“The hell you are,” growled Owen.
“She knows a lot of our secrets,” he said pointedly to Owen. “We don’t want her to tell the record company. I think we should keep her happy.”
Owen looked away.
Quentin explained to Erin and Martin, “We’re only going up for a few hours. She wants to see her friend who just had a baby, and I’ll check on the medical foundation. I won’t have time to break Rule Three.”
“It probably wouldn’t take you very long,” Martin remarked.
“I’m tired of your stamina jokes,” Quentin said. “Erin, tell Martin about that time in Valdosta.”
Erin smiled. Owen, adjusting a cymbal, didn’t look the least bit jealous. What a relief.
But then Erin said, “Sarah won’t tell the record company about us now that she has the album. You can check on the foundation some other time. There’s no good reason for you to go.” She ran through a fiddle lick as if that were the end of the discussion.
Quentin stepped over to Martin and said quietly, “Nine Lives is more likely to come after Sarah up there than down here. I’d appreciate it if you could help a brother out on this one.”
Martin said, “I’ll talk to Erin later.”
The Timberlanes went home, the technicians went home, and at 11:47 p.m., the Cheatin’ Hearts completed Buns of Steel. They crowded around Sarah, who was still curled in a ball on the control room chairs. They sang “Strip Poker Blues” a cappella as they presented her with the master copy of the album. She called the head honcho at Manhattan Music and yelled to him over the jubilant singing that the first part of her mission was accomplished.
13
FINALLY a chance to e-mail you. Can’t wait to see you this afternoon! We are all well rested for your visit! HAHAHAHA gotta go baby crying again
Wendy Mann
Senior Consultant
Stargazer Public Relations
“How’d your meeting go?” Quentin asked as he opened the taxi door for Sarah and stepped back to let her in the car.
She gave the driver the address of Wendy’s loft in Tribeca and waited for Quentin to slide in beside her. As the taxi moved into traffic down Sixth Avenue, she said happily, “Manhattan Music was very impressed that I turned in your album at all. They were ecstatic that it’s so good. What have you been doing to those poor people?”
“Nothing they didn’t deserve,” Quentin said.
She relaxed against the seat, watching midtown Manhattan flash by. “I just wish I had longer in the city. I didn’t expect my meeting to run over. Now I’ll hardly have time to exclaim over the baby and stop in at my apartment before our flight.”
“Oh, by the way,” Quentin said offhandedly, “I called Stargazer and talked to the lady who handles your travel reservations. I postponed our flight until noon tomorrow.”
“Really,” Sarah said, hoping she looked irritated rather than delighted. She scrolled down her contacts to the travel desk and held the phone to her ear. “Voice mail,” she informed Quentin. “This chick is just digging herself a deeper hole.” After the beep, she said, “It’s Sarah. Just calling to remind you that you don’t work for Quentin Cox. You work for Stargazer. For now.”
As she clicked the phone off, Quentin said, “That was harsh. She was a nice lady.”
Sarah felt a flash of guilt, but she brushed it off. “That nice lady was totally taken in by your act. She probably gazed moonily into space while you serenaded her with ‘Naked Mama.’ And I’m afraid you’re about to find out what harsh is. You’re supposed to be back in Birmingham tomorrow for a run-through of the concert. Erin will call you.”
“I’ll make it in time,” he said. “The run-through isn’t until tomorrow night. But you’re right. She’ll still call me. I left a message with Martin about what I was doing and then turned my phone off. Turn yours off.”
“I can’t do that,” Sarah said. “There might be a PR catastrophe while I’m gone.”
“They’ll leave a voice mail, I promise.”
“And that’s another thing,” Sarah protested. “I don’t want to talk to an angry Erin on the phone, but I don’t want to listen to a bunch of voice mails from an angry Erin, either.”
“She won’t leave you a bunch of messages. She’ll leave me a bunch of messages. She’ll leave you one.”
“I’ll bet it’s a doozy.”
“It’ll be worth it,” he said.
She glanced over at him. His brown curls danced behind his ears in the blast from the air conditioner vent. He bent his head to the bottom of the taxi window and squinted up at the tops of the passing skyscrapers, as Alabamians who had never lived in New York were wont to do, she remembered from her freshman year at college. He wore his poker face. It was impossible to tell whether he intended innuendo when he told her it would be worth it.
She wanted innuendo, and she didn’t. She wanted him, but she couldn’t entertain the possibility of stealing him from Erin. If the group broke up, even with the album completed, she might lose her job. Nine Lives would tell Manhattan Music what she’d done to him, Manhattan Music would tell Stargazer, and she’d never work in PR again. Quentin eventually would break up with her because she was an unemployed loser. And then she’d be one of these guys wandering in the busy street, spraying and wiping windshields and demanding five dollars.
Quentin lowered his window and stuck his head into the wind like a happy dog. Apparently Sarah didn’t have to make a decision about sex, because there was no innuendo. He said innocently, “You get to spend some quality time with your friend. And when you’re done, I can drop you off at your apartment and visit the foundation. We’ve been on tour so long, I haven’t been by in a year. Since Thailand, I’d like to make sure they’re on top of this allergy thing.”
Sarah nodded. “So it’s a real foundation.”
“Of course it’s a real foundation. Did you think it was a fake foundation?”
“Word around Manhattan Music is that it’s a red herring to draw attention away from your cocaine addiction.”
“That does sound like something we’d do.” He laughed. “But that would be one expensive fish. No, the foundation is real. I don’t want anyone else to have to go through what I went through when I was a kid.”