“And why on earth didn't you tell me this
before
we wasted my money and Stevie's time and expertise?”
“Because when we were talking to Ignacio, you practically promised him Ronald.”
John David clicked his cheek. “Aren't they teaching you anything at that church you're going to? It's better not to agree to do something than to agree to do something and then not follow through.”
“I tried toâ”
“Do you have any idea how many people would love to be in your shoes right now? Not just
people
, actual
singers
.
Wonderful
singers with way more integrity than you.” He laughed. “I should have known you'd stoop pretty low when you agreed to join a church so you could start singing again.”
Since when did he get so religious? Wasn't this his bright idea in the first place?
“You're the worst kind of client, Camille. You're beyond daring or desperate. You're dangerous. You'd sell me out to the next agent who offers you a bigger lollipop.”
Suddenly, this whole scenario seemed liked déjà vu, only ten years ago, she'd faced similar accusations from Courtney. She'd eventually lost everything after she lost Courtney. She couldn't go through the same loss twice.
“I am sooo sorry, John David. I've learned my lesson. And this is my
passion
,” she begged for life. “Please don't throw it away.”
“Don't put this on me.
You
threw it away by lying.”
“Wait!” Camille shrieked. Then she proceeded to explain her revelation to John David. She told him about how she'd sold out her brother, how she thought she'd learned her lesson with him, but now she'd
really
learned it twice. “I promise, John David, I'll never lie to you again. Please give me one more chance or else ... I don't know what I'll do with the rest of my time here on the planet, I'm serious.” Maybe that was a little dramatic, but she'd just poured out her entire heart to him. He had to believe her. He just
had
to.
John David spoke softly. “I'll put your replacement on hold. You. Me. The
real
Ronald. Stevie. Tomorrow. Six
AM
at the studio. Not one minute late, or I'll call in my backup, have her record it, and sell Ignacio on a much younger vocalist with a whole lot more character than the one I'm talking to right now.”
“Thank you, John David.”
“Don't thank me. I'm only doing this because Ignacio loves your voice, otherwise, I'd have hung up on you ten minutes ago.”
John David didn't trouble himself with a proper dismissal.
Six am?
Worried, Camille briskly swiped her hand along Cat's spine again. John David had had it up to his neck with her. If she didn't produce Ronald Shepherd in the flesh in less than twelve hours, prepared to sing “On Top of Me,” her professional career was dead. Forever.
CHAPTER 28
I
t seemed a bit odd to pray and ask God to touch Ronald's heart so he would agree to sing “On Top of Me,” but she figured it was worth a shot anyway. She slid down onto the carpeted floor, sank her elbows into the couch cushions, and laced her fingers. “God, I'm sorry about all the lies and joining the church for all the wrong reasons. I just didn't know what else to do. I don't know what to do now, either, but I know You know Ronald. Can You talk to him for me? This means everything to me, God. You created me to sing. My momma said so herself. I know this isn't exactly the kind of song You want me to sing, but God, I know You work in mysterious ways. I'm hoping that this will get my foot back in the door. And maybe You will bless me with better opportunities later. All these blessings I ask in Your son Jesus's name. Amen.”
Next, she rushed to the restroom to wash her face. Get her thoughts together. How, exactly, was she going to explain this to Ronald? What if John David mentioned Faison?
The logistics puzzled her as well. Studio at six in the morning. With Ronald present, Stevie would probably want to record several parts with both of them in the sound booth, which meant there was no way she'd make it across town and back to work by eight. Sheryl would not be happy. Camille had to face facts: This time tomorrow, she might not have a job.
How long will it take for them to legally evict me?
Probably a good three weeks. Less than that if they found out about Cat. She could find another job. Temporary services were always hiring. She wasn't sure how she'd answer the question, “Reason for leaving last job?” No way could she write, “Fired for going to the studio to record a demo.”
In the restroom, she prayed again and asked God to keep her from getting fired. In the past, she wouldn't have had any problems with writing, “Moved away to care for a sick relative,” and then explaining in the interview that the relative had passed, so there was no need to worry about her having to take off again so abruptly. Sickness was a last resort, but Camille always rationalized that after losing her mother at such a young age, she'd lived through one of the worst things that could happen. She'd earned the right to play the dying-relative (or, most recently, ailing-pet) card every once in a while.
But now, things were different. Camille was tired of lying. Tired of pretending. Tired of waiting for the shoe to fall. Worshipping at Grace Chapel, singing with the choir, spending time with Ronaldâthis stuff was taking a toll on her conscience. Not to mention every time one of the girls from camp or Mentors and Models saw her in the sanctuary, they hugged her like a long-lost big sister, looking up to her in love and adoration. Their naïve respect for her weighed most heavily on her heart. Kept her awake at night. She'd been driven to depend on a cat for solace, for goodness sake, how much worse could it get?
Maybe, if she stopped lying now, everything from this stage forward would be okay.
Since it was almost seven, Camille figured she'd better get on with calling Ronald. He'd probably have to make special arrangements to get Brittney off to school since she didn't ride the bus. Plus, he'd probably be late to work himself.
She tried his cell phone. No answer. Sent him a text. Thirty minutes passed. No answer. Called again. Same game.
What's going on?
What if Faison said something to Ronald about the recording? What if Ronald knew somebody who knew somebody who knew Stevie, and they told him about the whole fiasco?
Quickly, she dialed Mercedes's number. “Hey, Mercedes. How are ya?”
“I'm good, girl. Trying to nab me a machine at the gym. What's up?”
Camille suppressed her anxiety. “I know this is weird, but do you have Brittney Shepherd's number? I really need to get hold of her.”
“No, but I can get in touch with the lady who's over at Mentors and Models. She has all the girls' numbers. I'm sure I can get it from her.
“Is everything okay?” That Mercedes didn't miss a beat.
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Everything's fine. I just really need to catch up with Ronald, and he's not answering. I'm hoping everything's okay with
him
.”
“Hmmm,” Mercedes pondered aloud. “He's usually pretty quick to get back. Let me make the call. I'll text you Brittney's number.”
Two minutes later, Mercedes came through. Camille wasted no time in calling her young friend. “Hi, Brittney.”
“Hey, Miss Camille! Oh my gosh, I'm so glad you called me!”
Taken aback by Brittney's enthusiasm, Camille temporarily shelved her reason for the call. “It's good to talk to you. How have you been?”
“Not too good.”
“What's up?” Camille asked.
Brittney gave a drama queen sigh, then blubbered in a teary confession, “My dad. He hardly even talks to me anymore since ... you know.”
Putting her own life on hold, Camille paused for a moment to consider Brittney's dilemma. Camille knew all too well the pain of losing the trust of a family member. “You have to give him some time to heal from this. Play by his rules, do everything you can to reassure him that this won't happen again. This
can't
happen again, you know that, right?”
“I know, I know. I've learned my lesson, Miss Camille. Why won't he believe me?”
Did somebody put a recorder in my apartment?
“Trust me on this, Brittney. The way you earn trust back is by telling the truth. Admit what you've done wrong. Apologize. Have you apologized, by the way?”
“No! He won't let me!” she cried. “Every time I try to talk to him, he just gets mad all over again, so I stopped trying. At church, when we're around other people, he acts like everything is okay. But at home, we just walk around the house like strangers. I can't do it anymore.” Brittney's sniffles reached an alarming rate.
“Take a deep breath. Have you talked to anyone about this? Your grandmother, maybe?”
“No!” she wailed again. “I don't want my grandmother or anyone else to know what happened. The only people who know are me, you, and my dad. If other people found out, I would, like, die of embarrassment.”
A loud meow came from the bathroom. Camille asked Brittney to hold for a moment while she checked on Cat. He'd gotten himself entangled in a mountain of toilet paper. Charmin was one of Cat's crazy, inexplicable fetishes. “Ooh, this cat is crazy,” she told her young friend.
“You have a cat?”
“Yes,” Camille said, realizing this was the first time she'd actually acknowledged permanent ownership of the animal to anyone other than Sheryl. “I tried to give him away, but no one wanted him.”
“
I
want him.”
“For real?” Camille perked up.
“Yeah, but I can't have him. My dad says I can't have any pet until I master the art of keeping my room clean first,” Brittney lamented.
“Well, he's got a valid point. Pets are a big responsibility.” She finished pulling the paper off Cat and shooed him out of the restroom, closing the door behind her. It was time she moved Cat's litter box someplace else, away from this weird temptation.
Camille jumped back into their mentor-mentee talk. She had to ask, “What about the boy?”
“Who, DeShawn?”
“Was that his name?”
Brittney admitted, “Yeah.”
“Well, did DeShawn tell anyone?”
“There was nothing to tell. He didn't actually come into the house.”
“But you were
about
to let DeShawn in, right?”
“Right. Well, maybe. I don't know,” she vacillated. “Either way, nothing happened, so why is my dad making such a big deal out of this?”
Camille tried to explain, “He's afraid of what
could
have happened.”
She huffed one of those teenage know-it-all huffs. “But I'm not
stupid
. I mean, if I
did
let him in, it was only gonna be for, like, ten minutes. Can't my dad trust me for ten minutes alone with a boy? Nothing's gonna happen in
ten
minutes?”
Camille tsked. “A whole lot can happen in ten minutes.
It
can happen in ten minutes, Brittney.”
“Oh,” she gasped. “Well ... I mean ... on TV ... I thought it takes longer, doesn't it?”
“Uh, no. Especially not at your age, but that's TMI. Let's get back to you and your dad.”
“Hold up,” Brittney said. “I just want to ask this one question.”
Now that the can of worms was open, Camille had to oblige. “What?”
“What's it like?”
“What's
what
like?”
“Sex.”
Alrighty, then
. “Brittney, I don't really think I'm the one you should be asking that question.”
“Who else am I gonna ask? I can't ask my dad. And my mom's gone.”
Ask the school nurse; shoot, I don't know!
Brittney pressed, “I mean ... some people say it's fun, some people say it hurts.”
Camille remembered asking a similar question when she was around Brittney's age. It was after choir rehearsal. She and some of the other members of the youth choir were sitting on the front steps of the old church talking while the adults remained inside handling fund-raising business. Tammy Henderson, one of the oldest members of the youth choir, schooled Camille and four other younger girls on sex. Tammy said it felt so good it made you want to slap the judge, said the only reason grown-ups didn't want them to do it was because no one who does it ever wants to stop. She also said it made your boyfriend love you more, kept him from other girls.
Brittney framed her questions better. “I know they did it before they got married because I saw their marriage certificate, and I was born, like, five months later. But every time I try to talk to my dad just about boyfriendsânot even sexâall he does is start talking about the Bible, like him and my mom never broke the rules.”
“So why don't you start by talking to him about the marriage certificate? Not in an accusatory way, but just let him know you want to keep the conversation real.”
She piped down a bit. “Because I don't want to, like, make it seem like my mom was a bad person. But then I think, if they did it and he married her and they loved each other, what would be so wrong if me and DeShawn did it? He already said he loves me and he wants to marry me.”
“But he ran away and left you to face your father's anger alone, right?” Camille asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
“Brittney, when people love you, they stand beside you when you get in troubleâespecially if they're part of the reason you got in trouble. If DeShawn runs at the sight of your father, what do you think he'd do if you got pregnant with his baby?”
“I don't know.”
“Well, if you don't know, you sure don't have any business having sex with him. DeShawn ran like a little boy, which is exactly what he is right now. Maybe when he's older, he'll be a good husband to someone, but not right now.”
“So, you think I'm too young to have sex?”
“Definitely. And it's not a matter of how
young
you are. It's a matter of whether or not you'reâ”
“I know,” Brittney butted in, “
married
. My daddy and my church people have told me that a million times.”
Camille was glad Brittney interrupted because that wasn't exactly the word she was going to say. She was about to say something like “committed” or “in love,” which was pretty much the general public agreement. Hearing the word “marriage” tied to sex took Camille way back. But for the sake of consensus with Ronald, she concurred, “Right. Married.”
“Ugh!” Brittney fussed. “I'm so tired of everyone saying that when they didn't wait!”
“How do you know everyone didn't wait?” Camille countered. “Some people did. And, yes, sex can feel great to your body, but it also hurtsâin more ways than one. I don't recommend it to anyone who's not married because, well, for one thing, we all know you could get pregnant. No matter what anybody says, boys always get off way easier when that happens.
“Second, no matter how much he loves you or you love him, when it's over between you two, your heart will be completely broken. Smashed to smithereens, seriously, and it could take a long, long time to get over that. Don't commit your heart and your body to someone who hasn't committed himself to you in front of the whole world.”
How 'bout that?
Nice, neat, and not too much. Camille was proud of herself. She'd spoken the truth to Brittney and, somehow, she knew Brittney would listen to her if not anyone else. At least for a little while.