Playing With Fire

++++++++



Carrie frowned. She had been in Japan for a week, and they still hadn't gotten anything done. She sighed, looking around the studio. It looked like some horrible remake of a 18th century log cabin to be honest. She guessed they were just trying to make her feel more at home, which definitely wasn't happening. She was starting to sweat as the fireplace blazed behind her, and she kept glancing at her phone every two seconds, waiting for Kelly to call.



"Stop!" Kian yelled for what was probably the millionth time that morning. "Carrie, what is wrong with you? You completely zoned out on us."



"Sorry," she sighed.



The producer rolled his eyes, "One more time."



This time Carrie made it through the first verse and chorus before he stopped her once more.



"Carrie, where is the passion? Where is your fire?" Kian questioned, entering into the recording booth.



She shrugged. Actually, she knew exactly where it was. It was off somewhere in Europe.



"Do you know why I wanted to work with you?"



She shook her head.



"Because I saw this video of you recently doing a duet with this short brunette. You were so alive and free for that performance, that I knew I had to work with you. What happened to that person?"



Carrie glanced at her phone once more, but didn't respond.



"Damn it!" he yelled, making her jump back. "Do you know how much money this is costing everybody? One song! All we need is one song, and you can't even give me that?"



She was still looking at her phone, as if pleading with it to ring.



"Is this it?" he asked, taking her cell in his hand. Carrie's eyes grew wide. "Is this what this is all about? You're waiting on some stupid call while I'm spending thousands of dollars on you?" He looked down at the phone, his eyes ablaze, and with one swift motion, he threw it behind Carrie. It smashed against the wall of the fireplace, shattering into pieces that were enveloped by the flames. Carrie’s jaw dropped.



“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.



“It’s just a phone. You’re a bloody millionaire. You can buy a new one.”



“Kel--all my numbers were on that phone,” she caught herself.



“Should have thought about that before,” he pointed out.



“You’re crazy.”



“And you’re irrelevant.”



Carrie grabbed her bag and stormed out of the recording studio.



“There’s the passion I was looking for!” Kian called after her.



+++++++++



Kelly had done twelve morning shows, eight evening shows, and several in between shows in a matter of two weeks. She couldn’t even remember what she had said in any of them. None of it really mattered anyway. There was only thing on her mind. She took her cell out her pocket and checked it for what must have been the hundredth time that day. Still no call. Still no apology.



Kelly sighed, looking out her hotel window. Deep down, in the pit of stomach, she knew she was wrong. She knew that she had overreacted, and this was all her fault. However, her pride and her stubbornness refused to let her admit to that.



“Kellbell?” Jason knocked on her door before entering.



“Hey,” she greeted, leaving her spot by the window.



“I have some good news.”



“Really? Because I could use some.”



Jason frowned at her reply, but continued, “Well, next week when we’re in Australia, we got you that studio you wanted.”



“A studio?” she asked confusedly.



“Yea, didn’t you want to re-record something?”



“Oh, yea,” she nodded. “Thanks.”



“You’re welcome,” he smiled, not knowing what else to say. “So, I’ll talk to you later?”



“Sure,” she gave a wavering smile as he exited her room.



++++++++



Carrie had used a payphone to call her mom. At least that number she knew by heart. She had her mom look up online the number to RCA.



"Hello, you have called RCA, this is Julie, how may I help you?"



"Bout time," Carrie grumbled. She had been on the phone nearly an hour going through the automated tellers. "Yes, I'd like to speak to Clive Davis."



There was a slight giggle on the other side of the line, "Yes, I'm sure you would."



"This is Carrie Underwood."



The giggling stopped, "I'm sorry Miss Underwood, but he's in a meeting right now. You should know by now that you can't just call without an appointment."



"Listen, if Clive Davis isn't on the phone in 5 seconds, you can tell that old fart that he has just lost his highest selling country artist, you got that?"



There was a beep and a click on the other side. At first, Carrie thought that she had hung up on her, but then she heard that voice.



"Carrie, hi. How's Japan?"



Even though they were an ocean's distance away from one another, she could still see his smile, "Lovely real lovely. In fact, I want to leave...now."



"Leave? Why?"



"Because this producer is a joke, and I refuse to work with him."



"Carrie," he began.



"No, you knew he wasn't any good. Why'd you send me here anyway?"



"Look, Pierre has called, and he wants to work with you again," Clive said, changing the subject.



"Pierre? Really?" she asked, hopefully. He had produced a couple songs with her for her last record, but they didn't quite make the album, although, he had been one of her favorites to work with.



"Yes, the only problem is, he's at home in France right now."



"Well, I'm ready to leave whenever."



Clive pulled up a calendar on his computer, "Well...he has other obligations for another week. But after that, he's all yours."



Carrie smiled, "So, I can just go to France now, and wait until then?"



"Well...I think it's best you stay there until then. I want you to give Kian another try."



Carrie grumbled, but agreed, "Alright, but one week, that's it."



"Perfect," Clive smiled.