The 9-Month Bodyguard. Cindy Dees
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the receiver, took off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose before he finally said more calmly, “Silver Girl. I gather your father has sprung his little birthday surprise on you?”
He’d called her Silver Girl since she’d been a child. The two of them used to be as close as a beloved uncle and an adored niece. But that relationship, too, had been a casualty of her wild years. He’d overlooked her atrocious behavior far longer than anyone else, but even his patience had run out eventually. Ever since, he’d maintained a frosty distance from her that she’d respected as her just desserts. But she missed him.
“Hi, Saul. I’m sorry you couldn’t make my party. Daddy really went overboard.” She added wryly, “I expect he was trying to make the point to me that, like it or not, I’m an adult now.”
Saul’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t crack the smile that had once come so readily for her. She sighed. “Harold told me about the show here at the Grand. I never thought he’d do something like that for me. I mean, it’s not like I deserve it or anything.”
That sent Saul’s gray, shaggy brows up.
It was exceedingly uncomfortable having to maintain the entire conversation by herself like this, but apparently doing this gig was going to involve swallowing a healthy dose of crow, too. She continued doggedly. “He didn’t tell me what you had in mind for the shows. Am I penciled in yet?”
Saul studied her inscrutably. “How soon can you be ready to go onstage? You’ll need to be in tip-top shape, maybe take a few singing lessons. After all these star search shows, singers today are expected to really blow out a song.”
The criticism stung. She’d always had plenty of range and power for any song her record label had given her. She replied evenly, “I’ve been singing again for a while. And I’ve been working out. I’m ready now, Saul. The sooner we do this thing, the better.”
He leaned back, frowning, and said doubtfully, “You’re gonna have to find new material… backup singers…you can use the hotel’s band and orchestra, but they’ll need arrangements…costumes and choreography…”
Her stomach was quickly filling up with lead. What he was talking about could take months. In the past, she’d had an entire crew of handlers who had taken care of all the details of putting together one of her tours. Frankly, she’d done little more than learn the songs and show up for a few costume fittings. But this time, it sounded like Saul expected her to do the bulk of the preparatory work herself. An hour ago, she’d have leaped all over the idea of getting to design her own show. But then she’d found out she was pregnant, and a time bomb—in the form of a looming baby bump—had suddenly started ticking.
She took a deep breath. “Saul, I need to do this show right away. I don’t have time to develop big production numbers or manage a cast of thousands.”
His bushy eyebrows came together over glaring eyes. “Do you want to blow this shot?”
She winced. “No. I really, really want to restart my career, and I fully understand how much is riding on this. But I can’t spend months and months pulling this thing together.”
“Why the hell not, missy?”
She closed her eyes. Much more even than her father, Saul could make or break her comeback based on how he supported her show. The good news was that, in many ways, Saul had been more of a father to her over the years than Harold had been. The bad news was he might very well be out to sabotage her comeback.
As Saul stared down at her hands, she realized she was wringing them until they were an angry red. She stopped. “Saul. I swear I have a life-shattering reason why I have to do this show now. But I can’t tell you. I don’t have any right at all to ask you, but could you please just trust me on this one?”
Skepticism glittered in his eyes.
She sighed. “I’ve changed. I’ve grown up. I’m not that spoiled, snot-nosed brat I was a few years ago.” Did he remember the night he’d called her that? When she’d called him to bail her out of jail before the paparazzi got wind of it, and he’d come down to the police station and told her she could rot in the slammer for all he cared?
The memory of that night gleamed in his gaze, too. “You’re so grown up and committed to your career that you won’t sacrifice your personal plans to do this show right?” he bit out sarcastically.
Desperation made her throat tight. “I hear what you’re saying. You’re absolutely right. But I can’t work around this one. I’d give up anything—everything in the world—except one thing, to perform again. And that one thing makes it necessary for me to do this show in the next few months.”
Saul stared at her long and hard. If he’d figured out what she was making veiled reference to, he didn’t comment on it. Finally, he reached into his desk and pulled out a leather day planner. Saul was old school. No computers or PDAs for him. He did everything on paper. “Lemme take a look at the schedule.”
She exhaled on a massive sigh of relief. This could work if he’d cooperate with her.
“You’re booked for Valentine’s Day next year.”
She did the math fast. Good Lord, she’d be over eight months pregnant by then. “What have you got that’s sooner?”
He thumbed through the pages. “I always book a year or more in advance. But there is one possibility…” He trailed off as he turned to a page near the front of the planner. She peeked across his desk and saw June in block print at the top of the page. That was next month. Hope sprang through her.
“That phone call you walked in on was the manager for Metal Head Dead.”
They were a rock band currently topping the charts. Their reputation was already worse than hers had ever been. And yet, because they were guys, they got away with all the rotten stunts that had deep-sixed her career. In fact, their careers were helped by their wild antics. She put aside her bitterness. The double standard was just part of the business.
Saul was talking again, mumbling to himself. “…would put their knickers in a twist if I canceled their leather-clad butts. And tickets for their show are set to go on sale in three days…We could call a press conference…make a big announcement about your comeback…tickets could go on sale immediately and we could capitalize on the buzz…”
He looked up at her. “You’d have only six weeks to pull the entire thing together. You won’t be able to scrimp on anything…it’s going to have to be a top-notch production or you’ll be a worse has-been than you are now.”
Ouch.
He continued, “I’m telling you, I think it’s impossible to get a decent show together by then. Plus, June isn’t the big tourist season on the strip.”
She replied hopefully, “But it’s hot enough that everyone who is in town is inside and going to shows.”
He shrugged. “I can’t promise sellout crowds with only a few weeks to promote the gig. But if you’re hell-bent on doing this thing right away, I can book you for June.”
She darted around his desk to lay a big hug on him, just like the old days. The tears of gratitude that came to her eyes seemed to surprise him as much as they surprised her. She whispered, too choked up to speak any louder, “Thanks, Uncle Saul. I promise I won’t let you down this time.”
For just a moment, he returned the hug. Then he cleared his throat and set her away from him. “Now. About music,” he said briskly. “I’d better be the one to make the call to your old label. The way I hear it, you didn’t part on the best of terms.”
Silver grimaced. Now there was an understatement. She’d been fired and escorted out of the record company’s building by armed guards. In retrospect, she’d probably deserved worse. As she recalled—vaguely—she’d been stoned out of her head at the time.
She took a deep breath. “Actually,