Free Fifteen Minutes: A Novel by Karen Kingsbury

the live show if they made it that far. The questions went on for half an hour and after that an escort took the four of them to an office near the players’ locker rooms. There they were given a packet of paperwork to fill out.
    The show’s producers had booked hotel rooms for the winners but it was nearly three in the morning before Zack checked in. He shot out a single tweet on his Twitter account. I made it through! Someone tell me this is really my life! Thank you, Jesus! His roommate was the gospel guy, but both of them were too tired to talk. Not until he hit the pillow did Zack realize he hadn’t called Reese. Frustration dampened the elation of the evening, the excitement of surviving the first round. He honestly hadn’t had a single minute, and now he’d have to call her in the morning. He checked Twitter. Forty-three new followers. More than he’d had all year. A strange thrill passed through him. This could be huge. The stage, the platform, the chance to shine for God.
    Zack’s whole body buzzed with adrenaline. He could still feel the nervousness and hear the songs from those few crazy minutes in the tent. How had he gotten through? He must’ve projected better than at any time in all his life. He blinked a few times in the dark, picturing the moment. Then the truth hit him. God had gotten him through the tent audition. Not his own ability. How had he lost sight of that? He let the moment pass. God had given him his voice, so whether he got through on his own or by some miracle, God got the credit.
    And now . . . now he would sing his heart out tomorrow and who knew? All those years of leading worship in Danville, and now this.
    Suddenly anything was possible.
    He closed his eyes and settled into the pillow. A certainty filled him and helped him fall asleep. Reese would understand why he didn’t call tonight.
    No one believed in him more than her.



chapter 5
    K elly Morgan had never been more thankful for Botox. Especially after six straight weeks of judging these crazy auditions.
    She looked in her dressing room mirror and smiled. Her plastic surgeon had flown in yesterday and administered it himself. No one knew the landscape of her face, the curves and slipping ground the way he did. She looked a little closer, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. Not a fraction of give. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Never mind that she was knocking at thirty-seven. Her face and body said otherwise.
    “Ms. Morgan, your trainer called. He’ll meet you here at nine tonight.” The production assistant looked barely out of college. She handed Kelly a small folded piece of paper. “He found a gym willing to stay open for a private session.”
    “Good.” Kelly didn’t make eye contact. She opened the piece of paper and read what her trainer had written. Glutes. Nine o’clock. Private car will be waiting. Five minutes from the stadium. Be ready .
    Kelly could already feel the burn. The sensation that reminded her she was still in the fight, still winning the war against the clock. She would do what it took to beat the hands of time. Even when she lived out of a suitcase the way she had since Fifteen Minutes auditions began.
    Makeup and hair hurried into her dressing room at the same time. “Ms. Morgan.” The stylist stood at her side, confident. “Same as we discussed?”
    “Go bolder. I want to make a statement for Atlanta. It’s the last city.”
    “If anyone can make a statement, you can.” The woman opened her box of brushes and curling irons and started working. Both women were part of Kelly’s staff. Her regulars. She wouldn’t think about being a judge on Fifteen Minutes without them. Another ten staffers buzzed about, prepping her wardrobe, organizing a table of organic kale and celery and ginger and green apples—the ingredients of Kelly’s mandatory power juice. Kelly credited her looks to the juicing almost as much as the Botox.
    The room was in full swing, everyone doing his or