Once in a Lifetime: (Becky) (Unnamed Duo Book 1)

by Luana Ferraz

  “Fancy,” Pete scoffs.

  We wait three hundred hours for Neil to show up.

  “Hey, guys!” He greets us excitedly when he enters. “We’re still a bit early, but I’ll see if they can move the meeting up.”

  We watch in silence as he sits in front of us and texts someone. Another one hundred and ninety-eight hours go by before he speaks again.

  “Great!” He claps his hands, looking up. “Ready?”

  We only nod. I’m not sure how I’ll be able to participate in a call meeting when I can’t talk.

  “Neil, good to hear your voice,” the guy on the other side of the call says.

  “You, too, Glen,” Neil says, placing his phone in the middle of the table. “I’m here with Pete and Becky.”

  We say our hellos to this Glen guy. Then I realize I have no idea who he is.

  “Okay, I’m here with Jeff and Chris,” Glen says. I also don’t know who they are, but Neil wiggles his eyebrows. “And let me start by saying what a fantastic run you two had!”

  “Thank you, mister Reynolds,” Pete says. Of course, he would know who the guy is.

  “Please, call me Glen. This is an informal conversation,” the man replies. We glance at each other. “We’ve been hearing a lot of good things about you two, you’ve created quite the buzz! That article on Peroxide caught a lot of people’s attention, we think an offer might be popping up on your emails very soon.”

  Pete and I glance at each other again. Something sounds off. Then we look at Neil, who is now significantly less confident than when he entered.

  “Erm…” Pete hesitates, looking at Neil for guidance, but he’s staring at the phone with a deep frown. “Offer? For a record deal, you mean?”

  “Oh, yes, yes!” Glen continues. “I’m certain you’ll have plenty to choose from. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Sure,” Pete answer flatly.

  “I just wanted to let you guys know that you’ll have our full support. We’re making ourselves available in case you need help with anything,” he says.

  Wait, so… no deal? Is that what he’s saying?

  Pete looks at me, deflated. I feel exactly the same way.

  “Thank you, mister Reynolds,” Pete says. “This means a lot.”

  “We here at Blast Records are very excited to see you guys blossom and take the industry by storm.”

  There’s a long pause after that, in which neither of us knows what to say. Luckily, Neil takes the lead.

  “Glen,” he clears his throat, pulling the phone a little closer to him. “Let me see if I’m understanding this correctly—you’re not offering them a deal?”

  “Oh, Neil!” Glen gasps, as if that was such an outrageous notion. “No, we’re not. Not at this time, anyway.”

  “When, then?” Neil asks, getting irritated.

  “Neil—”

  “I’m sorry, Glen, but I think there must have been some kind of miscommunication between us,” Neil cuts him off, now fully grabbing the phone. “I was under the impression—and, see, I may have passed the same impression onto Pete and Becky—that Blast was interested in adding them to their roster.”

  “I’m really sorry to hear that, Neil,” Glen says, in such a conceited tone that even if they do offer us a deal now, I’m inclined to refuse. “Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to do that right now.”

  “You’re the fucking CEO!” Neil snaps.

  I can feel Pete’s hand find mine under the table, but I can’t take my eyes off Neil—I think this is the first time I hear him curse.

  “As I said,” Glen speaks up, after a moment, “at this time, there’s no deal on the table. But I would like to reinforce our interest in being useful, in however way we can, to Pete and Becky in the future.”

  “Thank you, mister Reynolds,” Pete kind of shouts, making Neil jump. He puts the phone back on the table. “We really appreciate it.”

  He squeezes my hand, maybe wanting me to say something, since I’ve been mute the whole time. I refuse, though. I don’t appreciate anything.

  “I’m really looking forward to building a strong relationship with you two,” Glen says, his fake cheery tone back. “Thank you for your time and I hope to talk to you soon.”

  “Thank you,” Pete says.

  “Okay, Glen, we should go,” Neil says, grabbing the phone again. “We have a plane to catch.”

  “Yes, call me as soon as you land in Paris, will you?” Glen asks, the playfulness completely gone.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Neil says. And then hangs up.

  Pete’s grip tightens around my hand as we observe Neil, who’s still observing the phone. This is clearly not the meeting he was expecting to have and, somehow, it soothes a bit of my frustration.

  The silence drags on. Pete opens his mouth to say something, but I squeeze his hand, shaking my head. We wait, until Neil takes a deep breath and shouts.

  “Those fucking bastards!”

  We both jump in our seats. I have to bite my lip not to laugh.

  “I’m so sorry, guys,” he looks at us, true regret in his eyes. “I had no idea this would be the outcome of this meeting. I should have never hinted at anything.”

  “It’s clearly not your fault,” I say.

  “It was because of… me, right?” Pete blurts out. Both Neil and I look at him wide-eyed. “Because of what happened with Paul?”

  “No, Pete, it wasn’t,” Neil argues. “It definitely wasn’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I haven’t told them!” he kind of shouts again. He’s so worked up. It’s funny because he’s always so calm and laid back. “I didn’t tell anyone, except Mike. You know, The Hacks manager.”

  “Maybe he—”

  “No, Pete, he didn’t,” Neil cuts him off. “This is just them being the assholes they usually are.”

  “Well…” I sigh. “What now?”

  I ask it to Pete, but it’s Neil who answers.

  “One thing he was right about is that a lot of people are interested,” he says. Which kind of gives me a little hope again. “I know for a fact there were industry people at some of the concerts. They’re holding back because everyone was sure Blast would make an offer first, and you guys would accept it, seeing as we’ve been working together throughout the tour.”

  “I’m not accepting anything from any of them,” I say bitterly. It actually makes Neil smile.

  “That would be my advice,” he says. “Even if Blast does come up with an offer in the next days or weeks—don’t take it. You can definitely do better.”

  “How will we know which one to take, though?” Pete asks. “How will we know we’re not getting someone like Glen? That is, if we even get an offer at all.”

  “You will, I promise,” Neil continues. “I can help, if you want. I can look through it, talk to people. Not everyone in this business is a dickhead like Glen.”

  “Okay,” I nod. An idea starts to form in my head. “Should we just wait, then?”

  “Yes,” he says. “I mean, you’re just coming off a tour, and an exhausting one at that. I suggest you take a few days or even weeks off. But also…” he stops himself, kind of unsure whether to continue.

  “Also?” I encourage him.

  “I’d suggest you compile a few demos together,” he says, and then the rhythm of his speech picks up. “Make sure you include a good version of She’s Not Mine, that’s the one everyone will want to hear. But if you could write a couple of new songs over the next weeks, that would be great. It will sit really well with any label if they get the impression that you’re not willing to wait around for a deal. When they see you’re already working towards the next project, they’ll get anxious to snatch you.”

  I nod, looking at Pete. He nods, too. I have the impression he’s thinking the same thing I am.

  “I could get the word out that Blast is out of the battle,” Neil continues, “but I think that would speed up the process, and I really think you
guys should rest for a bit.”

  We look back at him.

  “And you have to take care of that restraining order,” he points a finger at Pete. “Don’t forget, please. It’s important.”

  “Okay,” Pete nods.

  We glance at each other for a few more moments.

  “I’m really sorry, guys,” Neil repeats.

  “Please,” I say, waving a hand in the air. “This was actually a really helpful meeting.”

  “Indeed. You could actually be our manager, mate,” Pete says, confirming my suspicion that we were thinking the same thing.

  Neil laughs, but we don’t. When he notices Pete is not joking, he stops. His eyes widen in surprise.

  “You should be our manager,” I say bluntly. He scoffs, shaking his head, but saying nothing.

  “Yeah, mate,” Pete speaks again, “we’ll be rich! We can pay you a lot more than this pop label of yours.”

  “I’ll really miss working with you guys,” he sighs, giving us a warm smile.

  “You won’t need to if you are our manager,” I insist.

  He glances from me to Pete several times, scratching his beard. He’s going to accept it, I know he will.

  “I’d love to give Glen the middle finger, if I’m being honest,” he admits. “But I can’t abandon The Hacks in the middle of the tour.”

  “You don’t need to,” I argue. “Finish the tour. We’ll be waiting.”

  “Yeah,” Pete nods slowly. “It’s not like we’re in a hurry or anything.”

  Neil nods, staring at us. He’s accepting it. We have a manager.

  “How about this,” he says, leaning over the table, “Go home, get that restraining order, write and record two new demos, don’t schedule any gigs or reply to any emails. And we’ll talk in two weeks.”

  “Is this a yes?” I grin.

  “No,” he says, but smiles, too. It is a yes. “It is a ‘we’ll talk in two weeks’.”

  “Deal,” Pete says. He’s grinning, too. “We’ll talk in two weeks.”

  ***

  When we get back to the lobby, everyone is already waiting. My eyes immediately lock on Tyler. As if he knows I’m looking, he turns to me. His permanent frown immediately dissolves into a smile. Which makes me smile. Default.

  I make a beeline to him and when he hugs my waist, leaning down to kiss me, I let him.

  “Ew,” I hear Tristan complaining. So I make the whole thing a little hotter.

  “Okay,” Tyler breaks the kiss, pulling me away a little bit and mouthing calm down. I giggle. I don’t even care.

  I throw my arms down, hugging his waist and resting my head on his chest. When I turn around, I see Tristan with his phone on his hands, pointing towards us.

  “What are you doing?” I frown.

  “Just a little souvenir,” he says.

  “Perv,” I scoff, making him laugh.

  Our brief moment is interrupted by Neil and instructions to get to the airport. Apparently, there are fans outside—a lot of them. Upon hearing this news, I automatically let go of Tyler and glance around the lobby. What if one of them is here?

  We change exit routes four times before Neil is convinced it’s safe, and then he separates us into the two usual groups. He sends The Hacks off first, in hopes they’ll drive the crowd out with them, but it turns out to be a bad idea. A lot of the people waiting outside decide to follow their van, which only slows things down for us.

  We sit around, waiting in silence. I watch Pete and Lindsey ignoring each other as they go through their phones. I suddenly have the urge to talk to her—we haven’t properly talked in days. I’ve been so busy, so distracted, that I completely neglected her presence, when she probably needed it the most. Ugh. If there was an award for terrible friends, I’d have no competition.

  Before I have the time to come up with something, though, Neil beckons for us to leave. I’m surprised to see there are still people waiting outside for us.

  “Sorry guys, we can’t stop,” Pete waves to them as we head to the van.

  “Can we just take a group photo?” one of the girls shouts eagerly. “Just look our way, we’re already organized!”

  We both stop and look at them—turned around, crowding together, kneeling on the ground, just waiting for a quick pic. We exchange a knowing glance and run up to the small group.

  “Guys!” Neil calls after us, but we don’t stop.

  “Quick!” I say as we huddle together and half a dozen cell phones take pics.

  “Thank you!”

  “You’re the best!”

  “Marry me, Pete!”

  They yell as we run back to the van.

  “Sorry,” I say when we head off, “but we’re already late, anyway.”

  “This is my fault, guys,” Neil sighs. “We spent three days in the same place, of course fans would show up.”

  “It’s okay,” Pete replies, “we have the best fans.”

  “You really do,” Lindsey chimes in. “They’re so polite, I can’t get over it. Especially after seeing The Hacks’ ones.”

  “I just hope you do a better job in the future, Neil” I joke, but he looks at me in panic. “I’m joking!”

  We take our seats—me and Lindsey in the back, Pete and Neil in the front.

  Lindsey puts on her headphones and stares out of the window. I don’t have much time to show her my support and actually tell her I want to stay friends, and it’s not like I can say it out loud now, anyway. So I text her.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  It takes her a few minutes to notice her phone buzzing. When she sees the text, she turns to me with a frown. I smile.

  ‘I’m hanging. You?’ she replies.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say.

  She replies with a smiley emoji, flashing a real smile my way, too. And then looks out of the window.

  It’s not good enough. Christ, why am I so bad at this? But if I have any chance to tell her what I want to tell her, it’s gonna be through text—with time to think about it and delete and rewrite the same thing a dozen times. So, it’s what I do. I spend long minutes compiling a long, long text. If Pete saw it, he’d be dead jealous—I usually just reply to him with emojis.

  ‘I’m really sorry about what happened. I’m sorry I’ve been kind of distant these past few days, but I don’t want you to think it’s because I’m picking sides. I’m not. I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m here if you want to talk about it. About anything, really. I know I have this thing with Pete, but I’m your friend, too. And I’d like to keep being your friend, if you think it’s possible. You’re an amazing person and you deserve to be happy.’

  I watch her in silence as she reads it. She takes longer than necessary, which means she’s reading it more than once. I can’t tell what she’s making of it because she’s frowning. Oh, God. Maybe this wasn’t the best moment to talk about it.

  After a while, she locks her screen and looks up—at Pete. She’s still frowning. Then, she takes her headphones off and hugs me. It takes me by surprise, but I hug her back. I hope this is a good sign.

  “I would love to keep being your friend, Becky,” she whispers into my ear.

  “Okay,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.

  “And the same goes to you,” she says when she lets me go, staring into my eyes. “I’m here if you want to talk about anything.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  After that, she puts her headphones back on, but keeps holding my hand. It makes me all warm inside. I like it.

  ***

  We make it to departure and locate the rest of our group scattered around. As it’s become usual, my eyes immediately find Tyler—sitting alone, headphones on, squinting at his phone. I wonder if he needs glasses. Then I picture him wearing glasses. Oh, boy.

  “Do you mind if I talk to him first?” Lindsey’s voice pulls me out of my fantasy.

  I look at her, who’s looking at Pete. He nods. Then we both watch her walk towards Tristan�
�who’s also sitting alone, on the floor—and sit down beside him.

  “What is she doing?” I ask. Pete jumps, apparently not seeing I was still here.

  “I have no idea,” he says faintly.

  We keep watching. They’re talking and smiling a little. Are they making up? Are any of them apologizing? Then, they hug. It takes me by surprise.

  She stands up and instead of walking back to us, she joins Neil and Seth in a corner. When I look back at Tristan, he’s looking at us.

  “He’s all yours,” I joke. Pete doesn’t smile.

  “I have to talk to someone else first,” he says. I watch as he walks towards Tyler and sits beside him.

  I frown, not really liking this turn of events. Then, I glance at Tristan, who’s back to his phone. I walk over and join him.

  “Lunch in Paris, eh?” I elbow his ribs and he glances up from his phone for just a second before burying his face back on it. So I continue, “I’ve never been to Paris.”

  “It’s not that special,” he says in a boring tone.

  “What’s your favorite place you’ve ever been to?” I ask.

  “Probably Japan, it’s the most different,” he continues without looking at me.

  “And your least favorite? Please, don’t say here,” I joke, making him finally smile.

  “I don’t think I have one,” he says to his phone. “I like traveling to different places.”

  “And meeting different people?” I ask.

  “Sometimes,” he shrugs.

  “Did you like meeting me?” I blurt out. He immediately stops scrolling and turns to me.

  “Of course,” he says, frowning. “You’re currently my favorite person ever.”

  “That,” I say, pointing to his face, “is a lie.”

  He blushes slightly, looking away. Not to his phone, but not to anyone in particular.

  “Do you regret it?” I ask. He takes a long time to answer, which makes me think he doesn’t know what I’m referring to. He does, though.

  “I don’t know,” he says sadly. “I’ll tell you in a few days.”

  We stare at each other in silence and, for the first time, I’m overwhelmed by the feeling of not wanting to say goodbye. I don’t want him out of my life. I don’t want him to feel alone.