by Zuri Day
“The guys I just worked with?”
“No, another band. But those guys have music over there, too.”
“Could you send me a link? I’d love to hear more of their music.”
“Will do. So are you staying in the city for the weekend?”
“Just until Saturday. This is Lionel’s first time here, so all day tomorrow we’re going sightseeing, then tomorrow night we’re hoping to see a play.”
“I’ll tell the driver to stay with you. It will make it easier to get around.”
“Oh no. I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. Don’t try and talk me out of it.”
“That is so generous of you.” Jan hugged him again. Lionel voiced his appreciation, too. “Thanks again for everything.”
“It was my pleasure.”
For the rest of the stay, Jan and Lionel had the time of their lives. With a driver, they planned the stops and attractions strategically based on location and were able to see much more than catching various taxis would have afforded. Because of Lionel’s wheelchair they were also moved to the front of most lines and given the best seats just about everywhere they went. Lionel learned that everything, even his disability, had a positive side.
They arrived home Saturday night. Doug picked them up at the airport and dropped Lionel off at home. He took her to the restaurant where Nelson worked. With a movie, Jan telling Doug all about New York, and Doug showing Jan how much he’d missed her, they didn’t get to sleep until almost four o’clock.
The following week, life was back to normal. The post office by day, rehearsal by night, and a show at Breeze on Friday. After the show, she saw a missed call from Peter. His message was for her to visit the ReverbNation Web site ASAP. She did. And couldn’t believe it. “Who I Am” was number one on three charts: funk, rock, and pop!
42
First thing Monday morning, Jan got a call.
“Hello, is this Jan Baker?”
Jan frowned at the unfamiliar voice. “Yes, who’s this?”
“Hi. My name is D’Andra. You don’t know me. I work with my husband, JaJuan Simmons. We own several fitness centers in the LA area.”
“And you’re calling me? Are you sure you have the right number?”
D’Andra laughed. “I’m positive.”
“I’m sorry to sound so skeptical, but as out of shape as I am I can’t imagine why the owner of a fitness center would be calling.”
“I totally understand. Believe me if I’d gotten a similar phone call, even today, that would be my reaction, too. This isn’t about the fitness center. Well, it is, but not in the way you’re thinking. I heard your song last night. And I love it. I absolutely love it.”
“Oh.”
“Girl, you did your thing on that number.”
“I didn’t know that so many people listened to the ReverbNation Web site.”
“Actually, I don’t, but someone who does told my husband about you. He went on, heard the song, and immediately called me. I listened to the song, jammed to the beat. Then I listened to it again and really heard the words. Then I listened to it again and started feeling like I wanted to strut my stuff, and by the fourth time I was singing around my house with my kids looking at mama like she’d lost her mind.”
“Wow, D’Andra, that makes me so excited. How you reacted is exactly how I want people to feel!”
“Girl, that song is inspired! I could relate to every single word. Did you write it?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it! And you lived it, too, huh?”
“Sure did.”
“I told Night that the way you sang it you had to have written those words yourself and you had to have lived them!”
“You told who?”
“Night, that’s what everyone calls JaJuan, my husband. Night Simmons.”
“Ah, the trainer. I’ve heard that name. He has a workout video.”
“Several, on DVD, MP3, and YouTube.”
“And a gym over in Ladera Heights. I know who you’re talking about now. Of course I’ve seen him. And I’ve heard about you. The wife who lost weight after having the baby.”
“Child, I needed to lose weight long before a baby came along. But yes, after having our son I had to do it all over again and now that our daughter has arrived, it’s déjà vu. I listened to that song and thought, wow, that is so inspiring. I wanted to download it, but it isn’t for sale yet. So I went digging on the Internet, found your number, and here I am because, girl, I want, no, I’ve got to have that song. I’d love to use it as part of our routine. We have this program especially for overweight women, many, in fact all of them, suffering self-esteem issues and this song is badass! It’s just what they need to help motivate them and at the same time let them know that they’re good right now, in the shape they’re in, at the weight they are. It’s just, girl, you just don’t know how this song will motivate women. I want your permission to use it in our exercises and make a special routine.”
“Stop!”
“I’m serious, Jan. I jumped my butt off that couch and was squatting and lifting and throwing punches and the music was perfect! I know I’m going on and on and you are probably wondering who is this crazy woman, but when I heard that song, I felt like I know you. Like we haven’t met but I know you, because I know we’ve experienced some of the same things. And I just had to find you and call you and thank you, first of all. And secondly, try and get that song!”
“I’m just speechless, really. This whole thing, writing the song, recording it, came out of nowhere. We just put it on the site a week ago, just to see what would happen and here I am getting a call from Night Simmons’s wife, who was in . . . what magazine was it?”
“Capricious.”
“Yes, that’s it. Wow. This is crazy.”
“Well, all I can tell you is get ready because I have a feeling your life is getting ready to change. Big time. There’s something about that song that is so powerful, and the way you sing it so irreverently just like the song says. ‘I don’t give a damn, I’m who I am.’ That is such a universal thought even if we really do care but don’t want to, you know what I’m saying?”
“I know exactly what you’re saying.”
“So, yes, girl, I think you’ve got a hit right there so . . . either change your number or get another phone because I have a feeling your line is going to be blowing up real soon.”
Jan would later tell D’Andra she had no idea how right she was.
43
“I’m so nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous, baby girl. You’ve got this.”
After topping several charts on ReverbNation, “Who I Am” was put into rotation at radio stations across the country. Jan’s phone had been buzzing all week with interview requests. Today she sat in the waiting room for her very first one, which would be given live on LA’s number one pop station. Doug had volunteered to drive her there. She’d eagerly accepted. Though still apprehensive about the process and just what to expect, she felt better with Doug there.
The door to the room opened. “Ms. Baker, they’re ready for you in the studio.”
“Can Doug come, too?”
“Of course. Right this way.”
The room was larger than she’d imagined. The famous DJ Mark Ocean, who sounded larger than life across the airways, was smaller, but friendly. As commercials played, he removed his headset and jumped up to greet her.
“How ya doin’? Mark Ocean.”
“Jan Baker.”
“Doug Carter.”
They shook hands. Mark looked at Doug. “Are you her manager?”
“Yes.” This was said without hesitation. Jan just smiled.
“Well, have a seat over there, guys, next to the engineer. We’re on right after the break.”
Jan sat and looked around. It was her first time in a radio station and the closest brush with fame she’d had since Showtime at the Apollo ten years ago. Heari
ng Mark’s voice, one she’d heard over the radio on so many mornings, felt surreal. Sitting here, like an out-of-body experience, one that she was jolted out of by Mark’s excited on-air delivery.
“And we’re back. It’s Mark in the morning putting the motion in your ocean as you go to school, work, prison detail, the kitchen to get another cup of coffee, wherever you’re heading we’re heading there with you and on the way . . . we’re bringing the ‘Who I Am’ artist, Jan Baker! That’s right, guys, in the studio with me right now is the singer behind the song that in less than a week has taken the country by storm. It’s incredible! But understandable. Everybody wants to feel good about themselves and Jan Baker is giving all of us a reason! Jan, good morning!”
“Good morning, Mark.”
“Speak right into the mike, darling, so everyone can hear you. How does it feel to be an overnight sensation?”
“Great, especially since it’s an overnight that was about ten years in the making. But this is surreal, overwhelming even, but really good.”
“The song is so catchy, especially the hook. And you wrote this, right?”
“Yes, along with Doug”—she looked at him—“and my brother, Lionel. My band leader, Thump, wrote the original music and then producer Peter Thomas did the rocked out remix that’s just . . . exploded!”
“It’s exploded all right. I haven’t seen a song do this since Pharrell’s ‘Happy.’ And not many before that. So you were singing in a band before this happened?”
“Yes, it’s called the Real Deal. We have a standing engagement at a club called Breeze, in Inglewood, and we also do shows around town. Doug’s sister-in-law heard me at Breeze and asked us to perform at a holiday party. After hearing about an incident that happened at the club, and how I handled it, she asked if I could put what I said in a song.”
“What happened at the club?”
“Well, basically—”
“She got heckled,” Doug interjected. “Because of how she looks. Because she doesn’t fit society’s idea of an R & B or pop singer.”
“And somebody in the crowd heckled her? Seriously?”
“Yes,” Jan said, having again found her voice. “But that wasn’t new to me. I’ve always been what we call thick in my neighborhood. A chubby kid, an overweight teen, and now an average-size adult. Most women in America wear a size twelve. I wear between that and a sixteen depending on the cut and the designer. But that’s considered huge in the music industry, where size zero is common.”
“I hate to agree with you but have to admit that since the music video became such a crucial component to the marketing process, looks do play a major role. So how’d you handle this heckler?”
“With honesty. I signaled for them to take the music down and spoke from my heart. Told her that I’d always been a big girl and probably always would be. That’s just who I am.”
“Good for you, Jan Baker. Because of your courage and talent, a lot of young girls out there are feeling a whole lot better about being who they are, or as you say, who I am.”
The interview was quick, lasting less than ten minutes. They played the song and took a couple callers, thanking Jan for being a spokesperson for people considered “different.”
“I’m not a spokesperson,” she said, correcting the last caller. “But if this song becomes the anthem for people who are marginalized, discounted, considered weird or, like you say, different, or other, whatever . . . then I’m proud to have written it and to have shared it with you.”
Jan couldn’t imagine life getting any better. And then, the next morning, she got yet another phone call, this one the most unexpected.
“Hello,” she said, though she recognized the number.
“Jan, hey, it’s Nick Starr.”
44
Jan was shocked. What could he want? Only one way to find out. “Hello, Nick.”
“You’re probably surprised I’m calling.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“How could I not? Everybody’s jamming to you these days. I had to call with my congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m feeling a little chill in the air and it’s okay. I get it. You’re still mad at not being chosen for my show, but please understand, Jan, it wasn’t personal.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“Not at all. Look, this is a conversation that should be handled in person. Let me take you to lunch. I’ll explain everything.”
“That’s not possible. I work afternoons.”
“Then breakfast, right now. Just to hear me out, okay? Once you do, if you’re still upset, then I’ll cut my losses and move on. But if you’ll listen objectively not only to what I know about this business, but how I want to help you sustain what you’ve got going right now, then I think we can do some big things together.”
“How can that happen? I’m still the same size, the same weight. I wasn’t good enough to be on your show two months ago. What’s different now?”
“I was able to get the powers that be above to finally see what I saw all along. That’s what you don’t understand, Jan. My name is on the show, but others have money on the table and a say in how the show looks. Where do you live? I’ll come to wherever you suggest so that we can move past what happened and get to what’s possible.”
Jan agreed to meet him in an hour. On the way to a restaurant on Slauson Avenue, she called Doug.
“Hey, juicy.”
“Who?”
“That’s my new name for you, Juicy Jan. The only one who can call you that is me, your man.”
“Oh Lord. Keep working at the post office, baby, because a career in music or spoken word just won’t work out.”
“That’s okay. I know how to make it juicy, though. I know how to work that out.”
“I can’t argue with the truth.”
“So what’s up, juicy girl?”
“Nick called me.”
“Huh? Nick who?”
“Nick Starr.”
“And just like B.B. King,” Doug mumbled, “the thrill is gone.”
“Ha!”
“What did that asshole want?”
“I’m heading to a meeting to find out.”
“Where?” She told him. “I don’t like it, Jan. He’s just trying to capitalize on your success.”
“He doesn’t need me, Doug. He’s been a celebrity for years.”
“When’s the last time he had a hit record?”
“He’s getting ready to have a hit reality show, so yesterday doesn’t matter.”
“And now he wants you on it?”
“I don’t know. I just think he wants to apologize formally and have us end on a positive note. There are less than six degrees of separation in this industry. You never know when a connection might come in handy. And that goes both ways.”
“Jan, be very careful with that dude. Just a few weeks ago you weren’t good enough. Now you’re on the radio and people’s iPods and all of a sudden he’s got a spot. I don’t trust him for a second.”
“I’m not sure I do either. But I felt it in my best interest to at least go hear what he has to say.”
“I’m tempted to join you.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because refereeing clashing egos, which I’d surely be doing, would take the focus away from why we’re meeting. Besides, I’ll only have an hour or so with him before coming in to work.”
“That chump. He’s an opportunist. And a user.”
“He’s also a former platinum-selling artist with a track record in the industry and contacts that might help me. He’s not my favorite person either. I’d probably choose jerk over chump. But he is still a name in the business, with a hot show happening this summer. I’ve waited a long time for my chance to make this happen. So I’m keeping personal feelings out of it and focusing on business.”
“Make sure your focus is razor sharp. Because with a snake like him, you’re going to ne
ed it.”
Jan entered the restaurant and almost didn’t recognize the man sitting in a corner booth, his back to the front door. Starr wore a Yankees baseball cap and sunglasses. Guess he didn’t want to draw a crowd. What hadn’t changed was him on his cell phone, texting and scrolling as usual.
She sat down. “Hello, Nick.”
He took off his glasses and showed off his smile. After twenty years of hard, fast living, Nicholas Starr was still a fine man. “Hello there, talented lady. You’re looking good.”
“Not good enough for Starr Power, but I’m holding my own.”
He had the nerve to look contrite. “Fact of the matter is, you’re better than Starr Power. I knew that from the minute you opened your mouth. You don’t need me to coach you in how to rock a mike or handle yourself onstage.”
“No, but a record deal would be nice.”
He sighed, fell against the back of the booth. “I should have realized that, but I didn’t. I had producers in my ear talking about ratings, and what kind of people would bring the most drama and how they needed girls who were going to turn it up. I knew that wasn’t you, Jan. You’re too classy for that.”
Are you flirting? Seriously? He was, and in spite of his jerk status it wasn’t totally ineffective.
“So why am I here?”
“Because now that you’re on the charts they’ll finally listen to what I told them the whole ten weeks you tried out for the show. That you should be on it.”
“So let me get this straight. You wanted me on the show.”
“Hell yeah.”
“But your producers had other ideas.”
“The ones who put skin in the game, Jan, the ones who financed the show. My name is on the marquee, but I don’t have total control.” He leaned forward. “I know you won’t believe this, but I was always for you. Maybe I didn’t fight hard enough but now that you’ve given me radio-play ammunition, I’m ready to go back in that boardroom and do battle. I just need to know first, though, that you still want to be on the show.”
The waiter came over to take their order. Jan shook her head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
The waiter looked at Starr, her eyes widening slightly at the recognition. “I’ll take a tall glass of orange juice,” he told her, pulling a bill out of his wallet. “And I’d appreciate it if you let me remain anonymous.”