“At Savage Cycles we sell only American-made products, so I’m not certain we’d be of interest to you.”
“Hmm, I was not aware of your policy, but it certainly lends a unique appeal to your philosophy of doing business, and might actually have more relevance than you know.” He graced her with a practiced smile. “For my purposes anyway.”
“Well, Mr. O’Malley, what are your purposes?”
“Please, call me Art,” he requested, with a modest tilt of his head. “I’d like to interview you for an upcoming issue. Our ‘Out of the Spotlight’ editor is interested in doing a piece on the beauty queen turned motorcycle entrepreneur. You have to admit it’s quite an unusual story.”
Claire mentally flinched. That particular feature was usually reserved for has-been celebrities who’d dropped off the face of the earth after their fifteen minutes of fame. The final cut was often unflattering, turning up the heat on subjects to see what dirty secrets boiled to the surface.
Other than one piece of closely guarded information, there was no skeleton to rattle out of her closet. The name Claire Savage was synonymous with a squeaky clean reputation.
Still, the offer held appeal. Forced for most of her life to carefully manage every expense against her mother’s small income, Claire’s affinity for numbers kicked in to high gear. She considered the enormity of her professional debt.
Why not take advantage of the free publicity she could never afford otherwise?
“I can’t deny the diversity of my accomplishments.” She offered him the Mona Lisa smile and soft laugh that had charmed many a judge.
“Then you’ll agree to the interview?” He seemed determined to close the deal.
“I’m afraid I’m not in a position to answer you today, but if you’ll give me until Monday I’ll consider it.”
“Monday will be fine. I’m in town for a few days and then I’ll be back next month for the summit. My private cell phone number is on the back of my card. You can reach me anytime, day or night.”
She made a show of glancing at his number, then tucked the small card into her jacket pocket.
“And if you get hungry tonight after rehearsal…”
“I’ll call you during business hours on Monday.”
“I look forward to hearing from you, Claire.”
He seemed to accept that their conversation had ended.
Through the showroom window she watched his rental car leave the lot and pull onto the interstate access road.
The advertised release date for her signature line was less than a month away. The timing of the Today’s Times article couldn’t be better. The prototype was complete and if all went according to plan, the release of the Southern Savage would secure her future in the custom design business. The opportunity seemed heaven-sent. How could she afford to pass?
Other than the canine rescue effort on the interstate that had delayed Luke Dawson’s arrival at Abundant Harvest Church, the day was going according to plan. He drew a customized contract from his battered backpack and slid it across the low table that separated him from Pastor Ken Allen.
“Praise Productions will meet your expectations and those of your youth band or my services are free,” Luke explained. “Our project will be considered complete when I’ve recorded your group, delivered your master CD and y’all are one hundred percent satisfied with the content and quality.”
The senior pastor accepted the document and flipped slowly through the pages. As Ken made his initial scan of the contract, Luke studied the welcoming church leader, finding it easy to imagine why someone would pour his heart out to this charismatic man.
An act Luke was not tempted in the least to do.
“The conditions I mentioned are all spelled out in the agreement. My work history is attached, and I’m happy to answer any questions.” He paused again to give the pastor time to read.
Luke had spent the past hour pitching the services of Praise Productions, his mobile one-man recording company. His offer of a free two-day rehearsal and subsequent audition normally sealed the deal. As a rule, once the pastor and his council checked Luke’s references and observed his work, they were anxious to secure his services. Luke prayed the usual process would work once again, and that he wouldn’t have to reveal his personal reasons for coming to Abundant Harvest.
“I don’t accept deposits or ask for any portion of my fee up front,” he explained. “Full payment will only be expected after you approve of the master. If you have a valid complaint within the first year, I guarantee a full refund. I’m proud to say that’s never been necessary.”
The pastor glanced up and Luke continued.
“There’s a list of duplication houses attached to the contract. I try to include some local referrals, but sometimes you have to go out of state to get the best deal. I always leave that choice up to the decision makers at the church.”
Pastor Allen narrowed his eyes as he fixed Luke with an assessing stare. “I’ve read about production companies in Nashville and Los Angeles. Seems to me, staying in one spot would be simpler for a growing enterprise.” He paused to level Luke with a curious gaze. “Why do you spend your life on the road, son?”
Luke smiled and relaxed in his chair.
“I love the industry, but it’s competitive and cutthroat. I don’t care to live in any of the U.S. production meccas and I don’t want a big company choosing my projects for me. So, I opted to be portable and stay independent. I research and select my own clients, manage the process from start to finish, and when the work is done I move on to new challenges in a new part of the country.”
The trim pastor reached into a large candy dish in the middle of the table and withdrew a bite-size chocolate bar. He offered one to Luke and took two for himself.
“Luke, it’s not my place to question your financial practices, but I’ve already put some research into recording costs and your rates are significantly lower than any I’ve seen. I’d almost feel guilty, like we were taking advantage of you.”
“Sir, I assure you there’s no need to feel that way. Earning a fortune at this isn’t my goal and I have resources that allow me to be flexible.”
Luke referred to his dependency upon the dwindling earnings of the heavy metal band he put together during his boarding school days. As the infamous and outrageous Striker Dark, Luke was the front man on lead guitar and vocals. His out-of-control life as Striker drove the final wedge between Luke and his rigidly conservative parents, who wouldn’t forgive their son’s choices, even today.
In the early years a staggering amount of money had allowed him to make a clean break from his folks and never look back. Before signing with an unscrupulous agent he’d lived like a prince, but Lisa Evans had managed the band out of a fortune that should have lasted a lifetime. The loss of Luke’s income to a money-hungry woman was now at the top of a long list of mistakes he never intended to make again.
Fortunately, all these years later a new generation of rockers found the old albums. The royalties steadily trickled in for the band that had held the attention of the American public and the music industry for six years.
Until tragedy split them up.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into your private business,” the pastor’s voice interrupted Luke’s thoughts.
“No apology necessary, sir.” Luke unwrapped his candy and popped the sweet confection into his mouth.
“Then that leaves the question of why us? You said you were in California the past year. How did you hear about Abundant Harvest Church?”
“Like I said, I do my research. I’ve been