Fic: Ready Now (If You Can Wait a Little More) 2/6
Title: Ready Now (If You Can Wait a Little More)
Fandom: American Idol (Adam/Kris)
Word Count: 44,500 [complete]
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No infringement on the rights of real people intended. Not profiting in any way.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI
Monday
A hangover would've been better than the jetlag.
Kris woke up on Central Time and winced against the sunrise spilling across Cale's couch. He rolled out of the light and groped for his cell phone to check the time. And his messages.
Nothing from Adam.
Kris's stomach roiled but he swallowed the bile down and tried calling Adam for the hundredth time. And when that went to voice mail, too, he dialed Donald. Adam's agent didn't answer-probably screening Kris's call. Short of actually looking up TMZ on his phone-and risking seeing his own drunk face spread all over the screen, kill him now-Kris was at a loss.
Where the fuck was Adam? He wracked his brain, searching his memory for something he'd missed last night. But there was nothing new, nothing that had seemed off or out of the ordinary. Except one minute Adam had been inviting Kris back to his hotel…and the next he was just…gone.
Defeated, Kris dropped his head down on the arm of Cale's couch and tried to get comfortable, but it was no good. He was wide awake now; there was no way he could fall asleep with crazy conspiracy theories and concerns for Adam running through his head. So he shoved off the couch and sniffed his t-shirt, took the time to pull out a clean shirt and brown hoodie from his suitcase before staggering to the tiny bathroom, already texting the cab company.
The second time he woke up that morning, the cab driver was leaning over the back of the seat, asking loudly, "Hey, this is it, right?"
Kris blinked his eyes open and squinted into the sun, wished he'd thought to unpack his sunglasses before throwing the suitcase in the trunk. He pushed two twenties at the guy and didn't even ask for change. Sixty seconds later, he was crossing the street to his apartment building, suitcase in hand, thinking about calling his erstwhile PA to beg for coffee to magically appear, when he heard the shouts.
Whirling around and almost tripping over his rolling bag, Kris spotted half a dozen paparazzi springing from cars he hadn't noticed before, converging on his location like a pack of vicious rottweilers. Kris picked up the bag and sprinted for it, but he was too slow, and by the time he'd been cut off and circled, his heart was pounding like a frightened rabbit's.
Cameras shoved into his face, and somebody even had a video camera with no call signs on the sides, and everyone was shouting at once.
"Kris, Kris!" "What were you doing in Lennox last night?" "We heard Adam was trying to score drugs; is that where his dealer lives?" "How does your ex-wife feel about your drug use? Is that what caused the divorce?" "The FBI believes Adam's been kidnapped, what do you have to say about it?" "Adam's agent claims Adam's visiting his family in San Diego. Is this just a publicity stunt?" "What kind of car was it?" "Did you see the men who took him?" "What did you think of Mojito Café; is it the next big club scene in L.A.? Was anyone else famous with you?"
"They what?" Kris croaked, picking up on two key words. FBI. Kidnapped. Holy shit. The Adam-related panic Kris had beaten back this morning reared its head again. The cameras were click-click-clicking away. He thought about pulling the hood up over his head. God, why hadn't he done that in the cab? "This is the first I've-"
"The first you've heard of what?" someone demanded.
All of this was a first for Kris. Adam engaged the paparazzi all the time, laughed and joked with them, knew half of them by name. Kris had never spoken back, let alone tried to have a conversation. "You said 'kidnapped'?"
"Yeah, do you have a comment, anything you'd like to say to his kidnappers?"
"No, I-"
"So are the drug stories true? He's lost a lot of weight recently! What was he using, cocaine?"
"Anything you'd like to say to Adam's fans?"
Kris couldn't get over the shock of it. Adam was- Why? Who the hell would want to hurt Adam?
"Kris, any comment? Come on, you've obviously got something to say."
What did people usually say when their loved ones were taken? "I'll pay anything," he blurted, hoping they couldn't see the terrified, devastated feeling growing in his chest. "Anything. To anyone who has information on how to get him back. I'll. Just call me, okay? Please."
"How much is the reward?" one of the faceless cameras demanded, and then the luxury apartment building's private security team was wading in, turning away the paparazzi with stiff arms. Kris let them shove him in the opposite direction, staggered into the lobby and let the desk clerk buzz him through to the elevators.
He'd just gotten out of the shower when he heard his cell phone ringing, and he got so excited he slipped and fell hard on the wet tiles, ended up cursing and grabbing his knee on the floor for a few seconds. The phone was still ringing when he finally yanked the bathroom door open and hopped out, naked and dripping wet, to dig through the pile of clothes.
"Adam?" he yelled as soon as he had the phone to his ear.
"Kris," Vanessa said sharply, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Kris's heart sank and he sat down on the plush carpet, leaned against the bed. "Oh. Hey."
"19E is throwing a shit fit! You're all over the news, offering some kind of reward for Adam. What the hell were you thinking?" She was so angry he could practically feel her frizzy hair vibrating through the phone.
Katy had taught him the only successful strategy for dealing with his agent: play along when she got angry, and then sneak around her when she wasn't paying attention. "I'm…I wasn't thinking?" he offered.
"And that's what you're gonna tell Robert? He'll love that. Why the hell didn't you stay in Arkansas like you'd planned? You had to go to a party in a ghetto and get involved in a high-profile kidnapping and blab to the press looking hung over and sounding completely out of your mind…. You're the American Idol! A goddamn role model!"
"I know, I'm sorry! I'm a big headache for everyone. And you can yell at me later, okay? But I just got out of the shower and I'm naked and freezing. Let me put some clothes on and call you back."
"No. No no no. You're meeting me downtown in 15 minutes so you can explain your behavior to Robert. London's calling for your head, so I suggest you start practicing your apologies."
"I can't get there in 15-"
"They wanted you there 10 minutes ago," she snorted. "I've sent a car for you. Just be in the lobby in 2 and we'll blame the delay on rush hour."
Kris hung up spitefully and buried his head in the striped duvet for more time than he had.
Vanessa's lie about the traffic wasn't going to fly. Two days after Christmas, the streets were still half empty, and the town car pulled up out front of The Sunset barely 25 minutes after leaving Kris's place. Luckily, Robert was too busy ripping Kris a new asshole to listen to traffic excuses. Kris looked out Robert's 12th story office window while the Vice President of the American Idol brand berated him for ending up at the center of a criminal investigation and daring to open his mouth in public without reviewing appropriate talking points.
Robert's executive assistant brought Kris a cup of coffee. He made sure to smile politely, and she smiled and winked before sashaying out of the room.
"I still don't even know what's going on!" Kris said, interrupting Robert's tirade about Kris's contract clauses covering self-representation. "Is it true the FBI is looking for him?"
Robert scowled deeper at the interruption but nodded. "Yes. As soon as we heard from Donald, we knew we couldn't just leave this up to the locals to handle."
"But last night Donald said everything was fine-"
"Donald knows how to handle the press in a crisis," Robert snapped. "Unlike some people." Vanessa shifted uncomfortably in the white art deco armchair. "You're not even supposed to be out in public yet! I thought we'd agreed you'd lay low until February."
Kris flushed and changed the subject back to Adam. "So who has Adam?"
"We don't know."
"But it's a kidnapping?"
"The FBI is considering the possibility."
"Oh my God," Kris said, not for the first or last time.
"And you had to go and offer a reward for him. Look, I know he's your friend. That's worked out fine; it's a good story most of the time, and a lot easier for tour scheduling than that damn Lee & Crystal nightmare. But you can't be offering a reward. Okay? That makes us look bad. Do you realize the position your little press conference this morning puts me in?"
"No."
"We have to offer a reward. And you have to retract yours; explain that you were speaking on behalf of 19 Entertainment when you said that."
"It's my money; why can't I pay if I want to-"
"Because it's the label's responsibility! The press think we owe it to our talent, and they're beating us up on this. So now I have to call headquarters and get them to approve a $100,000 reward that you've forced us into!"
"I'm-" Kris stopped himself before completing the instinctive apology, because fuck Robert if he was more worried about $100,000 than finding Adam.
"Kris," Vanessa whispered, tilting her head toward Robert to prompt him to finish. But a tall guy in a black suit burst through the door, stealing Vanessa's attention.
"Rob, it's getting worse. I've got Hopkins from The Crystal Club talking to legal, asking if we're terminating the contract. Apparently E! is reporting the New Year's Eve show's off."
"Son of a bitch," Robert hissed. He took a calming breath and gritted through clenched teeth, "Stall him as long as you can. We can hold out 'til, what, Wednesday? I have to talk to the accountants, look at the bottom line before we cancel."
"You can't cancel the show!" Kris blurted, but they ignored him.
"And find out who the hell told E! we're canceling!" Robert yelled as the suit backed out the door. He laughed brokenly, "Ticket refunds, and we still have to pay the dancers, plus the damn penalty clause and a reward…. We're gonna lose a small fortune. And we'll have to report it in this quarter…"
Kris sputtered; he couldn't believe they would actually consider canceling the New Year's Eve show, the concert Adam had spent the last three months organizing. Adam was obsessed with it, and they were going to take it away from him like a punishment for getting kidnapped or something. His hands actually shook with anger as he repeated, "You can't cancel. Adam needs this show!"
Robert raised his eyebrows. "If I have no star, how the hell do I keep the show on? People aren't gonna come to see an empty stage. No, I have to deal with this before it turns into Vegas-"
"I'll do it."
Vanessa made a hissing sound Kris ignored. His brain raced faster than he could spit the words out as he scrambled for a way to save Adam's concert.
"Don't cancel; make it a Season 8 night. Matt Giraud's in town, and Anoop, too; they'd do it. Or get some other 19E talent, call it a label showcase, whatever. You can still put on a show. We'll cover all Adam's music. Just don't cancel it, please."
Because Adam would make it back in time. And when he did, everything had to be exactly the way he left it. So they could pick up right where they'd left off.
Robert looked thoughtful. He tapped his lips with a pen and then opened a drawer, pulled out a tablet of lined paper. "This is interesting. This is interesting."
Vanessa shot Kris a quick look, as though checking that he was really serious, and then dragged her chair closer to the big glass desk. "Rob, if you wanna use Kris, we'll have to negotiate a full contract…." She had her best fake-smile on-the one that always came out when she smelled blood.
"Not if he's volunteering his time-"
"This isn't the Haiti fundraiser-that's not how this one works. Adam was getting compensated for this show, wasn't he? I think I should have a look at that contract before we make any decisions about Kris's compensation-"
Kris took a gulp of his hot coffee, wishing the headache behind his eyes would go away. It still seemed so surreal, like nothing had actually happened last night. They were talking business like they always did, when Adam was God only knew where, and in what condition.
Adam probably didn't have the warmth of a hot cup of coffee, or a leather chair, central heating. Food or water or…. He pushed his coffee cup away with a clatter on the ornate side table and covered his mouth with his hand to hide his mounting horror as his agent and his label deconstructed Adam's all-important show for their own benefit.
There had to be something more he could do for him.
"No way is that happening," Robert was glaring. He stabbed at the buttons on his desk phone. "Lisa Ann, could you get Ted Burke up here?" He smirked triumphantly at Vanessa. "You've worked with Ted before, right?"
"He's the one who tried to shaft Kris on the Nokia Theatre New York receipts, right? Yeah, I know Ted. And he's not pulling any fast ones on us this time. I want two points higher than the Rose Bowl contract or we're walking out right now."
Robert's smirk soured. "We can't decide anything until London weighs in on this."
Vanessa was already rooting through her briefcase. "I have a copy of Kris's 19E contract with me, and Section VII very specifically-"
Kris's cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked the phone with the same heart-in-his-throat hope, flipped it open to answer the unknown number. "Adam?"
"Mr. Allen?" a female voice asked.
The disappointment hurt just as much as the last time his phone rang. "Yeah, that's me." He stood up and walked closer to the vertigo-inducing floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. "Who's this?"
"Special Agent Foltz with the FBI. We'd like you to come in and give us a statement about what happened last night if you have time."
Finally, something that might actually help.
"Sure, yes," he said eagerly. "Where, the big building downtown?"
"That's right, 11000 Wilshire. Are you free to come in today?"
He looked at the two sharks fighting over the remains of Adam's concert and clenched a fist. "I'm free right now. I can be there in half an hour."
Kris shifted in the upholstered chair and checked his watch. It'd been an hour since they put him in the small interview room. It reminded him of a doctor's waiting room; bland carpeting, no windows, and a box of tissues on a side table. But the only reading material they'd offered him was a copy of the statement he'd made to the police last night.
He should have stayed at 19E; their coffee was better.
"Thank you for waiting, Mr. Allen," a familiar voice said, preceding a busty brunette into the room.
"You're Agent Foltz?"
"Yes." She perched on the edge of the chair across the table from him, unbuttoning her suit jacket. She held out her hand. "Diana Foltz."
"Hi," he said, shaking her hand.
"Hi," she echoed with a charming smile that rubbed him the wrong way. "So you've looked over your statement? Is there anything you'd like to add?"
"No, it's fine."
"You're sure? You said in the statement you'd been drinking before leaving the club. Your head isn't just a little bit clearer today?" Her smile was still perfectly charming, as though she weren't judging him for being drunk when his friend was kidnapped.
And fine, Kris was maybe judging himself for that, but that wasn't any of her business. Foltz and her innocent, razor-edged smile. "It's fine."
She slid the paper out from under his hands and turned it upside down, pushed it to the side. "So tell me what isn't in the statement. Tell me about Mr. Lambert."
"Um?"
"I understand you're one of his closest friends. Someone he partied with and hung out with. Someone he would confide in; share things he might not have shared with his family. Was anything bothering him lately? Anything new or out of the ordinary in his life?"
"Well, things haven't been ordinary for years, but…they'd gotten worse, after November," Kris admitted. "He's had to have bodyguards almost full time, and he totally hates it."
"What happened in November?"
"The show at the Luxor in Las Vegas."
He waited for her to nod. She just raised her eyebrows and smiled a little more, urging him to repeat things she obviously already knew.
He sighed in annoyance. "Fake-ticket scammers oversold the venue by almost half, and some fans got hurt in the crush at the gates. Adam said he got some messed up letters after that. Not death threats, but like…weird stuff. Blaming him."
"So he hired extra security," she said. "He didn't have bodyguards with him last night, though…."
"No, he. He called it an Anti-L.A. Birthday Party. No paparazzi, no fans. I guess that included no bodyguards, too."
"And given the disturbed mail he'd received, did that seem like a normal decision he would make?"
"Nobody there knew who we were," he protested, "that was the point. We could just be ourselves, without anybody asking for autographs or watching us. He shouldn't have needed security."
"Are you sure nobody recognized you? Lambert didn't know anyone there outside of your party?"
"Well, the DJ. That's how he heard about the place."
"The DJ. And what was his name?"
"I don't know. I didn't meet him."
"Okay. And no one else was watching him last night?"
"Not that I noticed."
She swiped at the corner of her mouth and Kris finally saw the smile change, watched her flex her jaw like her face muscles had cramped from keeping the charm in place. When she dropped her hand, the smile was back. It reminded him oddly of Adam's talk-show appearances. "And for this anti-L.A. party, Mr. Lambert intended to avoid the paparazzi? How did he manage that?"
"I don't know. Like I told the police, I hadn't planned on being there, so I didn't know any of the details. And when I got there, I didn't ask. You could talk to Shep, though. Ask how Adam got around him."
"Shep?"
"Shep, you know, the skinny guy with the yellow vest? He's Adam's number one paparazzi-stalker. Wherever Adam goes, Shep's there for the photos."
"Does Shep have a last name?"
"I don't know. Call any of the tabloids-they all know him."
Agent Foltz smiled at him for a long, still moment, head cocked ever so slightly to imply a question. And then she took a breath and moved again, put her fingertips on the table top. "Mr. Allen, I'd like to give you the opportunity to tell us anything else you think we should know. Anything about Mr. Lambert that you feel has relevance here. Secrets, indiscretions, fears…."
That covered a lot of ground. Kris knew everything about Adam, or close enough to it. From his favorite toothpaste, to his favorite restaurant in Tokyo. From the way he gasped when he touched himself in the bunk above Kris, to the nervousness in his eyes when he'd handed Kris that room key. And that last was definitely something Kris couldn't say aloud in this room; that was Kris's, and he wasn't about to share it with anyone in the world.
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "I got some crazy letters, back when we did Idol. Some of them mentioned Adam. I can get them for you-my agent made me keep all of 'em."
"That would be a help. Anything else?"
He shook his head.
She stood up and reached out her hand, as though ending the interview.
"Agent Foltz," Kris said, staying firmly in his chair. "I really need to know what's going on here."
Her lips thinned slightly at the request. "We're doing our best to locate Mr. Lambert and make sure he's safe."
"Yeah but. Details. I don't know anything yet. He's gone-gone where? Who took him, and how? Why? Is he okay? Nobody's told me anything."
"I'm sorry, I can't discuss details. As long as this is an ongoing investigation, we can't share any of that information. When I know something I can share, I'll let you know."
Kris's shoulders slumped at the brush off. "Yeah, I get it."
She slid a business card across the table. "Here's my number. I want you to call me if you think of anything else that could be useful. Thank you very much for coming down. Your cooperation has been a big help."
"I doubt that," he sighed, pocketing the card as she left the room.
"I can't believe you called his mom," Cale said as they shoved out the door of their favorite taco place.
"The FBI wouldn't tell me anything," Kris said, trying to justify it. "I figured they would've told her though. She would've made them."
"So? What'd you find out?"
Kris took a seat on the curb and unwrapped his first taco. "There was blood on some of the glass. Just a little, but two types. They're checking it against Adam's today."
"Woah."
"Yeah," Kris agreed, his appetite vanishing as he thought about that, about Adam hurt. "And no one's called asking for money yet."
"That's…. Is that good?"
Kris shook his head, "Not if it's some crazy fan who wants to keep him tied up in a bedroom for years."
"Don't even make jokes like that, man."
"I'm not joking," Kris snapped, his voice getting strained. "It was Leila's idea. She's freaking out about it, convinced she'll never see her son again. She started crying. I couldn't hang up then. I had to stay on the phone and listen to her cry."
"Man," Cale said.
"She asked me to pray for them, and at least I can do that for her. She was always so damned nice to me, and I called her for information." He sneered over the last word, hating the level his desperation had driven him to.
"I bet everyone's doing that. And 'cause they're concerned, not 'cause they're assholes."
"There are already reporters outside her hotel trying to get interviews."
"Fucking fat-bodied ticks. Is Donald handling that shit for her?"
"I guess. She didn't wanna talk about it."
"God, this whole situation is seriously fucked up."
"Yeah." Kris forced himself to pick up the taco. "How long did the Feds keep you waiting?"
"Just a couple minutes. Anoop said it took like two hours for him. Hey, did you hear Matt's girl already bailed? Caught an earlier rotation to the East Coast. 'Cause that's not suspicious at all."
Kris nodded in agreement, distracted by Vanessa's latest emergency text, Do you want a limo before and after?
He set the phone next to him on the low curb and stared down the chicken taco. "What did you think of Foltz?" He took a reluctant bite.
"Smokin'."
Kris scowled and elbowed Cale's arm.
"She didn't ask stupid questions. Seemed smart, I guess. Kinda hard to concentrate with that rack, you know? I think that's part of her interrogation strategy."
He should have been able to laugh, to make a joke about Cale's kink for authority figures. Instead, Kris forced down the lump of lukewarm chicken and dropped his head onto his knees. "This is seriously killing me, dude."
His cell phone vibrated and started playing She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy. He snatched it up as Cale laughed around a mouthful of shredded carne asada.
"Hey, babe." He shifted the uneaten tacos off his lap and walked down the block for some privacy.
"Hey, babe," Katy echoed, and just hearing her voice was a comfort-the first comfort he'd had all day.
"You heard?"
"Yeah, I just turned on the TV and holy cow, like, what happened?"
"I don't even know. He was there and we were…we were good, I think, and then he left and I was right behind him and he was just gone."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"I'm losing my mind over it."
"I bet."
"Like, if I don't go into denial every few minutes, I'm gonna completely freak out."
"Have you been eating?" And trust Katy to know that when Kris got anxious, food was the first priority he let slide.
He glanced over his shoulder toward the abandoned tacos. "I can't."
"Try."
"I do, but then I start wondering whether Adam has anything to eat, and then I get sick worrying about him."
"I know, but. Just try. Don't make me call your mother."
Kris's throat had gone tight and he rubbed a hand over his face even though his ex-wife couldn't see him. Maybe if he'd stayed at home, with his own family, Adam wouldn't have left the club so early. He might not have been on the street alone, might not have caught whoever's attention. In a way, this was all Kris's fault.
Which was negative bullshit he didn't need. Kris ordered his guilty conscience to shut up and changed the subject. "How are your parents doing? They still here?"
"I just dropped them at the airport. They totally hate L.A. and swear they're never coming out again. You're gonna have to give me Conway next year."
"It's yours," he promised without hesitation.
"Geez, that bad, huh? That why you came back early?"
Damn she could read him. "Yeah," he admitted.
"I'm sorry."
"You've gotta stop saying that, you know. That's my line. And the counselor said-"
"I know but…." Her sigh encompassed everything they used to have, all the ways she still loved him. "I know how you are with him. And I don't want you to…"
To hurt. Like Katy had.
"Babe," he started to apologize for the millionth time.
She cut him off with a loud breath. "So Cale better be taking care of you, or I'm totally gonna slash the tires on that clunker of his."
"We're at Taco Lucas right now."
"Good man; he's brought the horse to water. Now eat something."
"Yes, mom," he said, almost managing a smile.
"And talk to the Lord. Adam needs your prayers now."
"I'm praying," he promised. "Every hour, every minute."
"Good. We're gonna get him back, Kris. You're not gonna lose him."
"I kn-" he took a steadying breath. "I'm trying to have faith. But I just can't face the idea that-"
"Don't even think it," she ordered. "I'm praying, too. Your whole family is-they love him."
"I still haven't told them. About…about any of it." Not Adam's disappearance, and certainly not the fact that Kris was in love with him.
"You don't have to," she said, offering him an out. "If they're watching the news, they'll call you like I did. But I think we should be sending him all the love we can right now. And…and you should really talk to them about the rest of it."
Kris gripped the phone tighter and ducked his chin to his chest. "I will. Eventually."
She sighed, but not like she was disappointed, more fondly. "I'm holding you to that. Now go eat. And call me if you need to freak out at someone. Or the second you hear anything."
Kris reluctantly hung up, wishing like hell they were still a team, still the perfect two-person army capable of handling the world, the press, his agent. It was Kris's fault they weren't that anymore. He was the one who'd changed things. Not Katy. And not Adam, despite the hunch-shouldered guilt Adam betrayed every time Kris mentioned the divorce.
When Cale dropped him off at his apartment after sunset, Kris felt almost tired enough to sleep. There were a few photographers waiting for him, but he kept his head down and didn't make any comments this time. He got a beer and turned on the TV to torture himself just a little bit, standing with the remote until he found a news channel covering Adam's disappearance.
And then another channel. And another.
He couldn't turn away from the footage of Adam's red carpet appearances, his broad face glowing, happy smile shining enough to power the city. They had footage of the show at the Luxor, the last night of Adam's most recent tour, all pyrotechnics and sequins and feathers. They showed clips from his multiple interviews with Oprah and Ellen, laughing and letting them hold his hands and tell him how great he was. But every news piece followed the same script, devolving into shots of Adam looking hassled by paparazzi, flanked by bodyguards, pushing grim-faced through mobs of people. And images of the riot, the ambulances, and a list of the injuries. They crescendoed with photographs of the Audi abandoned on Lennox, police lights flashing over the deep purple finish, close-ups of yellow crime scene tape and FBI jackets.
And they all ended with the same breaking news: No one knew where Adam was. The FBI weren't making any comments. And the New Year's Eve show had been officially canceled.
Kris nearly spat out his beer. He grabbed his phone and called Vanessa, muting the television and chanting, "No, no, no, no, no..."
"Hello?"
"Why is the show canceled?" he demanded, voice breaking.
"Kris, calm down."
"It's on CNN. I thought you and Robert were working out a new plan!"
"We are. There're just a few last details to sort out. The show isn't canceled; CNN's got bad intel."
"You-you mean it? It's not canceled?"
"No. Robert's been trying to kill that story all day, but it's got a life of its own. Soon as we have the contracts finalized, they'll make a big, splashy statement to set the record straight."
Kris forced himself to stop pacing and leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths to slow his pulse. He seriously could have punched someone for a few seconds there.
"And London came through on the reward, so if the paparazzi try to ask you questions about it, just explain it's 19E's reward offer, and you want everyone to call their tips in to the FBI."
"I'll do that, sure."
"The contract's turning out great, thanks for asking," she said pointedly. "Ted tried to shaft you on the percentages again. Claimed the ticket prices were so low the label's margin was only 2% after expenses. I said, 'Please, Ted, I wasn't born yesterday. 19 doesn't put on a bash for one of its biggest stars with a hand-picked audience like this for a measly 2%. There's gotta be a DVD behind this.' He wouldn't admit any plans to record, but I got you a cut of any future distribution deals if that tune changes. And upfront, you get a flat $15,000 for the night. I know it's small, but you're only on for half an hour, and you're sharing the bill with some other Idols. So I told them you wouldn't need your own band, since you'll be singing Adam's songs, and his band is already under contract. This way you won't have to split your cut."
"Sounds great," he made himself say. "Who else did they get?"
"Iraheta's flying in from El Salvador; and that Mormon kid, what's his name-he's in. Carrie Underwood might do it, but that's gonna be another nightmare 'cause they'd have to cancel a Nashville appearance she's booked at. Cook and DeWyze and Daughtry are tied up with their own shows, but I told them they should look into a celebrity emcee. Posh, if she's available."
"Great," he repeated, although it sounded a little strangled to his own ears.
"Oh and they're gonna pay your expenses. So go buy a nice outfit tomorrow, okay? Something sparkly for Adam's fans."
"Okay."
"This was a genius idea, sweetie," she said. "Exactly the kind of positive exposure you needed. I'm sorry Robert was an ass to you. I'm sure he'll apologize tomorrow."
"Yeah."
"I'll text you when to come to 19 to sign. Now get some sleep, and start thinking about which four of Adam's songs you wanna cover. I want yours sewn up tomorrow; the other Idols can fight over the scraps."
Jesus H. Christ. Scraps.
"You're the best, Vanessa," he said and hung up.
Kris downed the last of the beer and stared at Adam's face flashing across the silent TV screen. He should feel good. He'd done everything he could think of for Adam-cooperated with the FBI, toed 19E's line, kept the New Year's Eve show alive. Adam could come back in a heartbeat and step right into his life, nothing derailed.
But what if Adam didn't get back in time? In one piece? Alive? Would Kris actually be able to stand on that stage and sing Adam's songs for Adam's fans? His throat closed up and suddenly it didn't seem like such a genius idea after all.
Kris put down the bottle and headed for the bedroom to get his Bible.
Tuesday
Kris woke up groggy from the sleeping pill he'd taken, one of the ones left over from the last trip to Africa. There were a whole bunch of messages on his phone: his mom wanting to know that Kris was okay after almost getting himself killed in a ghetto on Sunday; Allison threatening to kick him in the balls if he didn't call her ASAP and tell her everything that had happened to her adopted big brother; his rhythm guitarist Andrew wanting confirmation that they'd just been hired to play a New Year's Eve gig and, if so, who was paying to fly him out to Los Angeles with zero notice; and Cale explaining that he'd given the guys a heads up in case the label actually went with Kris's idea.
Kris turned on his TV and flipped through the news channels, hoping everything had somehow resolved overnight, and he wouldn't have to call them back. But there was no new news, except that the Glamberts were up in arms demanding refunds for their concert tickets, and FOX News had footage of Adam's mom crying outside the FBI building.
So Kris called his friends and family and comforted them as best he could, assuring them that Kris's endangerment had been minimal, that the FBI had leads, that Adam would be back in time, and that the gig was just a backup plan in case Adam didn't want to perform when he got back. They weren't lies-not really; they were positive thinking.
Determined optimism fueled him through the painful process of picking Adam's songs for his set list. He'd sung all of them before in his car, in the shower, in his studio, but never with a mind to singing them for an audience. And never when the lyrics meant so much, when the hurt was so fresh.
He'd just shoved the list of songs aside and gotten dressed for the gym when Vanessa texted: Come sign. 503b. Use a cab get a receipt.
An hour later, he was sitting in Ted Burke's office on the 5th floor of The Sunset, listening to Ted and Vanessa gossip like old friends. "Rob nearly had two strokes yesterday, but I think the stress is good for him. Ever since Adam started making headlines, Rob's lost a good 30 pounds. He's looking pretty good lately."
"If you go for guys with gray hair," Vanessa scoffed.
"Well, his assistant isn't complaining," Ted said with a sly grin.
She almost choked on her cappuccino. "Lisa Ann? Get out!"
"She thinks she's got the pipes for a recording contract. But from what I hear, they're only good for blow jobs."
"Oh, that's revolting!"
"What, you really think Rob's that bad?"
"For a girl her age? Definitely. And as pretty as she is, too. It's disgusting how everyone prostitutes themselves for a contract these days. Present company excepted," she said, patting Kris's arm.
Kris squirmed uncomfortably.
"Anyway," Ted continued, finally including Kris in the conversation, "we sorted out the access to the venue issues with Hopkins this morning, so the dress rehearsals are a go for Thursday and Friday. And if he gives you any shit when you show up, give me a call and I'll put the fear of god in him again."
"Oh, was that who I saw crying in the lobby when I came in?" Vanessa asked.
Ted rolled his eyes. "Probably. He didn't want us switching the talent 'cause he thinks his concessions will take a hit if it's not Lambert. He thought he had a say," he sneered. "As if I wouldn't have put full artistic control in that contract. He almost threw a fit when he realized he didn't have a legal leg to stand on."
"In other words, you financially raped him in the original negotiations and he's finally realizing how screwed he is."
"Hey, he got what he wanted-that club didn't even exist when we wrote that contract. Hopkins should be grateful for the startup capital." Ted gave a long-suffering sigh-the effect somewhat ruined by a self-satisfied smirk. "God save us from amateurs."
"Hmm, reminds me of those nasty little clauses you tried to sneak into the Nokia contract," she said. "I thought you'd be giving us the run around this time, too. But you're not so tough when I know your angle, huh?"
Ted's eyes narrowed. "Please, you got off easy here. I was gonna take you to the mat over that limo and the 10 backstage passes, but Rob just wanted this finished."
"Big talk from the guy who's giving us everything we want," Vanessa said breezily. "I'm just making sure Kris gets what he's worth. It's all about the bottom line." She scanned the papers in front of her one last time, nodding to herself.
Kris's PA, Mechelle, annexed four months ago to serve as Vanessa's private secretary, sat at seeming-attention in the corner of the room, but Kris could hear the tell-tale sound of texting coming from the folds of her skirt. Kris wondered distractedly if Mechelle's phone bill was part of his bottom line. He was pretty sure Vanessa's bottomless cappuccinos were.
Vanessa pushed the quarter-inch-thick contract toward Kris. "It's good to sign," she said.
He picked up the black pen and flipped to the last page of the contract, the butterflies in his stomach settling as soon as it was signed. He'd done his part. Adam could come home any time now.
"Now, where's your set list? Ted'll walk it up to Rob for us, won't you darling?"
Ted pulled the contract over and signed opposite Kris's name, ignoring Vanessa's suggestion. "I'll make you some photocopies…" he said, standing up.
"Oh, Mechelle can do it. Mechelle, go make us two copies. And get me another muffin."
Mechelle hid her BlackBerry in her purse and took the pages from Ted. "What's the copier code?" she sighed, resigned.
"0052."
"Be right back." She slipped out of the office on strappy wedge sandals.
"Um, listen." Kris unfolded the half-sheet of paper he'd agonized over all morning. "I'm…. The show's gonna be great. The contract's great. But from what I saw on the news, I'm starting to worry…d'you think anybody'll show up for it? I mean, we're not Adam. His fans aren't gonna wanna see us."
"Oh, nobody's gonna want their money back, trust me," Vanessa said. "Robert's got that part all worked out."
"How?"
"All the ticket holders are in the fan club; they've already drunk the Kool-Aid," she explained. "So Robert's calling your show the Vigil for Adam Lambert. They're gonna hand out candles and tissues and put up posters and graffiti-banners all over the walls for fans to write on. It'll be a total love-in for the Glamberts."
"Not to mention the must-have invitation of the night," Ted interjected. "The Beckhams are flying in for it, and we're looking at expanding the VIP area for at least half a dozen more A-listers. We'll have a press tent set up outside for the celebrity interviews-"
"Wait a minute," Vanessa said, sitting up straighter. "You didn't say anything about multiple celebrities. Or interviews!"
Kris's stomach suddenly dropped. "You're making it bigger?"
Ted leaned back in his chair looking imminently satisfied. "The publicity on the kidnapping is huge-everybody wants a piece of it. And thanks to you, we're in the perfect position to provide it."
"And all you're giving us is $15,000?" Vanessa squawked.
"The profit margin's totally bottomed out," Ted shrugged. "We really weren't making any money off the original, and now with the added security for the VIPs, this is putting us well into the red. London thinks the vigil's the right move for the Adam Lambert brand though; as soon as he's back he'll be positioned as the performer to see in 2011."
"Is that why Robert wanted this rushed through? Before I found out about this?!" Her face was turning red.
Kris couldn't believe his ears. "Adam could be hurt or…or worse, and you're gonna use that to sell more albums?"
"Lemons: Lemonade. How long have you lived in L.A.? Don't worry; it's not as if we're putting up a merch table."
"But you're exploiting his fans' grief!"
"So are you," Ted pointed out. "You're getting $15,000."
"I don't care about the money!" he yelled, standing up. "When I go out on that stage, it's gonna be about Adam, and that's all."
"Really?" Ted asked, eyes going shrewd. "Because we can strike the remuneration if you're-"
Vanessa interrupted, "Ted, don't you even dare. That contract is final."
"I don't want their fucking money," Kris rounded on his agent, anger freeing his tongue. "Or a limo I didn't ask for! Or a green room or catering or anything else you put in that contract. This is so completely fucked up. You two've made a nice little…. You don't even need Adam anymore! You don't care if he comes back in time, do you?"
"We're working on a contingency plan for that." Ted reached for the wrinkled set list.
Kris slammed his fist down on it. "He's just a brand to you. Record sales, ticket sales, endorsements…."
"I think your client needs to take a few minutes."
"Honey, you're under a lot of pressure. Just calm down."
"You're supposed to be managing our music, not our lives. You managed my divorce, you're managing Adam's kidnapping, checking all the angles to protect your profits. This is crazy; you people don't have the right to control us like this-"
"Kris, it's just spin," Vanessa said soothingly, patting the back of his chair. "Nobody's controlling your life-"
"You're damn right!" he yelled. "And if Adam were here he'd say the same thing. What you're doing is wrong. It's evil."
"Ted, would you give us a moment, please?" Vanessa asked, her calm, professional veneer showing cracks.
"This is my office."
"I said please," she snapped.
Ted huffed but stood and left, closing the door behind him.
"What have you done?" Kris demanded, pacing the narrow strip of carpeting.
"What have I done? Honey, I wrote the contract you wanted. You didn't give me any moral checklists before waltzing off to god knows where yesterday."
"I was talking with the FBI!"
"All day? You couldn't have come back when you were finished? No, you left this to me like you always do, and I did my best. It's a great contract, it's an A-list event, and you're back in the label's good graces. You needed this one, Kris; this is huge for you. And right now, we're lucky if Ted isn't on his way upstairs to talk to Robert about your attitude. Do you really want to give them another excuse to delay your album?"
That brought Kris up short. "That's not fair."
"Of course it's not! And I keep hoping you'll wake up one day and learn to just play along. Adam's already at that next level because he knows how to give them what they want."
"It's not a competition. We haven't competed against each other since the show!"
"Every day and every album is a competition, especially within your own label. Adam is 19's favorite son; they'll let him do anything he wants, and they'll spend all their resources promoting him. And what does that make you? Passed over, that's what."
"I don't care about that," he insisted, knowing it was a losing argument. "I just need to get him back."
"You need to get your mind off Adam and focus on the New Year's Eve show. Before your career is the next thing that disappears." She grabbed his set list and held it up to read. "Now tell me you used your head when you picked these. Whataya Want From Me-good, that single was huge; Aftermath-a bit on the nose, but alright; Can't Let You Go." She paused and looked hard at him. "Kris, you know your range. Be honest. Can you actually sing this?"
"I'll take the chorus down an octave," he said defensively, slouching against the wall.
"Alright. But that's three slow rockers; you should be changing it up more. And Time for Miracles. Honey, not that wet noodle."
Kris ducked his head. "I need that one."
"Nobody liked that song, come on. Adam hasn't even performed it in a year."
"'I ain't giving up on us,'" he quoted softly, conviction and faith bolstering his stubbornness.
Vanessa sighed and rubbed her temple. "You're still hung up on Katy? We paid for how much counseling, they made you skip the whole fall tour season after the divorce, the album's been pushed back to April…and you're still not over her? This is not the time for public declarations about your ex. We agreed on a positive face for the media-"
"Not Katy. Adam."
There was a brief moment of stillness and then Vanessa's eyes bugged out. "What?"
"That's why I got divorced. I've been in love with Adam since…since the show."
"Oh no." Vanessa began patting absently at the bun that held her frizzy hair, making sure nothing had slipped free with the shock. "No, do not do this to me."
"When Adam gets back, we're supposed to finally get a chance to-"
"This is career suicide," she cut him off. "You've already ruined the wholesome Christian-boy image with the divorce. Now you're gonna come out of the closet? And you think you're gonna have any fans left?"
"If they like the music-"
"They'll never hear it! 19's gonna push the new album back to June and dump it in the summer sinkhole. That's if you're lucky enough to get it released. One of their stars turns another gay-those aren't good headlines, honey! At best, you'll be Brad Pitt dumping America's Sweetheart for a gay, over-sexed Angelina Jolie. The blowback's gonna be huge!"
"I don't care!" he said, hands balled into fists. "I've been keeping this quiet for years, and I'm done waiting. I've made it right with my-with Katy. And with God. And when Adam gets back, I'm gonna tell him how I feel. And I don't care if 19 doesn't like it, or if my album tanks, or if you decide you can't represent a gay artist."
He stared her down on that last point until her cheeks flushed and she looked down, busying her hands folding the set list. "I didn't say that."
"Good."
"Just…don't do anything rash. Give me time to work something out. We're gonna need to do some major damage control if you wanna keep your viability. Maybe make a play for some of Adam's fan base-they're always obsessed with who he's dating."
Kris gritted his teeth. "You do that. Are we done here?"
"You're all signed, so. Yeah, that's it."
Kris grabbed his red windbreaker off the chair and headed for the door.
"Mechelle's got those letters you wanted…." Vanessa called after him.
He spotted Mechelle down the hall talking with a young guy in a Hawaiian shirt and a pocket protector. Kris made a bee line for her and stuck a shoulder between her and the object of her attention. "Mechelle, I need those letters."
"Sure." She pulled open her huge satchel and dug out the rubber-banded stack of envelopes. "And here," she thrust a set of loose pages at him. "Your copy of the contract."
Part III
Fandom: American Idol (Adam/Kris)
Word Count: 44,500 [complete]
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No infringement on the rights of real people intended. Not profiting in any way.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI
Monday
A hangover would've been better than the jetlag.
Kris woke up on Central Time and winced against the sunrise spilling across Cale's couch. He rolled out of the light and groped for his cell phone to check the time. And his messages.
Nothing from Adam.
Kris's stomach roiled but he swallowed the bile down and tried calling Adam for the hundredth time. And when that went to voice mail, too, he dialed Donald. Adam's agent didn't answer-probably screening Kris's call. Short of actually looking up TMZ on his phone-and risking seeing his own drunk face spread all over the screen, kill him now-Kris was at a loss.
Where the fuck was Adam? He wracked his brain, searching his memory for something he'd missed last night. But there was nothing new, nothing that had seemed off or out of the ordinary. Except one minute Adam had been inviting Kris back to his hotel…and the next he was just…gone.
Defeated, Kris dropped his head down on the arm of Cale's couch and tried to get comfortable, but it was no good. He was wide awake now; there was no way he could fall asleep with crazy conspiracy theories and concerns for Adam running through his head. So he shoved off the couch and sniffed his t-shirt, took the time to pull out a clean shirt and brown hoodie from his suitcase before staggering to the tiny bathroom, already texting the cab company.
The second time he woke up that morning, the cab driver was leaning over the back of the seat, asking loudly, "Hey, this is it, right?"
Kris blinked his eyes open and squinted into the sun, wished he'd thought to unpack his sunglasses before throwing the suitcase in the trunk. He pushed two twenties at the guy and didn't even ask for change. Sixty seconds later, he was crossing the street to his apartment building, suitcase in hand, thinking about calling his erstwhile PA to beg for coffee to magically appear, when he heard the shouts.
Whirling around and almost tripping over his rolling bag, Kris spotted half a dozen paparazzi springing from cars he hadn't noticed before, converging on his location like a pack of vicious rottweilers. Kris picked up the bag and sprinted for it, but he was too slow, and by the time he'd been cut off and circled, his heart was pounding like a frightened rabbit's.
Cameras shoved into his face, and somebody even had a video camera with no call signs on the sides, and everyone was shouting at once.
"Kris, Kris!" "What were you doing in Lennox last night?" "We heard Adam was trying to score drugs; is that where his dealer lives?" "How does your ex-wife feel about your drug use? Is that what caused the divorce?" "The FBI believes Adam's been kidnapped, what do you have to say about it?" "Adam's agent claims Adam's visiting his family in San Diego. Is this just a publicity stunt?" "What kind of car was it?" "Did you see the men who took him?" "What did you think of Mojito Café; is it the next big club scene in L.A.? Was anyone else famous with you?"
"They what?" Kris croaked, picking up on two key words. FBI. Kidnapped. Holy shit. The Adam-related panic Kris had beaten back this morning reared its head again. The cameras were click-click-clicking away. He thought about pulling the hood up over his head. God, why hadn't he done that in the cab? "This is the first I've-"
"The first you've heard of what?" someone demanded.
All of this was a first for Kris. Adam engaged the paparazzi all the time, laughed and joked with them, knew half of them by name. Kris had never spoken back, let alone tried to have a conversation. "You said 'kidnapped'?"
"Yeah, do you have a comment, anything you'd like to say to his kidnappers?"
"No, I-"
"So are the drug stories true? He's lost a lot of weight recently! What was he using, cocaine?"
"Anything you'd like to say to Adam's fans?"
Kris couldn't get over the shock of it. Adam was- Why? Who the hell would want to hurt Adam?
"Kris, any comment? Come on, you've obviously got something to say."
What did people usually say when their loved ones were taken? "I'll pay anything," he blurted, hoping they couldn't see the terrified, devastated feeling growing in his chest. "Anything. To anyone who has information on how to get him back. I'll. Just call me, okay? Please."
"How much is the reward?" one of the faceless cameras demanded, and then the luxury apartment building's private security team was wading in, turning away the paparazzi with stiff arms. Kris let them shove him in the opposite direction, staggered into the lobby and let the desk clerk buzz him through to the elevators.
He'd just gotten out of the shower when he heard his cell phone ringing, and he got so excited he slipped and fell hard on the wet tiles, ended up cursing and grabbing his knee on the floor for a few seconds. The phone was still ringing when he finally yanked the bathroom door open and hopped out, naked and dripping wet, to dig through the pile of clothes.
"Adam?" he yelled as soon as he had the phone to his ear.
"Kris," Vanessa said sharply, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Kris's heart sank and he sat down on the plush carpet, leaned against the bed. "Oh. Hey."
"19E is throwing a shit fit! You're all over the news, offering some kind of reward for Adam. What the hell were you thinking?" She was so angry he could practically feel her frizzy hair vibrating through the phone.
Katy had taught him the only successful strategy for dealing with his agent: play along when she got angry, and then sneak around her when she wasn't paying attention. "I'm…I wasn't thinking?" he offered.
"And that's what you're gonna tell Robert? He'll love that. Why the hell didn't you stay in Arkansas like you'd planned? You had to go to a party in a ghetto and get involved in a high-profile kidnapping and blab to the press looking hung over and sounding completely out of your mind…. You're the American Idol! A goddamn role model!"
"I know, I'm sorry! I'm a big headache for everyone. And you can yell at me later, okay? But I just got out of the shower and I'm naked and freezing. Let me put some clothes on and call you back."
"No. No no no. You're meeting me downtown in 15 minutes so you can explain your behavior to Robert. London's calling for your head, so I suggest you start practicing your apologies."
"I can't get there in 15-"
"They wanted you there 10 minutes ago," she snorted. "I've sent a car for you. Just be in the lobby in 2 and we'll blame the delay on rush hour."
Kris hung up spitefully and buried his head in the striped duvet for more time than he had.
Vanessa's lie about the traffic wasn't going to fly. Two days after Christmas, the streets were still half empty, and the town car pulled up out front of The Sunset barely 25 minutes after leaving Kris's place. Luckily, Robert was too busy ripping Kris a new asshole to listen to traffic excuses. Kris looked out Robert's 12th story office window while the Vice President of the American Idol brand berated him for ending up at the center of a criminal investigation and daring to open his mouth in public without reviewing appropriate talking points.
Robert's executive assistant brought Kris a cup of coffee. He made sure to smile politely, and she smiled and winked before sashaying out of the room.
"I still don't even know what's going on!" Kris said, interrupting Robert's tirade about Kris's contract clauses covering self-representation. "Is it true the FBI is looking for him?"
Robert scowled deeper at the interruption but nodded. "Yes. As soon as we heard from Donald, we knew we couldn't just leave this up to the locals to handle."
"But last night Donald said everything was fine-"
"Donald knows how to handle the press in a crisis," Robert snapped. "Unlike some people." Vanessa shifted uncomfortably in the white art deco armchair. "You're not even supposed to be out in public yet! I thought we'd agreed you'd lay low until February."
Kris flushed and changed the subject back to Adam. "So who has Adam?"
"We don't know."
"But it's a kidnapping?"
"The FBI is considering the possibility."
"Oh my God," Kris said, not for the first or last time.
"And you had to go and offer a reward for him. Look, I know he's your friend. That's worked out fine; it's a good story most of the time, and a lot easier for tour scheduling than that damn Lee & Crystal nightmare. But you can't be offering a reward. Okay? That makes us look bad. Do you realize the position your little press conference this morning puts me in?"
"No."
"We have to offer a reward. And you have to retract yours; explain that you were speaking on behalf of 19 Entertainment when you said that."
"It's my money; why can't I pay if I want to-"
"Because it's the label's responsibility! The press think we owe it to our talent, and they're beating us up on this. So now I have to call headquarters and get them to approve a $100,000 reward that you've forced us into!"
"I'm-" Kris stopped himself before completing the instinctive apology, because fuck Robert if he was more worried about $100,000 than finding Adam.
"Kris," Vanessa whispered, tilting her head toward Robert to prompt him to finish. But a tall guy in a black suit burst through the door, stealing Vanessa's attention.
"Rob, it's getting worse. I've got Hopkins from The Crystal Club talking to legal, asking if we're terminating the contract. Apparently E! is reporting the New Year's Eve show's off."
"Son of a bitch," Robert hissed. He took a calming breath and gritted through clenched teeth, "Stall him as long as you can. We can hold out 'til, what, Wednesday? I have to talk to the accountants, look at the bottom line before we cancel."
"You can't cancel the show!" Kris blurted, but they ignored him.
"And find out who the hell told E! we're canceling!" Robert yelled as the suit backed out the door. He laughed brokenly, "Ticket refunds, and we still have to pay the dancers, plus the damn penalty clause and a reward…. We're gonna lose a small fortune. And we'll have to report it in this quarter…"
Kris sputtered; he couldn't believe they would actually consider canceling the New Year's Eve show, the concert Adam had spent the last three months organizing. Adam was obsessed with it, and they were going to take it away from him like a punishment for getting kidnapped or something. His hands actually shook with anger as he repeated, "You can't cancel. Adam needs this show!"
Robert raised his eyebrows. "If I have no star, how the hell do I keep the show on? People aren't gonna come to see an empty stage. No, I have to deal with this before it turns into Vegas-"
"I'll do it."
Vanessa made a hissing sound Kris ignored. His brain raced faster than he could spit the words out as he scrambled for a way to save Adam's concert.
"Don't cancel; make it a Season 8 night. Matt Giraud's in town, and Anoop, too; they'd do it. Or get some other 19E talent, call it a label showcase, whatever. You can still put on a show. We'll cover all Adam's music. Just don't cancel it, please."
Because Adam would make it back in time. And when he did, everything had to be exactly the way he left it. So they could pick up right where they'd left off.
Robert looked thoughtful. He tapped his lips with a pen and then opened a drawer, pulled out a tablet of lined paper. "This is interesting. This is interesting."
Vanessa shot Kris a quick look, as though checking that he was really serious, and then dragged her chair closer to the big glass desk. "Rob, if you wanna use Kris, we'll have to negotiate a full contract…." She had her best fake-smile on-the one that always came out when she smelled blood.
"Not if he's volunteering his time-"
"This isn't the Haiti fundraiser-that's not how this one works. Adam was getting compensated for this show, wasn't he? I think I should have a look at that contract before we make any decisions about Kris's compensation-"
Kris took a gulp of his hot coffee, wishing the headache behind his eyes would go away. It still seemed so surreal, like nothing had actually happened last night. They were talking business like they always did, when Adam was God only knew where, and in what condition.
Adam probably didn't have the warmth of a hot cup of coffee, or a leather chair, central heating. Food or water or…. He pushed his coffee cup away with a clatter on the ornate side table and covered his mouth with his hand to hide his mounting horror as his agent and his label deconstructed Adam's all-important show for their own benefit.
There had to be something more he could do for him.
"No way is that happening," Robert was glaring. He stabbed at the buttons on his desk phone. "Lisa Ann, could you get Ted Burke up here?" He smirked triumphantly at Vanessa. "You've worked with Ted before, right?"
"He's the one who tried to shaft Kris on the Nokia Theatre New York receipts, right? Yeah, I know Ted. And he's not pulling any fast ones on us this time. I want two points higher than the Rose Bowl contract or we're walking out right now."
Robert's smirk soured. "We can't decide anything until London weighs in on this."
Vanessa was already rooting through her briefcase. "I have a copy of Kris's 19E contract with me, and Section VII very specifically-"
Kris's cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked the phone with the same heart-in-his-throat hope, flipped it open to answer the unknown number. "Adam?"
"Mr. Allen?" a female voice asked.
The disappointment hurt just as much as the last time his phone rang. "Yeah, that's me." He stood up and walked closer to the vertigo-inducing floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. "Who's this?"
"Special Agent Foltz with the FBI. We'd like you to come in and give us a statement about what happened last night if you have time."
Finally, something that might actually help.
"Sure, yes," he said eagerly. "Where, the big building downtown?"
"That's right, 11000 Wilshire. Are you free to come in today?"
He looked at the two sharks fighting over the remains of Adam's concert and clenched a fist. "I'm free right now. I can be there in half an hour."
Kris shifted in the upholstered chair and checked his watch. It'd been an hour since they put him in the small interview room. It reminded him of a doctor's waiting room; bland carpeting, no windows, and a box of tissues on a side table. But the only reading material they'd offered him was a copy of the statement he'd made to the police last night.
He should have stayed at 19E; their coffee was better.
"Thank you for waiting, Mr. Allen," a familiar voice said, preceding a busty brunette into the room.
"You're Agent Foltz?"
"Yes." She perched on the edge of the chair across the table from him, unbuttoning her suit jacket. She held out her hand. "Diana Foltz."
"Hi," he said, shaking her hand.
"Hi," she echoed with a charming smile that rubbed him the wrong way. "So you've looked over your statement? Is there anything you'd like to add?"
"No, it's fine."
"You're sure? You said in the statement you'd been drinking before leaving the club. Your head isn't just a little bit clearer today?" Her smile was still perfectly charming, as though she weren't judging him for being drunk when his friend was kidnapped.
And fine, Kris was maybe judging himself for that, but that wasn't any of her business. Foltz and her innocent, razor-edged smile. "It's fine."
She slid the paper out from under his hands and turned it upside down, pushed it to the side. "So tell me what isn't in the statement. Tell me about Mr. Lambert."
"Um?"
"I understand you're one of his closest friends. Someone he partied with and hung out with. Someone he would confide in; share things he might not have shared with his family. Was anything bothering him lately? Anything new or out of the ordinary in his life?"
"Well, things haven't been ordinary for years, but…they'd gotten worse, after November," Kris admitted. "He's had to have bodyguards almost full time, and he totally hates it."
"What happened in November?"
"The show at the Luxor in Las Vegas."
He waited for her to nod. She just raised her eyebrows and smiled a little more, urging him to repeat things she obviously already knew.
He sighed in annoyance. "Fake-ticket scammers oversold the venue by almost half, and some fans got hurt in the crush at the gates. Adam said he got some messed up letters after that. Not death threats, but like…weird stuff. Blaming him."
"So he hired extra security," she said. "He didn't have bodyguards with him last night, though…."
"No, he. He called it an Anti-L.A. Birthday Party. No paparazzi, no fans. I guess that included no bodyguards, too."
"And given the disturbed mail he'd received, did that seem like a normal decision he would make?"
"Nobody there knew who we were," he protested, "that was the point. We could just be ourselves, without anybody asking for autographs or watching us. He shouldn't have needed security."
"Are you sure nobody recognized you? Lambert didn't know anyone there outside of your party?"
"Well, the DJ. That's how he heard about the place."
"The DJ. And what was his name?"
"I don't know. I didn't meet him."
"Okay. And no one else was watching him last night?"
"Not that I noticed."
She swiped at the corner of her mouth and Kris finally saw the smile change, watched her flex her jaw like her face muscles had cramped from keeping the charm in place. When she dropped her hand, the smile was back. It reminded him oddly of Adam's talk-show appearances. "And for this anti-L.A. party, Mr. Lambert intended to avoid the paparazzi? How did he manage that?"
"I don't know. Like I told the police, I hadn't planned on being there, so I didn't know any of the details. And when I got there, I didn't ask. You could talk to Shep, though. Ask how Adam got around him."
"Shep?"
"Shep, you know, the skinny guy with the yellow vest? He's Adam's number one paparazzi-stalker. Wherever Adam goes, Shep's there for the photos."
"Does Shep have a last name?"
"I don't know. Call any of the tabloids-they all know him."
Agent Foltz smiled at him for a long, still moment, head cocked ever so slightly to imply a question. And then she took a breath and moved again, put her fingertips on the table top. "Mr. Allen, I'd like to give you the opportunity to tell us anything else you think we should know. Anything about Mr. Lambert that you feel has relevance here. Secrets, indiscretions, fears…."
That covered a lot of ground. Kris knew everything about Adam, or close enough to it. From his favorite toothpaste, to his favorite restaurant in Tokyo. From the way he gasped when he touched himself in the bunk above Kris, to the nervousness in his eyes when he'd handed Kris that room key. And that last was definitely something Kris couldn't say aloud in this room; that was Kris's, and he wasn't about to share it with anyone in the world.
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "I got some crazy letters, back when we did Idol. Some of them mentioned Adam. I can get them for you-my agent made me keep all of 'em."
"That would be a help. Anything else?"
He shook his head.
She stood up and reached out her hand, as though ending the interview.
"Agent Foltz," Kris said, staying firmly in his chair. "I really need to know what's going on here."
Her lips thinned slightly at the request. "We're doing our best to locate Mr. Lambert and make sure he's safe."
"Yeah but. Details. I don't know anything yet. He's gone-gone where? Who took him, and how? Why? Is he okay? Nobody's told me anything."
"I'm sorry, I can't discuss details. As long as this is an ongoing investigation, we can't share any of that information. When I know something I can share, I'll let you know."
Kris's shoulders slumped at the brush off. "Yeah, I get it."
She slid a business card across the table. "Here's my number. I want you to call me if you think of anything else that could be useful. Thank you very much for coming down. Your cooperation has been a big help."
"I doubt that," he sighed, pocketing the card as she left the room.
"I can't believe you called his mom," Cale said as they shoved out the door of their favorite taco place.
"The FBI wouldn't tell me anything," Kris said, trying to justify it. "I figured they would've told her though. She would've made them."
"So? What'd you find out?"
Kris took a seat on the curb and unwrapped his first taco. "There was blood on some of the glass. Just a little, but two types. They're checking it against Adam's today."
"Woah."
"Yeah," Kris agreed, his appetite vanishing as he thought about that, about Adam hurt. "And no one's called asking for money yet."
"That's…. Is that good?"
Kris shook his head, "Not if it's some crazy fan who wants to keep him tied up in a bedroom for years."
"Don't even make jokes like that, man."
"I'm not joking," Kris snapped, his voice getting strained. "It was Leila's idea. She's freaking out about it, convinced she'll never see her son again. She started crying. I couldn't hang up then. I had to stay on the phone and listen to her cry."
"Man," Cale said.
"She asked me to pray for them, and at least I can do that for her. She was always so damned nice to me, and I called her for information." He sneered over the last word, hating the level his desperation had driven him to.
"I bet everyone's doing that. And 'cause they're concerned, not 'cause they're assholes."
"There are already reporters outside her hotel trying to get interviews."
"Fucking fat-bodied ticks. Is Donald handling that shit for her?"
"I guess. She didn't wanna talk about it."
"God, this whole situation is seriously fucked up."
"Yeah." Kris forced himself to pick up the taco. "How long did the Feds keep you waiting?"
"Just a couple minutes. Anoop said it took like two hours for him. Hey, did you hear Matt's girl already bailed? Caught an earlier rotation to the East Coast. 'Cause that's not suspicious at all."
Kris nodded in agreement, distracted by Vanessa's latest emergency text, Do you want a limo before and after?
He set the phone next to him on the low curb and stared down the chicken taco. "What did you think of Foltz?" He took a reluctant bite.
"Smokin'."
Kris scowled and elbowed Cale's arm.
"She didn't ask stupid questions. Seemed smart, I guess. Kinda hard to concentrate with that rack, you know? I think that's part of her interrogation strategy."
He should have been able to laugh, to make a joke about Cale's kink for authority figures. Instead, Kris forced down the lump of lukewarm chicken and dropped his head onto his knees. "This is seriously killing me, dude."
His cell phone vibrated and started playing She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy. He snatched it up as Cale laughed around a mouthful of shredded carne asada.
"Hey, babe." He shifted the uneaten tacos off his lap and walked down the block for some privacy.
"Hey, babe," Katy echoed, and just hearing her voice was a comfort-the first comfort he'd had all day.
"You heard?"
"Yeah, I just turned on the TV and holy cow, like, what happened?"
"I don't even know. He was there and we were…we were good, I think, and then he left and I was right behind him and he was just gone."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"I'm losing my mind over it."
"I bet."
"Like, if I don't go into denial every few minutes, I'm gonna completely freak out."
"Have you been eating?" And trust Katy to know that when Kris got anxious, food was the first priority he let slide.
He glanced over his shoulder toward the abandoned tacos. "I can't."
"Try."
"I do, but then I start wondering whether Adam has anything to eat, and then I get sick worrying about him."
"I know, but. Just try. Don't make me call your mother."
Kris's throat had gone tight and he rubbed a hand over his face even though his ex-wife couldn't see him. Maybe if he'd stayed at home, with his own family, Adam wouldn't have left the club so early. He might not have been on the street alone, might not have caught whoever's attention. In a way, this was all Kris's fault.
Which was negative bullshit he didn't need. Kris ordered his guilty conscience to shut up and changed the subject. "How are your parents doing? They still here?"
"I just dropped them at the airport. They totally hate L.A. and swear they're never coming out again. You're gonna have to give me Conway next year."
"It's yours," he promised without hesitation.
"Geez, that bad, huh? That why you came back early?"
Damn she could read him. "Yeah," he admitted.
"I'm sorry."
"You've gotta stop saying that, you know. That's my line. And the counselor said-"
"I know but…." Her sigh encompassed everything they used to have, all the ways she still loved him. "I know how you are with him. And I don't want you to…"
To hurt. Like Katy had.
"Babe," he started to apologize for the millionth time.
She cut him off with a loud breath. "So Cale better be taking care of you, or I'm totally gonna slash the tires on that clunker of his."
"We're at Taco Lucas right now."
"Good man; he's brought the horse to water. Now eat something."
"Yes, mom," he said, almost managing a smile.
"And talk to the Lord. Adam needs your prayers now."
"I'm praying," he promised. "Every hour, every minute."
"Good. We're gonna get him back, Kris. You're not gonna lose him."
"I kn-" he took a steadying breath. "I'm trying to have faith. But I just can't face the idea that-"
"Don't even think it," she ordered. "I'm praying, too. Your whole family is-they love him."
"I still haven't told them. About…about any of it." Not Adam's disappearance, and certainly not the fact that Kris was in love with him.
"You don't have to," she said, offering him an out. "If they're watching the news, they'll call you like I did. But I think we should be sending him all the love we can right now. And…and you should really talk to them about the rest of it."
Kris gripped the phone tighter and ducked his chin to his chest. "I will. Eventually."
She sighed, but not like she was disappointed, more fondly. "I'm holding you to that. Now go eat. And call me if you need to freak out at someone. Or the second you hear anything."
Kris reluctantly hung up, wishing like hell they were still a team, still the perfect two-person army capable of handling the world, the press, his agent. It was Kris's fault they weren't that anymore. He was the one who'd changed things. Not Katy. And not Adam, despite the hunch-shouldered guilt Adam betrayed every time Kris mentioned the divorce.
When Cale dropped him off at his apartment after sunset, Kris felt almost tired enough to sleep. There were a few photographers waiting for him, but he kept his head down and didn't make any comments this time. He got a beer and turned on the TV to torture himself just a little bit, standing with the remote until he found a news channel covering Adam's disappearance.
And then another channel. And another.
He couldn't turn away from the footage of Adam's red carpet appearances, his broad face glowing, happy smile shining enough to power the city. They had footage of the show at the Luxor, the last night of Adam's most recent tour, all pyrotechnics and sequins and feathers. They showed clips from his multiple interviews with Oprah and Ellen, laughing and letting them hold his hands and tell him how great he was. But every news piece followed the same script, devolving into shots of Adam looking hassled by paparazzi, flanked by bodyguards, pushing grim-faced through mobs of people. And images of the riot, the ambulances, and a list of the injuries. They crescendoed with photographs of the Audi abandoned on Lennox, police lights flashing over the deep purple finish, close-ups of yellow crime scene tape and FBI jackets.
And they all ended with the same breaking news: No one knew where Adam was. The FBI weren't making any comments. And the New Year's Eve show had been officially canceled.
Kris nearly spat out his beer. He grabbed his phone and called Vanessa, muting the television and chanting, "No, no, no, no, no..."
"Hello?"
"Why is the show canceled?" he demanded, voice breaking.
"Kris, calm down."
"It's on CNN. I thought you and Robert were working out a new plan!"
"We are. There're just a few last details to sort out. The show isn't canceled; CNN's got bad intel."
"You-you mean it? It's not canceled?"
"No. Robert's been trying to kill that story all day, but it's got a life of its own. Soon as we have the contracts finalized, they'll make a big, splashy statement to set the record straight."
Kris forced himself to stop pacing and leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths to slow his pulse. He seriously could have punched someone for a few seconds there.
"And London came through on the reward, so if the paparazzi try to ask you questions about it, just explain it's 19E's reward offer, and you want everyone to call their tips in to the FBI."
"I'll do that, sure."
"The contract's turning out great, thanks for asking," she said pointedly. "Ted tried to shaft you on the percentages again. Claimed the ticket prices were so low the label's margin was only 2% after expenses. I said, 'Please, Ted, I wasn't born yesterday. 19 doesn't put on a bash for one of its biggest stars with a hand-picked audience like this for a measly 2%. There's gotta be a DVD behind this.' He wouldn't admit any plans to record, but I got you a cut of any future distribution deals if that tune changes. And upfront, you get a flat $15,000 for the night. I know it's small, but you're only on for half an hour, and you're sharing the bill with some other Idols. So I told them you wouldn't need your own band, since you'll be singing Adam's songs, and his band is already under contract. This way you won't have to split your cut."
"Sounds great," he made himself say. "Who else did they get?"
"Iraheta's flying in from El Salvador; and that Mormon kid, what's his name-he's in. Carrie Underwood might do it, but that's gonna be another nightmare 'cause they'd have to cancel a Nashville appearance she's booked at. Cook and DeWyze and Daughtry are tied up with their own shows, but I told them they should look into a celebrity emcee. Posh, if she's available."
"Great," he repeated, although it sounded a little strangled to his own ears.
"Oh and they're gonna pay your expenses. So go buy a nice outfit tomorrow, okay? Something sparkly for Adam's fans."
"Okay."
"This was a genius idea, sweetie," she said. "Exactly the kind of positive exposure you needed. I'm sorry Robert was an ass to you. I'm sure he'll apologize tomorrow."
"Yeah."
"I'll text you when to come to 19 to sign. Now get some sleep, and start thinking about which four of Adam's songs you wanna cover. I want yours sewn up tomorrow; the other Idols can fight over the scraps."
Jesus H. Christ. Scraps.
"You're the best, Vanessa," he said and hung up.
Kris downed the last of the beer and stared at Adam's face flashing across the silent TV screen. He should feel good. He'd done everything he could think of for Adam-cooperated with the FBI, toed 19E's line, kept the New Year's Eve show alive. Adam could come back in a heartbeat and step right into his life, nothing derailed.
But what if Adam didn't get back in time? In one piece? Alive? Would Kris actually be able to stand on that stage and sing Adam's songs for Adam's fans? His throat closed up and suddenly it didn't seem like such a genius idea after all.
Kris put down the bottle and headed for the bedroom to get his Bible.
Tuesday
Kris woke up groggy from the sleeping pill he'd taken, one of the ones left over from the last trip to Africa. There were a whole bunch of messages on his phone: his mom wanting to know that Kris was okay after almost getting himself killed in a ghetto on Sunday; Allison threatening to kick him in the balls if he didn't call her ASAP and tell her everything that had happened to her adopted big brother; his rhythm guitarist Andrew wanting confirmation that they'd just been hired to play a New Year's Eve gig and, if so, who was paying to fly him out to Los Angeles with zero notice; and Cale explaining that he'd given the guys a heads up in case the label actually went with Kris's idea.
Kris turned on his TV and flipped through the news channels, hoping everything had somehow resolved overnight, and he wouldn't have to call them back. But there was no new news, except that the Glamberts were up in arms demanding refunds for their concert tickets, and FOX News had footage of Adam's mom crying outside the FBI building.
So Kris called his friends and family and comforted them as best he could, assuring them that Kris's endangerment had been minimal, that the FBI had leads, that Adam would be back in time, and that the gig was just a backup plan in case Adam didn't want to perform when he got back. They weren't lies-not really; they were positive thinking.
Determined optimism fueled him through the painful process of picking Adam's songs for his set list. He'd sung all of them before in his car, in the shower, in his studio, but never with a mind to singing them for an audience. And never when the lyrics meant so much, when the hurt was so fresh.
He'd just shoved the list of songs aside and gotten dressed for the gym when Vanessa texted: Come sign. 503b. Use a cab get a receipt.
An hour later, he was sitting in Ted Burke's office on the 5th floor of The Sunset, listening to Ted and Vanessa gossip like old friends. "Rob nearly had two strokes yesterday, but I think the stress is good for him. Ever since Adam started making headlines, Rob's lost a good 30 pounds. He's looking pretty good lately."
"If you go for guys with gray hair," Vanessa scoffed.
"Well, his assistant isn't complaining," Ted said with a sly grin.
She almost choked on her cappuccino. "Lisa Ann? Get out!"
"She thinks she's got the pipes for a recording contract. But from what I hear, they're only good for blow jobs."
"Oh, that's revolting!"
"What, you really think Rob's that bad?"
"For a girl her age? Definitely. And as pretty as she is, too. It's disgusting how everyone prostitutes themselves for a contract these days. Present company excepted," she said, patting Kris's arm.
Kris squirmed uncomfortably.
"Anyway," Ted continued, finally including Kris in the conversation, "we sorted out the access to the venue issues with Hopkins this morning, so the dress rehearsals are a go for Thursday and Friday. And if he gives you any shit when you show up, give me a call and I'll put the fear of god in him again."
"Oh, was that who I saw crying in the lobby when I came in?" Vanessa asked.
Ted rolled his eyes. "Probably. He didn't want us switching the talent 'cause he thinks his concessions will take a hit if it's not Lambert. He thought he had a say," he sneered. "As if I wouldn't have put full artistic control in that contract. He almost threw a fit when he realized he didn't have a legal leg to stand on."
"In other words, you financially raped him in the original negotiations and he's finally realizing how screwed he is."
"Hey, he got what he wanted-that club didn't even exist when we wrote that contract. Hopkins should be grateful for the startup capital." Ted gave a long-suffering sigh-the effect somewhat ruined by a self-satisfied smirk. "God save us from amateurs."
"Hmm, reminds me of those nasty little clauses you tried to sneak into the Nokia contract," she said. "I thought you'd be giving us the run around this time, too. But you're not so tough when I know your angle, huh?"
Ted's eyes narrowed. "Please, you got off easy here. I was gonna take you to the mat over that limo and the 10 backstage passes, but Rob just wanted this finished."
"Big talk from the guy who's giving us everything we want," Vanessa said breezily. "I'm just making sure Kris gets what he's worth. It's all about the bottom line." She scanned the papers in front of her one last time, nodding to herself.
Kris's PA, Mechelle, annexed four months ago to serve as Vanessa's private secretary, sat at seeming-attention in the corner of the room, but Kris could hear the tell-tale sound of texting coming from the folds of her skirt. Kris wondered distractedly if Mechelle's phone bill was part of his bottom line. He was pretty sure Vanessa's bottomless cappuccinos were.
Vanessa pushed the quarter-inch-thick contract toward Kris. "It's good to sign," she said.
He picked up the black pen and flipped to the last page of the contract, the butterflies in his stomach settling as soon as it was signed. He'd done his part. Adam could come home any time now.
"Now, where's your set list? Ted'll walk it up to Rob for us, won't you darling?"
Ted pulled the contract over and signed opposite Kris's name, ignoring Vanessa's suggestion. "I'll make you some photocopies…" he said, standing up.
"Oh, Mechelle can do it. Mechelle, go make us two copies. And get me another muffin."
Mechelle hid her BlackBerry in her purse and took the pages from Ted. "What's the copier code?" she sighed, resigned.
"0052."
"Be right back." She slipped out of the office on strappy wedge sandals.
"Um, listen." Kris unfolded the half-sheet of paper he'd agonized over all morning. "I'm…. The show's gonna be great. The contract's great. But from what I saw on the news, I'm starting to worry…d'you think anybody'll show up for it? I mean, we're not Adam. His fans aren't gonna wanna see us."
"Oh, nobody's gonna want their money back, trust me," Vanessa said. "Robert's got that part all worked out."
"How?"
"All the ticket holders are in the fan club; they've already drunk the Kool-Aid," she explained. "So Robert's calling your show the Vigil for Adam Lambert. They're gonna hand out candles and tissues and put up posters and graffiti-banners all over the walls for fans to write on. It'll be a total love-in for the Glamberts."
"Not to mention the must-have invitation of the night," Ted interjected. "The Beckhams are flying in for it, and we're looking at expanding the VIP area for at least half a dozen more A-listers. We'll have a press tent set up outside for the celebrity interviews-"
"Wait a minute," Vanessa said, sitting up straighter. "You didn't say anything about multiple celebrities. Or interviews!"
Kris's stomach suddenly dropped. "You're making it bigger?"
Ted leaned back in his chair looking imminently satisfied. "The publicity on the kidnapping is huge-everybody wants a piece of it. And thanks to you, we're in the perfect position to provide it."
"And all you're giving us is $15,000?" Vanessa squawked.
"The profit margin's totally bottomed out," Ted shrugged. "We really weren't making any money off the original, and now with the added security for the VIPs, this is putting us well into the red. London thinks the vigil's the right move for the Adam Lambert brand though; as soon as he's back he'll be positioned as the performer to see in 2011."
"Is that why Robert wanted this rushed through? Before I found out about this?!" Her face was turning red.
Kris couldn't believe his ears. "Adam could be hurt or…or worse, and you're gonna use that to sell more albums?"
"Lemons: Lemonade. How long have you lived in L.A.? Don't worry; it's not as if we're putting up a merch table."
"But you're exploiting his fans' grief!"
"So are you," Ted pointed out. "You're getting $15,000."
"I don't care about the money!" he yelled, standing up. "When I go out on that stage, it's gonna be about Adam, and that's all."
"Really?" Ted asked, eyes going shrewd. "Because we can strike the remuneration if you're-"
Vanessa interrupted, "Ted, don't you even dare. That contract is final."
"I don't want their fucking money," Kris rounded on his agent, anger freeing his tongue. "Or a limo I didn't ask for! Or a green room or catering or anything else you put in that contract. This is so completely fucked up. You two've made a nice little…. You don't even need Adam anymore! You don't care if he comes back in time, do you?"
"We're working on a contingency plan for that." Ted reached for the wrinkled set list.
Kris slammed his fist down on it. "He's just a brand to you. Record sales, ticket sales, endorsements…."
"I think your client needs to take a few minutes."
"Honey, you're under a lot of pressure. Just calm down."
"You're supposed to be managing our music, not our lives. You managed my divorce, you're managing Adam's kidnapping, checking all the angles to protect your profits. This is crazy; you people don't have the right to control us like this-"
"Kris, it's just spin," Vanessa said soothingly, patting the back of his chair. "Nobody's controlling your life-"
"You're damn right!" he yelled. "And if Adam were here he'd say the same thing. What you're doing is wrong. It's evil."
"Ted, would you give us a moment, please?" Vanessa asked, her calm, professional veneer showing cracks.
"This is my office."
"I said please," she snapped.
Ted huffed but stood and left, closing the door behind him.
"What have you done?" Kris demanded, pacing the narrow strip of carpeting.
"What have I done? Honey, I wrote the contract you wanted. You didn't give me any moral checklists before waltzing off to god knows where yesterday."
"I was talking with the FBI!"
"All day? You couldn't have come back when you were finished? No, you left this to me like you always do, and I did my best. It's a great contract, it's an A-list event, and you're back in the label's good graces. You needed this one, Kris; this is huge for you. And right now, we're lucky if Ted isn't on his way upstairs to talk to Robert about your attitude. Do you really want to give them another excuse to delay your album?"
That brought Kris up short. "That's not fair."
"Of course it's not! And I keep hoping you'll wake up one day and learn to just play along. Adam's already at that next level because he knows how to give them what they want."
"It's not a competition. We haven't competed against each other since the show!"
"Every day and every album is a competition, especially within your own label. Adam is 19's favorite son; they'll let him do anything he wants, and they'll spend all their resources promoting him. And what does that make you? Passed over, that's what."
"I don't care about that," he insisted, knowing it was a losing argument. "I just need to get him back."
"You need to get your mind off Adam and focus on the New Year's Eve show. Before your career is the next thing that disappears." She grabbed his set list and held it up to read. "Now tell me you used your head when you picked these. Whataya Want From Me-good, that single was huge; Aftermath-a bit on the nose, but alright; Can't Let You Go." She paused and looked hard at him. "Kris, you know your range. Be honest. Can you actually sing this?"
"I'll take the chorus down an octave," he said defensively, slouching against the wall.
"Alright. But that's three slow rockers; you should be changing it up more. And Time for Miracles. Honey, not that wet noodle."
Kris ducked his head. "I need that one."
"Nobody liked that song, come on. Adam hasn't even performed it in a year."
"'I ain't giving up on us,'" he quoted softly, conviction and faith bolstering his stubbornness.
Vanessa sighed and rubbed her temple. "You're still hung up on Katy? We paid for how much counseling, they made you skip the whole fall tour season after the divorce, the album's been pushed back to April…and you're still not over her? This is not the time for public declarations about your ex. We agreed on a positive face for the media-"
"Not Katy. Adam."
There was a brief moment of stillness and then Vanessa's eyes bugged out. "What?"
"That's why I got divorced. I've been in love with Adam since…since the show."
"Oh no." Vanessa began patting absently at the bun that held her frizzy hair, making sure nothing had slipped free with the shock. "No, do not do this to me."
"When Adam gets back, we're supposed to finally get a chance to-"
"This is career suicide," she cut him off. "You've already ruined the wholesome Christian-boy image with the divorce. Now you're gonna come out of the closet? And you think you're gonna have any fans left?"
"If they like the music-"
"They'll never hear it! 19's gonna push the new album back to June and dump it in the summer sinkhole. That's if you're lucky enough to get it released. One of their stars turns another gay-those aren't good headlines, honey! At best, you'll be Brad Pitt dumping America's Sweetheart for a gay, over-sexed Angelina Jolie. The blowback's gonna be huge!"
"I don't care!" he said, hands balled into fists. "I've been keeping this quiet for years, and I'm done waiting. I've made it right with my-with Katy. And with God. And when Adam gets back, I'm gonna tell him how I feel. And I don't care if 19 doesn't like it, or if my album tanks, or if you decide you can't represent a gay artist."
He stared her down on that last point until her cheeks flushed and she looked down, busying her hands folding the set list. "I didn't say that."
"Good."
"Just…don't do anything rash. Give me time to work something out. We're gonna need to do some major damage control if you wanna keep your viability. Maybe make a play for some of Adam's fan base-they're always obsessed with who he's dating."
Kris gritted his teeth. "You do that. Are we done here?"
"You're all signed, so. Yeah, that's it."
Kris grabbed his red windbreaker off the chair and headed for the door.
"Mechelle's got those letters you wanted…." Vanessa called after him.
He spotted Mechelle down the hall talking with a young guy in a Hawaiian shirt and a pocket protector. Kris made a bee line for her and stuck a shoulder between her and the object of her attention. "Mechelle, I need those letters."
"Sure." She pulled open her huge satchel and dug out the rubber-banded stack of envelopes. "And here," she thrust a set of loose pages at him. "Your copy of the contract."
Part III