know what would really cheer me up?”
Rachel asked, this time her smile seeming a bit more enthusiastic.
Feeling the twinges of dread, Charlene responded, “What?”
“If you’d get up there and sing.”
Her lips had been about to form the answer “no.” Of all people in the world, Rachel knew how much Charlene loved to sing. She also knew all the insecurities Charlene kept from everybody else.
It was no secret that Charlene’s passion was singing. She’d been singing any and every song she heard since she was four years old. It had been the only thing she was good at that Candis couldn’t do. The best part about it was that Charlene could really sing. But once she had graduated from high school and went on to study music at The Herb Alpert School of Music at CalArts, furthering her musical knowledge, Charlene’s focus had turned to training other people with musical talent.
But tonight wasn’t about her, it was about the friend who’d been there for her through all her trials and tribulations. After all, that’s what friends were for.
“If I do this, you’d better smile for the rest of the night. No more sulking, no more regretting, nothing. Deal?”
Rachel, knowing she’d won this not-so-small battle, smiled happily, turning her hand over to grip Charlene’s. “I promise. C’mon, let’s look through the catalog to see what songs they have.”
Before Charlene could say another word, they were facing the computerized jukebox, pressing buttons that allowed the display of songs to change quickly. After about four screen changes, Rachel pointed to a song and proclaimed, “That one.”
Reading the selection, Charlene couldn’t help but smile. It had been one of her favorite songs in high school.
So without further hesitation she’d selected the song and headed up to the stage while Rachel hurried back to her seat. It was Friday night, a little after ten, and the bar was just starting to pick up more customers. Karaoke night was huge here and the hot wings and beer weren’t bad either. So as she adjusted the microphone to fit her height—the man with the huge belly had been taller by a few inches—she experienced a slight case of the butterflies after noticing the amount of people sitting at tables waiting for her performance.
Crowds bothered Charlene only to the extent that she didn’t like people staring at her. As for performing, once she began singing she was often so lost in the music and the lyrics that all else ceased to exist. So her fingers trembled slightly when she lifted her enclosed fist to cover her mouth, clearing her throat.
Applause had already begun from a few of the customers sitting right up front.
“Sing, baby! Sing!” A partially inebriated man with a cigarette stuck to his lower lip yelled. How did he keep that thing on his lip? she wondered absently. Then she nodded to the older lady operating the karaoke machine.
She didn’t need the words that appeared on the prompter, she knew the song by heart. The already dim room grew just a tad darker until there was only a spotlight on her. She couldn’t see the faces of the people in the audience but could make out the outline of their heads. The first chords of music started and she felt that familiar stirring inside.
It began in the pit of her stomach, swirling around until warmth filled her entire body. That’s what happened when she sang, her entire soul was filled.
Then right on cue, with her eyes staring out into the darkness, she began to sing the lyrics to Mariah Carey’s “Hero.”
“There’s a hero, if you look inside your heart. You don’t have to be afraid of what you are.” This had been her theme song all throughout high school. Of course it had been out for a while by that time, but it didn’t matter. She loved the lyrics, loved what they meant and how empowered they made her feel.
Loved them so much that they were all she could focus on while singing and she didn’t see the tall, slender man watching her from a table in the far corner of the room.
Ten minutes and a roomful of applause later, Charlene had stepped down from the stage, only to be stopped just as she approached the table where Rachel was still clapping gleefully.
“Jason Burton from Playascape Records. And you are?”
For a second she’d only stared at him, not even acknowledging the business card he held out to her with one hand or his charming smile. Had he said he was from a record company?
Then Rachel was by her side. “She’s Charlene Quinn and I’m Rachel Wellesley from Limelight Entertainment Agency. How can we help you, Mr. Burton?”
The conversation had gone on from that moment but Charlene was so flabbergasted at the actual thought of this man thinking she’d sounded good enough to record that she barely remembered it all.
The next day Charlene and Sofia were in downtown Los Angeles riding the elevator to the executive offices of Sahari Davenport, CEO of Empire Music, the music conglomerate that distributed Playascape Records. Charlene had officially been signed as a Limelight client and with Sofia’s smooth expertise had left that office two hours later with her first record deal.
And now, as if she hadn’t been on a fast enough roller coaster of emotions, she was heading out to Miami to work with superproducer Akil Hutton, the man who was going to make all her secret dreams come true.
Something was wrong.
It just couldn’t be, Akil Hutton thought for the millionth time since he’d received the package from Jason early yesterday morning.
“She’s gonna be the next Whitney Houston, Ace. I’m tellin’ you, wait till you meet her.”
Jason had called him Ace since their early days interning at Empire. Over the last ten years he and Jason had worked their butts off to build this company into the hip-hop and R&B powerhouse it was today. They’d both started out as interns for Empire Music, knowing that one day they wanted a piece of that pie for themselves. Since Jason was a people person with a distinct ear for what was hot and what was not, he’d been a shoo-in for the A&R spot, “Artists and Repertoire” was like his middle name.
And since Akil had been more of a beats-and-lyrics man himself, he’d taken his seat in the studio, working alongside the engineers and the artists to get the perfect sound for each recording.
Nineteen number-one hits, seven platinum CDs, three gold, five Grammy Awards ranging from R&B Single to Producer of the Year and millions of dollars later, Akil and Jason were still hanging tight. Akil could say that Jason was the closest thing to a friend he had in this world.
And that was a sorry shame.
But back to this latest dilemma.
In one hand Akil held a picture, an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven glossy print of a pretty woman, with butter-toned skin and root-beer brown eyes. Her smile was fun, touching the soft dimples in each cheek and the edges of her eyes. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face in some sort of updo that didn’t really flatter her other features. But that was the least of his worries.
Although her face had captured him, sent a little tinge to his chest, the rest of her made him pause. She wasn’t a rail-thin woman—after being in the business for years he knew this was the look, slim and trim, almost emaciated—on the contrary; she was full-figured with more curves than the law should possibly allow. Her clothes, however, left a lot to be desired. She wore slacks, nice enough, in a navy blue color and a button-down blouse, high heels and light makeup. An outfit that didn’t scream “sexy” and barely whispered “diva.”
It yelled “average, nondescript, forgettable” from the business standpoint. On the personal, well, he didn’t even want to think about that.
All those words were deadly in his line of work.
Then he closed his eyes, shut out the visual and simply listened to the voice bellowing from the speakers in his home studio just