Fifteen Minutes: A Novel (2 page)

To Josh:

Soccer was where you started when you first came home from Haiti, and soccer makes up much of your life now. I never for a minute doubted that you’d play NCAA Division I soccer, but watching it happen has been one of my greatest joys ever. I pray that as you continue to follow the Lord in soccer, He will continue to lead you so that your steps are in keeping with His. This we know: there remains for you a very real possibility that you’ll play competitive sports at the next level—the Tim Tebow of the soccer world. Even with all your athleticism, I’m most proud of your spiritual and social growth this past year. You’ve grown in
heart, maturity, kindness, quiet strength, and the realization that time at home is short. God is going to use you for great things, and I believe He will put you on a public platform to do it. Stay strong in Him, and listen to His quiet whispers so you’ll know which direction to turn. I’m so proud of you, son. I’ll forever be cheering on the sidelines. Keep God first in your life. I love you always.

To EJ:

EJ, it’s hard to believe that you’re a senior in high school. I’m so glad you know just how much we love you and how deeply we believe in the great plans God has for you. I know you are a bit uncertain with new opportunities spread out before you. But I see glimpses of determination and effort that tell me that with Christ you can do anything, son. One day not too far off, you’ll be applying to colleges, thinking about the career choices ahead and the path God might be leading you down. Wherever that path takes you, keep your eyes on Jesus, and you’ll always be as full of possibility as you are today. I expect great things from you, EJ, and I know the Lord expects them, too. I’m so glad you’re in our family—always and forever. I’m praying you’ll have a strong passion to use your gifts for God as you head into your senior year. Thanks for your giving heart, EJ. I love you more than you know.

To Austin:

Austin, I can only say I’m blown away by your efforts this past school year. Through shoulder surgery and the flu, through growth spurts and adjusting to high school, you have continued to excel. From the first day you stepped on the football field this fall, you
have given one hundred percent of your special heart to the task at hand. Nothing can hold you back now, Austin. The dream is yours to take. Along the way, you are becoming such a godly leader, determined to succeed for Him, standing taller—and not just because you’ve grown several inches lately. Austin, I love that you care enough to be and do your best. It shows in your straight A’s, and it shows in the way you treat your classmates. Of course, it absolutely shows when you play any sport. Always remember what I’ve told you about that determination. Let it push you to be better, but never, ever let it discourage you. You’re so good at life, Austin. Keep the passion and keep that beautiful faith of yours. Every single one of your dreams is within reach. Keep your eyes on Him, and we’ll keep our eyes on you, our youngest son. There is nothing sweeter than cheering you boys on—and for you, that happened from the time you were born, through your heart surgery until now. I thank God for you, for the miracle of your life. I love you, Austin.

And to God Almighty, the Author of Life,
who has—for now—blessed me with these.

C
handra Olson made the trek every July.

She inked it on her calendar and told her manager and staff so that everyone in her camp knew she was off-limits. For two days midsummer, nothing was more important to America’s premier black vocalist than leaving Los Angeles, flying to Birmingham, and driving out to the old country cemetery where her parents were buried.

Nothing.

She would spend the day here, same as she did each July for the last four years. No driver or entourage or fanfare. Just Chandra Olson, a fold-up camping chair, a cooler of smartwater, and a journal. Always a journal.

That way Chandra could write her parents a letter they would never read, and express in words her thanks for their support and her regrets at the cost of fame.

The very great cost.

She parked her rental car in the corner spot and surveyed the area. Oak trees dotted the couple acres of grass and tombstones that made up the graveyard. A few worn-out bouquets and the occasional American flag pressed into the earth over the grave of a soldier’s sacrifice. A quick look around confirmed what she hoped to find. She was alone. Except for her, the place was empty.

Chandra stepped carefully through the freshly mowed grass, between markers, to the place where her parents lay. She set down her cooler and opened her chair. For a long moment she simply stared at the etchings in the modest gray stones, letting the truth wash over her once more. Martin and Muriel Olson. Young and vibrant and full of life. Her dad, forty-eight. Her mother, forty-four. Weddings, grandbabies, retirement—all of life ahead of them. Shot down just when their beautiful story was at the best part.

Tears blurred Chandra’s eyes. Their death dates were the same: May 15, 2009.

A song burned in her heart this morning, a lyric that had been swimming to the surface for weeks. It would come together here, Chandra was sure. Here, close to the bodies of her parents and with the auditions for season ten of
Fifteen Minutes
set to begin later in the week. The song would be a ballad. A warning to be careful what you wish for, be careful what you dream.

In case it actually happens.

Chandra took her seat and studied the gray clouds slung low over the cemetery. She’d been part of the audition process in seven cities across the country over the last two months. Atlanta would be the last one, and the contestants who moved on would go straight to New York.

Yes, somewhere in houses across America, they were getting
ready. Thousands of them. Saying good-bye to family and friends and heading off for a weekend of auditions in the heart of the South. Looking for a shot at fifteen minutes of fame.

Six years ago, Chandra was that wide-eyed singer, working at a state-subsidized day-care center and taking college classes at night. Nineteen years old with a dream bigger than Texas. What did she know about
Fifteen Minutes
or where it might lead, where the journey would take her?

Chandra closed her eyes and saw herself the way she was back then. No one had been more excited about her audition than Chandra’s parents. They were longtime hard workers, both of them office managers for sales firms in downtown Birmingham. Martin and Muriel grew up in the projects, too poor to eat some days. They spent their lives trying to give their kids—Chandra and her brother, Jalen—everything they never had. Jalen’s dream had been soccer. He was playing now, a senior at Liberty University in Virginia. But only because her parents had worked years of overtime to pay thousands of dollars in club soccer fees and private coaching and gym memberships. It was the same for Chandra—only her passion wasn’t soccer, it was singing.

She opened her eyes and looked at her mother’s tombstone.
You used to tell me I was born humming. Remember that? You gave me every advantage, Mama.
It was true. Chandra took voice lessons from the best teachers. She’d attended a private arts school on the south side, and when she wrote her first song, her parents took her to Atlanta and had it produced by a legend known for turning out R&B hits.

Nothing opened the door to her singing career the way
Fifteen Minutes
did. Chandra blazed through the audition process; even with the show’s manufactured drama, there was never really
any contest. On the show’s finale, when dapper host Kip Barker smiled at the cameras and rattled off the famous line “The next fifteen minutes of fame go to . . . Chandra Olson!” there wasn’t one surprised person in the audience or at home.

“You might be the best singer to ever grace the
Fifteen Minutes
stage.” That’s what longtime judge Cullen Caldwell had told her, and the comment was plastered across the Internet, everywhere from the
Today
show to
People
magazine.

Chandra remembered a private moment with her mother a week later. “You realize how big this is, baby girl?”

Beneath the warmth of her mother’s words, Chandra’s heart swelled. She hugged her mama for a long time. “It’s big.”

“It’s more than that!” Her mother put her hands on either side of Chandra’s face and looked deep into her eyes. “
Fifteen Minutes
is the biggest show on television, baby. And you’re the best singer they’ve ever seen! God’s gonna use you, child. He’s gonna use you like none of us can begin to imagine.”

Her mama was right about
Fifteen Minutes
. The show had been on the air for ten years, and though other voice talent programs competed for a share of the market, nothing compared to
Fifteen Minutes
. Between the judge’s comment and her mother’s praise, the future seemed brighter than the sun, Chandra’s potential unlimited.

Anyone could see the success ahead.

But none of them saw coming what happened two years later. The second autumn after Chandra’s win—with her first album topping the charts and her fame far surpassing what even Cullen Caldwell expected—an Alabama stalker stepped into the picture. He found Chandra on Facebook and asked for a loan. Money to help him and his mother buy a house. Chandra let the comment pass.

The request quickly became harassment, with the guy posting daily demands for money. His most chilling post was also his last.
What if something happened to your parents, Chandra? Maybe that would get your attention!

Chandra blocked him from her Facebook page and filed a report with the Birmingham police.

“The guy’s annoying,” the Birmingham officer told her. “But anyone can make a Facebook page. We can’t even prove he’s a guy or that he lives in Alabama. People like this are rarely serious.” The officer added that there wouldn’t be enough hours in the day to investigate every crazy threat made against a celebrity. “It comes with the territory.”

Yes. It came with the territory. Another aspect of being in the public eye. Chandra tried to believe the officer’s words. The threat was nothing. Her concert schedule rolled on, and Chandra talked to her mother every night before she took the stage, same as always. Once she even shared her fears about the guy.

“I should get you a bodyguard, Mama. I have one.”

“Don’t be silly.” Her mama’s calm never wavered. “God’s in control, baby. Me and your daddy are fine.”

“I wish you were with me.” Fear made the drafty wings of the arena colder than usual. “You and Daddy could come out on the road.”

“Aww, Chandra.” Her mom’s smile rang through her words. “When we retire we’ll be front row at every show.”

Chandra had two minutes before her first song. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Do me a favor, baby.”

“What?”

“Out there tonight, picture me and your daddy in the front row. We’re with you, baby girl. We’re always with you.” Her emotion got ahead of her. “I’m so proud of you, Chandra.”

Her mama’s confidence kept Chandra sane, helped her forget the stalker’s awful comment. But one warm night later that week, her parents pulled into their driveway after a church service and climbed out of their car. One of the neighbors was outside getting her mail and saw everything. Chandra’s parents were laughing and talking, full of life. Her father had just taken her mother’s hand when a spray of bullets exploded from the front porch, ripping through their bodies and dropping them to the ground. They were dead before the neighbor could call for help.

The man turned out to be certifiably insane, an escaped patient from a mental hospital. He waited on the Olsons’ front porch until the police arrived, at which point he handed himself over and readily admitted to the killings. “I wanted Chandra’s attention,” he told police.

It worked.

Life would forever be measured as before and after the shootings. No question, a part of Chandra was buried right here with her parents. In the wake of their murders, she took two months off and became a recluse, handling her parents’ affairs, afraid to leave their house. Eventually she hired two additional bodyguards and returned to the limelight.

She had no choice. The stage owned her now. It was where she belonged.

Questions plagued her then the way they did four years later, here at the cemetery. What was the point of fame and celebrity? All the record sales and accolades and awards? The money and houses and vacations? None of it could take her back to that moment, her mother’s hands on her cheeks.

Her parents’ faith had been strong and foundational, a key to Chandra’s life before
Fifteen Minutes
. Now only one Bible
character allowed Chandra a sense of understanding, a point of relating.

Solomon.

The king who had everything but finished his days believing the most desperate of thoughts—that all of life was meaningless. A chasing after the wind. Chandra had read the book of Ecclesiastes again on her Bible app during the flight here, and once more she had found her life verse, the only one that applied, Ecclesiastes 2:17, a nugget of sad truth tucked in the mix of a host of depressing Scriptures. She remembered the verse word for word.