Click here to return to the home page free excerpt yoakam
'Sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for !
“I think I’ve heard just about enough. I’m ready to make my motion—now!” Victoria Masters looked at the male faces around the conference table. “I move that Knight Rider, along with their lead singer, Calder McKnight—the Dark Knight—be suspended indefinitely from their recording contract with SoundMaster Records, as allowed under the Morals Clause.”
The room erupted in pandemonium, as she had expected. Everyone was talking at once, trying to catch her attention, to convince her to back down. In their collective opinion, she had just made the dumbest move in recording history since Decca passed on the Beatles.
“You can’t…simply can’t do this.” That was Stephen Grant, chief financial officer, seated to her immediate right.
Victoria simply raised an elegantly styled eyebrow. “You know very well that I can, Mr. Grant, and with my father’s proxies, I don’t really need any of the rest of you to do so. Call it common courtesy I’m even tabling it.” She looked around the conference table from face to face, making sure everyone knew just where she stood.
“Victoria, Knight Rider is our top grossing act,” Stephen Grant tried again. “Calder McKnight has become something of a cult figure in Rock and Roll. There’s a reason they call him the Dark Knight. Suspending their contract at this point…well, just for a bit of bad behavior...” he let his voice trail off.
Victoria fixed him in what she hoped was a steely glare. She had trouble enough facing this all male board. Despite the authority her father had bestowed on her, despite the five thousand dollar magenta business suit by Dior, and the Mark Cross briefcase sitting like a buffer between her and the other board members, she still felt insecure. She was jittery as all get out, and she couldn’t let them see it. Never let them see you sweat, she thought, and went on.
“SoundMaster is only a minor division of Masters International, Mr. Grant, as I’m sure you’re aware, and Knight Rider’s escapades have gone far beyond a bit of bad behavior, they’ve damaged our reputation.”
She snapped open the burgundy leather briefcase and took out a sheaf of reports. One by one, she laid them on the table in front of Stephen Grant.
“Knight Rider, specifically Calder McKnight, the Dark Knight, arraigned for possession of narcotics, disturbing the peace, firing an unlicensed firearm in a public place, possession again, DWI, public nuisance, and—this one is my personal favorite—suspicion of rape.”
“They are rock musicians Miss Masters, they are…well, rowdy by definition.” Sam Falkins, advertising and promotion, probably twenty years her senior, thought he could guide her in the right direction—namely his.
“Sex, drugs and Rock and Roll Mr. Falkins? I don’t think so. This is not the sixties. This whole episode has been a major PR headache for Masters for long enough now. As Knight Rider is one of the few remaining rock bands still with SoundMaster since we changed our focus to country music, I believe this is the best way to put an end to this nightmare.”
“A Knight Rider nightmare?” some wiseass muttered, and there was some chuckling around the table. Victoria blushed furiously, hating to be ridiculed.
“My father,” she continued, hoping her voice would not betray the insecurity she felt, “My father sent me here to resolve this somehow, and this is the best way I can see to achieve that.”
“Perhaps you should put this issue to your…to Mr. Masters before doing anything rash.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed, she didn’t even look at who was challenging her authority, suggesting she defer to her father, the powerful Anthony Masters. No one would ever have dared to question his decisions, his authority, no one would have dreamed of it. She rose from her chair slowly, using her height to dominate the table.
“This is my decision gentlemen, and I suggest that you learn to live with it. This meeting is closed; there will be no further discussion,” she snapped her briefcase shut decisively.
With that she walked out of the room, head held high, leaving in her wake confused, heated and angry discussions, and an extremely unhappy board of directors.
Reaching her office she fell into her chair, kicked off her shoes, and rubbed her tired eyes. Sparsely furnished, this room didn’t exactly reflect SoundMaster’s beautifully appointed suites in one of the finest buildings on Nashville’s Music Row. They had obviously made room for her in a hurry when word came that Anthony Masters’ daughter was arriving from New York to clean up the trouble at SoundMaster. Trouble that everyone here would have liked to sweep under the proverbial rug.
Knight Rider was one of the most popular rock bands around right now and its thirty something lead singer, Calder McKnight, an enigmatic figure; a world apart from all the teenage singing sensations who dominated the current scene. He was always dressed from head to toe in black, he wore huge, dark sunglasses, elaborate stage makeup and maintained a constant air of mystery, never being seen in public unless dressed as the Dark Knight. The stories circulating about him could raise the hair on one’s neck.
Victoria sighed deeply. Knight Rider was indeed making a lot of money for SoundMaster right now, their records were selling like hotcakes, their concerts could always be counted on to be sellouts. The only problem was their attitude in regards to rules and regulations. Regularly they were involved in bust ups at local bars and restaurants, band members had been caught with every conceivable drug and pill—and the string of women that followed them around...Victoria would rather not think about that.
So far the umbrella of Masters International, and the skills of their legal team, had kept Knight Rider largely out of serious trouble, but finally her father’s patience had worn out. And here she was answering his summons to get to Nashville and clean up that sordid mess, pronto.
Unfortunately that was about the last thing she wanted to be doing right now. Having arrived from New York just a few weeks ago, she still felt out of place and foreign in Nashville.
She looked down at herself, tugging self-consciously on her Dior suit. Jeans and boots would probably have been more appropriate. Lord knew she had seen the most outrageous clothing choices in the last few days. Cowboy boots with suits, Stetsons with tuxedos and torn jeans, and somewhere at a downtown club, a violet pinstriped tux—with boots and a Stetson of course.
The sooner she got out of here the better. She needed a break quite desperately. And this would finally and truly be the last job she did for Masters Enterprises, she promised herself for the thousandth time. Finally, she would leave all the corporate machinations far, far behind. Hopefully, maybe...Oh, who was she kidding, the gospel according to Anthony Masters read that sooner or later she would be the one at the helm of the company, so she might as well put away her classical piano studies, and scores and compositions, and whatever else caught her fancy and get on with it. There had been a time where she might have had a brilliant future as a concert pianist, but her brother Robert had put a stop to that. Well, good for him, hopefully he was enjoying his life as an artist in Europe somewhere while she was stuck in Nashville trying to keep a wayward rock band in line.
Victoria shook her head; it wasn’t like her to be this cynical. Usually, she was pretty resigned to her fate as a future corporate tycoon. This job, this town, must be getting to her. Sighing, she pulled her black notebook toward her. She had a few uncomfortable calls to make—no time like the present. Knight Rider was in for a rude awakening, and their manager would be none to happy. Mentally she put herself into her I am the boss, what I say goes mode, and started dialing.
Hours later she sat back and rubbed her eyes exhaustedly. It had already been a long, hard day, and it was by no means over. The yelling and arguing, the defending of decisions was still to come. As if somehow her decisions were suspect simply because she was Anthony Masters’ daughter—the resentment wasn’t always obvious, but it was certainly there.
She pulled herself together and called for her car. Might as well leave all that other stuff until later and head out for a late lunch, she thought.
“You’re looking a little haggard.” Glenn, her driver, mentioned as he skillfully navigated the snow-white limousine through the Nashville traffic.
“You have no idea, and it’s only two o’clock. I need a break so badly, I can barely breathe.”
“As bad as all that?” he looked at her in the rearview mirror, concerned. For years, he had been not only her driver but also a close, personal friend, despite her father’s objections to fraternizing with the employees.
“Worse, I feel like I’ve been battling a den of lions all morning. Now if you could find me a quiet place to have lunch somewhere, that would be great. Even better, go back to the office for me after, will you? I’m sick of having my every decision questioned.”
“Oh I’m afraid I’m not cut out for corporate life.”
“Well, you know what Glenn, neither am I. If my father hadn’t insisted I step up to the plate and start learning the business—well let’s just say my life would be a whole lot different.”
“Like Robert’s perhaps?”
Victoria didn’t answer. An answer seemed neither required nor expected. Glenn was well aware of the taboo against talking about her brother, Robert, and the mere fact that he had brought it up now proved how concerned he was. The strain of the last few days must be showing in her face big time.
She was idly looking out of the window as they passed one of downtown Nashville’s many parks. The sun shone on the white painted park benches, some children were playing a game of ball in one corner, mothers were watching, old folks were sitting feeding the doves and squirrels—a strange feeling of calm came over her. A feeling the likes of which she hadn’t experienced in quite a while. What would it be like to be out there, without obligations, without an international corporation waiting for more decisions?
Impulsively she leaned forward. “Glenn, let me off here, would you please. I want to just wander through that park for a little while. I’ll page you when I’m done.”
“Certainly, but…are you sure you wouldn’t like me to come with you?” he asked in a worried tone.
“This is Nashville, not New York, you know. I’m positive I won’t get mugged, so don’t worry. Just one more thing.”
“And that would be?”
“I’m leaving the cell phone here. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Would you mind answering it if it rings.”
Glenn rolled his eyes and smiled at her. “I’ll make something up, go have some fun for a little while.”
“Thanks Glenn, you’re a doll.”
He sighed and pulled over to let her step out of the car. He knew very well that she had to steal every little moment of free time she could. Her father had set a hard agenda for her, and often was the time Glenn had covered for her when she was taking a few precious moments to herself.
She stepped out, and moments later the long, white limo had disappeared into traffic.
Victoria stood on the sidewalk looking up and down the street. She had the strangest feeling of playing hooky somehow. No one knew her here, no one could get a hold of her, for a while she could pretend she was someone completely different. The next few hours were absolutely dedicated to doing nothing, and gathering strength for the many meetings which were sure to follow.
She bought a morning newspaper from a street vendor, dropped the change into the guitar case of a sidewalk musician—envying him for the freedom to just stand there and play—and headed into the park she had seen from the car. After the brutal meeting of this morning, after the madhouse of rumor and innuendo at the office, doing nothing was pure indulgence.
There was nothing Victoria wished so much as to be the businesswoman her father wanted her to be—it just didn’t seem to be in her. All the corporate deal-making in the world left her empty and dissatisfied, left an empty space inside her where a creative urge screamed to be let out.
Masters International, the sprawling corporation that had more subsidiaries than she could count, hung over her like a dark cloud. She was simply expected to deal with it. Her older brother, Robert, had been the one being groomed for leadership, but many years ago he had laid down the law, opted to leave Masters, to leave the family, and to live as an artist—somewhere. Her father never mentioned Robert’s name, and Victoria could only hope that he was doing well; she hadn’t heard from him in years. And now it was up to her to fulfill her father’s dream of making Masters one of the biggest private conglomerates in the world. Moments like these, strolling through a park in the early morning sunshine, made her long for a life of music, song and freedom—something she would most likely never have.
Victoria found an empty park bench dappled in golden sunshine, and sat down, unfolding her paper. Really, though, the news didn’t hold her attention this afternoon. It was far more fun to people watch, to take in the sights and sounds of a peaceful April morning. Besides, there was that story in the entertainment section about the furor Knight Rider had created at last night’s ‘Will Sing For Food’ charity concert. ‘They’ll Sing For Booze’ the headline read, and that pretty much summed up Knight Rider’s drunken escapades at a charity event that could have generated some much needed good will.
She rubbed her temples trying to erase the embarrassing memory when a movement on the bench beside her caught her eye.
A man wearing brand new cowboy boots, fashionably torn jeans and a huge, pearl gray Stetson stumbled to a halt before the bench and sat down heavily. Drunk? Glenn’s concern popped fleetingly into her mind but the man didn’t really look dangerous. There was just something odd about the way he walked.
When he turned his head, Victoria found herself looking into soft, smiling eyes that were almost golden, and shaded by the longest lashes she had ever seen on a man. There was a depth of emotion in those eyes, and she had a hard time tearing her gaze away.
A lazy, amused smile spread over his face, letting her know he had caught her staring at him, and she started to fumble with her paper in her haste to get up and leave. She could just feel an embarrassed flush creep into her face as she tried to refold all the sections, pick up her purse, and arrange it all under her arm. Clumsy fingers, added to her embarrassment, finally made her drop everything, and her belongings scattered around her.
Great, just what she needed. She tried, as gracefully as possible in her tight skirt, to bend down and gather everything up again when a large hand came into view.
“Here you go Ma’am,” a soft drawl, like warm honey.
A little shiver ran through her, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, and again she found herself staring into those deep, golden eyes finding little flecks of hazel. What’s wrong with you, Victoria Grace Masters? Her cowboy was still holding the paper out to her in one hand, smiling, probably having a good laugh at the city slicker from New York, while offering her the other to get up off the ground.
Victoria rose from her rather undignified position without his help and took the paper. “Why, thank you, err...thank you.” Thank you? She ran meetings with dozens of male executives every day, stood her ground against every kind of male chauvinism, and that was all she could come up with?
“No need. You through with the paper?”
“Yes…sure…I mean, if you’d like to have it, be my guest.” She laughed, a bit too shrill for her own ears, “All I did was spread it around anyway.”
He smiled that lazy smile again and tipped his hat. Did anyone still tip their hat nowadays? The slight movement made the sun catch on his strong features, the stubborn tilt of his chin, the high elegant curve of his cheekbone. Victoria found herself staring again, this was truly getting ridiculous. She was about to look away when she caught an expression of acute pain on his face.
“Ouch, man, what the...” he bit the rest of the sentence off, though Victoria could guess the full extent of it. “Sorry, Ma’am.”
“Don’t worry about it. Are you all right?” He seemed unsteady on his feet all of a sudden, and Victoria found herself holding out a steadying hand. “You sure you’re ok?”
“Well, it’s actually kind of embarrassing...”
“By all means go on, after my earlier display of grace I’m happy to let someone else take a turn.”
“Well...” he sat back down on the park bench. “You see, these here boots are brand new and I’m afraid they may have crippled me for the rest of my life.”
Victoria looked down at his brand new, needle nosed, snakeskin cowboy boots and tried unsuccessfully not to laugh.
“Trouble is,” he continued ignoring her giggles. “Trouble is I’ve gone and thrown out a perfectly good pair of sneakers when I bought these here torture instruments. Now I’m condemned to limp through the rest of my life ‘cause the only thing that’ll get these puppies off my feet is a good sharp hunting knife.”
Victoria was laughing out loud by now, as much at the story of these painful shoes, as at the pitiful expression in his face.
“I'm sorry, I can’t help it. And they say women are obsessed with shoes,” she looked down at her own practical as well as expensive loafers. “I never understood how men could walk, never mind ride, in those.”
“Trust me, they can’t”
There was an awkward pause between them, both of them aware that they were standing in a public park, talking to a stranger. Finally, the cowboy, as she had started thinking of him, stuck his hand out.
“Name’s Cal Duncan and I suspect I’m wearing a woman’s revenge for man’s invention of stiletto heels.”
Victoria took his hand and shook it. His hands were surprisingly soft and well manicured, his handshake firm and sincere.
“Vicky Masters—son,” she improvised, “and I do suspect you’re right Mr. Duncan.”
“Cal, please.”
“Cal. And after having worn stilettos for years, I’d say you deserve it.”
“Women—no sympathy at all.”
Vicky Masterson? Close enough, she thought. But why had she not wanted this guy to know who she was? Was this all part of her escape from the pressures of Masters, or did she just not want him to react to her name and tough-as-nails reputation? Victoria had seen it happen a hundred times. Men treated her differently as soon as they found out who she was. After all, one had to be careful with a girl who could buy and sell Miami if she wanted to. And then there was her famous recluse of a father who was rumored to have a whole gang of more-or-less thugs working for him. No, getting involved with Victoria Masters was definitely a gamble. But Vicky Masterson, that should be fairly safe.
He bent down to rub his aching feet and Victoria took the chance to study him closer. She had already seen his deep brown eyes and impossibly long lashes, but now she noticed the laugh lines around his eyes and his full mouth. Sandy colored hair curled from under the Stetson and she was willing to bet that as soon as he took the hat off it would be impossible to tame. Oh, but to run one’s hands through it! Even scrunched up on a park bench, his features grimacing in pain, he exuded something powerfully male. His faded blue shirt stretched tightly over broad shoulders and she couldn’t help noticing how his jeans clung tightly to slim hips and endless long legs.
Just looking at him made a warmth spread through her, a delicious little feeling that she hadn’t experienced in a long time, and she found herself plotting for ways to keep it there. He looked back at her with a mischievous little grin that told her he didn’t mind her checking him out—as long as he could do the same.
Across town, at a large, expensive hotel, a phone rang several times.
“Calder McKnight’s suite.”
“This is Lorne Cooper, I need to speak to Calder, right now.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Cooper, Mr. Knight has gone out for the afternoon, I'm not sure where, or how to get hold of him.”
“Damn! Any idea at all when he’ll be back?”
“I’m afraid not. And I’ve been swamped with calls. He was supposed to phone in, but he hasn’t.”
“Well you make sure he gets this message: tell him that if he doesn’t get his ass into gear and clear up the problem at SoundMaster right away, it’ll be the end of his recording career. And you might as well tell him he won’t have a manager anymore either. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him to phone me if you hear from him—immediately.”
“Immediately.”
The phone slammed down and the petite secretary stared down at the receiver for a moment. Oh Mr. Calder McKnight, you are in deep trouble, she thought, From what she had seen this morning, maybe it was time to start looking for another job. Odds were that Knight Rider would probably not survive for very long after this current shake up, and the chances of Calder McKnight needing a personal assistant after all this were starting to look slim, slim indeed.
To read the rest of Long Way Home in paperback, click here
Thanks for reading this excerpt from Long Way Home, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Don't forget to check out Guitars & Cadillacs, and This Time too.
Sabine Keevil
Long Way Home, Chapter One © copyright Sabine Keevil 2003
Click here to return to the home page