Pamela closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fucking A. He’s going to snap.”
Crystal sauntered across the stage, swaying her hips as if she was on a runway. “What’s going on?”
“Cameron can’t do the rehearsal schedule.” Pamela rounded on her. “She’s still in school.”
Crystal raised her perfectly crafted eyebrows. “Really? That’s cool. I never finished school.” She turned her gaze back to Pamela. “Neither did Hank, right? Didn’t he insist his kid graduate?”
“He did.” Pamela’s face shifted from anger to one of inspiration. At least that’s what it looked like to me. “He actually did. Thanks, Ruth. I mean, Crystal. I’ll remind him of that and rewrite the rehearsal schedule. We’ll make it work.”
Pamela ran toward the edge of the stage before turning around and rushing back. She snatched the schedule from me. “I’ll email you an updated schedule. Just be prepared to work late.”
Then she took off again.
“So, kid,” Crystal/Ruth said. She glanced me up and down. “What’s your endgame here?”
“What do you mean?” I stuttered as I shifted my gaze toward her. She made me more nervous than Hank Walker. Maybe because I knew where I stood with Hank straight away. With Crystal/Ruth, I felt like an obstacle.
“Why audition?” She rolled her eyes. The smell of cigarettes drifted off her breath. “Why do you want to sing for Hank Walker?”
“Why do you?” I asked, unreasonably defensive.
Crystal/Ruth laughed. “Because he’s Hank fucking Walker, one of the greatest Southern Rockers of my generation. Now, your turn.”
“Well,” I said, turning the words over in my mind before saying them. Dad always told me to be honest and I’d never fail myself. It didn’t seem to apply here, but I never was the liar my younger brother was. Jake could lie his way out of and into anything. Probably why he was always getting suspended. “I want to sing. And there aren’t a lot of opportunities here to sing with someone of Hank Walker’s caliber. I want to learn from him.”
“Good answer, kid.” She shook her head. “Just don’t let this business chew you up and spit you out. It’s too easy.”
“What do you mean?” I couldn’t image the business being anything other than music. Wasn’t that the point?
“I’ve been in my share of bands. Some of them got deals, and then I wasn’t part of the band anymore.” She shrugged, but her jaw tightened. “All it takes is one exec to decide he doesn’t like your look, your hair, your body, the way you sing or hold your guitar and you’re over.” She snapped her fingers. “It’s a bitch, but it’s the business.”
I nodded as she started toward the edge of the stage. “Hey, what do I call you? Crystal or Ruth?”
She stopped and didn’t face me. “Either one. It doesn’t really matter.”
I watched her walked down the stage steps and up the aisle. She ran her hands along the maroon velvet seats. At the doors to the lobby, she stopped and glanced back but not at me. Her gaze ran over the theater and she nodded, a slight smile covering her face.
Something told me it did matter. Something told me she wanted to be Crystal more than Ruth.
And something told me she wasn’t going to let anything, or anyone, get in her way.
CHAPTER THREE
“He seriously said that.” Miranda Reynolds rolled her eyes before taking a bite out of her hamburger. She was a year behind me in school but one of my best friends. It was going to be hard to leave at the end of the summer. I nodded, and she shrugged one shoulder. “Dad says Hank Walker’s a nice guy. Can’t imagine why he’d be such a dick.”
“I don’t know.” I wanted to shrug it off, but she had more insight than I did. Her father owned Mountain View Theater and personally booked Hank Walker for the summer. “His assistant sent me a new rehearsal schedule. I won’t see you guys for a week.”
“That totally sucks.” Iris lifted the bun off my burger and stole the two limp pickles. “But we’ll deal. This time next week, we’ll be done with Branson North.”
“Bite me,” Miranda said. For good measure, she threw a fry at Iris. “What am I going to do without you guys?”
“Hang out with people your own age?” Iris said. She popped the fry in her mouth and grinned. “I’ll still be around. Southern Community calls my name.”
“Yeah, maybe, but you’ll be on the other side of town with a whole new set of problems.” Miranda sulked in her seat then pointed her gaze at me. “And you’ll be in L.A. or New York or wherever you take off to.”
My heart sunk in my chest. It was true I didn’t know where I was going. Nashville seemed like the place to be. Miranda’s sister Carly might let me crash in her place for a few days until I could find a place. Or I could look online and hope the neighborhoods were safe. It was hard without knowing, and I knew nothing about L.A. or New York.
I wanted to sing. Problem was I didn’t know what to sing. I loved so many different types of music that settling on one seemed impossible. L.A. was a hodge podge of music, anything could happen. New York, too. Nashville was the best place to go for the country scene, but they had so much more to offer. And it was closer than L.A. or New York.
“Maybe I’ll stay,” I whispered. That was a possibility, too. Branson wasn’t bad. I could sing here, but I couldn’t sing at arenas or major theaters or anything big. Most of the acts that come to town bring their own crew and it was almost impossible to get on
