The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(63)

Simon was fuming by the time she crawled back into the limo.

“What was that? A walk down memory lane?”

His caustic tone, coming on the heels of such a gentle memory, was too much for her. She rolled up the glass partition between the back and the driver and turned to Simon.

“Simon, let me remind you. You are my manager. You work for me, and if you weren’t damned good at what you do, I would have fired you long ago.”

He tried to look offended, but he was wise enough to remain silent.

“I made the mistake of getting personally involved with you, only to discover that you can’t keep your pants zipped. That part of our relationship is over, thank goodness, so all that’s left is a business arrangement. And that does not include me putting up with snide remarks.” She reached for a bottle of water and took a long drink. “If you can’t handle that, then I can and will get another manager.”

“You need me,” he blustered.

“No, Simon, I do not.” She held his gaze until he backed down. “And in case you’ve forgotten, my friend Sandy is stopping by the sound check this afternoon, and I don’t want any theatrics from you while she’s there.”

He mumbled something unintelligible.

“What’s that?”

He stared out the window for a few moments. “I was going to tell you later, but since you’re in such a pissy mood, I’d better fill you in.”

She opened her mouth to object to his comment, but he’d piqued her curiosity. “Tell me what?”

“Well.” His shoulders went back and he gave her a triumphant look. “You’re finally going to get to meet the songwriter.”

Was this one of Simon’s distractions, or the truth? If what he said was true, it was something she’d wanted for several years now, ever since that first song that had skyrocketed her to stardom.

Back then, when she and Simon still liked each other, she’d tried to explain how Close Enough To Care had affected her. That, and every song which followed spoke to something deep inside her. It was as if the songwriter had written those first songs specifically for her, that he understood what moved her in a way no other songwriter could hope to equal.

When she’d asked to meet the elusive songwriter, Simon had acted strange, informing her that he desired to remain anonymous.

“But that’s ridiculous,” she’d argued. “What if one of his songs gets nominated for a Grammy?”

He frowned, and from what she could tell, he was genuinely puzzled. “He’s let it be known that he doesn’t want to be nominated.”

“You’re making this up, right?” She gave a nervous laugh. “Nobody would do that.”

“I agree, and I can’t explain it.” He spread his hands in defeat. “But that’s the way it is.”

No wonder Simon was uncomfortable discussing the songwriter. He’d finally come up against someone he couldn’t manipulate.

As Mandy’s star grew brighter, she became less comfortable with the situation. Finally, at the beginning of the year, she’d managed to get a few minutes alone with her producer in his studio. Simon might be a jerk in his personal life, but he’d surrounded her with the best professionals in the business.

The legendary producer shook his head. “I swear, Mandy. I don’t know who he is.” His fingers drifted over the soundboard as he spoke. “His agent acts as go-between, and as you know, we rarely if ever need to ask for re-writes.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it, either.”

“But how can he keep his name a secret? I mean, what about getting paid?”

“That’s easily enough arranged. He uses his company name.” He tapped a score. “You must have noticed his company name. SwingTime Sound.”

Mandy made a sound of disgust. “Sounds like a name from the forties. Glenn Miller or something.” She gave the producer a look of mock horror. “What if he’s some old geezer? Maybe I don’t want to meet him after all.”

“Hey, don’t knock Glenn Miller. He was one of the best.”

Mandy’s gaze lingered on the music. “I know, I’m just frustrated.”

The producer raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be complaining if I were you. This guy is probably the best songwriter I’ve come across in the past twenty years. And if I’m not mistaken, he writes exclusively for you.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I agree, but he must be content. Besides, with your sales, he’s doing just fine.”

“I suppose so...” Her voice drifted off.

A group of musicians arrived and pushed through into the studio. Mandy knew her time was up. “Thanks, Benny,” she’d said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll let you know if we have any luck tracking him down.”





Chapter Three


She turned disbelieving eyes on Simon. “You’re serious? I’m actually going to meet him? How did you finally get ahold of him?”

Simon held up his hands. “Whoa, there. I didn’t actually talk to him. I talked to his agent, but he assured me that he’d meet with you this weekend.”

Mandy slid back on the leather seat and tried to calm the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach. Now that she was finally going to meet him, she was nervous. What if she didn’t like him, or worse yet, what if he didn’t like her? She supposed there was only one way to find out.