For instance?
Uh, a summer camp for underprivileged kids. A horse-therapy program for amputees that Oasis funded for a couple of years. Their last project, I think he said, was stopgap housing for kids awaiting adoption.
Why is Oasis dumping the ranch now?
Ted Gunderson said its difficult to get and keep houseparents way out here. I tell you, Linc, the property is smack in the middle of nowhere.
In the middle of nowhere suits me fine. A haven for ex-druggie street kids is better if its less accessible to temptations. Okay, John, you have my permission to start dickering. Now that Ive made up my mind, Im anxious to get going. If Oasis is willing to negotiate, Ill go as high as the top figure we discussed. Oh, and John, if you close a deal, will you swing past the county courthouse and apply for whatever licenses Ill need to house a dozen or so kids?
I almost forgotthats the big plus. Oasis will transfer their group-home license to you.
Thats permissible?
Must be. Gunderson seems to know. He says they have a year left on their state contract, but youll need to undergo a Social Services inspection. Gunderson claims its a mere formality. He implied theres nothing much to qualifying as a bona fide shelter.
Well, thats a relief. For the first time since the idea had struck him, Linc felt the heaviness around his heart lift just a little. Im headed back to my office. If you work a deal, contact me there. Then Ill put my house in Coldwater Canyon on the market and start notifying clients that Im turning them over to my partner until I get the shelter operating. Thought Id allow at least two years. By the way, Dennis has promised hell retain your firm for all the legwork I currently have you do.
I appreciate the vote of confidence. I only hope I can work with Dennis. I realize you like the guy, but frankly, Linc, I hope you know what youre doing. Rumor has it hes pulled some shady stuff to get accounts.
Youve been in Tinseltown long enough to know you shouldnt listen to rumors.
I tell you, Dennis Morrison doesnt have the same standards you do.
Name something hes done besides drop a couple of going-nowhere B stars to make room for a few up-and-comers. I wouldnt have done it, but our competitors do it constantly. I trust Dennis enough to hand him my personal portfolio. I doubt Ill have time to follow the market for a while. Running a teen shelter is going to be a new experience for me. Once its up and running smoothly, I figure I can step back and just do the fund-raising for it. By then Ill be ready to get back into the business.
Why risk your career at all, man? Youve got it made where you are.
Im doing it for Felicity.
I gotta be honest here. Youre putting your life on hold because you feel guilty about something no one couldve foreseen. You gave that kid a life anyone in her right mind would grab in a minute. Felicity blew it, Linc. Thats the unvarnished truth.
She was sixteen, John, my responsibility any way you cut it. I spend part of every single day in the Hollywood trenches. I knew she didnt have the talent to be a rock star. Instead of taking the time to try and steer her in a better direction, I shelled out bucks whenever she found some new bloodsucker to give her voice or music lessons. I guess I hoped shed eventually see for herself. That was a big mistake. My mistake.
Yeah, John muttered. You think your crystal ball shouldve told you one of her so-called mentors or rocker pals was a drug dealer on the side.
According to the cops, not all street kids are losers. I cant save all of them from Felicitys fate, but maybe I can redirect one or two. All I know is that Ill never be able to live with myself if I dont try. Call me with a final deal, all right?
There was an uncomfortable silence until Linc added, This Gunderson guy youre dealing withhe verified that there are no restrictions on the land against farming, right? I mean, part of my plan is to have the kids invest a little honest sweat plowing, planting and harvesting crops thatll eventually pay for their upkeep. Im not offering any other kid a free ride like I gave Felicity. Thats where I really fouled up.
Youll have the land, Farmer Parker. Jeez, I have a hard time envisioning you with blisters on those Midas hands of yours. But if youre serious, Ill go dicker.
Hear me, John. I am serious. Never more so. Ill be waiting for your report at my office. So long for now.
Nashville, Tennessee
PHONY FOG hissed from canisters strategically placed behind a row of footlights. A single spotlight faded by degrees until it left the twenty-six-year-old country singer swallowed in darkness and her signature mist. Her body cringed away from a rolling swell of whistles and stamping feet.
Unsnapping her guitar strap, she passed the instrument to a stagehand whod materialized from the wings. Her mind was fixed on the solace waiting in her dressing room.
Awesome performance, Misty! The stagehands shout was drowned out by the thunderous din from the auditorium. Hey, where ya goin? The kids lanky frame blocked her passage.
Im fixin to go change out of this hot costume. The singer blotted perspiration from her forehead with a satin sleeve. Eyes made electric blueby contacts her manager insisted she wear to conceal what he called her blah gray eyesclosed tiredly.
Wes said you hafta give four encores tonight.
Her eyes flew open and she shook her head.
Yep. Its a packed house. Wes says youre to give em a taste of your new songs so every fan here will stampede to the lobby and buy a CD.
Four encores? She sounded dazed, as if hed asked the impossible. Indeed, he had.
Four fingers were waggled under her nose. The crescendo beyond the stage had escalated to a degree that caused the young man to give up attempting to communicate. He pressed the guitar into her midriff and shoved her back toward center stage.
Miranda Kimbrough, known to country-music fans simply as Misty, dragged in a deep breath. Plastering on a smile as shed done so many times, she edged into the bright spotlight. She was a corporation. A multimillion-dollar star to whom a host of folks had hitched their wagons. So many people now depended on her that she was afraid of cracking under the burden. Besides back-to-back concerts at home and abroad, there were charity events scheduled and a growing number of photo shoots. Recently, subsidiary companies using her image had marketed T-shirts, look-alike dolls, posters and glossy notebook covers. She needed a break. She felt weighted down. Yet no one heard her plea.
When the theater again fell silent, Miranda adjusted the microphone with a trembling hand. It took a Herculean effort, but finally the music transported her to a place where singing songs had been a joy.
Her newest piece, one shed entitled A Cowboy at Heart, flowed easily from her husky voice. As well it should. Shed written it for her dad. And then she sang A Last Goodbye, which paid tribute to both her parents. Frankly, Miranda doubted anyone in this faceless audience knew or cared that eleven years ago on this very night, her father and his band had perished in the wicked storm raging across his beloved Tennessee hills. The new songs poured out her heartache for a dad shed lost five days after her fifteenth birthday, and for a mom whod died of pneumonia when Miranda was four.