CHAPTER THIRTY.

The next day, Charlotte and Jackson had a fight.

It was over something very small, as these things often are. Jackson had taken Albrecht's advice to heart, and he and Kat were discussing what Charlotte should wear in some photos they were taking to go along with the song.

"What are these photos for, exactly?" Charlotte was curious. "I mean, we're literally e-mailing the man a digital file of the song, right? An MP3?"

Jackson nodded and returned to flipping through the racks at Kat's store. He was in the underwear section.

"I just don't think you need to make her look s.e.xy. She's already s.e.xy." Kat was on the other side of the store, flipping through the evening dresses.

"Yeah, but I want her to look like a pop singer, not a blues singer. If we want to cross over and get big, we'll need to have a more commercial look."

"Does that have to mean s.l.u.tty?" Kat was losing her cool a little.

"No, but she's gorgeous, and you heard Albrecht, that's a selling point." He held up a white Victorian camisole. "That's not s.l.u.tty, it's s.e.xy."

"Excuse me?" Charlotte broke in. "Are these pictures just for Albrecht to jerk off over, or are we using them for publicity for the band? Because if it's the latter, then shouldn't you be in them, too? And if it's the former, then why don't I just hand-deliver the song and blow him at the same time?"

Her tone was still cool, but both Kat and Jackson stopped what they were doing and looked at her. And then at each other.

"Don't be like that, Charlotte," Jackson started, and that was when Charlotte lost her temper.

"Hey, I'll be like I want, OK? For the last month, people have discussed me as if I wasn't there or as if they know me when they don't, and I'm getting sick of it. I am a person, you know, not just my criminal father's or my beautiful dead mother's daughter or a rich b.i.t.c.h or a 'selling point.' I would like to represent myself the way I feel inside, and why on earth we should send that pervert any pictures at all, seeing as he owns a radio radio station, is beyond me, and I won't do it." station, is beyond me, and I won't do it."

There was applause from the doorway, making them all jump.

"You tell them, Charlotte." It was the reporter, Dan Robinson.

"Mr. Robinson, what the h.e.l.l are you doing here? Didn't I tell you I had nothing to say?"

The journalist wasn't ruffled by her rudeness at all. "Miss Williams, you clearly have plenty to say. I would have thought you would welcome an opportunity to express yourself, to see your words in print, to answer your critics. Besides, since that crazy guy attacked you the other day, you're back in the news, and I'd love an exclusive. I think I've proved my loyalty, haven't I? I've been following you since the beginning." He said roguishly, "I've been after you much longer than anyone else."

"Yes, you're very persistent. You and whoever's taking photos of me for that horrible Web site."

Charlotte was still steamed. Kat and Jackson were just watching, Jackson still holding the camisole. Kat made a mental note to check it for fingerprints.

Robinson shrugged. "Well, some people are nuts, and I guess that's true online and off." He looked pointedly at Jackson. "And people follow celebrity, whatever it's for, right? People love to hitch their wagon to a runaway train, don't you think? They don't care if it ends up a train wreck."

"Look, I don't know who you are ..."

Robinson stuck out his hand to the young man. "Dan Robinson, New York Sentinel. New York Sentinel. And you would be Jackson Pearl, am I right?" And you would be Jackson Pearl, am I right?"

Jackson didn't take his hand but nodded at his name. "Yes, that's me."

"And you're Kat Karraby?"

Kat didn't even nod at the reporter, merely raised her eyebrows.

He laughed. "Well, the gang's all here, Charlotte. Where's Mr. Scarsford?"

"You seem to know everything, you tell me."

"I'd love to talk to you. Can we go somewhere private?"

"No," Kat and Jackson spoke in unison, and suddenly, Charlotte got annoyed again.

"Yes. Of course." She picked up her bag from the counter and turned to her friends. "Don't tell me what to do, OK? Everything's going just a little bit fast, and I'm going to go have coffee with Mr. Robinson and calm down. I'll see you back at the house, Jackson, for the recording."

And with that, she brushed past Dan Robinson and walked out. The reporter grinned at Kat and Jackson and followed her, shutting the door firmly behind him.

There was a moment of silence.

"How long should we wait?" Kat still hadn't moved.

"Let's give them another ten seconds, and then you follow on one side, and I'll go around the block and get ahead of them."

"Can I be Cagney?"

"Is that the blond one?"

Kat nodded.

"OK." He put down the camisole, and the two of them headed after their friend.

DAN ROBINSON WALKED to a small cafe that Charlotte didn't even know existed. He must have been checking out the neighborhood. They seemed to know him there, and they took a table in the sunny back room. to a small cafe that Charlotte didn't even know existed. He must have been checking out the neighborhood. They seemed to know him there, and they took a table in the sunny back room.

"So, Charlotte, what's new with you?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I think you know what's new with me. I'm worried about my dad in jail, I'm working in a restaurant kitchen, I've started singing in a band, I nearly got killed by a crazy stalker. You know, the usual young American woman's life. Not the life I thought I was going to have but the life I apparently do have." He was watching her intently, and suddenly, Charlotte needed to vent to someone who knew her before, knew her whole New York persona. She leaned forward. "You know, it isn't so bad. I like working, I like doing something physical."

"Even though it's washing dishes?"

"Sure, why not? I realize more and more that I'm not super-qualified for anything else."

The waitress came over and delivered their tea. Charlotte thanked her, put honey in her cup, and stirred. A group of young people at another table burst out laughing, and Charlotte felt a twinge of envy.

The journalist took out his notebook. "Is it OK if I make notes?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm not giving you an interview. This is off the record."

Dan frowned. "I'm a journalist, Charlotte. My goal is to report the news, remember?"

"OK, but not today. We can talk a bit, and maybe we can do a proper interview later." She raised her palms. "Or we can talk about the great restaurants here in New Orleans and the proper way to serve gumbo and part as friends."

"No, no, we can just talk. But please think about giving me a real interview. People are still very interested in your dad's case-they're preparing a big civil suit now, you know?"

Charlotte looked at her plate. "Yeah, I heard. I doubt it will ever end, actually. We'll probably spend whatever money we have left in legal fees until it's all gone, and then the lawyers will settle."

"Sounds as if you're none too fond of the legal profession, either. It's not just journalists you don't like."

Charlotte smiled wanly. "I don't really know whom to trust anymore. I haven't received a single call from any of my old friends in New York or from anywhere else. My dad is in jail. My mom is dead. My dad's lawyer has his secretary call if he needs information or to let me know that they're taking more money or something." She laughed bitterly. "The bank won't even call me back. All I have in the world are the clothes I wear to work and the few new friends I've made here."

"And your voice. I hear rumors you're quite a talent."

"Maybe."

"Well, maybe if this hadn't all happened, you never would have had the opportunity to sing in a band, right? Aren't you supposed to be getting a degree from Yale?"

She nodded. "You're an optimist, Mr. Robinson. I'm sure there is a silver lining here, and sometimes I can see it. Other times, I'm just tired of looking."

Robinson looked at the beautiful girl across from him and smiled. He had to work out a way to get her to talk about her dad's case. He was running out of time.

"Have you been able to talk to your dad very much?"

"No. He can make one call a week, and so far, it seems to have been to his lawyer. I've stopped taking calls, anyway. People are p.i.s.sed off at me, I'll tell you that for nothing. I wish I could tell them something positive."

"I guess they want their money back."

"It won't make them happy."

"That's easy for you to say. Theirs was taken away from them."

"So was mine."

"They were duped by a con man."

"So was I. He was my dad, which makes it a little more painful."

Robinson sighed. "You're starting to sound a little sorry for yourself."

Charlotte sipped her tea and shrugged. "Ask me again tomorrow. I'm just trying to take it day by day."

WHEN SHE LEFT the cafe, Jackson and Kat were waiting for her. the cafe, Jackson and Kat were waiting for her.

"Did you two follow me?"

Kat grinned. "We did. It was fun. But you didn't go very far, so we didn't get to leap into a cab and say, 'Follow that car,' which was what I was hoping for."

"I'll try harder next time." Charlotte was wry.

"Good. Did the guy get you to confess to anything?"

"Yes. I confessed to defacing the Mona Lisa Mona Lisa, but I don't think he believed me."

Jackson took her hand. "Are you still mad at me? We don't have to send any photos, you're right. Let's just go home and record the song and send it off and let fate take care of the rest, OK?"

Charlotte smiled at him. "I'm sorry I snapped at you both this morning, I'm feeling a little pressured. The Web site thing is upsetting me. The stalker thing is upsetting me. I wish I could be as blase about it as you two are."

He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "We understand, it's OK."

Kat walked off and then turned back. "Come on, you two, stop mooning at each other. Let's go. I want to sit in on the recording part so I can get inspired for fabulous outfits you can wear when you move to L.A. and become famous."

"This is the thing about you, Kat. You like to keep it real."

Kat laughed. "Why on earth would I want to keep it real? Real life is usually very badly accessorized."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

The recording session went well, although it took much longer than Charlotte thought it would. In the end, they'd decided to go to Kat's parents' house to play, as their piano was so good. They set up a microphone on the piano and another for Charlotte, and Kat manned Jackson's precious computer with its audio recording software.

"You realize I know nothing about sound recording, right?" She'd made a big thing about taking off her white gloves, finger by finger, in order to push the b.u.t.tons more readily.

"All you need to do is. .h.i.t record when we start and stop when we, you know, stop." Jackson was laughing at her. "How you managed to graduate from high school I will never know."

"The princ.i.p.al had a crush on me. Or hated me and couldn't wait to see the back of me. Either way."

"She liked you. She always referred to you as Kitty Karraby, like you were a character in a Jane Austen novel."

"Whatever. Are you ready to go?"

Charlotte had been quietly watching them, enjoying the easy friendship they had. When she and her friends got together in New York, they had usually ended up trashing whichever friend wasn't there. She realized now that they doubtless trashed her when she was absent. These two teased each other, sure, but not with any real malice.

Jackson rubbed his hands together and played a few scales. "Yeah, we're ready. Let's run through it once and see how it sounds."

Seven hours later, having sung it fifteen different ways with several different piano arrangements, Jackson p.r.o.nounced himself satisfied.

"I think that's it. Don't you think, Charlotte?"

Charlotte was collapsed on a sofa. "Sure, whatever. The first take sounded fine to me hours ago. I trust your judgement."

"Kat? What do you think?"

Kat, who still looked as fresh as a daisy, was playing with a Barbie she'd fetched from her room. "I think you should make a video. Nothing fancy. Just you two singing the song, maybe in the rehearsal place. Unless you want me to reenact it with Barbies, which I could totally do."

Charlotte was shaking her head when Jackson spoke up. "Hey, why not? We can get Camille to film it. She's really good at things like that."