Nightchild

Chapter 10

The phone rang incessantly until Nate could open his eyes enough to find it. A lightning bolt of pain pierced his skull as he fumbled for the lamp switch to turn it on, blinding him as it illuminated the room with forced brightness.

"Nate? Damn, I'm glad Grady called or I'd never have figured out which room you werein. Listen, he wants to meet us in his office before he goes home today. Get cleaned up and I'll meet you downstairs in the coffee shop."

"Wait...wait a minute! I'm not on his payroll anymore. Christ, I can't believe you got me up this early to..."

"It's two, forty-five PM," Heathe stated flatly.

There was a pause as Nate retrieved his watch from the bedside table and put tremendous effort into focusing on the thin hands. "Is there something wrong? Why didn't Grady call me himself?" he asked, still perched on the edge of the bed, the receiver in one hand, his head in the other.

"J.T. thought it would be better if I called in case the girl was still..."

"Girl? What..." Nate started, the question dying on his lips as his eyes drifted over the room. Dazed, he noted the dress and stockings thrown casually over the back of the sofa in the sitting area off the bedroom. Cautiously, he looked over his shoulder at the inert form sprawled across the bed. Short platinum hair escaped beneath the pillow that covered her head and a long slim leg had wrestled its way from beneath the covers, exposing a small area of hip and buttock. Nate held his breath until he heard hers, shallow and rhythmic, and was convinced she still slept unperturbed by the clamoring phone or his hoarse voice.

Heathe heard a deep sigh as his friend came back on the line. "Look as good today as she did last night?" he laughed, remembering his own consternation when he awoke to the energetic little brunette astride his hips, urging him to more than wakefulness no longer than an hour ago.

This, however, was a situation not unfamiliar to Heathe. He had already been married and divorced three times. Two of his wives he'd met in this way. His talent was attracting women, not keeping them. Nathan had always taunted him, saying he was too good-looking and  no self-respecting woman with a healthy ego could deal with a man prettier than her. Heathe knew that wasn't the real reason his relationships failed. He simply wasn't able to love enough. Frequenting bars, waking up with someone new, drinking far more than he should, these were things Heathe had become good at. But it wasn't the same for Nate. He was reserved, selective. It had taken only one perfidious burn to ensure his distance from the flame.

"Well, does she?" Heathe persisted.

"That's a shitty thing to ask," Nate answered, his tone cold, serious.

"Yeah, it is," Heathe agreed. "Well?"

"I don't know. Her heads covered," he whispered and both men chuckled, Nate softly so as not to wake his bedfellow. "I'll see you downstairs in fifteen minutes. Have some aspirin and coffee waiting, okay?" he asked and abruptly hung up.

#

"Hold on! You're movin' too fast for me," Nate warned, signaling the waitress for more coffee. "Are you sure last night wasn't a shared hallucination?"

"Look, I've told you, this whole thing's for real. I talked to both of 'em last night and J.T.  again when he called this mornin'. They're serious and I don't think they'll take no for an answer."

"They just might have to! I'm not anyone's pawn or puppet. I've been on my own much too long to start havin' someone else call the shots."

Heathe shook his head. "It's not gonna be like that. I already told them how you'd feel about it. Listen, if what they say is true...and, boss, supposedly you'll have contracts guaranteeing it...they'll give you almost full control of your career and..."

"Almost is the operative word here."

"The way J.T. explained it, they want it believed that Chance discovered you, that he had the whole thing planned and last night was kind of his surprise way of introducing your talents to the right people without takin' the spotlight off himself durin' the opening. You're to be his prodigy...protégé...whatever. But you'll have control over what you perform...within reason, of course."

"Of course!" Nate scoffed.

Heathe continued, undaunted by his caustic tone. "Anyway, they'll give you say about concert performances, club dates, which songs you want released, which ones to put on albums, videos..."

"Yeah, sure! What about commercials and movies? You'll have to excuse me, Conan, but this all sounds rather ludicrous. I have a career and I'm not a kid anymore who can be molded into what they want. I know they've made it sound like a great setup, but they also know I trust you and will listen to you." Hesitating, he gave Heathe a warm smile. "No offense, but it seems as though they're using you to get to me. You were the one suspicious last night. Believe me, there's more to it...I just don't know what."

"I'm not a fool either. They do want somethin'...money! They want a percentage of everything you do. Plus, they think it'll help carry Chance, give him credibility...that he's capable of recognizing true talent and cultivating it. They'll also expect you to be the opening act for Chance when he's on the road and to make yourself available to perform here at the club. I know this is a lot to agree to but your contract will only be for two years, negotiable yearly after that."

They sat opposite each other in silence as Nate took time to digest and consider each aspect of the proposed plan. The soft clatter of dishes and faint muttering of voices from the kitchen combined with the sunshine slanting through slats of partially opened shutters created a lulling atmosphere.

Finally, Heather broke the drowsy stillness. "Don't turn around unless you'd like to say goodbye. Your friend appears to be leavin'."

Peeking over his shoulder, Nate could see the lobby through glass partitions. The blonde's back was to him as she handed the desk clerk a folded slip of paper and Nate quickly swung round to face Heathe again as she moved from the desk and proceeded in their direction.

"Not bad...did you get her name?"

"If I did, I don't remember. Is she coming in here?" Nate asked uneasily, shifting uncomfortably in the booth.

"She started to then looked at her watch and headed for the door. Don't worry. I'm sure she got your name. She talked to that William kid at the desk then handed him a message."

Heathe waited for Nate to look at him. "Listen, I know you think I've been used to get to you and maybe you're right. But I haven't been railroaded. I'm thinking about you. All those years when music was all you had and the years that followed when you gave it up to help your mom. This is somethin' you really love. It's a second chance. You gave me a second chance once. I want you to have the same opportunity. Think what it could mean in terms of money. You're fairly well off now, but this could free you. You'd be able to afford more help for Claire, hire full-time companions and nurses for her..."

"It would be years before I could do that. It just doesn't happen overnight."

"Overnight success is exactly the term J.T. used. Only the whole metamorphosis should actually take a year or so before your name becomes a household word."

"Great! Now I'm metamorphosing," Nate commented derisively.

"Yeah, it's a step-by-step process. They're gonna turn Chances Are over to you. But they don't want the name changed. You can guess why. Chance doesn't plan on being on the road that much, so there's no sense having the band sittin' around idle. You'll immediately cut a couple of singles and get busy on an album. You'll play small clubs, resort areas, open for other entertainers besides Chance, especially in the beginning. And they'll expect you to do a video as soon as possible. You'll be able to keep your own people around; me, Eddie, if you want to that is. Will you talk to 'em? They're waitin' to hear back from us."

Silently, Nate stood, stretched his lean frame and Heathe watched in alarm as, without a word, his friend headed for the lobby. Nate was already out the doorway when he came to an abrupt halt and called over his shoulder, "Let's go, Conan, I'll talk."