“I was. Again, without my knowledge or okay.”
Arthur huffed softly.
Connor asked, “When did you find out?”
“Six days ago. After their lawyers froze my accounts.”
“So you haven’t actually spoken with the lady?” When Ian shook his head, Connor went on, “Call her directly. Pretend the lawyers and their actions don’t exist. Lay the whole thing out.”
“She’s heard it all by now,” Ian pointed out. “Seeing as how I’m the latest bad boy on all the entertainment channels.”
“The lady hasn’t heard it from you, which is the only thing that matters. Tell her you’ll do the gig.”
Ian opened his mouth to protest. But the words didn’t come.
“Do the gig,” Connor repeated. “Tell her you’ll do it for free. No charge.”
“Connor, I’m broke.”
“Hear me out. Make sure she understands what this is costing you, both financially and personally. In exchange, all you’re asking is that she spread the word about what happened. Have her tell the music world your side of the story.” He rose and crossed to the coffee maker. “I’m pretty sure she’ll pay you what you’re owed. But her coming out publicly on your side will mean more in the long run. To have a senior figure serving as your new ally, this could save your career. Keep the doors open for when you’re ready to return.”
Ian wanted to protest, say he didn’t know if he’d ever resume his career. But as he was still mentally shaping the words, a chime sounded from the wall console.
Arthur walked over and pressed the button to open his front gates. “Danny’s made it here in record time.”
But it was not the film producer who approached the studio. Instead, three very large and cheerful women stopped outside the door. When Arthur merely sat there and stared at them through the window, the closest woman tapped on the glass with a purple fingernail as long as a talon.
Arthur opened the door, asked, “May I help you?”
“Danny Byrd said you needed some backup singers.”
“Did he? How astonishing.” Arthur stepped away. “Then I suppose you’d best come in.”
Each member of the trio easily outweighed Ian by a good fifty pounds. Everything about them was huge—face, hair, limbs, smile. One Latina, one Black, the eldest an Asian beauty, with the broadest grin of all. She pointed to Connor on the sofa and said, “Look what we have here, ladies.”
“Lunch,” the Black woman said.
The Latina was the largest of all. “Honey, you know who that is?”
“Of course I know.” She addressed both Connor and Ian. “If you two sing as good as you look, we’re in trouble.”
Ian pointed to Connor. “He sings. I watch.”
“Great heavens above,” the Asian woman said. “You’re Ian Hart.”
“Who’s that, now?”
“Don’t you ever watch anything but those silly game shows? This here is the baddest of the bad boys.” To Ian, she added, “Sugar, you’re way better looking than those awful pictures they’re showing.”
Connor asked Arthur, “Danny didn’t say anything about this?”
“He mentioned wanting to add some personal input to today’s session. I said since he was the boss with the checkbook, he could do pretty much whatever he liked,” Arthur replied, studying the women now compressing the air in his control room. “I’ve been known to make the occasional mistake.”
The Latina demanded, “Who’re you calling a mistake?”
The Asian lady said, “You don’t watch, old man, I’m gonna tie a knot in that ratty sweater, with you still inside.”
Connor pointed to the cottage door. “Here comes Danny. Right on time.”
