Oldfield was nervous. But then, he had every right to be.

There was a lot riding on this. There was absolutely no guarantee that this was going to go well, even with the camera crew covering him. It wasn't that Blake had a reputation for breaking people's heads, because he didn't, but Oldfield knew that Blake had the capability. He'd met Blake face to face before, many times. One time years ago it had gotten close to a point where if he hadn't backed off, something might have happened, and he hadn't liked the confidence, even anticipation he'd seen in Blake back then.

He remembered that the agent Jenny had long ago, seeing his kickback in jeopardy, had tried to bull his way past Blake to get to Jenny, and had wound up lying on the sidewalk with a separated shoulder. That story itself was reason enough to tread lightly around Jenny, and was why he hadn't tried this long ago.

Even if he could get past Blake without being hurt -- no sure thing -- it was going to be damn difficult to get anywhere with Jenny. He didn't really expect to get a contract out of her, not today, but at least he could get the message to her himself that he wanted to talk to her directly, and that he had some ideas that Blake obviously hadn't gotten to her. It might not get the jokers in New York off his ass, but it at least might get things on the right track.

What was worse was that he had to show a real victory to the jerks in New York on some of those recent issues, like Jenny, and soon. It was definitely getting close to a "kill the messenger" situation among the bottom-line feeders there. He knew damn well there was going to be a limit to how much more bad news they would be willing to take from Nashville-Murray. There was going to be a meeting up there in September, and if he didn't have some good news to report, like maybe a new contract with Jenny, or at least advanced negotiations on one, well, the results weren't going to be pretty. It wouldn't surprise him to find his butt out on the street. He'd thought about that -- he would just as soon stay where he was; he wasn't ready for that, especially to have to leave with his head in his hands.

So there was more riding on this than just a contract, and he knew it. He'd flown into Camden the night before, got a room at a motel near the airport, but there hadn't been much sleeping going on -- the nerves, all the byplay and backstabbing involved going over and over in his mind precluded that. Worse was the fact that he had to play it cool, not get overbearing, and most of all, not show his nerves. He wasn't much of one to drink in the morning, but this time it had happened. He'd stopped at a liquor store just outside Camden, bought a fifth of Jim Beam, and had taken a couple hits as soon as he got outside. That had helped.

Spearfish Lake just added to his nerves. It seemed a nice enough small town, but he remembered the story that Lenny had told, about being dumped naked in a swamp and left for the mosquitoes to carry off. He had a map with him in the rental Cadillac -- the jokers down at that one-horse airport had never even heard the word "Lexus," which is what he'd reserved. That had just added to his irritation. At least it looked like Jenny's house was going to be easy enough to find. Just to fight off the increasing nerves he reached for the paper sack that held the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took another hit. A little mellower-upper might help him appear cool and casual.

He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror just to make sure he looked all right. Keep it cool, he thought. Nothing's going to happen. Just keep it light. This is going to work. He looked up, pulled out into traffic and continued on down Central. Right at the end of the street, turn onto Point Drive, then out about a mile. He sure hoped the camera crew was where they were supposed to be. He'd feel a lot better knowing they were there; it would keep the possibility of violence at a minimum, but the way this had been set up there'd been no way to coordinate with them.

There they were! he thought with relief. A guy sitting in a white Cougar, but as he drove by he could see a video camera sitting on the dashboard. Kansas plates, it had to be a rental. All right, this was going to work . . . that must be Jenny's house. He took a deep breath, turned into the driveway. Here we go.

It was hard to get out of the Cadillac. This was it. He tried to fight back the nerves, and the brown paper bag on the seat caught his attention. No time for that now, he thought. Keep it cool. As he got out, he took a glance back up the street. Yeah, the guy in the white Cougar had gotten out of the car, and had the video camera pointed his way. Only the cameraman? he wondered. Well, maybe the producer had decided to keep separate, just in case. That way, maybe both of them wouldn't get picked up. Didn't matter, he thought. As long as the camera was pointed this way, he was going to be OK. This was going to work. Just keep it cool . . .

He walked up the steps onto the wide porch, and knocked on the screen door. The house was wide open; it was a nice summer day, although it seemed like it was going to get hotter, soon. He heard footsteps coming his way, sounded like a woman . . . "Oh, hi, Frank!" Jenny said. "What brings you around this way?"

"Oh, I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by," he said nonchalantly. By God, this was going to work! No sign of Blake, even -- it couldn't be better.

"Well, it's good to see you again," Jenny said brightly. "I'm afraid I don't want to ask you in. I just got Jeremy to sleep, he's been teething, the poor little thing."

"I know how that goes," Oldfield smiled. "I don't have to stay, I just wanted to drop in and chew the fat a little."

"Oh, there's no reason we can't do that," Jenny smiled. "We can talk on the porch, I'm sure. Would you like some coffee? Maybe something a little stronger?"

"Coffee sounds nice," Oldfield said. "But, something a little stronger sounds good, too. I don't like driving all that much; it wears me out."

"Have a seat, please," Jennifer said. "I'll be out in a minute."

Couldn't be better, Oldfield thought. That would leave this in full view of the cameraman, so nothing was likely to happen. That way they'd get the footage that was their part of the deal. Besides, Blake didn't even appear to be around! How much luckier could you get? He glanced out at the street; the cameraman still had the camera on his shoulder, pointed this way.

In a minute, Jenny came out the door carrying a fair-sized brown beer bottle and handed it to him, saying "Here you go." He glanced at the label: Crailsheimer Englebrau -- an import, probably German. Well, Blake and Jenny weren't ones to do things by halves. I'll bet there's never been a bottle of Bud in their refrigerator. "I'll be back in a minute," she said. "The coffee isn't quite done, yet."

Frank sat back, as he took a long swig of the beer. Good stuff, he thought. Wouldn't take much of that to drop a mule in his tracks. It wasn't quite the Beam, but it was welcome. He sat back, reviewing what he wanted to say. It would have to be different, now that Blake wasn't around, maybe he could get to the point more quickly. He heard Jenny's footsteps approaching again. Well, first things first. "Uh, Jenny," he said a little loudly. "Maybe you don't want to come out here. You've got company."

"Company?" Jennifer said as she stepped out on the porch, carrying a coffee mug.

"Yeah, there's a camera crew that's got this place scoped out," Frank said.

Jennifer glanced up the street. "Oh, him," she said. "That's not a camera crew; he's one of our security guards. Nice guy, former Army sniper. Blake said he's a real good shot with that rifle he has in the back seat."

"What?" he frowned.

"Frank, we dealt with your camera crew an hour ago."

It was about all Frank could do to keep the mouthful of beer he'd just taken from exploding all over himself. "Jenny, what makes you think . . ."

"Come on, Frank," she replied in an angry voice. "How stupid do you think we are? Look, I know you've been wanting to talk to me for a year or more. I've let Blake deal with you, because Blake can be diplomatic where I'd just tell you to go to hell and let it go at that. Since you can't take his word, I'll just have to be blunt about it. Last year I thought it was a good idea to leave Nashville-Murray. This year has proved it. I have no intent of ever dealing with Nashville-Murray again, under any circumstances. Period."

"But . . . but Jenny," Frank stammered. "Think of the money you're going to lose."

"What I think of is the money that I've lost dealing with you jokers over all these years," Jenny snarled. "Blake thinks you've been holding back on residuals, but I've been able to talk him out of filing a lawsuit for a look at your books until now. The money isn't important. We have all we'll ever need, and it gives me the freedom to do things that interest me. Frank, I've been trying to get away from old-line Jenny for years. Unless something special comes up, Saturday Night is the end of old-line Jenny Easton."

"But . . . your image?" He couldn't believe this! He took another long pull at the beer, just in hopes this bad dream would go away.

"What image? A hillbilly who likes to hang out in honky-tonks? Frank, I've been trying to get rid of that image for twenty years. It's certainly not the image that I want Jeremy to have of his mother. If that hurts Nashville-Murray's bottom line, so be it. Nashville-Murray has taken enough from me over the years to pay for it. Like I said -- no. Never again. Under no circumstances."

"And that better be the end of the phone calls," Frank heard Blake's voice from behind him. Helpless, he glanced over his shoulder, to see that Blake had somehow materialized there . . . wearing a white karate gi with a black belt. "There's no reason for you to stay any longer, so I suggest you leave and don't come back. Our young friend out there . . ." he nodded toward the white Cougar on the street . . . "will follow to make sure you leave town."

"But . . . but . . ."

"Goodbye, Frank," Jennifer said as Blake took a step closer. "And good riddance."

There was nothing left to say, nothing he could do. There wasn't any room for apologies, not with Blake breathing on him like that. Quickly he got up, headed for the Cadillac. He was shaking by the time he got to it. Jesus, how could things have gone that badly! Christ, they'd been onto him since the beginning. Damn it, it had been a long shot, but to have it fail this badly . . . half scared and half mad, he started up the Caddy, backed it out of the driveway and burned rubber as he got out on the street. Made it, he thought, shaking badly, as he saw the white Cougar turn around to follow him. And he had a sniper rifle with him. Damn, he'd better not stop for anything . . . his shaking hand reached for the paper sack with the bottle of Jim Beam. God, do I need that, he thought as he took off the top and took a long hit, more to settle his nerves than anything else.

He glanced in the mirror. The white Cougar was right behind him, not on his bumper, but close. Jesus, what had they done to the camera crew? Probably out getting carried off by the mosquitoes. Or worse. Maybe this guy was just following until they got out of town, then he'd stop, take out the tires with that sniper rifle, and he'd be out there in the woods, too . . . God, I can't let that happen, he thought, setting the bottle down in the crack between the seats. I've got to at least lose him.

Abruptly, he turned a corner and glanced back to see the Cougar follow him, keeping him in sight. Another corner, and he was still there. Another, and he turned onto Central Avenue. Ahead of him, he could see a light turn yellow. On impulse, he punched the Caddy. Maybe I can lose him at the light . . . in the rear view mirror he could see the Cougar stop. OK, now to lose him, he thought. This should be easy. He punched the accelerator going over a little hill and lost sight of the tail for an instant. There was a cross street, and he took it, hoping it would do the trick. Once again, he glanced in the rear view mirror.

The Cougar was gone, but now there were flashing red and blue lights in the mirror . . .

* * *

Jennifer and Blake were sharing a deep kiss when the telephone went off. "Better get it," she said, breaking away from him. "It might be more trouble."

Reluctantly, Blake broke away from his wife and punched the button on the speaker phone. "What's up?" he said.

"A cop has him pulled over on a side street just past downtown," Trey reported via his -- well actually Jennifer's -- cell phone. "He punched it and ran a red light right in front of me to try to get away. The cop picked him up. I just drove by, and they're having a discussion."

"Go around a couple of blocks, and come back past the other way," Blake suggested. "Don't stop, just drive by slowly, then report back."

"Will do," Trey said, clicking off the cell phone.

"I wonder if we overdid it?" Jennifer laughed. "I don't want Harold on our case."

"I doubt it," Blake grinned. "I told Trey to stay in sight, but not close enough to feel threatening. But then, Frank seemed a little paranoid when he left."

Jennifer laughed. "Well we gave him every reason to be," she said. "I hope that gets him out of our hair once and for all."

"It should," Blake said. "But you know, I keep thinking that we need to catch our breath a bit, and then think macro for a little."

"Macro?" Jennifer frowned.

"The big picture. Being a little more assertive about getting rid of that honky-tonk country singer image. Eino's cover may survive this, and while this has been kind of fun, it's also been a pain in the ass. I don't think we want to do it again unless we have to."

"I think I see what you're saying," Jennifer said. "But, you're right. We need a breather for a couple days, just something to get our minds off of it. Something different."

"Yeah," Blake said. "I kind of envy Trey and Myleigh thinking about taking off surfing. They were going to bust out of here, and we kept them around for this. Now, they're probably going to want to get back to work on the Grand Canyon music."

"They need a real break from that, too," Jennifer said. "Trey is a good guy, but I think I've still got him a little spooked."

The phone rang again. "Yeah, he needs to be loosened up a bit," Blake agreed as he reached for the speaker button.

"Still there," Trey reported. "The cop has him out of the car, giving him a breathalyzer test."

"OK, Trey," Blake said. "Stay out of sight for, oh, five minutes, then take another run by and report back."

Blake hung up the phone, thinking hard. "He had part of that one beer," he said. "That stuff is pretty good, but it shouldn't have been enough to trigger a test."

"I don't know," Jennifer frowned. "He did smell a little boozy to me. You don't suppose?"

Blake frowned. "His problem if he was. I sure hope Harold doesn't get the idea we set him up for it though." He grinned. "You know, if he does get busted, then that's just going to add to the reputation."

"Not much we can do about it now. We'll just have to wait and see what happens," she sighed finally. "You know, that just adds to the need for us to get away and think about things. I keep wondering if we invited Myleigh and Trey to go on a weekend surfing trip that they might think we were horning in on their idea."

"Ever since they mentioned it I've been thinking about it," Blake admitted. "Randy has suggested once in a while that I go along on one of his trips up to the lake, but we just never have gotten around to it. I'd love to give it a try even though I haven't done it in years. Are you sure you want to try it again?"

"I enjoyed it, what little I got to do," Jennifer said. "Even falling in a lot would be fun. It'd give me something to think about rather than all of this." She paused for a moment, and added thoughtfully, "And the close contact might even loosen Trey up around me some, too."

"The problem is surfboards," Blake said. "This isn't Malibu where there's a surf shop every hundred yards." It was his turn to think for a moment. "We ought to be able to make it work, though. I know Randy has three surfboards in his garage. They'd all be too small for me, but Randy said one time that Joe McGuinness has an old longboard in his garage. He and Joe have been out with it a couple times. As long as it's been I wouldn't be doing any hotdogging, anyway."

"That'd work," Jennifer said. "Maybe we could do this as a tent-camping trip; that would sort of level things out."

Blake shook his head. "I'd like to," he said. "We haven't made it out since last year, when we went with John and Candice and the others that weekend. The only thing that bothers me is that somehow Myleigh doesn't strike me as a tent-camping person."

"She didn't strike me as a surfer, either," Jennifer grinned. "But, think it through. Six weeks in the Grand Canyon? She didn't exactly stay in motels. Besides I'd kind of like to get to know Trey a little better in a non-business way, as a friend. He seems to be a pretty decent sort of guy, and Myleigh seems taken with him. It's a lot more serious than she was with Randy years ago."

"It's an idea," Blake agreed. "I think we'd just better not be too pushy about it."

"Oh, I agree," Jennifer snickered. "We'll have to get them to suggest we come along like it's their idea, or something, very casual." She shook her head. "Dick Dale and the Deltones," she grinned. "Yeah, I think I'm ready for a weekend of that."

Now it was Blake's turn to giggle. "Yeah, we get back from a weekend of that, and you'll be planning your next album. I can see it now. Surfing with Jenny Easton."

She looked at him a little cockeyed. "You know, that's not a bad idea," she said. "That'd sure give that honky-tonk hillbilly-girl image a kick in the butt, now wouldn't it?"

* * *

Trey called back a few minutes later. "The cop has him in the back seat of the patrol car," he reported. "Looks to me like he might be handcuffed. There's a second cop car there now, and they're going through his car. There's also a tow truck standing by. I don't think he's going anywhere for a while."

"Sure doesn't sound like it," Blake said. "Get lost again, come back by in another ten or fifteen minutes or so."

Blake was shaking his head as he punched the speakerphone button off. "DUI, just as sure as hell," he smiled. "They'll probably nail him for a few other things, too. Looks like he's going to be around town for another few days. But, we'll wait until Trey can make sure that the cops do haul him off."

"The camera crew must still be sitting there," Jennifer observed. "Or else we'd have heard from Wendy or Myleigh."

"I suppose it's safe to turn them loose," Blake grinned, picking up the phone. "But I think this gives it an extra twist."

* * *

"Hey, there she is," Marty said abruptly.

Dan had been woolgathering, his mind drifting. They'd sat there for a couple hours, up the street from the house with the wheelchair ramp in the front. He quickly swiveled his head to see their target walk out of the house. "Finally," he said. "Seems like it took her forever."

"She's been in there a couple hours," Marty agreed, bringing up the camera as "Jenny" headed for her car . . . and right past it, out to the sidewalk and across the street.

"What the hell?" Dan said. "She's coming this way. You don't suppose she's on to us, do you?"

"Could be," Marty said with the tape rolling, the lens zoomed all the way out. "But if she is, we'll get some great footage of her reading us off. That'll make the trip worthwhile."

"Yeah, I suppose," Marty said. "So much for lying low." He watched her approach, with the lens zoomed all the way out. As she got closer, her image filled the viewfinder, until he finally had to zoom back a little to keep her in the field. Something didn't look right . . . "Oh, shit," he said finally.

"What?"

"That's not her," he said. "Face is all wrong. She's a double. We've been snookered."

"Are you sure?"

"Look at her, damn it. That's not Jenny Easton."

Now Marty looked. "Jenny" -- or whoever it was -- was now less than ten yards away and walking right up to them. She put her hands on the windowsill next to Dan while Marty kept the tape rolling, just in case. But, the first words from her mouth told them that this certainly wasn't Jenny Easton -- the voice was half an octave higher, and from this close it was clear that the long hair was a wig.

"I thought I better be nice and let you know," she said. "The cops would have been here by now, but they got tied up with someone driving drunk. It was your guy from the record company. Game's over guys, and you lose. We have a loitering ordinance in this town, so you'd better be moving on. If you stay under the speed limit, use your turn signals, and don't run any red lights, you might make it out of town without having to feed any mosquitoes."

"Uh, yeah, right," Dan flustered, starting the engine. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You're quite welcome," she said. "I hope you enjoyed your visit in scenic Spearfish Lake. Don't come back."

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