by JL Bryan
Chapter Ten
Local Coffee Shop was not very busy on Sunday. A few kids from school were quick to ask for autographs and demanded to know when the Assorted Zebras would play again. Jason still wasn't used to the intense celebrity treatment by people from his own town, most of whom had never talked to him before.
“Did everybody sign?” Mitch asked when they'd taken a table. He tapped the envelope with his name on it.
“Got mine.” Dred tossed hers on top of his.
Jason added his, too. Erin hesitated, then threw her envelope on top of the heap.
“You guys got your parents to sign, too?” Mitch asked, and Jason and Erin nodded. Jason noticed that Erin frowned a little. He wondered if she'd had to use her music to get them to agree, too. He felt pretty bad about manipulating his parents, but that was the only way they would sign.
“I kind of feel like we should have waited,” Dred said. “Had somebody check these contracts out for us.”
“You'll feel different when you're cashing that hundred thousand dollar bonus check,” Mitch said. “Besides, the royalties are amazing.”
“I didn't understand a lot of the stuff at the back, though,” Dred said.
“That's just stuff at the back,” Mitch said. “You can't change your mind now.”
“There's everybody's favorite band from next year!” Cayce said as he walked into the coffee shop. He pumped everyone's hands while his assistant Velga went to buy coffee. His eyes went to the heap of envelopes. “Everybody signed, right? Jason, Erin, your parents signed? Good.” He grabbed up the contracts and stuffed them into a briefcase.
“Wait,” Dred said.
“Sh!” Mitch told her.
“Questions?” Cayce asked. He took a chair at the table next to him. “I'm ready. Shoot.”
“I was just wondering—” Dred began.
“—how you enjoyed your stay at the Brown Bear Lodge last night,” Mitch interrupted.
“Oh, fantastic,” Cayce said. “I don't know which I liked better, the hunting dog paintings or the little plastic ducks by the telephone. Top-notch accommodations, right, Velga?”
“It was better than dog kennel,” Velga replied. She placed two coffees on Cayce's table and sat across from him.
“There are a bunch of clauses at the back that didn't make sense to me,” Dred said.
“Aw, nobody pays attention to that stuff,” Cayce said. “The lawyers just stick a bunch of extra pages in there to justify charging six hundred bucks an hour. Do you want to go over the royalty rates with me?”
“No, those are great,” Dred said. “Amazing. But—”
“That's all that really matters,” Cayce said. “The rest is just a little loose change. You agree to do appearances and promotions as needed, don't make negative comments about Malarkay Media in public, that sort of blah blah blah. But you can say what you like in private, of course.” Cayce winked. “Seriously, though. You're going to be very happy. Everyone at this table is about to become crazy rich. I'm talking driving-your-Ferrari-on-the-deck-of-your-yacht rich. So what if you might have to make a commercial, go on a talk show, do a radio interview...small price to pay, am I right?”
Everyone looked at Dred.
“I don't know,” Dred said. She looked at the briefcase full of contracts.
“I mean, what else are you going to do, Dred?” Mitch asked. “Spend the summer milking your parents' cows?”
“Shut up, Mitch. You know I had plans.”
“Sure,” Mitch said, “Move to the Cities. Find some job. Big plans.”
“And what were you going to do, move to Madison and be a fake hipster?” Dred asked.
“Kids, kids, you’re both annoying,” Cayce said. “Here, I think I can cheer you up. Velga?”
Velga handed each of them a check. Jason looked at his: the golden 'M' of the Malarkay Records logo was in the upper corner of the check. His name was printed on it. One hundred thousand dollars and 00/100 cents.
The glittering signature read “Andrew Malarkay,” in arching, spiraling, curling platinum letters, though Jason was pretty sure the check had been printed on a computer somewhere. It was perforated at the top and bottom edges, like it had been ripped off a sheet.
There was a quiet moment while everyone looked at their checks. Jason imagined what the check would mean to him—a car, definitely, plus the ability to take Erin nice places. If she would ever go out with him, which was looking less and less possible by the day.
He looked at Erin, who gaped at her own check, and he wondered what she was thinking.
“I hope that settles things,” Cayce said. He snapped the briefcase shut and held it close to him. “You kids have a great day.”
He turned and walked toward the door, Velga following him with coffee.
“Hey, wait!” Mitch said. “Is that it?”
“That's it,” Cayce called back over his shoulder.
“Now what do we do?” Jason asked.
“Just wait for the plane. We'll be in touch within a few days.” Cayce and Velga exited.
“Why do I feel like I just signed over my soul?” Dred asked.
“Because you have to complain about everything,” Mitch said. “Look, we're on our way now.”
“On our way to what?” Dred asked.
Jason and Erin shared a long look, then sipped their coffee.