Chapter 12

We walked past the dressing room where Ryan was stationed out front. He gave me a grin and pumped his fist at me. I didn't understand the gesture so I just waved back to him.

"Liz has a couple of media commitments right after the show," Stephanie explained. "She takes care of most of them in the afternoons but some people will want to get their photo taken with her afterward. Are you guys good with staying?"

"Like we could get out of traffic for the next hour!" Sarah offered.

"What do you need us to do?" Susan asked.

"Nothing," Stephanie replied. "These are all staged. It probably won't take more than five minutes or so. I'm just sure she wants to see you before you go home."

"I'm a little surprised that she didn't have more media saturation here," Rick said.

"It comes back to the label's assertion that San Diego wouldn't be receptive," Stephanie answered. "We did a few things with the radio station that the label deals with out here and we did some web stuff. The major money is being saved for the last show. It's at the football stadium in Dallas. They're hoping for 100,000."

"They'll get it," Sarah said with confidence.

"The label is banking we won't," Jill said. "If we get the normal crowd of 40,000 or so, the stadium will still be half empty. That will give them a big lift in negotiations."

We had reached the area where the meet and greet had taken place. I recognized it as the media center. The stadium in Anaheim had something similar. I had seen it when the team had a ceremony to announce my signing.

"And when we pack the fucker full to capacity then Liz will have all the ammunition she needs to tell the label to stuff it!" Sarah declared. I separated myself from the rest. I knew that getting 100,000 people anywhere at one time would be an issue. Sure, the NFL had pulled it off when the Super Bowl was played there but a country music performance on a late-spring Thursday would be a whole different can of worms.

Every country music act played Dallas but few attempted the mammoth football stadium. I knew this from my time in Arkansas. I started to see how the label was doing its best to push Liz into failure and I didn't like it. Stadium shows were almost always done on weekends during the summer – or so my limited research had told me. The label knew as well as anyone that Liz's core audience was teenagers and young adults. So they had set the schedule for midweek performances in an attempt to limit attendance.

It hadn't worked to that point but with summer looming – and a great many other entertainment options beginning – the label stood a chance of winning at the wire. Liz had four shows left. She would play in Los Angeles in a week before moving on to Phoenix a week later. She was scheduled to hit Jacksonville, Fla., right after college classes ended for the summer in May and wrap in Dallas as high school students were wrapping up classes with final exams and preparations for graduation.

"Pricks," I muttered just as the door opened and five or six movers and shakers from the community came in.

"Don't like them?" Jill asked. I hadn't seen her come up because I was focused on other things.

"I don't know them," I answered. "I was talking about the way the label set up this tour. I looked online this afternoon and saw nothing about Dallas even mentioned."

"It's going to be Liz's coup de grace," Jill said. "We're going announce the show a couple of weeks ahead of time. Tickets will go on sale a couple of days later. Liz is sure she can pull it off."

"Not if nobody knows about until after they've already allocated their money for the summer," I said. "The more I learn about things the less I like it."

"We've done it so far," Jill said.

I nodded.

"But now is when the label is going to start actively working against her," I said. "If this is a power game, they'll be playing to win. They have to lower her value. You need to be prepared for a smear campaign to start soon. Los Angeles is the ideal place. The media up there is always willing to print speculation without checking the facts."

"They would be shooting themselves in the foot," Jill noted.

I shrugged.

"I would bet they believe they made her what she is," I opined. "I don't think that's the case but that's the impression I have of them. I'm sure they believe they can undo any damage they cause. Look, Liz has told me some things that could be painted in a pretty dim light."

Jill sighed heavily but nodded.

"Don't let it sneak up on you," I advised. "The time for action is before the first blow is struck. Liz might need to break the leash early and admit that she hasn't always been the woman most people think she is. Do you have anyone that you can trust in the media to give the facts without ... without embellishing?"

"I don't know," Jill admitted. "All the media contacts are made through Nashville."

"No surprise there," I said. "Well, we'll start to work on it in the morning."

"You're not under contract," Jill pointed out.

"All the better," I said. "That way nothing gets traced back to Liz until she's clear of her contract. We'll just be friends acting in her best interests."

"I don't know," Jill said, frowning. "Liz is ... protective ... of her image."

"I know she is," I said. "I promise that we won't make any moves without her approval. Maybe I can find a few minutes tonight to talk to her before you head out."

Jill gave a nod that didn't signal a commitment. It was just that she was starting to understand the situation from my point of view.

"Let's let her enjoy the rest of her night," she suggested. "Tomorrow is soon enough to toss a wet blanket on things."

"Yeah, except this isn't something we should discuss over the phone," I said.

"It isn't," Jill agreed. "Our schedules are just so fucking tight this week. We'll coordinate schedules before we split up and work something out. For what it's worth, I think you're right. I'm not sure we can convince Liz and Stephanie. But at least you can tell them your perspective. Liz is likely to listen to you."

I glanced to at the small woman to my left. I couldn't understand why Liz would listen to me but I suspected Jill might be correct in her assessment.

I caught the door opening out of the corner of my eye and watched Liz walk into the room. She still wore a huge smile. She wore a black skirt and white blouse with her blondish-brown hair slicked back because it was still wet from the shower.

The newcomers in the room were all men, ranging in age (in my estimation) from middle 40s to late 50s. I saw one immediately stand up straighter and run a hand down his front to make sure his shirt wasn't wrinkled. Another broke from the pack and started toward Liz – only to have Ryan hold out a warning hand. The celebrity approached you; you did not approach the celebrity.

The man seemed perturbed but there was little he could do about it. I saw Eric give a soft smile and wondered if he might know the guy.

"Who are these people?" I whispered to Jill.

"They're men who pledged a donation to the firefighter's association in conjunction with Liz's," Jill whispered back. "They get the obligatory handshake and photo and then they get the bum's rush."

I shook my head and wondered why this wasn't planned for much earlier in the day.

"They will want to regale her with stories of how rich and influential they are," I noted. "You can bet most of the guys think they're the most famous person in the room. Why didn't you do this at 10 a.m. or lump them in with the mayor?"

Jill frowned and I had my answer. The timing had been orchestrated by others, although I didn't see any purpose except to make sure Liz was awake at two in the morning.

Stephanie was trying to get the men organized but was having trouble. Only one of the five seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention. The others all continued to jostle to be at the front of the line.

"Gentlemen!" Stephanie said in a voice bit louder than before. "We're doing this in the order I've read off. That is all there is to it. Now, Mr. Adamson, you're first. I need to speak to Mr. Greer for a moment."

The man that had checked his shirt for wrinkles frowned. The name of Marshall Greer popped into my head but I couldn't recall where I'd heard it. I figured it was from some hospital newsletter I'd put together to announce donors.

"Mr. Greer?" Stephanie said again, looking down the faces of the men. I saw a flash of anger hit the face I was watching. He was used to being recognized and coddled.

"I am Marshall Greer," he said ... as though the world should stop and applaud.

The one guy I considered normal managed to keep his eye roll semi-private by lowering his head. I bit back a smile.

"I need to hang close to Liz while Stephanie takes care of this," Jill said.

"Have fun," I said in a mocking voice. She gave me the finger behind her back as she headed over.

Jill was shorter than Liz by six or seven inches but she had a tight body that reminded me of a gymnast I had dated at Texas. I wondered if Jill Clay could hook her ankles behind her head the way Mandy McLaren could. Loud voices drove those thoughts from my head.

"I don't sign anything without my attorney!" Marshall Greer stated indignantly.

"We understand," Stephanie replied in a reasonable voice. "Your attorney received this via e-mail last month and by mail four weeks ago. Here are the confirmations of receipt."

Stephanie held out two pieces of paper but Greer refused to look at them.

"I'm not signing anything," he declared. I saw Ryan break away from where Liz stood with another donor. The one I had decided was normal was looking remarkably uncomfortable. I wondered if it was because he was next in line to speak to Liz Larimer or if it was because of the other conversation of interest in the room.

"It's pretty simple, Sir," Ryan said as he approached. "If you want a photo, you sign the contract. It's non-negotiable and your lawyer has had plenty of time to look it over. Otherwise, you can shake hands with Miss Larimer but you can't have a photo."

Ryan's voice had taken on a deep, menacing quality that it had lacked during our conversations. I counted myself lucky on that account.

"I'm not signing anything," Greer reiterated. "And I want the photo I was promised!"

"That's simply not going to happen without a signature," Stephanie replied. Her voice was calm and modulated. "Sir, please know, we do this everywhere and it has never posed a problem before. Miss Larimer's image may not be used for business or political advertising without her written consent. You can hang it on your wall in your office. You can post it on any website that does not promote a business or a political candidate or party. We simply cannot have people using Miss Larimer's photograph for their own purposes without her consent. Surely, a man in your position understands that."

"I know I was promised a personal photograph with her in return for my donation," Greer countered. "A rather sizeable donation, I might add."

"We're certain the firefighter's association appreciates your support as much as they do Miss Larimer's," Stephanie said, forcing a smile.

"Then be certain of this!" Marshall Greer said. "If I don't get my picture taken with her I will pull my donation. And you can bet I'll let everyone know exactly what sort of extortion scheme you people have going here."

Eric had been making his way across the room. He had been bemused when the guy had started his tirade but now he looked as angry as Ryan Davis.

"And I will make sure every single person knows exactly what kind of petulant asshole you really are," Eric said in quiet, clipped tones. "Then your dreams of being mayor will be just a memory."

Greer's head turned. I considered Eric to be a major player in the city but I didn't figure the upper-echelon of powerbrokers did. Still, he was recognizable and Marshall Greer knew the face.

"I didn't figure you for a country music fan," Greer said derisively.

"I'm not," Eric admitted. "But I'm a Liz Larimer fan. I like how she does things and I'll make it my personal crusade to run you down to every single group that comes to me for a donation if you don't grow the hell up."