“Perfect!” was the exuberant response.
“I’m not going on a television show!” I snapped. Heads began turning our way.
“Could we at least discuss this somewhere privately? I can give you all the details and you can give me an informed refusal.”
“Sure, you can come back to our house.”
“Ryan!” I said, slapping his arm. “No, I don’t-”
“Leese, you could at least hear the man out. I mean this might benefit, I don’t know like starving children in Africa or something, right?” he asked looking at the man.
“Sure, you could donate the million dollar prize to your favorite charity. That would be fine.”
“See. It’s charity work, Leese.”
“I’ll donate a million dollars and skip the show,” I growled.
“Please, just a chance to tell you about it, that’s all I want.”
Ten minutes later we were seated in our living room as Mr. Bollson explained the concept. “We’re getting people from all over the United States who have captured the interest of the American public. The only thing they can’t currently be are singers, nor can they have or have had any singing contracts. We’ll start with a total of twenty-four contestants. The first show, you’ll choose a song to sing and our judging panel will decide if you make it to the next week.”
“Wait,” I stopped him, “what makes this different from American Idol? It sounds like the same thing.”
“No, our contestants are famous or infamous in their own right. Then we pair you up with the original group, singer or band and let you remake their song. It’s more like a cross between Idol and Dancing with the Stars.
“The next week, the same thing happens. On the fourth week there will only be twelve of you left. The weeks after that are themed and you’ll choose songs from the era or genre selected. You’ll get to work with some of the greatest artist of our time, if they’re alive and agree, of course. That is one thing we can’t control is the song choice for your first two performances. So, if you pick an Elvis song, and we pray that you don’t, we have to get permission from his estate and then you can only get a feel for how he performed by watching old video. Does that make sense?”
I nodded. Even though it sounded like it could end up being fun, it would also increase my problem with going out in public.
“America votes each week when the live shows start, and we dwindle down until we have the final two contestants. The last song will actually be a surprise the night of the live show and you’ll only have a short amount of time to prepare for it. We’re a little concerned how this is going to work, but we’re still discussing this point with ownership.
“If you win, you get a million dollars and recognition as the first star on Remake. We don’t promise any recording contracts, but I can almost guarantee that if the public wants to hear more from you, record companies will be breaking down your door to get you to sign.”
“And that,” I stated with my first amount of enthusiasm since I met Mr. Bollson, “is exactly why I don’t want to do it. I don’t need the publicity, nor do I want people breaking down my door trying to find me.”
“Ah, come on, Leese. It sounds like fun and I know you’ll be fabulous at-”
“NO!” I shot back at Ryan. I looked at Mr. Bollson, “I’m sorry, but I’d prefer to stay as obscure as possible.”
“Well, if you are positive you don’t want to do it, I’ll leave. But here is my card, just in case you change your mind,” he said, rising and walking away.
Ryan showed him to the door when Mr. Bollson stopped and turned around, “You know a song is a great way to get a message across. Isn’t there someone in your life, maybe someone you’ve lost touch with or haven’t seen in a long time that you’d like to choose a song and send that message out?”
“N-no,” I stumbled on the response. Of course there was someone I’d like to sing my heart out to, someone who I’d like to sing my apology to, someone I loved so much yet couldn’t have anymore.
Ryan opened the door as I watched my opportunity preparing to exit. “Wait!”
I had a feeling I was going to seriously regret this decision.
Mr. Bollson turned to me and smiled, “I need you in L.A. on Monday morning. We can fly you in-”
“I can fly her in,” Ryan stopped him.
“I need an idea of the first singer or band we’re going to need to call.”
“Rascal Flatts,” I breathed out.
Two sets of eyebrows raised my direction.
“All right, then I’ll see what I can do to either have them flown in or have you fly out to wherever they are.”
He produced a single paper with the time, date and place in Los Angeles where I was to go on Monday. He said the other paperwork would be completed at the studio.
“And by the way, I’ll have a stylist waiting for you because America doesn’t know this short-haired, blonde version, so don’t be offended.”
Mr. Bollson left.
Ryan stared at me after closing the front door, “Rascal Flatts? He’s country right? I just figured you’d pick something different.”
“They are country; it’s the name of their group not a singer. They have the perfect song and it’s the only reason I agreed to do this. I’m actually hoping the other contestants are really good and they’ll give me the boot after the first week. I just want a chance to sing one song for Micah.”
“Which song?”
“What Hurts the Most,” I said as my eyes began to tear.
“Will you sing it for me first?” he asked as he came and sat beside me on the couch, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
I shook my head, “I don’t think I can, not right now. But, I know there’s a song that fits how I feel about you, too. If I make it more than a week or two, I’ll sing it for you.”
He leaned over and kissed my forehead, “So that only leaves me one question to ask,” he breathed as he lifted my chin and pierced me with those blue eyes.
The look was so deep and hard that I was afraid of what the question might be. His hand slid slowly around the side of my cheek, cupping me warmly as his mouth reached the opposing ear. He was being so deliberate that my pulse was beginning to quicken as he very slowly whispered, “What kind of…” He took another breath, “…car did you order?”
“Ah!” I pulled away and smacked his shoulder. “You jerk!”
We laughed and tousled against each other until I pulled a few martial arts moves on him and made him beg for mercy. I don’t honesty think he was trying very hard to defend himself, but it was fun anyway.
Friday, a few minutes after noon, my new baby arrived. It was just going to be the two of us to see it first. Andy and Ty were pulling guard duty and, although Candace got out of school at twelve-thirty, she had work right after that, so he and I would get to enjoy my car alone for a little while.
The sleek black semi-truck bore no marking to spoil my surprise. They opened the back doors and lowered the ramp as the sound of a high performance engine resounded from somewhere inside the box trailer.
“What color is it going to be?” Ryan asked, obviously not wanting to wait for the suspense of seeing it roll down the ramp.
“I liked the paint job on the Javelin.”
“Red?” he sounded surprised.
The back of the car emerged and then she rolled down the ramp and into the street.
“It’s a… What is it?”
“It’s a Shelby Ultimate Aero,” I stated proudly, “The world’s fastest production car.” I sounded like a commercial. He wasn’t speaking as he walked slowly around it, so I continued, “It packs 1,287 horsepower-”
“Shit! Leese, you don’t need that much engine! I don’t want you killing yourself,” he snapped as a worried expression washed away his smile.
I ignored the remark as I gave him a few more tidbits, “It goes zero to sixty in 2.78 seconds, redlines at 7800 rpms and tops out at 256 miles per hour.”