by T L Dasha
Brad continued. “Naturally, I don’t expect all these fledgling bands to know how to mesh their rap with someone else’s country. But that’s where I come in! Each pair will have an industry mentor to give them the best chance at success. I think everyone who’s made it this far deserves some insider knowledge and direction, so this way, even if you go home this week, you’ll still leave with an invaluable prize!” The ease and cheer with which he spoke made it feel like this would be the most enjoyable thing in the world.
The crew ushered us all out of the waiting room and pulled us aside into the interview rooms.
“Who don’t I want to work with?” I glanced to the side, not wanting to give the interviewer or the camera too much of a read on my eyes. “I mean, Lance has been the biggest pain in my ass since middle school.”
“I still remember the first time we duked it out in the school auditorium for the seventh grade talent show.” Logan half-cocked a smile. “I think the closest we’ve ever been to a collaboration was when my shoe collaborated with the water he ‘accidentally’ spilled on the stage.”
--
“He said what about the seventh grade talent show?” We watched Lance on the live feed, sitting in between Marcus and Tanner with his arms crossed. Everything about his posture was unapproachable. He laughed. “What a drama queen. Personally, I’m not worried about working with anyone. Even if we did get stuck with Roland’s pathetic excuse for a band—What are they calling themselves again?”
“Fighting Chance.” Tanner chimed in.
Lance threw up his hands in frustration. “I was being facetious.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, not even a total lack of talent is enough to dull our shine. We’ll be winning this week. Throw whatever you want at us.”
“Typical Lance answer.” Logan shrugged. I just rolled my eyes.
--
We all gathered in the waiting room to be paired up. One member from each band pulled a guitar pick from a box, and like colors would be put together. My pick was orange. Scattered High’s pick was blue. Dread Theory’s pick was… also orange.
“I think I need to redraw. My fingers must have slipped.” Lance’s voice was shaky and his face grew pale. I wanted to make fun of him for talking such a big game, but I was just as mortified.
Logan walked up and put an arm around both of us. “Well friends, looks like it’s time to make some music.” The grin on his face left me wondering if he had actually been hoping it would work out this way. I guess the theme this round IS about a tragedy, and what’s more tragic than having to work with Lance Gold…
Goddammit.
###
Jay McClintock
Fuck.
I shut my laptop and reached for my phone. My hand shook as I fumbled through my contacts. Every unanswered ring was more excruciating than the last. Finally the other line picked up.
“Cory Dane’s office. Who may I say is calling?”
“McClintock. Put Cory on the line. Now.” I squeezed a pen in my hand to reroute my frustration, keeping only a portion of it out of my voice. I had nearly snapped it by the time he answered.
“Jay McClintock? I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon! I just have to tell you- That last song you wrote for the Gold boy was perfection! Why-” Cory Dane’s high pitched voice wasn’t helping to mitigate my irritation.
“That goes without saying.” I cut him off before he could go into his song of praise. His validation held no value. “But that’s not why I’m calling. I never agreed to write a collaboration. The original episode plan for the semi-finals was supposed to be an outdoor performance about family values. That’s what I prepared.”
“Oh, Brad told me you had suggested it last he spoke to you, and I thought it was brilliant. Why, he was so thrilled about the show when he stopped by the other day-”
“Brad said that, did he?” I did my best to ignore the cold sweat forming on my brow. What was he playing at?
“Yes- As I was saying, he’s quite a fan of yours! He even offered to be one of the mentors, and he pooled some of his contacts for the other group. We made the changes right away. I assumed Jonathan would have sent you the new script?”
“Right, of course. I must have overlooked it…” He definitely fucking didn’t. Deep Breath. Stay Calm.
“Well, I’m happy to see you taking an interest! I’m sure you’ll love having the chance to work with more of our contestants. These Fighting Chance kids have been far exceeding our expectations all season, and they’d be perfect for your grooming. If we didn’t have an agreement with Dayton Gold, I’d likely have chosen them for the win!”
I had to swallow back my nerves to continue speaking. Of course that wasn’t a random pairing. Nothing about this show is random. “They know each other already. Doesn’t that make it a little unfair?”
“That just adds to the drama! Enemies to friends is a classic. And if they don’t become friends, the bickering will still be great television. The audience will love it.”
No. Fuck. I shook my head. “I thought the goal was to remain subtle about ALIVE’s involvement with Dread Theory. How am I supposed to work with them without revealing to this other band that they’ve been getting help all along?” I felt like I was scraping the bottom of the barrel for reasons to protest, but I needed something. I couldn’t do this.
“They signed an NDA.”
“An NDA might let us take legal action, but it doesn’t reverse the damage after it’s been done if they do ever speak out about it. Dread Theory’s record deal will be worthless to us if they’re defamed before they even have a chance to take off.”
“Hmm, that’s a good point.” Cory finally started to sound receptive. Though I hadn’t even finished exhaling my tension when the sound of the wheels turning in his head interrupted me. “Oh! How about we bring you in as a consultant for all of the bands! It won’t be suspicious if you’re working with everyone, and who better to help out than ‘Jay McClintock, Brad Garza’s right hand man!’”
“That’s…” Not the worst idea.
“I always felt you had a face for television. Our fans will love it. Brad’s fans will love it. I’m so glad you called today- this is perfect!”
“Right. That’s perfect. I’ll make it work.” My voice sounded distant in my ears. As though I was speaking on pure instinct.
“I’ll call Brad right now and tell him the good news. I know he’ll be excited, too. Thanks again! Cheers!”
I was still holding the phone to my ear as he hung up. This is fine. Roland won’t put it all together. If Brad is in the show, it shouldn’t be terribly surprising that I would get pulled into it. Even if he did figure it out, this is work. It has nothing to do with our relationship. Why should I feel guilty about doing my job?
Because I’m actively helping someone take his dream from him? Because he’s too naïve to figure out that hard work doesn’t mean anything if you don’t have the right connections? He wouldn’t have even gotten this far if not for my influence. He would still be singing in hockey metaphors, playing at being in a band until he graduated and moved on to a safe and respectable career. You never stood a chance, Roland.
A loud snap knocked me out of my daze. I looked over at my hand to see two broken halves of a pen, with ink dribbling down my wrist. I watched, unmoving, as it stained the cuff of my shirt.
When did I start lying to myself like this?
Chapter 13
Roland Finley
It turned out that Dread Theory had their own studio not terribly far from the dorms. Compared to the school auditorium or driving all the way to the Valley to use the film studio’s practice room, it was the nicest and most convenient option, so Logan and I agreed to use their spot.
I got there first. Logan would be over in the next half hour or so, as soon as he finished up his shift at the jewelry shop, and I’m sure Lance would show up whenever he felt we were worthy of his presence.
The
studio was large for a recording studio, with shelves upon shelves of records, and high end recording equipment against the wall. There were a couple of work desks for writing against one wall, and a practice area with spare instruments on the other side.
I started setting up my mic stand, then hauled over the case with my keyboard. A soft knock came from the door. Why would Lance knock on the door of his own personal studio?
“Uh… Come in? I’m just setting up. It’s not like I’m naked in here.” I called out while simultaneously unfolding my keyboard stand and shaking my head. I picked my keyboard up out of its case, ready to set it down gently, when the door opened.
“Brad Garza?!” Nine hundred dollars of blood, sweat, and tips nearly fell out of my hands as I stumbled to get a hold of myself. I forced myself to stabilize my keyboard before letting the star struck hyperventilating completely overtake me. He waltzed across the room with an easygoing flare, and took a seat atop a work desk.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just here to observe.” He had an almost catlike grin. “I mean, not you being naked. Unless that’s how you write your songs.”
Sometimes it is… I flushed even harder at my own misstep, way too tongue tied to counter. There was no doubt he was aware of the affect he had on people, but everything about his demeanor was so calm and humble that you would never know he was as massively successful as he is. He glanced around, taking in the amps, and the shelves of records, and the recording equipment, before he returned his attention to me. “Cute. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a studio like this. Are you excited?”
“I uh- I mean I- This is-“
Brad’s laugh broke my jumble of nonsense. “Chiiiiiill. It’ll be a lot easier to be your mentor if you’re not terrified of me.” He jumped back off the desk and approached me to offer his hand. “I’m Brad, obviously.”
“Roland…”
“Pleased to meet you officially, Roland. I’ve been watching you since the show started. You’ve got a lot of talent! Which is why I asked to personally mentor your team.” He smirked as he glanced to the side. “Well, I wanted to work with Dread Theory, too. They’ve been killing it on their lyrics. The gods of television really did me a solid giving me both of you.” He chuckled to himself as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
Brad Garza has been watching me?! I could barely believe what he was saying. Or that I was right here with my idol, alone, no one else around, and I wasn’t saying a word.
“I think you just made my entire life.” I hoped that my voice would shake less the more I talked. “I must have listened to Watching Broken Clocks something like 8,000 times.” Ugh. No. I bet everyone says that. Be cool, Roland. Be cool.
“Oh, that was my personal favorite.” His expression grew nostalgic. “Little known story about that debut album- When I got called in to ALIVE after they heard my first tape, I was so nervous about the official audition, that when I stood on that stage, I froze up and couldn’t hit a single note. The acquisition team basically recommended I look into auto-tune and a career in marketing, since they couldn’t believe that someone that awful could have duped them into thinking I had some shred of talent.”
“I’ve never heard this before.” I was in awe just listening to him speak. I couldn’t imagine that voice ever botching an octave. “Obviously it worked out. How did you convince them to give you a deal anyways?”
“Well it certainly wasn’t thanks to what they saw at the audition. I walked out of the building that day with my head hung low, tears in my eyes, basically ready to accept that I ruined my one chance at an impossible dream.” Brad placed a hand over his heart, as if he could still feel it breaking. “I was so stressed out, when I got outside, I bummed a cigarette off this intern in the smoking section. We got to talking, and it turned out, he was the one who picked my tape out of the slush pile. He couldn’t BELIEVE they hadn’t loved me. You should have seen the look in his eyes as he took my hands in his and said, ‘I’ll go to bat for you. I’ll bet my career on it.’” His eyes sparkled as he spoke.
“It was hardly that dramatic.”
I… I know that voice.
Jay leaned against the door, his arms crossed and a playful smirk on his face. I must have been so transfixed by Brad’s story that I hadn’t noticed the door opening. “Are you spreading nonsense again, Brad?”
“J-Jay…” I was speechless. What was he doing here? Why? What’s going on? Shit, wait, what am I doing. Brad’s right here. This reaction has to look suspicious. Fix it- fix it- “You’re Jay McClintock, right? Your lyrics are what inspired me to write in the first place!” I approached him to offer a hand. There was something so odd about shaking same hand that had me at his mercy the night before as though it was a stranger’s.
“Really? How disappointing that I inspired such drivel.” Jay rolled his eyes, trying to mask his own amusement. The cruel smile was his subtle way of telling me he was joking, I’m pretty sure.
“Jay Jay! Be nice!” Brad snapped back, throwing his hands up in frustration. Jay Jay? “I swear, I can’t take you anywhere.” It was almost instantaneous that Brad’s demeanor returned to a cool confidence. “I didn’t expect to see you here so soon. I still can’t believe you volunteered to consult for this round. I thought you were going to be pissed when you saw the episode. Jonathan was so nervous when I asked him to make it a surprise, but look how well it turned out! Never second guess that Garza intuition.”
A tinge of irritation flashed over Jay’s face, only to be quickly covered up with a smile. “I can always count on you to keep me on my toes…”
This was weird. For so many reasons. Jay volunteered to work with us? I was going to be working together to write a song with him? It was one thing to have him listen to me sing my completed drafts. It was another thing to have him actively critiquing me and making suggestions. I couldn’t ever seem to perform when someone was looking over my shoulder. But then again, this was a chance to share one of our mutual passions. Was that some next level of intimacy?
I did everything in my power to fight my reddening cheeks, but I doubt I was successful. Fortunately, Brad seemed perfectly distracted with Jay’s teasing and banter.
That part was weird too. Jay was practically a puppy dog when he was dealing with Brad. Just the way they interacted unnerved me. There’s no way he’d volunteer for this just for fun. Did he volunteer to help out to be here for me? Or for Brad?
Shake it off. They’ve worked together for nearly a decade. Of course they’re good friends. It was silly of me to even consider being jealous of… the highest grossing superstar in the entire world. Who probably knew every intimate secret about Jay’s life. Who was making him laugh with a gentleness I had never seen. Who is probably his best friend. Why should I be jealous of that when I… I barely know him beyond the bedroom.
The door opened, ushering Lance, Marcus, Tanner, and Logan all into the room. Logan had a devilish smile and unrestrained amusement in his eyes. Lance looked miffed. I could only imagine the conversations that lead up to this point. Brad greeted everyone as they walked into the room, feeling much more professional and much less familiar now.
Lance froze in his tracks as he locked eyes with Jay. Odd. He cleared his throat. “Who’s this guy?”
Seriously? Lance never failed to disappoint me.
“I’m so glad you asked.” Brad chimed in. Brad and Jay took the front of the room, and we all settled in by our instruments on the opposite side. “This man right here was my Trojan horse to success.”
Jay shook his head. Brad continued.
“As great as it sounds to tell the world you did everything yourself, the reality is that this industry is way too cut throat to do not have a strong support team. Mr. McClintock here has written and consulted for some of the biggest stars this country has ever known, myself included.” He beamed just talking about him. “And you guys get the privilege of his assistance as we try to mash up your styles.”
“Isn’t that basicall
y cheating?” Logan crossed his arms. “This is supposed to be an amateur competition. I want to win on our words, not his.”
“I’m kind of with Logan on this.” I watched Jay’s expression, but his poker face was unflinching. If I’m being honest, I wanted to work with him. Just the thought of getting to share the creative process more intimately made my heart beat faster. But I don’t know that I could do that without giving myself away.
“How is that cheating?” Lance scoffed. “We’re still the ones who have to bring the songs to life.”
“He is correct!” Brad interrupted our bickering. “Have you ever heard a remake of a song that had more power than the original? Of course writing your own songs is an incredible form of self-expression. And yes, no one can tell your story like you can. That’s great if you’re only writing for yourself.” He waved a hand in the air to dismiss the notion.
“You guys are trying to win over the entire city, the entire country, and the entire world. If you can’t empathize with someone else’s thoughts and struggles, you can’t reach anyone. Take your story, my story, your companion’s stories- internalize it all until it moves you at your core, and make the entire world feel it.”
Jay’s eyes followed Brad, a grin creeping onto his lips. “Where have I heard this speech before?”
Brad laughed, patting Jay on the shoulder. “Exactly. See what I mean about making other people’s words your own?”
“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it like that.” Logan nodded.
“None of us would have expected you to think too deeply about anything.” Lance was smug as always.