Karen Kingsbury - Fifteen Minutes

Zack’s whole body buzzed with adrenaline. He could still feel the nervousness and hear the songs from those few crazy minutes in the tent. How had he gotten through? He must’ve projected better than at any time in all his life. He blinked a few times in the dark, picturing the moment. Then the truth hit him. God had gotten him through the tent audition. Not his own ability. How had he lost sight of that? He let the moment pass. God had given him his voice, so whether he got through on his own or by some miracle, God got the credit.

And now . . . now he would sing his heart out tomorrow and who knew? All those years of leading worship in Danville, and now this.

Suddenly anything was possible.

He closed his eyes and settled into the pillow. A certainty filled him and helped him fall asleep. Reese would understand why he didn’t call tonight.

No one believed in him more than her.

Kelly Morgan had never been more thankful for Botox. Especially after six straight weeks of judging these crazy auditions.

She looked in her dressing room mirror and smiled. Her plastic surgeon had flown in yesterday and administered it himself. No one knew the landscape of her face, the curves and slipping ground the way he did. She looked a little closer, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. Not a fraction of give. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Never mind that she was knocking at thirty-seven. Her face and body said otherwise.

“Ms. Morgan, your trainer called. He’ll meet you here at nine tonight.” The production assistant looked barely out of college. She handed Kelly a small folded piece of paper. “He found a gym willing to stay open for a private session.”

“Good.” Kelly didn’t make eye contact. She opened the piece of paper and read what her trainer had written. Glutes. Nine o’clock. Private car will be waiting. Five minutes from the stadium. Be ready .

Kelly could already feel the burn. The sensation that reminded her she was still in the fight, still winning the war against the clock. She would do what it took to beat the hands of time. Even when she lived out of a suitcase the way she had since Fifteen Minutes auditions began.

Makeup and hair hurried into her dressing room at the same time. “Ms. Morgan.” The stylist stood at her side, confident. “Same as we discussed?”

“Go bolder. I want to make a statement for Atlanta. It’s the last city.”

“If anyone can make a statement, you can.” The woman opened her box of brushes and curling irons and started working. Both women were part of Kelly’s staff. Her regulars. She wouldn’t think about being a judge on Fifteen Minutes without them. Another ten staffers buzzed about, prepping her wardrobe, organizing a table of organic kale and celery and ginger and green apples—the ingredients of Kelly’s mandatory power juice. Kelly credited her looks to the juicing almost as much as the Botox.

The room was in full swing, everyone doing his or her job so that in an hour Kelly Morgan could take her place as one of the premier judges on America’s hottest vocal reality show.

Kelly loved the energy in the room. She closed her eyes and breathed it in as her stylist worked a brush through her famous blond hair. The hair that had helped make a name for her twenty years ago when she starred in her own hit TV show. Back then she was America’s sexiest sweetheart. Every day Kelly worked so America wouldn’t forget.

The phone in her hand vibrated. A quick glance and she frowned. Her manager shouldn’t be calling now. Makeup was already poised over her, analyzing the shades and colors and choices that would make Kelly look best under the studio lights. Kelly held up her hand and the makeup artist stepped back. Rudy Smith had been with her since the beginning so she took the call. “Rudy.” Her impatience was part of the routine. “We roll cameras in less than an hour. What’s up?”

“I know your schedule. I booked you, remember?” He sounded tired.

“Fine. What’s wrong? Tell me this is urgent. Otherwise you wouldn’t call me till tonight, right?”

Rudy sighed. “It can’t wait.” His words seemed slower than usual, as if he dreaded what was coming. His hesitation drove her crazy. “We presented Cal with the divorce papers today. Like you asked. Kelly . . . he won’t sign. He absolutely refuses.”

“What?” She didn’t mean to shriek. She couldn’t help it. She waved her team off and hurried from the chair to the hallway. Where no one could watch her or quote her or snap a picture of her with an expression that would damage her reputation. She dropped her voice. “He has to sign the papers. He said he would.”

“He doesn’t have to do anything.”

“Isn’t that what he said?” She paced a few feet away from the dressing room door and back. “I have a boyfriend, for heaven’s sake. I’ve moved on. Of course he has to sign.” She felt her heartbeat quicken, felt the heat in her face. She wanted to hit something. “What game is he playing? We’ve been over this.”

“He’s changed his mind. Says he wants to work things out.” Rudy sounded baffled. “He doesn’t believe in divorce. That’s what he’s saying now. He won’t sign even if you never talk to him again. His words.”

He didn’t believe in divorce? Kelly laughed, but it sounded more bitter than funny. “This is what people like us do. They get divorced. What do you mean he doesn’t believe in it?”

“You’d have to ask him.” She could almost see Rudy slumped in his big leather chair.

Kelly paced again for several seconds. She stopped and closed her eyes. The past grabbed at her and for a few seconds she could see Cal Whittaker III on the day they married, feel his arms around her, hear him whispering to her as they danced in front of their family and friends. “I’m never leaving you, Kelly . . . never.” They were just twenty-two.

“Kelly?” Rudy was waiting for her orders.

The image in her mind disappeared. Who were they back then? Time had changed them into different people. Cal had been photographed with Europe’s hottest print model, and Kelly was dating the nation’s most-loved singer, a guy ten years younger than her, an American Idol finalist from a few seasons ago. As for Cal, there was no way back to the people they used to be.

She let her forehead rest against the wall. “I’m tired, Rudy. Tell Cal to quit playing games. Give him two months to sign the papers. I don’t want our lawyers involved. The press will make it the story of the year.”

“Okay. Two months.” Doubt crept into Rudy’s tone. “I don’t think it’ll work, but I’ll tell him.”

“Fine. Update me tomorrow.”

The call ended, but Kelly stayed unmoving. Her dad’s face filled her mind, the words of his last e-mail pushing in on her. It’s time, baby . . . you need to make things right. With me and your mom . . . with Cal. Your kids need you.

The memory of his voice sounded so clear he might as well have been standing beside her. The man she once admired, the one she hadn’t spoken to in a year. Not since her first affair became public and her dad pulled the God card. His advice never changed. She needed to repent and seek forgiveness and make things right with Cal. Blah, blah, blah.

Kelly breathed in deep through her nose and adjusted her posture. She didn’t need this, didn’t need Cal making life difficult for her, didn’t need the memory of her father’s e-mail. This was the biggest gig she’d had in five years. She was making $5 million for her role as judge this season, and the pre-show publicity had shot her last three albums back to the top of the charts.

Calm. Everything’s okay, Kelly. It’ll be fine. She exhaled and thought about her stylist and makeup artist waiting in the other room. She would go back to her chair and they would transform her, peel away the years so she was even more beautiful than she’d been in her twenties. In an hour she’d be in front of the cameras. Where she belonged. Where she had always belonged. I don’t need Cal’s games. I’m on top of the world. I’m Kelly Morgan.