A Postseason One Novella: Rock F*ck Club, #2

by Michelle Mankin

  "Lips are a nonnegotiable, Miss Winters. This is WMO not Nickelodeon."

  "One fake kiss on the lips." I gave the exec a firm look. "This is television. It's all about camera angles and making the viewers believe what we want them to believe. We can make it appear authentic." I glanced at Ignacio. "Can’t we?"

  "Absolutely." He nodded, and the brown curls on his head moved like a tumbling wave.

  "I suppose." Suzanne pressed her mouth into a flat line, leaned forward, picked up her pen and crossed through something on the paper in front of her. “On to Alec Harris and the painting scene."

  "It stays. We can add to it as I proposed."

  "I don’t see how his and his partner’s orientation is relevant to yours."

  "Rock Fuck Club is my journey of self-discovery, and part of my journey included witnessing their passion, love and commitment to each other." I turned my head. Sky's eyes met mine. She gave me an encouraging smile. Her support flooded me with relief. I just hoped she didn’t withdraw it after I redid the scene with Rocky. I returned my attention to the exec. "What I’m offering you is sexy additional footage."

  “It’s not going to be sexy if it occurs with you all sitting around with your clothes on.” Her brow creased. “Tops off for everyone.”

  "Yes," I agreed. "Alright."

  "Very well."

  I let out a relieved breath as she crossed out another item. Only one more remained, but I was afraid I might not get it the way I wanted it.

  "Really, Miss Winters.” She circled around something on her paper and dropped her pen. "That’s too much. It's not edgy programming. It's sappy."

  "Rock Fuck Club is supposed to be celebrating my right to decide who, where and when. Lucky Spencer is my choice. My final choice in the RFC. You wanted me to show the viewers why he’s the one I chose? That scene and those scripted words will do just that."

  She shook her head and turned to Ignacio.

  “I’m afraid I have to side with Ms. Smith.” He dipped his head to her and then glanced at me, his expression broadcasting apology.

  Barbara cleared her throat. "It just needs a contrast."

  "Pardon?" The exec swiveled her chair to face her assistant.

  "Show the sexy times with a voiceover of Raven talking about Lucky.”

  “Yes, for sure.” Marsha leaned forward. “Remind the viewer of Raven’s journey with footage from her encounters with all the other guys." My bestie turned to Ignacio. "Focus on Raven’s eyes in all those segments like you did in the documentary The Little Black Dress. They’re expressive. They’re her emotional tell. They will make her point eloquently without a single word having to be spoken.”

  "MISS WINTERS. MISS WEST," Suzanne called, stopping us as we started to file out of the room behind everyone else. "Stay. There are a few minor matters we need to resolve before we proceed with filming tonight."

  "Alright, only I need to ask Barbara to do something.” I caught the secretary just outside the door. “Could you let Sky wait in your office? Just until we’re through?” I asked her.

  “Sure. She likes makeup and fashion, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. I have a stack of Vogue magazines at my desk. Only…” She trailed off looking a little unsure.

  “Only what?” I queried.

  “It’s that the other chair in my office is occupied with someone I’m not certain you would want Sky to be alone with.” She was purposefully being evasive, but I couldn’t figure out why.

  “Well, Sky can take care of herself, unless it’s an axe murderer in there.” I paused, and she shook her head, albeit it seemed to me somewhat reluctantly. “We shouldn’t be long.”

  “Raven, I have another meeting scheduled after this one.” The exec tapped her pen on the table top.

  “Yes, of course.” I turned and pulled out my chair again. Marsha took the one next to it. We exchanged a quick look. We were both confused by Barbara’s behavior.

  "You negotiated quite capably, Miss Winters."

  I set my speculation aside about Barbara to acknowledge the uncharacteristic compliment from the exec. "Thank you." Was it my imagination that she seemed overly eager to move the meeting along?

  "You're welcome." She rolled her pen between her hands. "You continue to surprise me.” I couldn’t tell from those words or her expression whether that was a good or a bad thing. "But never presume to bring uninvited guests to a private meeting with me again. Is that understood?"

  Gulp. "Yes."

  "Especially not underage ones."

  "Sky’s not underage. She's five years older than her brother."

  The exec's eyes widened slightly.

  "Does what you need to discuss involve her?" My tone was terse. Like Lucky I didn’t appreciate Sky’s differences being highlighted.

  "No." She cleared her throat and shuffled her papers. "I have a simple addendum to your first contract that I would like you to sign." She slid a paper toward me entitled: Rock Fuck Club Documentary. I skimmed the details quickly.

  "I’m not interested,” I told her flatly. WMO wanted me to agree to a series of in depth interviews about the guys I had been with for the Rock Fuck Club, including the one I had been with before I had started it. “I’m not talking about Ivan Carl on camera.” Too personal. Too fresh. Too much potential to hurt Marsha and Lucky.

  "I have signed authorizations from everyone else involved already.”

  “Lucky’s bandmates agreed?” That was surprising.

  “Just so.”

  I blanched. The Dragons had probably been coerced into it. WMO and Zenith Production seemed to have some sort of behind closed doors alliance. “What about Ryland from Noir?” He was signed with Black Cat Records.

  She nodded.

  “Ashland Keys?” He had his own label.

  “Yes.”

  My stomach sunk. I found this all a little hard to wrap my head around. What would those two say? I hadn’t actually hooked up with them.

  "JGB?" My voice squeaked. The controversial rapper had tried to force me.

  "He took a little while."

  "You dropped all of the charges I filed against him?" I guessed.

  She nodded.

  "What did you offer the others?" My eyes narrowed.

  "An upfront stipend. Free advertising across all of WMO’s social media platforms. Residual royalties. The usual enticements."

  "Why would you do all that for a series that hasn’t even been released yet? For one that needs so much revision? One that’s so disappointing?"

  "I never said it was a disappointment. In fact, we’ve never received such favorable scores from beta viewers, our sponsorship slots are completely filled. There’s even a waiting list well into a proposed third season. That’s why I’m so adamant about re-filming. This could be a monster if we all pull together. We need more content. We need to be ready to capitalize when this takes off. I didn’t get where I am today by reacting. I got here by being proactive. "How many emails do you receive each day about the Rock Fuck Club?"

  "Two, sometimes three hundred."

  "WMO is getting thousands."

  "But how?"

  "Our contact information is first in the Google analytics. After all, we own the concept of the RFC."

  "You don’t own me." I lifted my chin.

  "Correct. And that’s why we’re here, right now behind closed doors." She picked up her pen. Scribbled something on a pad of notebook paper and lifted it to show me.

  "A million dollars?" Holy fucking shit.

  "Per episode. As they air. With royalties direct to you ten years out. If you sign that addendum. If you agree to the interviews."

  "You've given me a lot to think about. I'll have to get back to you." I remembered what I had read about negotiation tactics. A miracle that I could remember anything the way my brain was spinning on that amount.

  "I’m sorry. I’ll need an answer now. Showtime. A&E. Our competitors are already scrambling to copy what we’ve done. Y
ou sign now, or the offer is withdrawn...along with the opportunity for Marsha to direct the documentary."

  The million dollars I didn’t really care about. I knew too well that wealth didn’t equal happiness. Being included and supported in loving relationships trumped any financial windfalls.

  But directing? That was my best friend’s dream served up on a silver WMO emblazoned platter.

  How could I say no to that?

  "LET’S DISPENSE WITH the formality. I’m sure you get that I don’t like you.” I didn’t trust her. The bottom line was her sole motivation. That she would make a deal with a guy like JGB was eye opening and frankly a bit disturbing. “And you don’t particularly care for me. But just call me Raven, and I’ll call you Suzanne. Are you ok with that?”

  She nodded. "Would you like me to write that down...Raven?"

  I shook my head. Being on a first name basis leveled the playing field. Now I brought out the bigger guns. "I want the Rock Fuck Club title and the concept returned to me if WMO takes the series in a direction that I don’t approve of."

  "No. Absolutely not."

  "That’s a nonstarter Suzanne. If you don’t have the authority to make that concession find me someone who does."

  "I have all the final say on every aspect of this project." The force of her quietly spoken statement practically rattled the steel girders of the building.

  "Good. Then you understand why I insist. I started RFC. It represents me. It ultimately reflects on me. But it reflects Marsha and every other twenty something woman in the world we live in today. A confusing world where we are told to aspire to be perfect princesses in towers from the time we’re young, then are bombarded constantly by contradictory messages in the media. Ones that tell us that our worth is largely dependent on how sexy we are or whether or not we secure the attention of a man. Yet, if we attempt to explore our sexuality or define it outside socially accepted parameters we’re given derogatory labels. Slut, whore, and the like."

  "I agree with all of that."

  "Then make those sentiments part of the mission statement, and we won’t have any problems with creative differences."

  “As to the theme…”Suzanne began, but I wasn’t finished.

  "As far as the background stuff. The additional filming. I’ll confess it makes me tired to even consider getting back in front of the camera, but I can see the value of it. If another woman can learn from my mistakes and maybe take a less circuitous route to the right guy like Lucky then that’s a good thing."

  I turned to Marsha. "Are you ok with what she wants you to do? You'll have to spend a lot of time with me. A lot of time on the road. No more Texas. No more chats at Joey's. We likely won’t see our families very much, not for a long time."

  "I’m ok, Raven. I’m sitting beside the closest family member I have."

  My eyes immediately filled. I felt the same way about her. I managed a nod.

  "So,” I turned back to the exec. “There's a couple of minor things left to quibble about if I say yes. I'd like WMO to provide security for me. If this thing blows up as big as you think it will then I want to be protected. Mr. Morris has agreed to provide a bodyguard for me while I’m on the tour, but I would like WMO to take on that expense when I’m not. And I also need help with the day to day correspondence and PR stuff that goes along with RFC. If Barbara is available to travel..."

  "She is," Suzanne interrupted, her hazel eyes gleaming. “It would be a perfect match. You seem to have developed a rapport with her, and she’s been chafing to get more involved with the series. But at this juncture, I would also like to settle the matter of the second season while I have you both here.” She turned her bottom-line-motivated gaze to my bestie. “Miss West, WMO would like you to star in Rock Fuck Club season two.”

  “I don’t know.” My bestie’s baby blues grew wide.

  “Come, come, Miss West. You know what to expect. You support the cause. Raven just said that RFC represents you as well. You’ll continue to be paired together. The contractual particulars can be hashed out at another time. I’m only asking for a verbal commitment today.”

  “But the documentary.”

  “Season two and the documentary will be filmed concurrently. Mr. Katzman will direct season two. You will direct the documentary about Raven with his guidance. We’ll keep the production crew together from season one for both projects.”

  “That makes sense, I guess.” Marsha glanced at me.

  “Only do it if you want to, Mars.” I reached for her hand. “You can do the documentary and not the other. Why don’t we both take a couple of days to think about everything?”

  "I can’t let either of you leave this room before I have a commitment.” Suzanne shook her head. “Too much is at stake here."

  “I’ll do it.” Marsha’s voice was steady. “Season Two and the Documentary. I’ve got nothing to lose, and a lot of money and experience to gain.” Her eyes were no longer wide. They sparkled with anticipation as she regarded the exec. “Best get prepared for another tough round of negotiations. I have my own ideas and my own personality. You’ll have to make adjustments to accommodate them.”

  “I look forward to it.” Suzanne nodded to Marsha and tapped my contract with her pen. I stared at the empty line and the x by it that awaited my signature.

  "I’ll have to run this by Lucky first."

  Suzanne frowned.

  "I can call him right now. With you here in the room."

  "Agreed."

  I took my cell out of my cross body bag. I had turned the ringer off before the meeting, but the display was alight with multiple missed texts from the Dragons' frontman.

  Missed call from Lucky Spencer.

  Lucky: Is Sky with you?

  Lucky: Never mind. Rocky told me she is

  Lucky: Sky just called me. What’s going on with you and Smith?

  Lucky: Just got out of my meeting with Morris. He worked out a deal with Black Cat. Once we finish our remaining dates...The Dragons are the opening band for Noir!!! Huge stadium shows. Even Wembley. The bad news is he worked out a not so hot deal with your boss at WMO. Call me. We need to talk.

  Lucky: ---?

  Lucky: ---?

  I dialed his number.

  "Angel." He answered on the first ring. I could hear heavy bass thumping in the background. Sound check already? That meant it was already lunchtime. My stomach grumbled. "How’d your meeting go?"

  "I’m still in it." My golden eyes clashed with Suzanne’s hazel green ones.

  "Those wankers want you to do even more than before, don’t they?"

  "Yes. But I ironed out a lot of stipulations. Creative control. Security. Secretarial support."

  "Impressive."

  "Yeah." I guessed it was. I sat up straighter. Praise from him made me feel like I was light enough to float in a wide open sky the color of his eyes.

  "She’s listening isn’t she?"

  "Absolutely."

  "I didn’t really have much of a choice on my end. Morris has me and my mates by the balls."

  "Yes."

  "She has a tight leash on you, too?"

  "Yes. But I can snap it if I need to.” At least I hoped I could. “I started the RFC with good intentions like you’re always reminding me. I’m planning to continue the concept the best I can. Marsha has agreed to do season two, and she’s directing the backstory interviews. RFC. WMO. They’re not going away. I’m playing my part. But from now on I play it by my rules. And that means checking with my boyfriend first. Are you ok with that?"

  "I love you, Raven Elizabeth Winters."

  "I love you, too."

  "Do whatever you need to do. You can take care of yourself, and I trust you to do right by us. Cheers and what not, Angel. You have my full support."

  "THIS IS MY FAVORITE view in the whole world.” I stared deeply into the fathomless blue of Lucky’s eyes, sliding the pad of my thumb along the bottom of the right one and then the left to smudge the kohl lines I had drawn b
eneath them.

  "I’m quite fond of the one in front of me as well." His gaze as smoky as the eye makeup he now wore thanks to me, Lucky’s long slender fingers flexed on my hips, a skin to skin connection that crackled.

  Outside our private world of two, the usual flurry of preshow dressing room activity was cranked up to a near frenzy. Everyone was coasting high on the Noir news, and maybe we were all a little more wound up about the additional WMO filming that would follow the Dragons’ performance later tonight. The opening band was already on stage, directly behind the dressing room wall. Their music vibrated the sheetrock as Alec paced back and forth in the small twelve by twelve foot space. Lucky’s best friend was dressed in jeans and a button down shirt, every wisp of his hair styled just so. His Fender was already strapped on. His shooting star makeup streaked across his face, and his jade green eyes were amped up and glittery with nervous energy. Meanwhile, wearing a white tee paired with one of his partner’s button downs and jeans, Cody chilled on a folding chair, his ankles crossed and his booted feet propped up on the vibrating wall. He was so absorbed in a game on his phone that I don’t think he even noticed Sky as she patiently applied his assortment of treble clef tears. Lucky’s sister looked lovely in a short floral frock with long bell-like sleeves. Hovering nearby in jeans and a black vest sans shirt was Rocky. With his sticks, he drummed a ratt-tatt-tatt on the counter beside her makeup kit as he waited for his turn with Sky. She pretended not to notice him or his reflection in the mirror while he did the same.

  "Only fond?" I skimmed my hand down the center of Lucky’s bare chest, reveling in the way his eyes darkened to sapphire in response to my caress.

  "Maybe a tiny bit more than fond." He gave me his cocky half-smile.

  "Nothing tiny about any part of you.” I ran my hand lower, tiptoed my fingers over the zipper of his jeans and across his hard length. His breath hitched. I leaned in for a kiss. His lips were an irresistible feast. His kiss even more so as he took over, plunging his wet and very wicked tongue into my mouth. He ended it way too soon. Capturing my hands, he removed them from the prize of his cock and pointed with his chin to a spot over my shoulder where Ignacio and the rest of his crew were filming us.