The High Notes: A Novel(25)

“What do you want me to do?” Scott asked him. “Do you want me to go to Nashville and look for her? Even if I find her, I can’t drag her back with me. I’m not a cop, and as far as I know she didn’t break any laws. She broke a contract, that’s not a crime. And it doesn’t sound like she’d be willing to come back, if she’s being this careful not to be found, even dyeing her hair so she isn’t recognized, if that’s what she did.”

Scott realized how badly Hendrix must have treated her to make her put so much effort into not being found. It sounded like a lost cause to him, and his heart wasn’t in the project. If Iris Cooper wanted to escape him that badly, he hoped she would. She must have had a good reason to run away. Scott didn’t like him.

“I don’t want to spend the money to send you to Nashville yet,” Glen said. “Let’s see what my scouts turn up first.” That sounded good to Scott, who didn’t like the man who was paying him to find her, wherever she was hiding from him. He glanced at her photographs again on his pin board after he and Glen hung up.

“Keep hiding,” he said to the photographs. “He’ll get tired of looking for you sooner or later. Stay safe,” he said to Iris’s images. He had a bad feeling about it. Hendrix was too determined, and Scott was afraid he would try to harm her in some way, maybe beat her up, or drug her, or coerce her. Hendrix sounded a little nuts to him, which he never had before. But this time he sounded crazy. No one was going to walk out on him, and get away with it. He wanted to bring her back and make an example of her to the others and show them what happened when you broke one of his contracts and walked out on a tour. He was going to clean the floor with her and make her pay for what she’d done. That was exactly what Scott was afraid of, and why he didn’t want to find her anymore. Run, Iris…run!





Chapter 7





Iris woke up early the next morning, and had to wait two hours for the office to open to make the call. She got the slip of paper with his number on it out of her purse and set it on the table next to the phone. She had touched it a hundred times since Judd had given her the number and told her to use it when she got to New York.

She was sure he wouldn’t see her anyway. But she had to make the gesture. She had to try, just to prove to herself that she could. It was part of her fight for freedom. She had been put down and kept there by so many people, now she had to prove to herself that she could reach for the stars and had the guts to do it. It was more of a symbol to prove to herself that she was free, than an action she expected to get results. Whatever they told her when she called, even if they hung up on her, she had to do it.

She called at five minutes after nine, when she was sure he wouldn’t be in the office anyway, so she would leave a message. He wouldn’t call her back, and she would be done. And she could go to Nashville with Boy and see what kind of work she could get there, or maybe sing with his band if he wanted her. And then they’d see what would happen between them. Maybe nothing.

She called the number and was startled when a man answered. She was surprised he had a male assistant, and then she realized that she must have called a direct line, and Clay Maddox had picked it up himself.

“I…uh…” she stumbled for a minute, trying to regain her composure. “I was calling for Mr. Maddox,” she said in a soft voice. “My name is Iris Cooper, he doesn’t know me. A friend gave me his number, and I just want to leave him a message.” The words came tumbling out and she felt breathless.

“You can talk to me,” he said in a smooth, equally soft voice. “This is Clay.” She nearly strangled when she heard him say it. “I know who you are, Iris. I’ve been following you for years. I’ve seen you perform twice. Once in Florida, about seven years ago. You were just a kid. And two years ago in Louisville, Kentucky. My scouts told me about your voice, you have incredible range, especially for the high notes. I inquired and was always told that you were under contract, so I never contacted you. Has that changed?”

“I…yes…well actually, no. I have another year in my contract to Glen Hendrix. I walked away from a tour a month ago. I just couldn’t work for him anymore.”

“How long was your contract?” he asked, and spoke to her as though he knew her. She was shocked that he knew her name and had seen her perform.

“Five years. I have eleven months left. I don’t know if he’ll sue me, but I can’t go back.”

“You lasted a lot longer than anyone should have to. I hear he treats his performers like dogs. We’ve gotten a few people out of his contracts. They’re very badly written, and some clauses aren’t even legal. I can have our lawyers take a look at yours if you like. What can I do for you?” He acted as though he’d been waiting to meet her. She was bowled over by what he’d said and that he’d seen her on tour.

“Could I meet you?” She managed to squeeze out the words, and didn’t expect him to say yes.

“I always like meeting new talent,” he said kindly, “especially someone with a voice like yours. I’m free at six o’clock today. Does that work for you?” She would have met him at midnight in a blizzard.

“Yes, of course. Thank you. I’m really grateful, thank you,” and then she decided to go all the way. “I’m here with a friend. He sings too. Could I bring him? We sing duets of my original material,” she added.