Fifteen Minutes: A Novel (17 page)

He picked her up, twirled her around, kissed the top of her head and set her back down. She looked thinner, her face pale. Zack still had her hands in his. “You need to get better.”

“I’m trying.” Her grin took up her whole face. “I will now that you’re home.”

They talked for a few minutes, and then Zack and Reese had to join the others in the kitchen. He didn’t want William Gaines overseeing a line of questions to his parents or grandfather without being in the room. Already Gaines’s agenda felt shady.

On the way downstairs, Reese whispered, “How are you? Really?”

He stopped on the landing, the dark lighting perfect for the moment. He kissed her again, slower than before. As he pulled back, he breathed his answer against her cheek. “Perfect now.”

“Mmmm. Me, too.” She looped her arms around his neck. “I wish we had more time.”

“Maybe tonight.” He kissed her once more. “After church.” He took her hand and they finished the rest of the stairs and moved into the kitchen.

From that moment on the night passed in a blur. Gaines oversaw the filming while one of the on-air correspondents asked the questions. He was a young guy just out of college and excellent at getting responses.

Zack stood next to Reese and watched from across the kitchen. The correspondent was interviewing Zack’s younger brother, Duke. Their parents stood next to each other, clearly proud of the way Duke was handling the spotlight.

After Duke the questions were aimed at Zack’s mom and dad and then Grandpa Dan. The only one not interviewed was Reese. Zack pulled Gaines aside as the crew packed up and readied for the move to the church. “Did they forget about Reese? She knows a lot about my love for the farm. She works with horses.”

“Yeah, I know about that. She does equine therapy.” Gaines patted him on the back and smiled. “They’ll probably get her over at the church. She’s going, right?”

It was too weird how much Gaines knew about his life. Not that it would’ve taken a detective. Facebook and Twitter were enough to connect the dots. Still . . . Zack wondered as the group headed to the church just how much Gaines knew. There could be only one reason why he wasn’t in a hurry to get Reese on camera. She was the girlfriend. If Zack were single,
more people might tune in to the show. Chandra Olson had warned him about that.

Of all the people connected with the show, Chandra was easily the kindest, the most genuine. Everyone knew her story, the tragedy of it. If she had a faith in God, she didn’t talk about it. But she seemed concerned for Zack.

Yesterday when Chandra heard that he had a girlfriend, she warned him. “They won’t want you to talk about her. Just be aware. It’s easy to feel single when the producers are treating you that way.” Chandra told him something else, too. “They’re talking about you and Zoey. It’s a better story if a relationship develops from the show. Coming in with a girlfriend doesn’t do anything for ratings. Unless she’s sick or famous.” She smiled. “You get it?”

Zack got it. Proof played out through the night when Zack suggested twice that it might be a good time to interview Reese. The moment never happened. Reese stayed in the background while the on-air talent arranged camera time with five of the youth group kids and the pastor. They filmed the worship session, though Zack doubted they would use it. If they didn’t want him talking about his beliefs, they wouldn’t highlight that.

Either way, he used the chance to sing his heart out for the Lord, something he hadn’t felt the freedom to do since he left for Atlanta. He sang “Ten Thousand Reasons” by Matt Redmond and then Chris Tomlin’s “Your Grace Is Enough”. The moment spoke to his soul and a hundred teens sang along, many of them with hands raised.

The song hit a musical break and Zack looked over the beautiful sea of teens to the
Fifteen Minutes
crew. He wondered if they had ever seen anything like this. And then it hit him. Of course they had. They’d seen worship at every
Fifteen Minutes
finale. At every concert for one of the pop icons on the show. Zack
looked across the room. Yes, there was something weirdly familiar about the scene.

Zack wondered if the film crew saw the difference. Here the object of worship was not a celebrity. People were frail and broken and never meant to be worshipped. Here the adoration was geared toward the only One who deserved it. The One who would never leave or change or forsake His people, even those who denied Him. The One who had breathed life into the world and then sent His son to save it. Zack sang with all his heart.

“Bless the Lord, oh my soul . . . Oh my soul . . . worship His Holy Name . . .” The melody of the piano, the full chords from the guitars filled the building. Zack raised both hands to heaven. “You, Lord . . . You are the only One . . . the One who was and is and is to come.”

The teens cheered in response. Zack smiled. He needed this, needed to remember it. This was true worship. Centered on and directed at the only Holy One. God Almighty, Creator of the Universe, Savior and Lord.

The only frustrating part came when Gaines and the production team decided to pack up ten minutes early. Zack and Reese slipped out a back door with the crew and he pulled her off to the side so they’d have at least some privacy. “I’m not ready to leave.” He put his hands around her waist and searched her eyes. “I miss you.”

“Me, too.” Her eyes held an undeniable sadness. But she smiled all the same. “Just keep being a light. God’s in control.”

“It won’t be easy.” He looked over his shoulder at Gaines. “I’ll tell you later. Just keep praying.”

“I won’t stop.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “They’re waiting.” She brought her hand up and touched his hair, his cheek. “Don’t forget your promise.”

Zack looked deep into her eyes, through her. “Never.”

That was it, all the time they had. He caught the back of her head and leaned in to kiss her. “I’ll text you.”

She nodded and smiled again. The tears spilling down her face left her without words. She raised her hand and he did the same, taking backward steps away from her and then finally turning and jogging to catch up to the crew.

As they pulled away, he saw her standing there, watching him. The way she would watch him that week when his
Fifteen Minutes
audition aired. The van drove out of the church parking lot and Zack could no longer see her. He looked straight ahead and thought about the pace that awaited him in New York, the dynamics and skills and personalities of his team and his performing group.

He closed his eyes and sleep came in a rush. Next thing he knew they were at the airport, boarding the
Fifteen Minutes
private jet. He was exhausted, but he had no time for feeling tired.

Group rehearsals would start again first thing in the morning.

K
elly Morgan stepped off the private jet at LaGuardia and hurried through the muggy August night air to the waiting Escalade. The whole six-hour flight back from L.A. she couldn’t wait to talk to Michael. They hadn’t had a conversation in three days. Not that worry consumed her. But her heart was anxious about her boyfriend’s tour schedule and crazy fans and the foreign countries where he was spending his time. Tonight his show was somewhere on the coast of South Africa.

Maybe the concerns were a by-product of her exhaustion. She and her fellow judges had just finished a crazy three-day media blitz in anticipation of the first
Fifteen Minutes
episode, airing this week. The heat on both coasts only made her more tired. It was almost ten o’clock at night and still a humid ninety-six degrees. Kelly realized she’d have to pace herself. The demands on her time would be crazy from here out.

Which was why she wanted a Skype date with her boyfriend. Now.

She thought about her
Fifteen Minutes
schedule on the drive through the Lincoln Tunnel to midtown Manhattan. The previously taped and produced first-round auditions from eight cities would air alongside the ongoing auditions in New York. Over three weeks the episodes would catch up to the live auditions at which point the final twenty contestants would compete for the win. The Atlanta and Chicago auditions would air first—the strongest of the city stops, according to Samuel Meier. After three weeks there would be another nine weeks of audience voting and at the end of October the next
Fifteen Minutes
winner would be crowned.

Twelve weeks from now.

Kelly sat in the backseat in silence. Her driver was an Irish guy who’d been in New York for two years. He knew to keep to himself. She stared at the stopped traffic ahead of them and felt her frustration double. Twelve weeks? Three months of Michael touring the world and Cal leaving her messages and her father e-mailing her? This morning she’d found another e-mail from her dad. Cal and her father. Two reasons why she would fall asleep tonight with the tapes. A positive inner voice. That’s what she needed. Something to take her back to the way she felt when she was young and love was new and all was right with life. That life no longer existed. With the tapes she could at least feel that way. That was the plan.

Kelly’s driver took her bags to the entrance of her bedroom and quietly left. Finally silence. Kelly let it wash over her. Her rented flat was four thousand square feet with a private entrance for the live-in help. Kelly wouldn’t see them today. They knew
her schedule. When she returned from a trip she liked a clean house, a fridge full of fresh kale and chard, blueberries and almond milk. Fresh Atlantic sockeye salmon, baby organic spinach, and bottled organic egg whites. Special soy candles lit. And quiet. Perfect quiet. She checked the fridge and spotted the candles. She breathed in and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Everything would be fine with Michael. They just needed to talk.

She breezed through the entryway down the expansive hall to the kitchen. The air-conditioned spaces felt wonderful. On the way she checked her look in the mirror. She resisted the urge to frown. Travel aged her. She hated that. She pressed lightly at the top of her cheekbones. More Botox, sooner than later. More yoga. She looked herself up and down. At least her body looked young—mid-twenties for sure—thanks to the two training sessions every day, even on the road.

She stared at her image a little longer. Every week someone younger came onto the scene. A twenty-two-year-old Oscar winner, a fifteen-year-old
American Idol
winner. Some blond singer-songwriter who would take the nation by storm and win a roomful of Grammys before she was twenty.

Meanwhile, every day Kelly Morgan grew older, another day away from her prime. Relentless, ruthless age. Her opponent in the battle to stay at the top. She breathed in deep again. Amber and sage. The candles she’d chosen for her Manhattan home. The smell of peace. If things went well with
Fifteen Minutes,
she might be asked back. In that case, she and Michael might buy this place. They’d talked about it. The scent would stay.

Peace in the midst of the crazy city.

She poured herself a glass of cabernet and dropped to her spot in front of the kitchen computer. The screen was the size of most televisions, Apple’s biggest and best. Before turning it on,
she tapped a button on the nearest wall. Instantly Michael’s music sang to her from a dozen hidden speakers in the kitchen. Another deep breath. There. That was better. She checked the time and her heart fell. After eleven at night in New York meant five in the morning in South Africa. Michael partied hard after a show, staying awake into the wee hours of the morning. But even he would be asleep now.

She thought for a moment. She would text him. Just in case he was up.

Home sweet home. Finished shooting Leno this morning and flew straight back to New York. Miss you, baby. You awake?

Without waiting for a response, she set down her phone and brought the computer to life. Another e-mail from her father. Two from Rudy Smith, probably about Cal and his refusal to sign the papers. Another few from the
Fifteen Minutes
production team. She would read them later. First she wanted to see how the media was handling the recent L.A. interviews, specifically how they were playing up her part in the show. Her fingers moved over the keyboard and she called up
yahoo.com
. Sure enough—the launch of this season’s
Fifteen Minutes
was the top story. The headline was favorable. “Kelly Morgan, Chandra Olson Set to Spice Up
Fifteen Minutes
.”

Kelly smiled. But before she opened the story, the one next to it caught her attention. A piece about Michael Manning. Her smile died. At first the words didn’t make sense, didn’t connect. They shouted at her and made her head spin, made her dizzy and breathless. Seconds passed before she could get the slightest grip on her panic, enough so she could read the story.

No,
she told herself
. No! This isn’t happening. It couldn’t be! He would’ve told me if . . .

Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest and she struggled
to grab a full breath.
Open the story. You have to open the story.
The headline over the full-page piece was the same as the teaser. “Michael Manning Hooks Up with South African Star.” In case there was any doubt, the photo showed her boyfriend in two separate moments with a stunning blonde. In the first, they were walking down a busy street, holding hands and smiling into each other’s eyes. The second, they were in what looked like a dark-lit nightclub, locked in a passionate kiss.