Hating the Rich Bastard

by Hamel, B. B.

  “Are you ready?” I ask, handing her the pen.

  She bites her lip. “Not at all.”

  “This is going to be good,” I say. “We’re going to do nothing but make music together.”

  “I don’t know if that’s terrifying or exciting.”

  “It’s both.”

  She takes the pen with a laugh and signs her name at the bottom. Once that’s done, I fold it up and put it back into the briefcase.

  “I feel like I just made a deal with the devil.”

  “Maybe you did.” I grin at her. “Nice doing business with you. I’ll take your soul now, please.”

  She laughs nervously. “Seriously though, now what?”

  “Now I go get this notarized and I get my people to cut you a check. You can go do whatever you want.”

  “You’re seriously giving me three hundred thousand dollars right up front?”

  “Seriously,” I say, nodding. “But it’s not for free. Tomorrow we’re getting to work.”

  “What are we doing tomorrow?”

  I grin and shrug. “Who knows. That’s the beauty of it, right?”

  I laugh but she doesn’t look so sure. I don’t care, though. I head toward the control room and pause at the door.

  “Tomorrow at six in the morning. Can you be there?”

  She frowns. “Six? That’s so early.”

  “I know. Only hour free on the schedule tomorrow.”

  “Okay then. I’ll be there.”

  “Pleasure doing business with you.” I leave the live room, hurrying down the studio’s hall.

  I’m buzzing with nervous energy. I feel so alive and so nervous all at once.

  This can so easily go horribly wrong. I could be way off about Alice and she could end up being a total nut. Or maybe she’s just not nearly as talented as I think she is.

  Or maybe I don’t have an album in me, and all my fears are going to be realized all at once.

  It doesn’t matter. I’ll find out, starting tomorrow.

  I grin as I walk down the street, heading toward our offices. There’s so much potential in tomorrow, and for the first time in a long time, I can’t wait to get to work.

  10

  Alice

  I roll out of bed, put on some clothes, make some coffee, and head out. I consider just walking to the studio, but I don’t want to wait, so I order an Uber.

  I guess I can afford one now.

  Three hundred thousand dollars. That’ll pay for my nana’s stuff for a long time, plus I’ll be taken care of on top of it. I think I can squeeze at least four or five years of living frugally, three if I keep letting myself take an Uber whenever I want.

  This is going to change my life. I can already feel it in my gut.

  Now though, I have to actually follow through with this whole deal.

  It’s bizarre, meeting a man that wants to make music with me. I’m so wary of him, afraid of when he’s going to flake out and run away or do something equally shitty to me. I did sign a contract though, and that binds him as much as it binds me.

  We’re in this, whether we want to be or not.

  I keep seeing his face as I was about to leave that room. He looked so dismayed, but so passionate at the same time. I believed what he was telling me, but not because I think he’s right.

  I believed him because he has so much faith in this.

  It’s almost intoxicating, to meet someone that thinks I can make his music better. I’ve never had anyone in my life take a risk on me like this. I’ve been told that I’m talented before, but never by someone willing to put out time and money on me.

  This is the first time I actually believe it.

  I drink my coffee from a travel mug, staring out at the city as it flashes past. The Uber drops me off out front and I use the code to get into the studio.

  Ben is already inside, sitting in the control room. He looks up as I sit down on the little couch in the back.

  “Morning,” he says, swiveling toward me with a mug in his hand.

  “Morning,” I say, and yawn.

  “I thought you were a morning person now.”

  “Nope. Just forced to be by some creepy record suit.”

  He laughs. “Sounds awful. I bet he’s a real ass.”

  “He definitely is.”

  I give him a little smile and he smirks at me for a second in return. He’s so damn handsome I have to look away finally. I keep remembering why I want him so badly, and it’s definitely not a good thing, being so close.

  “I figured this morning we’ll just get everything set up. That okay with you?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “And before we get started…” He stands up and pulls something from his pocket. It’s a plain white envelope.

  I take it from him.

  “Now we’re in business,” he says.

  I open it and sure enough, there’s a check for three hundred thousand dollars.

  I stare at it. “What do I even do with this?”

  “Take it to a bank, probably,” he says, shrugging.

  “Shit. This is so much money.”

  “I know. Great, right?” He fiddles with some dials.

  “What do I do now?”

  He glances back at me. “Why don’t you tune that piano?”

  I hesitate before laughing. “Okay, smartass. I guess I will.”

  He grins and I feel his eyes on me as I go into the live room, sit down at the piano, and start my process.

  I always tune pianos exactly the same way. I play my melody once through, paying close attention to the piano itself and not to my playing. That’s why I use my own song, because I’m so intimately familiar with playing it that I can ignore my fingers for a second and just hear the music.

  After that, I start making adjustments. I do that over and over until the piano’s pretty much perfect.

  Sometimes it takes me five minutes, sometimes it takes me an hour. One piano was so bad and so out of tune that it took me two hours before I realized that it was hopeless and the whole thing had to be burned to the ground.

  Not really. I figured it out eventually. But I wasn’t happy about spending a whole Saturday afternoon tuning that piano for fifty bucks.

  I forget all about Ben in the control room while I do this. I fall into my pattern and my rhythm and do my thing, tweaking the pitch, playing the song, tweaking the pitch, until it feels right.

  It takes me maybe fifteen minutes this time.

  “What do you think?” I ask him.

  He switches on the intercom. “I think you should go bend over again and really get in that piano.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Seriously, it sounds okay?”

  “It sounds great,” he says. “And I was serious about you bending over a little bit for me.”

  I groan and stand up. “Don’t be a pig. I’m not doing this if you’re a pig.”

  “Please. You love it when I tease you.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I keep thinking about you with an axe in your hand, you gripping that big, hard wood—”

  “Okay, I get it.” I walk out of the live room and into the control room.

  “—stroking it slowly before you whip it down and, oh, yeah, it really gets in there deep.”

  “Are you done?” I ask him.

  He shrugs, turning off the intercom. “I guess so.”

  “Good.” I walk over to the couch and sit back down. “It’s all tuned, sir.”

  “Oh, yeah, I like when you call me sir.”

  “This is going to be a very long process, isn’t it?”

  “Not with that attitude!” He grins at me. “Anyway, listen to this.”

  He flips some switches and runs some tape back. At first, it’s just tape hiss, but then I hear it.

  My song, my melody. He recorded me tuning the piano.

  I sit there, unable to stop listening. It’s weird, hearing my song played back for the first time. I notice little errors I made, little thin
gs I’d change. He plays the whole tuning session, all fifteen minutes, and each new iteration I play sounds just a little bit better.

  Until the last one. He stops the tape, goes back, and plays it again.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “It sounds pretty good,” I admit.

  “It sounds amazing.” He laughs a little bit. “Honestly, I wanted you to tune the piano just so we could get this.”

  “Really?”

  “I didn’t want you to know I was recording. I figured it would be better if you played it like you always do, and I think I was right.”

  I bite my lip but I don’t argue. I hate to admit it, but he really was right.

  “Come on, it’s not so bad. I’m going to be right sometimes, you know.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Anyway, come on. I have some ideas for what we can do with that.”

  I watch him get up and head into the live room. I stay in the control for a second, watching him sit down on a stool and start playing an electric guitar he has plugged into an old vintage amp nearby. He looks so calm and confident…

  But I can sense something else. Something lurking under everything.

  He’s nervous. He’s taking this seriously.

  I smile to myself. Despite the flirting, he’s here for the music.

  And that’s what I want. I want to be here for the music and nothing else. So what if he’s rich and handsome? It doesn’t matter if he owns an awesome record label. He’s still just another rich bastard, and he’ll probably flake on me the first opportunity he gets.

  I finally follow him into the live room and we sit across from each other for forty minutes, talking songs, talking music. By the time the engineer for the next session shows up, we’re deep into what we’re doing, and I actually don’t want to stop.

  But he calls it. “We’ll try again tomorrow,” he says as we walk out of the studio together.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll come with some ideas.”

  “Good. You better be ready.”

  “I’m always ready.”

  He laughs and walks off with a wave.

  I watch him go, wondering what the hell I just got myself into. I decide to head right to a bank to deposit his check, but afterward, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Maybe visit my nana. Definitely cancel all my lessons.

  I don’t need to do those right now. I finally have a job where I have some freedom, and for once in my life, I don’t need to scramble.

  I almost don’t know what to do with myself. It feels amazing.

  And it’s all thanks to that rich bastard.

  11

  Ben

  “Oh, hey, Ben. What’s this I hear about you taking up studio time?”

  Markus ducks his head into my office later that day. It’s nearly five and most of the floor is starting to slowly file out for the afternoon, tired from a long day, but I feel energized. I feel like I have a new purpose.

  Except for this conversation.

  I’ve been dreading this ever since I came up with the idea.

  I should’ve done it right away. Hell, I should’ve done it before I even approached Alice at all. I just couldn’t help myself.

  I was excited. I was energized.

  “Shut the door,” I say to him, not wanting this to spill out into the hallway.

  Markus is the other half of Somesuch and any big decisions are supposed to be run past him first. We don’t do anything without each other.

  Well, that’s not totally true. We have our own little areas of expertise and we don’t really bother checking in on each other for stuff like that. I do talent, he does business. It’s always been like that.

  Unfortunately, this situation is a little bit of both.

  “What’s going on?” he asks me, sitting down.

  “I’m making a little change,” I tell him.

  “Little change?” He raises an eyebrow. “It sounds like you’re starting to record your own stuff.”

  “Yeah. Pretty much.”

  He nods a little. “Okay, okay. That’s cool, man. You know I’ve been encouraging that for a long time now.”

  “I know, and I’m finally doing it.”

  “But you gotta run it past me first. At least for the procedural stuff, like studio time and all that.”

  “I know. I meant to sooner, it’s just… things moved fast.”

  He sighs a little, shaking his head with a smile. “Always does with you.”

  I grin. “Slow is boring.”

  “I know you think that.” He stretches a little. “Look, if you want studio time, take it. Just make sure it’s on the schedule. I’ll work around it.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “As for other resources…” He trails off, giving me a look.

  It’s my turn to sigh. “You know about her?”

  “I saw the contract you set up.”

  “The money came from my pocket,” I say quickly. “That wasn’t a dime of company money.”

  “Good. That makes this conversation much simpler then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He leans forward, staring into my eyes. “You’re being dumb as fuck.”

  I blink, taken aback. I don’t think Markus has ever been that up front or harsh with me in all the years we’ve known each other.

  We’ve had disagreements. Everyone does. You can’t be in a long-term partnership with another human being and not have disagreements. It just doesn’t happen.

  But we’ve always been cool about it. That though, that was harsh.

  I suck it up and refuse to let myself lose control. “How am I being dumb?” I ask him.

  “I know you’re into this girl, but bringing her on to your album? What do you even know about her?”

  “Enough,” I say.

  He waits for me to go on, but I refuse. After a second, he sighs.

  “So basically, you know what she fucks good and can play the piano.”

  “What else do I need to know?”

  “Come on, Ben. You’ve been wanting to make something on your own for a long time. Are you really gonna risk it on this girl?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “But for now, it looks like I am.”

  “I think it’s a mistake. If you want players, we can get you some players. Real guys with reasonable rates. Hell, we can even get some songwriters if you want.”

  I glare at him. “I don’t need that. Plus, I already gave her the money.”

  His eyes bug out. “You fucking gave her three hundred thousand up front?”

  “Wrote her a check.”

  “Jesus, man. What’s stopping her from running like hell?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” I say, shrugging. “She could disappear tonight if she wanted.”

  “You don’t think she will.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I wish I could understand this faith you have in a total stranger.” He stands up and walks back toward the door. “It just makes no fucking sense to me.”

  “Come tomorrow morning,” I say quickly.

  He stops and looks back at me. “What’s that?”

  “Come tomorrow and hear her play. Talk to her a little bit. Maybe you’ll understand.”

  He watches me for a second. “Is this really important to you?”

  “Yeah, man. It’s important.”

  He sighs. “Fine. I’ll wake my ass up early and meet you at the studio.”

  “Good. You’ll get it then.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He doesn’t look confident as he leaves my office.

  * * *

  I’m sitting on the front stoop when Markus approaches with a cup of coffee and a frown.

  “Morning,” he grunts.

  “Morning,” I say, standing.

  “It’s fucking early.”

  “I know. When was the last time you got up around now?”

  “College,” he grumbles. “Maybe never. I don’t know.”

&nb
sp; “Well, come on. She’s already inside.”

  He gives me a look but doesn’t say anything. I know he’s really protective about the studio, but it’s a little silly to worry about a woman that’s been tuning our pianos all alone in there at two in the morning for months. If she wanted to fuck with the equipment, she could’ve done it by now.

  I unlock the door and he follows me inside. We walk down the hallway together, not saying much. I wonder how many times he’s been in here in the past year.

  Markus doesn’t do any production work. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t have all that much interest in the creative side at all. I mean, he likes music and likes talking about the new acts, but for him, it’s about the money.

  I appreciate that. I’m like that too, although maybe not so much as him.

  I want to make money doing this. I’m not in the music business for free. At the end of the day, Somesuch has to be a profitable business.

  But I also love the art of making recorded sound. There’s so much involved here, from the microphones to the studio space itself. There are so many layers that can go right and wrong, and playing with all the variables is one of the most exciting things in the world.

  One tweak and a mundane track can turn to magic. It’s thrilling, finding that tweak.

  We walk into the control room. Alice is in the live room sitting at the piano, noodling around with some new tune I haven’t heard yet. I let her just play while Markus sits down on the couch, sipping his coffee and looking miserable.

  It’s a pretty tune, but she’s clearly not happy with it. She keeps stopping, going back, making slight tempo changes. It’s the sort of stuff I’ve always done, little obsessive tweaks, just trying to find that perfect sound.

  I look back at him and Markus just shrugs. “Decent player, sure. Not worth three hundred thousand.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, fine.” I turn back to the console and hit the intercom. “Hi, Alice.”

  She jumps a little and looks over at me. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, asshole.”

  I hear Markus snicker behind me. “Can you play that song?” I ask her. “The one I really like.”