“The karaoke show?” Frankie, our bass player, asked with an amused sneer.
Andrew laughed nervously. “Guys, it’s a talent competition. And I’m not sure if you’re aware that Eli broke ground this season, writing his own songs and proving himself as a talented guitar player.”
Devon scoffed. Caleb, our guitar player, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Eli didn’t seem to notice. “So what’s he doing here?” I asked the question that hung heavy in the room.
“Gentleman, forgive me for not introducing the lovely Abby Gauthier to you.” Andrew winked at me. We weren’t that familiar. I didn’t like how this meeting was going so far.
“What’s she doing here?” Now Eli’s eyes were locked on mine, whoever blinked first, lost. What was at stake, I had no idea.
Devon bristled. “Abby’s our manager, and the heart and soul behind this band.”
Eli rolled his eyes, I wasn’t sure if it was intended for Devon or me. I didn’t bother watching what he did next.
“Abby was very instrumental in putting this meeting together, and I thank you for all your time and effort.” Andrew brought order back from the pissing contest that had broken out across the table. “As I was about to say, I was really excited that I happened to catch the Sinister Riot show here a few months ago when I was in town for a convention. The way you mix the big hooks of glam rock with a gritty southern sound, there aren’t a lot of bands out there doing that, not to mention doing it well. When I played the demos for my bosses, they agreed that Sinister Riot had potential for development.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Frankie asked, never one to pull punches.
“It means that the record company is willing to take a chance on Sinister Riot, but they have some concessions they’d like for you to agree to because they feel like they would give you the best chance of success,” Andrew said, like it was a good thing.
I wasn’t so sure. “Like what?”
“Good question, Abby.” My guard crept up further every time he used my name, we’d learned to do that in our communications classes, to give people an inflated sense of importance. “The record company feels that Eli Jamison would be an excellent fit for Sinister Riot. He’s got the raw talent needed for the strong guitar riffs that will really get the attention of potential fans. And his name recognition can only help you get where you want to be.”
“But I’m the guitar player.” Caleb said, so softly I’m not sure everyone actually heard him. He sat to the other side of me; I reached over and squeezed his hand.
“Caleb is our guitar player.” I was the band’s manager, and I wasn’t going to let them get screwed over because people with fancy jobs came here from New York City to talk to us. “So stop beating around the bush, Andrew, and tell us what the record company proposes.”
“They think it would be best if Eli replaced Caleb.”
“No fucking way.” Devon pushed his chair back from the table. “That’s bullshit.”
Frankie and Mo, the drummer, echoed the same sentiment. Caleb didn’t say a word, but his hand grew clammy in mine.
With my free hand, I grabbed Devon before he got up and did something he regretted. “Is that the only option?”
I broke my glare at Andrew only to check Eli’s reaction. This conversation hadn’t even affected him. Like his very presence in this room didn’t pierce the heart of this band like a bullet wound.
Andrew looked over at the lawyer, who nodded, then back to me. “I’m afraid so.”
Devon sat back down, tearing his hand from mine, and put his head down on the table. I could only hope he’d save his melodramatics for the stage, because I had no way to tell him to cool it without making the whole band look foolish. Hopefully he didn’t singlehandedly take care of that.
I didn’t need to be worrying about Devon’s outbursts right now. I needed a solution that would keep Caleb in the band, and these record company people interested. What they were proposing wasn’t fucking fair.
“Caleb wrote and performed the songs they fell in love with, why didn’t he get to reap the rewards? Because some reality show guy needed a job?” I needed to tell these record company people that they could take that shit somewhere else in the most professional way possible. Maybe that wasn’t it. All eyes on the room were on me, so I took a deep breath and continued. “What if we had two guitar players? Caleb could play rhythm guitar, and Eli can do whatever it is that you want him to do.”
Eli smirked. He shifted his weight in his seat, still watching my every move.
Devon picked his head up, I knew he was going to say something he’d regret. “Don’t,” I muttered just loud enough for him to hear.
“I think that’s a reasonable concession.” Andrew looked over at the lawyer, and he nodded. The lawyer opened a leather journal and started scribbling.
“I can live with that.” Everyone turned to look at Caleb. He looked down, it wasn’t exactly an admission of victory. He was still being replaced, he’d just agreed to play along.
“Okay, so what else does the record company want?” I was almost afraid to ask.
The lawyer pushed a thick pile of paperwork toward the middle of the table. “That’s the only major change that they suggested. This contract outlines a standard introductory three record deal. I suggest you have your legal counsel take a look over it before signing, of course.”
A three record deal. Three records with this smug bastard who hadn’t taken his eyes off of me since I walked in the room. And that was if things went well. But this is what we wanted. Everyone always said to be careful what you wished for. Now I knew why.
I leaned forward, taking the packet.
“Are you a lawyer, Abby?” Andrew asked without any hint of sarcasm. “I know you’ve mentioned school in our emails.”
Eli chuckled, and mumbled something that sounded like “best looking lawyer I ever saw.” At least, I was going to tell myself that's what he said, because I already only tolerating this guy as a means to an end.
“No.” I wasn’t going to let any of them rattle me. “I’ll make some phone calls tomorrow. But before I do that, I’m going to put it up for a vote. Is this what you guys want? We always make sure we agree on things around here. That’s not going to change.” I glared at Eli.
Caleb, Frankie, and Mo all agreed. Devon hadn’t said anything. He looked at me and shrugged. I nodded.
Devon let out a breath I think he’d been holding since we’d walked into the room. “I’m in.”
“So what happens now?” My whole body shook. This didn’t even feel real. The dream. It was coming true.
“Once the paperwork is signed, we can book time in the studio to record the album, and we’d really like to have at least a single ready for this summer. We’ve booked, tentatively of course, some tour dates with some big name acts.” Andrew’s enthusiasm from the beginning of the meeting was back. “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure things happen for you guys.”
“I don’t fucking like this.” Devon waited until we left The Jezebel to say what he really thought. Thank God for small favors. Even with the rest of the guys after the record company people and Eli left, he’d acted like this was the best thing that had ever happened to him. The funny thing was, it really was the best thing that ever happened to him. It was surreal on its own, even if it didn’t come with a catch. “They’ve got us by the balls.”
“Welcome to corporate America.” We didn’t hold hands on the way back to my apartment. Devon was too fired up. “It’s the only way to get what we want.”
“I think you should forget about trying to intern at a big label, and just start your own company. We can be your first act. If these guys think we’ve got something, then we’ve got it, no matter who we’re signed with.”
“If I could make you famous, I would have done it already.” I swatted at him before I dug into my purse for my key. The laughter of Mallory’s friends and muffled music greeted me as soon as I opene
d the door. Great. “This is going to get you in front of more people than you ever dreamed of.”
“Our CD cover is going to suck, you know that, right?”
I burst out laughing. “Probably. But at least you’ll have a CD to cover.”
Devon followed me upstairs. Fuck. I needed to study, now I was never going to be able to concentrate. Mal’s party. A record deal. With so much still to talk about. We should’ve been the ones celebrating. It would have to wait until a lawyer looked over that contract.
Had we had the place to ourselves, I would have pulled out the contract immediately. Devon started poking in my cabinets, always a hit or miss mission, and put a pot of water on the stove. Mallory’s friends didn’t bother to acknowledge us. I helped him clear space in the sea of food and beer bottles. “Macaroni and cheese?” he asked.
“Like there’s any other option.” It was really all I ever kept in the house, besides coffee. He knew better than to touch anything of Mallory’s.
Devon followed me to the bedroom and watched me read the packet. The first two pages made my head hurt. I flipped ahead, but it didn’t look like it got any better.
“We need a lawyer.” I rubbed my temples. “I’m not even sure if this in English.”
Devon’s face fell. “That bad, huh? Can you make any sense of it?”
“I think, and don’t hold me to this, because I might be reading it wrong, that there’s a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar advance.”
“Holy shit.” Devon jumped up, pulling me off the bed, sending the contract to the floor. He rocked me back and forth in a hug. “That’s a fuckton of money. Do you know what we can do with that?”
“You can make a record.” Laughter erupted from the living room, drowning out my voice. We’d studied the politics of these contracts in a couple of my classes, and he wasn’t going to like what I had to say. “Once all the promo is done, you’re not going to see a dime of it. Especially if it’s for all three albums. Everything comes out of that advance.”
“Are you fucking serious?” He let go of me, pacing back and forth.
“Devon! Your water is boiling over!” Mallory yelled.
He sighed before going out to dump the macaroni into the pot. I followed him the few steps into the kitchenette and leaned against the counter so we could keep an eye on dinner. The apartment only had one bedroom, and because Mallory paid more rent, she got it, but I’d hung curtains and icicle lights to section off a super cute little sleeping area from the living room. “Then how do all these rock stars have mansions and jets and all that shit?”
A couple snickers drifted over from the futon. They had no idea what we were talking about, but Mallory made sure her friends thought we were ridiculous, too.
“You make the money from touring and merchandising, pretty much just like you do now. The best thing we can do is make sure the deal isn’t all inclusive, because some of them want a cut of that stuff, too.”
“Think we can make that happen? I wonder if the karaoke guy is making any money off of this.”
I chuckled at ‘the karaoke guy’. “I wouldn’t doubt it. We’ll get the best lawyer we can. But that’s going to cost money, too. Don’t worry too much about making money off the record deal. Everyone steals music off the internet anyway.”
“No shit, right?” Devon pulled the milk and butter for the cheese sauce out of the fridge. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably starve. I hated cooking. I didn’t even think about food until I got hangry.
“You are going to clean that up, right?” Mallory eyed Devon’s supplies as she grabbed another beer.
“Can we eat first?” Her friends trashed the place, but mine couldn’t leave a pot on the stove for five minutes.
“Knock yourself out.”
Devon had become a professional at ignoring Mallory. He never let her get under his skin. “What did you think of that Eli guy? He seems like he’s got a fucking attitude problem. You know he thinks he’s better than us. And I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like you owed him something.” He pursed his lips together and slammed the milk carton down. “Fucker.”
Devon saw that? I thought back to Eli staring at me. It gave me goose bumps. “I don’t know. It’s such a curve ball. It’s like ‘here’s what you've always wanted, but you need to make it work with this random guy.’ We don’t even know if he’s compatible with the rest of the band.”
It had to suck to be Eli, too. Forced to work with these guys he didn’t even know, who already had a bad taste in their mouths about him.
“That’s why I think you should just start a label, Abby. We wouldn’t have to deal with this sneaky bullshit.” After Devon strained the macaroni and stirred everything together, he sprinkled hot sauce over it and handed me a bowl.
“Someday, maybe that will happen. But I’ve got to go work for the big guys, too, so I know what I’m doing.” I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that Devon came back with me after all. “But I’m not going to get any job if I fail that test and don’t graduate.”
Devon put his bowl down on the counter. “Shit. With everything that happened, I forgot all about that.” Yeah, right. I was familiar with his work. He smiled sheepishly. “Do you still want me to go?”
Fuck. “No. You can stay.” I hated myself for giving in, again. He’d probably be able to figure out another place to sleep, but that sucked. It was almost midnight.
He squeezed my shoulder on his way back to the bedroom. “You’re the best.”
I was an idiot. “I know.”
“What can I do to help you study?” he asked. “Is there a quiz or anything?”
“Yeah.” He took my bowl and went back to the kitchen, then came back to my bedroom with a pot cover and big spoon. I brought up the app on my tablet, and handed over to him. It was going to be impossible to concentrate over the noise of the party, but I didn’t have a choice.
Devon scanned the screen, looking for the right question to start with. He asked me the questions like he always did, in his best cheesy game show host voice. “What was the cause of the Vietnam War?”
Man, I wasn’t prepared for this test. “America wanted to keep it from falling into a communist state.”
“I’ll accept that. Who was the disagreement with?”
Easy. “The Soviet Union.”
“Yes! Those Commie bastards. Vietnam was formerly a territory of what country?”
“China?” They had something to do with this.
“I’m sorry, Miss Gauthier, but your answer is wrong. So very wrong.” He hit the spoon against the pot cover, the gong echoing through the room. I’d never not find it hysterical. “Please rephrase your answer with the correct information.”
Now all I could think about was that contract laying on my nightstand. “Give me a hint.”
“New Orleans was also a settlement of this country.” Devon pretended to look at a watch. “Time is running out for your answer.”
“France!”
“Very good. You do realize, Miss Gauthier, those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it?” It was a lesson I was all too familiar with.
Finally I got everything right, and Devon was satisfied I was ready for the test. Of course, none of that would matter if I slept through it. “You need to get to sleep.”
“Yeah, about that.” There was no telling Mallory to quiet down. “Are you still staying?”
Devon ran his tongue over his lip ring and looked toward my curtains, the little lights twinkling and swaying in the breeze coming in through the window. He slid down under the blanket, and motioned for me to join him. “Are you sure it’s all right for me to stay?”
I snuggled against him. Every reason I should tell him to go rattled inside my head. “Yeah.”
“Soon, we’re not going to have to worry about any of this.” He started playing with my hair, lulling me to sleep. “We’re going to get everything we want.”
Finding a lawyer to repres
ent the band was easier said than done. I sounded like a little kid on the phone, and I hated having to use it to do anything important. Most of the secretaries I talked to didn’t even let me get to the part about the contract with American Original, or that it was for a quarter of a million dollars. Once I smartened up and led off with that piece of information, I found someone right away. He vetted the contract, the guys signed it, and Sinister Riot began rehearsals with Eli Jamison.
I had no idea how they were going so far. Devon had some sort of reconciliation with Lexi, again. The better things got with Lexi, the less I heard from him. I was used to the disappearing act, but it fucking hurt. A lot. Why did it have to be all or nothing?
I ran over the same tired rationalizations for his behavior to myself. Mallory never wanted to hear Devon’s name unless she brought him up. She did it surprisingly often for someone who claimed to hate him so much. I’d exhausted all my other options as well. No one wanted to hear it anymore because nothing ever changed.
It was fine, really. I was coming up on midterms and I had a ton of shit to do.
And if there was one thing I could be absolutely certain of, it was that Devon would always come back.
Tonight was the first show since the record deal, and everything felt different. The special occasion called for a kick ass outfit. Tonight I wore my latex leggings and a studded corset with a long, soft black sweater over it. My granny boots went with everything. Devon hadn’t answered my text about outfits earlier, so I had no idea what he’d be picking up off the floor at Lexi’s to wear.
I arrived at The Jezebel early to set up the T-shirts and other merch, and to collect the band’s money from the manager. Sinister Riot did not pass go until I collected their two hundred dollars.
The New Orleans rock scene was a tight knit community, and word had spread fast about the record deal. The place filled in quickly, even before the opening band took the stage. I had to stand on my chair to see the show. I didn’t see Devon come up and grab my leg, and I toppled down off the chair in surprise. He caught me before I landed flat on my ass.
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