It’s Grandma Mazy’s favorite show. If she were here right now, she’d say, I told you that your infernal fascination with music was gonna lead you down a slippery slope that’ll take you straight to the den of the devil. More like a pit of vipers! I look to Alden for help. Since his voice box seems to have left his throat, it’s up to me to speak up. “Please know that I consider it a great honor to be selected by Gold Field to perform at the Christmas Festival.” I throw in a syrupy smile for good measure.
Lovie doesn’t so much as blink. Her scowl remains, impervious as stone.
A part of me can’t believe this is happening. Little ole’ Presley Madison from Willow, Alabama is playing in the big leagues. The lineup of artists set to perform at The Country Prime Christmas Festival reads like a list of who’s who in country music royalty. And Gold Field Records wants me to perform right before headliners Hartley Raines and Cash Romeo take the stage. There must be some way to convince Lovie Barnes and her lackeys that I need to perform my way.
I clear my throat before plowing forward. “I don’t feel comfortable with the direction that the stylist is taking with my wardrobe. Nor do I feel comfortable with the song.” That’s an understatement! When I first learned of the opportunity to perform at the festival, I was beyond ecstatic. My feet were so light it’s a wonder that I didn’t sprout wings and fly right up to the pearly gates. Then, when Lovie’s personal assistant put me in touch with my stylist, Frederick Franfickerstein, or some oddball name that I can’t pronounce, and I saw the sketches for my costume, I was floored. Just as I was picking myself up off the ground from that setback, the label sent over the song I’m supposed to sing. I crashed back down to earth in a fiery ball of flames before dissolving into a puddle of tears.
A hard amusement flashes across Lovie’s face as she homes in on Alden. “You assured me that Presley would have no problem going along with the express conditions set by the label.”
My jaw hits the floor faster than a block of concrete hurled from a second-story window. I whirl around to Alden. “W—what promises did you make?”
Alden’s face burns more crimson than a stadium of diehard Alabama fans donning their colors at the opening game of the season. He places a hand on my arm. “Calm down, babe,” he utters in a low tone. “I’ve got this.”
When he throws Lovie an apologetic look, I about lose it. My words fly out like darts. “Really? That’s not how it looks from where I’m sitting.” He starts to say something else, but I hold up a finger. “Don’t!” My anger crowds out my inner obligation to be congenial, which has been bred into me since birth by my grandma, who believes that Southern grace dictates that a woman must be polite at all costs. I turn to Lovie. “There has obviously been some sort of misunderstanding. I’ve built my brand around empowering girls and women to develop themselves intellectually, emotionally, and even spiritually.” I point to the center of the table. “If I go on stage wearing some outfit that doesn’t cover as much as that stack of post-it-notes could and sing some trashy song, then I’ll send the wrong message to my fans.” Not to mention that I’ll turn into a snow cone. Nashville is freaking cold in December! The festival is in an arena, so it may not be that cold, but it still seems odd to wear something skimpy to a Christmas festival.
Back to my brand. I shouldn’t have to explain the situation to Lovie Barnes. It’s her job to be in the know. I’m not sure how I expect Lovie to react, but when she smirks, my claws come out so fast that I could give Wolverine a run for his money. “You are familiar with my brand, right?”
The suit sitting to the right of Lovie opens his eyes wide and then sniggers. She shoots him a look that could kill before aiming her devil fork at me. “Don’t presume to teach me about the industry. I’m giving you the chance of a lifetime. You should be kissing my feet, not questioning my methods.”
First of all, I don’t intend to kiss anyone’s feet. Least of all this horrible woman. She probably has some sort of fungus brought on by her rotten attitude. My brain rolls and thrashes like a boat caught in a patch of rough water, trying to figure out how to salvage this deal. I’ve always prided myself on being good with people, but I’ve got nothing here. I try to clear the tickle in my throat delicately, but it comes out sounding like a dry heave.
“I think you’re misunderstanding this situation,” Lovie continues, her silky voice slithering around me like an anaconda. “This is not a negotiation.” Her eyes flash with a ruthlessness that curdles my blood. “You will either take this deal, or you won’t. If you choose not to heed the direction offered by our experts, then it’s your loss.” A hard smile wraps her lips. “Trust me when I say that there are plenty of other people who would welcome the chance to perform at the Christmas festival and then sign a deal with us.”
This is a nightmare! I don’t want to lose this deal, but how can I throw away everything that I’ve built? I can’t. Plain and simple. After all is said and done, I have to be able to look at myself in the mirror. Maybe Grandma Mazy’s right. I should be more like my little sister Summer and pick a safe, respectable career like nursing. I’m the oldest Madison sibling. Summer is a nurse and Donnie is a student at Auburn University. I was supposed to set the example, not become the flunky in the family—the wannabe country music star whose dream has just imploded. I scoot my chair back with a loud scrape.
Alden clutches my arm, preventing me from rising to my feet.
“How much time do we have to make a decision?” he blurts.
Lovie chuckles. “How does two minutes sound?”
I really don’t like this woman.
A shaky laugh falls from Alden’s lips. “Come on, Lovie, be reasonable. Please.”
The desperation in Alden’s voice churns my gut. I can’t stand watching him grovel to this viper. Good grief, Alden. Where’s your dignity?
“Let’s go,” I mutter.
“Okay,” Lovie says. “You’ve got until next Thursday at noon.”
What the heck just happened? For a second, I wonder if I heard her correctly. She’s giving me a whole week to decide? That seems pretty generous coming from such a cutthroat, especially when you consider that the festival is in two weeks. If I decline the offer, that means my replacement will only have one week to prepare. Maybe Lovie is so certain that I’ll take the offer that she’s not worried about a replacement. She probably thinks that anyone in their right mind would take the offer. Am I a nut for questioning Lovie’s methods? Should I just conform to her requirements? No! my conscience shouts. I have to stand up for my beliefs. Otherwise, what good am I?
“Thank you,” Alden exults. “We really appreciate everything you’re doing to make this possible.” He looks at me as if expecting me to back him up.
A weak “Thanks” is the best I can offer.
Alden stands and pulls me to my feet. He practically drags me out of the room.
“What was that?” I fume the minute we step into the hall.
“Not here,” he growls, his face turning a shade darker than my fuchsia eyeshadow.
Seriously? He’s acting put-out? I’m the one who was thrown under the bus. We march to the elevator, and he jabs the button to go down. The elevator doors open, and we step inside.
I wait until the doors close before giving in to the hot anger bubbling like a volcano in my chest. I get up in his face. “What in the heck was that?” The words burn acid through my throat. “How could you agree to those absurd terms?” Tears rush to my eyes. “Before we went in to meet with Lovie, we went over our plan. I thought you were on my side.”
“Have you gone bonkers?” he hisses as he reaches around me to push the button for the first floor. “You’re throwing away the chance of a lifetime over piddly details.”
My eyes bug. “Piddly? I can’t let that horrible woman and her staff destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to build.”
“We’ve built,” he cuts in. The muscles in his jaw flick before he shakes his head in disgust. “Do you know the lengths I went through to even get you this opportunity?”
My hand goes to my hip. “What lengths?” Alden was scant on the details surrounding this little opportunity.
“It’s not even worth going into,” he mutters. “You wouldn’t appreciate it.” He throws me a withering look before pushing both hands through his hair. “Your ridiculous moral idealism is gonna be the death of me. Time for you to grow up,” he snaps, “and figure out what’s actually important.”
I rock back, stunned. Hurt batters my insides like a wrecking ball. My voice sounds small in my own ears. “Ridiculous moral idealism?” I’ve feared for some time that Alden and I might be going in different directions, but I was too chicken to bring it out in the open because a part of me is still holding out hope that our relationship might have a chance. Two years ago, when we first met, he was upstanding and principled. On our second date, we attended church together. He was clean-cut then with short hair that emphasized his prominent cheekbones. His black hair is longer now—floppy on top in a shaggy-chic style that’s the latest rage among musicians. Several weeks ago, he got his ear pierced. I’m not so sure how I feel about my boyfriend sporting a diamond stud, but whatever. It’s Alden’s ear.
The problem with Alden’s new look is that it’s a stark reminder that I’m not sure if I know him anymore. Stupid me. I thought I’d found my knight in shining armor and that we could forge our dream together, but the music business has changed Alden—made him hard. I don’t know when it happened, but our personal relationship took a backseat to the business. I can’t remember the last time Alden and I went on a date, took a walk together, or simply talked about something other than music.
The elevator doors open to a group of people.
Tears press against my eyes as I blink them back and swallow down my emotion. I need to get out of this place so I can think. My heels tap out a fast beat against the polished stone of the cavernous foyer as I make a beeline for the double glass doors. Alden rushes to catch up with me.
I step outside, welcoming the crisp air that cools my scalding hot cheeks. I thought I could hold back the tears, but one escapes and rolls down my cheek. I don’t even bother wiping it away. Alden catches hold of my arm and forces me to face him.
“You’ve got to fix this.” His expression is a combination of sheer panic and gritty determination. He points toward the doors. “We need to go back in there this minute and tell Lovie that you changed your mind.”
An incredulous cackle rips through my throat. “I don’t think so.” I narrow my eyes. “The fact that you don’t see a problem with me lowering my standards to suit the whims of that viper tells me that you and I have nothing left to talk about.” I jerk my arm out of his grasp and stomp away. A screaming headache pounds so fiercely across the bridge of my nose that it’s making me dizzy. The wind picks up, tearing through my clothes. I hug my arms, wishing I would have thought to bring a coat. I get to the street that runs in front of the building before I realize that I don’t have a way to get home. I rode with Alden. Should I call an Uber? I don’t have the app on my phone. I guess I’ll have to go back into the building and ask the receptionist to call me a cab. I turn back around just as Alden jogs up to me.
“Quit being a drama queen.”
I march past him toward the building.
“Thank goodness,” he sighs. “You’ve come to your senses.” He quickens his pace to stay in step with me as he talks with his hands. “Okay, here’s how we’ll handle this. You’ll apologize to Lovie and tell her how much you appreciate her giving you a shot.” His voice hardens. “From now on, if she says jump, you say, ‘How high.’”
I clench my teeth. Is Alden really this dense? I thought he believed in me—that we shared a common goal, but obviously not. “I’m not apologizing, you dope. I’m going back inside to call a cab.”
His face falls before he lets out a string of expletives. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll give you a ride home. We need to talk about this.”
“I’m done talking,” I rage as I charge back into the building.
