by Kay Maree
“My only point in even mentioning it now is that just because we may have fucked her, or in your case, want to fuck her, that doesn’t mean we need to work with her. More to the point, you can fuck her without working with her.” I could see the words trying to tear free from James’s mouth, but he had the good sense to hold them back.
King wasn’t so smart. “Dude. This is a serious career decision, and regardless of how attractive I may find the person in question, I am actually able to separate my brain and my dick. My brain is telling me that we give this a go and see it as a challenge. One year to work on new material, stretch ourselves, and hopefully through collabing with Que, reach a new and wider audience.”
I steepled my fingers and rested my chin on top of them, elbows leaning on the glass table I’d almost shattered minutes before.
“It could work out to be a win, in a weird kind of way.” He was fucking deluded.
“And what’s your dick telling you?”
“That I’m pissed off that you got there first with her.” At least he was honest, but then again, we always were with each other.
“Okay.” I stared him down as I spoke.
“Okay, what? Okay, you’ll do it?” He looked incredulous, and rightly so.
“Okay, you do what the fuck you like, but count me out. I hope the two of you are very happy together.”
King rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.
“Is that the way you’re gonna play it? All that ‘it’s my way or the highway’ bullshit?” Damned straight.
“I literally know no other way to play it, so yeah, that’s the deal. Same as always.”
“Well, your ‘live by the sword, die by the sword’ noble bullshit is all fine and dandy, but did you not catch the part where we’ve been told that if we don’t come to some kind of agreement with the fucking label, there’s no us? So it’s not really your way or the highway. It’s just the highway. The one that takes us to the unemployment office, and a life of obscurity after all these years building our shit to the level we’re at now. You’re telling me you’re willing to watch all of that flow into the gutter without even trying to make this thing work?”
Jesus, he was like an eighty-year-old grandmother, the way he loved to exaggerate. “Calm down, and stop being a drama queen. They’re not the only record label out there. We walk away from this and we carry on business as usual with a different label.”
“Umm… if I can interject here.” We turned sharply to James. I’d forgotten he was even in the room.
“I’m sorry Rome, but King’s right on this one. The thing is, if you walk away, you’ll be in breach. So, in effect that whole conversation yesterday was a polite way of them appearing to give you a choice, while really telling you what’s going to happen, or else you’ll find yourselves not only sued for every cent you’re worth, but also owing them your advance. Not only that, but with all that drama, no other label will want to touch you for at least a few years, until the dust has settled, and the legal proceedings have concluded—and it could take easily that long.” God damn.
“Not to mention the fact that having merged, Sonic Dissonance, or whatever they are going to be known as, is now the biggest and the best label on the planet. Who would you want to work with apart from them?” Shit. James didn’t wait for a response. “So, as far as negotiations go, the one year thing is as good as it gets, and if they go for it, we should be calling it a win. ”
“That’s fucking bullshit. If there’s one thing I learned from my dipshit brother, it was to always go into a negotiation with less to lose than the other party, and to always be prepared to walk away.”
“Yeah, because Marko’s done so well using that strategy.” Sometimes sarcasm was my only recourse when dealing with Rome.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that your brother is even more of a loose cannon than you are, and half the ballet world won’t even consider working with him, because of his penchant for walking away.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what we call natural selection. Those people couldn’t handle working with him anyway, so better off taking them out of the equation from the get-go, than perform a messy extraction down the track.”
“Jesus dude, I really wish I could take myself out of the equation sometimes. You hurt my head.”
I grinned, knowing that although I was a pain in his ass, he wasn’t about to walk away from our partnership. He had too much to lose, and so did I.
“Yeah, it’s a shame my playing feeds your soul, right?”
“Truth.”
CHAPTER NINE
QUINCY
Two weeks later.
“What the hell? I don’t think I can do this. We haven’t even started yet, and my anxiety levels are already through the goddamned roof. I’m not normally a particularly anxious person. I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m making a huge fucking mistake. We’re making a huge mistake.” It was true. I’d been a certified basket case since I’d signed the contract agreeing to work with the Bowed & Dangerous boys.
I used the term “agreeing” loosely. The labels had held a gun to our heads, pure and simple. It had been two weeks since that initial meeting, and both parties had decided that the only thing we could do was go forward with the suggestion of a one year trial.
I’d been riddled with doubt since we signed the paperwork. Not even two consecutive weekends spent eating ice-cream straight from the tub, while Deone talked me down from the ledge, had really made me feel any better.
“Deep breaths, Q. We’ve been over and over this.” He was right, we had. “Nobody’s making a mistake. We’re all making the most of a bad situation, and we’ve used our meager bargaining chips to our advantage. We didn’t have much to play with, but at least this way we have recourse to walk away without penalties after a year. It may not sound it, but that’s a lot better than where we were when we walked into the room.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It doesn’t sound it. Why does it have to be so long? I could barely stand to be in the same room with them for twelve minutes. How the fuck are we going to manage twelve months? Seriously, this is suicidal. Why didn’t we negotiate it down to, like, three months, or better still, three hours?”
“I didn’t tell you this before, but we did initially actually go for a shorter timeframe. Us managers suggested six months, and the label dudes pretty much laughed in our faces. They came back with an offer of two years, and we bargained them down to one. Like I said, it’s the best of a bad situation.”
“Yeah, and like I said, I’m really struggling to see it that way. I mean, I think I’m normally a pretty positive person, but right now my cup isn’t even half empty. It’s bone-fucking-dry with a huge crack in it.”
“And at the risk of sounding like some kind of woo-woo guru, honey, you’re really going to have to find a way to reframe this mentally, as the situation isn’t changing any time soon. For better or for worse, it is what it is. So for your own sanity, it’s going to be easier if you try to look on the bright side, or find a silver lining, or some shit.”
“Ha! No need to worry about sounding like a guru—Anthony Robbins you ain’t!”
He laughed then, and I joined him, though mine was driven more by hysteria than actual happiness, and the smile definitely didn’t reach my eyes.
“Touché. Guru or not, I’m here to tell you to calm down. James, their manager has assured me that they’re as committed to making this work as we are, so let’s just keep an open mind and try to make the best of it, hey?”
“And by ‘let’s’ you mean me, right? ‘Cos, last I looked, you weren’t the one who was about to write music with them.”
“Yes, obviously, that part’s on you and them, but I’m here for moral support, as is James.”
“Meanwhile, they’re so committed to the whole thing that they can’t even be bothered to show up on time for the first session. It’s going well so far.”
“You read the briefing notes I sent you, right?”
“Yeah, I did, and the billions of press reports I found online, and I get it. Roman Ivanenko, is a musical prodigy, quintessential bad boy, and an arrogant asshole. He doesn’t do rules, is notoriously rude, and always late. Sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll. The full nine. Did I miss anything?”
“No, I think you have it all covered.”
Holy shit! The voice from the back of the room had me jumping a foot into the air, and I knew without turning around, who it belonged to. I spun on my heel to greet my new colleagues.
“Oh, good, I’m glad. So nice of you to join us. What time do you call this?” I made a big show of looking at my watch, as though I didn’t already know exactly what time it was.
“I call it, way earlier than I would have been here if I didn’t have my ‘conscience—,” he motioned toward his bandmate. “—to drag my ass off of my company from last night, and force me here.” Ugh. Talk about too much information.
“Oh, I guess I’m supposed to be grateful that you bothered to make an appearance at all, am I?”
He looked at me as though I was demented. “I don’t care what you think.”
Anthony Kingston stepped forward then, elbowing his sidekick in the ribs, extending his hand and giving me a wide smile.
“Excuse the errant teenager posing as my grown-ass musical partner. I’d assure you he’s not always this much of a douche, but my poker face isn’t for shit, so I know you wouldn’t believe me. Besides, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot by starting things off with a lie.”
“Well, the horse has already bolted on that one, I’m afraid.”
“What? I haven’t lied to you.” He looked genuinely surprised.
“No, I didn’t mean that. I meant the wrong-foot part. I didn’t exactly leave that meeting filled with excitement at working with the two of you. I’m still not, if I’m honest.”
“From what little I know if you, it seems that you always are. Honest, I mean.”
“Ha! Yeah, I’m a bit of a ‘tell it like I see it’ kind of person, and my brain-to-mouth filter definitely seemed to be on vacay when we last saw each other. I’m sorry if I was rude.”
“Oh you were, but I’d have been pissed about the parking incident if it were me, then the three-ringed circus of that meeting just rubbed salt in the wound.”
“True. But still, it wasn’t my finest hour.” I appreciated him trying to let me off the hook.
“Maybe not, but no need to apologize. It wasn’t mine either, so that makes us even. Anyway, need I remind you of the third person in this equation? The ‘great’ thing about working with him—” King jerked his chin toward Rome, who obliged us by flipping him off. “—is that you’re unlikely to be ruder or more obnoxious than he is.” That was little comfort, under the circumstances.
CHAPTER TEN
KING
“Okay, so now we have the ‘pleasantries’ out of the way—” I air quoted, never one to miss an opportunity to drop a sarcastic comment.“—Can we get down to business? Quincy, I’ve listened to your stuff, and watched a whole bunch of videos, and on that basis, I’ve pulled together a list of covers that I think might work with what we do, and what you do.” I handed over my phone. “Why don’t you have a look and see what you think.”
“Nope.” I glanced over at Rome as he spoke, and rolled my eyes. As with pretty much everything in his life, and consequently mine, he was determined to make the whole process feel like pulling teeth. That was just his MO.
“Nope what?”
“Well this is the first I’ve heard of any list. When were you going to run it by me?” Everything about his body language told me he was ready for a fight on this.
“Ha! Really? Are you insane? What am I doing right now, if not running it by you? Besides, do you think I’ve been trying to contact you all weekend just because I missed your sorry ass? Jesus, how self-absorbed do you need to be? I told you I had work shit I needed to talk to you about, and you proceeded to blank me, because you were too busy drinking vodka, snorting coke, and eating pussy, to give a fuck.”
Quincy shuffled from foot to foot, and I turned to her, having almost forgotten she was there.
“Umm… I hope you don’t mind cursing, because we can’t not.”
“It’s fine. I’m not a prude, it’s all good.”
“Okay, sorry. I guess I should have checked first.”
“No biggie, honestly. I’ve heard way worse.”
“Ha! Well that makes me feel a little better. I should also warn you that this is pretty much us twenty-four seven. If it’s a day ending with a Y, and one of us has even half a pulse, this is what you’ll find. Feel free to ignore most of it. It’s really not even worth us paying attention to, let alone anyone else.”
She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on Rome. I looked back toward him following her gaze to his hands, which he was clenching into fists, then releasing, over and over again.
“No covers. We’ve already let those label assholes back us into a corner over this shit, so the least we can do is make it work for us. Originals only. A whole album, and who doesn’t like it can suck my dick.”
“No way. Let’s just do the minimum that needs to be done, get through this year, then end the arrangement, and forget it ever happened.” How could he even be considering anything else?
“Yeah, and why don’t we just bend over and let them dry-fuck us in the ass with a witch’s broomstick while we’re at it? Jesus. Do you have to toe the line all the time? Like seriously. Do you even own a set of balls?”
“You know exactly where my balls are, and what they look like, so shut the hell up. I’m just being a realist. None of us want to be in this situation, but now that we are, all I’m saying is that we should just do what we have to do to survive it until we can cut and run. What’s the point of prolonging the agony by making it more complicated than it needs to be?”
“I agree with Rome.” Rome and I both swiveled to look at Quincy. “Not that anyone’s asking of course, because the two of you are clearly too busy with your little circle jerk to give a damn what I think. But for the record, I agree that we’ve been lumped in this shit show against our will, so why not give the label the finger, and do what we all prefer musically? I’ve done my research too, and you guys are decent writers.”
I guessed “decent” was her version of a compliment.
“As I said in the meeting, covers was never where I wanted to be with my career anyway, I just couldn’t get the label goons to understand that there was potential to shift units by putting out original music. They’re either too stupid, too lazy, too conservative, or an unfortunate combination of all three to grasp the concept. So in the end, just like now, I had no choice but to go along with what they wanted. This time, however, we’re not bound specifically to covers, so why go that route when it suits none of us?”
“Well, how long do you have? I could give you about a thousand reasons why this is the worst of the worst ideas, but I’ll start with two of the most obvious. The first is chemistry. You don’t just sit and write with random people. There needs to be some kind of chemistry or rapport there, or it’s going to be a fucking disaster from the get-go.” Why was I the only one of the three of us who got this?
“What do you mean? There’s plenty of chemistry in this room right now, bro. We’re dripping in it.” I shot Rome a stern look, useless though that was—he was going to go right on ahead and ignore me anyway. In a way, he was right, but he was also being a douche.
“Not that kind of chemistry. You know what I mean.”
“Why not that kind? Chemistry is chemistry. D’you know how many songs and entire albums have been written purely because two people wanted to fuck each other? How long do you have? I could give you about a thousand.” He winked at the use of my own words back at me. I resisted the urge to junk punch him. Just.
“Nobody wants to fuck any
one.” Lies.
“Speak for yourself. “ He grinned, clearly having fun baiting me.
“Whatever.” I did my best not to bite—one of us needed to be the adult at least some of the time, and that person was always going to be me.
“Anyway, that’s beside the point. The other, arguably bigger issue is our repertoires. I mean, it’s one thing to find pop-ish shit that kind of sits between what we both do—her r ‘n’ b, and our rock—we can work on arrangements that bring in elements of both styles. But, it’s another to create something from scratch that meshes the two.” Neither of them looked convinced of a word I was saying.
“Not to mention that I’d put money on the fact that we have totally different writing processes—because Quincy here really doesn’t strike me as the type to get wasted on vodka, then wait and see what happens—no offense.” I looked to her again.
“None taken, except for the part about us not being able to find a musical middle ground. You said before that you’re a realist, but I’ll be honest, all I’m hearing is pessimism. I don’t think you’re giving any of us due credit right now for what we could achieve if we applied ourselves and worked together. We’re all good, well-trained musicians, and I’ll stick my neck out and say, despite outward appearances, smart people. Sure it’s a challenge, but why wouldn’t we be able to rise to it?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ROME
“You should listen to Quincy, King. Turns out she’s not just an extremely pretty face, after all.”
“Hey!” Quincy threw me a bucket of shade as she spoke. “I just backed you up and said I think we can do this, but it won’t work if you’re going to continue to be a huge jerk. Seriously, you can cut the demeaning comments any time you’re ready, or be prepared to explain to the label people why you wrecked the whole thing. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it as equals. I’m as qualified as you are, and no, I may not have been busking in the streets since I was two years old—”