Pamela Watts, the group’s acknowledged expert when it came to business matters, had grown their collection of boutique entities, which had originally been established to simply handle PO transactions, into a seriously expanding concern. Newcomers just breaking in through headlining stars were more and more frequently seeking out various arms of PBOO to expertly execute assignments that the acts wouldn’t or couldn’t handle themselves.
But pandorasobsession.com was now outshining the other units, bringing in over three million distinct hits a day with its attractive blend of blogs, band sites, merchandise and peripherals, a cross-pollination unmatched by any other music oriented site on the internet.
The members of the band, who retained the other 51% of the stock, all signed long term contracts and non-compete agreements to keep them from straying. All of them would be paid fees for their recording, live performing and use of image on a complex schedule with additional funds going to individuals based on unique contributions such as composing.
Watts and Loveland envisioned an offering with a low strike price to allow the Obsessives to all purchase a single share, similar to the way the Green Bay Packers had arranged for all of their fans to be able to buy a piece of the fabled NFL franchise when it went public. Tessler had quite a different take that he presented in a detailed analysis which came with the proviso his involvement hinged on a take it or leave it decision by the principals.
The strike price would be no less than $100 per share, with a minimum subscription of 100 shares. If aggregations of Obsessives wanted to join forces in any manner of formal or informal partnerships, they could handle that on their own time in their chosen ways. His firm Tessler, Letherland & Revenge would have dibs on 25% of the offering to either place or hold in its own account. Finally, the other 75% would have to be subscribed to before the NASDAQ closed shop on the day of the offering, or all bets were off.
Following a four-hour meeting, the vote was five in favor, one against and one abstention. Tessler put the gears in motion and Wall Street waited to see if his magic wand was up to the task. Months later, at 4:00 am Eastern, the premarket trading began.
Initial interest was strong, edging the stock up above $125, but by the time the regular market opened it had drifted down to $102. By noon, the price was stuck in a narrow, listless range, and at 1:00 it began an incremental slide, eventually creeping down below $90, this ten percent negative departure from the asking price causing the media pundits to explode in a barrage of smug handwringing, many predicting a disaster rivaling other over-hyped media IPOs that had been driven by emotion and sure-thing thinking instead of hardball analysis of the underpinnings of the darling damsels that would eventually find themselves in distress. The rats began leaving this sinking ship around 2:30, 90 minutes away from the close, hoping to limit their losses, and by 3:00 pm, the share price was nearing $80 while only 87% of the shares were spoken for.
At 3:07, Tessler stepped outside the offices of TL&R to have a smoke and was surrounded by the hoard of reporters covering the event, all of them shouting for his attention. He took a drag, motioned for silence then said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I have to get back to work. But I’ll entertain…just one question.” The screaming resumed, so he took another puff, dropped and stubbed out his cigarette on the stair, pointed then added, “Lisa?”
The Fox News correspondent edged through the throng, raised her mic and queried, “Are you nervous about completing the offering, Charles?”
He hesitated then responded, “Nervous? You’re damn right I’m nervous.” Then he grinned, adding, “But not about purchases. I’m worried about Nas processing the orders.”
Three weeks before after re-crunching the numbers, he’d recommended in a conversation with a couple of pretty smart guys that if the stock fell below $79, they should pawn everything but their underwear to scoop it up.
It was later learned that the guys were Andy Polanski and John David Islington.
The former wanted PBOO to succeed for a number of reasons: virtually all of CCBBA’s affairs were now sifted through the holding company’s funnel, he wanted other acts to have the same access to the fine services he’d enjoyed and despite being a soft touch for any kid wanting to make it big in the biz, he was also a ruthless businessman and a consummately skilled gambler.
Islington, on the other hand, had but a single need to support his singular vision. Analog Machinery Incorporated was running out of the seed money which had been used to finance its lone product, the audacious SuperNet. While the designer wasn’t lacking for suitors—the latest of which, a consortium whose $92,000,000,000 offer for 80% of AMI had been rejected—he wanted to keep control of his baby until it had grown into adolescence.
When the shares fell to $78.98 at 3:16, the pair made their moves. At the closing bell, the stock had hit $166.26.
In current trading, according to the screen above Comeback’s bar, it was off $17.52 at $2,626.78.
As soon as Rosemary turned away, Jip reached into the pocket of his jacket, removed a Germ-X sanitizer packet, opened it and gave his hands a good scrubbing. Then as an afterthought, polished up his knife and fork.
“So you were saying,” he began as he reinserted the wipe into its foil, “that you’ve read my little opus twice?”
“As God is my witness. Oh, and speaking of that, remind me to ask you a witnessing question later.”
“Agreed, as long as you first answer a few for yours truly.”
“We’re the only ones here.”
Spotswood nodded then thought a moment.”I’m sure you’ll recall Pamela making an interesting observation about her stage persona.”
Stonetree leaned away and smiled.”Sure. She said, and I’ll try to quote her exactly…that… the whole butch thing is overdone because it works as such a good counterpoint to Laura’s chatter, but I’ll admit there’s many a truth that’re told in jest.”
The author’s eyes widened. He opened the volume, paged back and forth then finding the passage he was seeking, repeated the exact same phrasing. He glanced up.
“That’s, uh…pretty much on the mark, Stoney.” He turned to a different page.”Laura was kidding me about being the true founder of CCBBA, then added sort of a backhanded compliment. She said…”
“She said ‘Here you are, the man who wrote an article with the prescient prediction that Christie Cramer would make a perfect pairing with The Alliance, and now you’re stuck on tour with a mélange of misfits. Why? Did Andy turn down your roady application?’”
Spotswood set the book aside, saying he’d pop for the beers.
Over lunch, they bounced from topic to topic, one subject smoothly segueing into the next as often happens with close friends of long standing who’d shared many dreams and secrets in the past.
Jip’s promotion to Pinkiefinger’s A&E Chief Correspondent’s slot, then Editor-at-Large had brought him a huge audience along with opening more than a few doors, the request from Loveland to write Inside The Box just one of the recent perks. In addition, Franklin Potcheck and Ben Walbee had taken a liking to his oftentimes pinpoint coverage of their joint and individual pursuits so had enlisted him as their primary source for leaks, allowing them to control the content and timing of info being made public.
“Talk about being dialed in to the right people at the right time,” he said.”If this World Standoff! Tournament/Prism opening/No Time For Change/Whatever the fuck else they’ve got hidden behind the curtain turns out to be half the magnitude I think it’s gonna be, and they keep me in the loop, I’ll have enough material for another dozen books.”
In addition, he’d gotten the go-ahead to create, edit and contribute to a new feature, NewsGlance Weekender, in which he planned to feature more in-depth stories and essays, tailored to newer readers who might have minimal knowledge about the target subjects.
Stonetree told him about his promotion, Sharon’s situation and the ongoing Mustang epic, along with an assortment of other details only Jip would app
reciate. Then he got around to an issue that had been bugging him for a long time.
“Did you happen to see the Journal article? The one Robin wrote?”
“I did. Not bad. Nice head shot of you. Was that photoshopped?”
Stonetree smiled and shrugged.”So what was it that went down between you two?”
He’d introduced the pair a few years earlier, and for awhile had become sort of a third wheel in the trio, not being able to lend much to all of the writer talk. Then overnight, whenever he’d suggested they get together for drinks, one or both of them begged off. Spotswood downed what was left of his beer and crossed his arms.
“I’d entrusted something to him…not of intrinsic value, but important to me…and when I asked for it back, he first said he didn’t recall receiving it and when pressed, he changed the excuse to it must have been misplaced.” He hesitated.”And it wasn’t something like, I don’t know, a coin that you could misplace easily. Bigger than a breadbox, as the saying goes.”
“What was it?”
He didn’t respond, but anger flashed in his eyes.
“And then Inside The Box comes out, hits the best seller lists and he calls to congratulate me…this is now more than a year since the last time we spoke…and two minutes in, he says he’s in between agents and would I mind making a few calls on his behalf.” His face was reddening.”Fuck you, asshole. I mean I didn’t say that, just said ‘Sure’ and he says ‘Thanks’, I’ll check back next week…which he never did.”
Stonetree nodded, really not very surprised about Robin’s behavior, so moved on to a more generalized topic to diffuse things.
“So what’cha think about Potcheck having Peggy Q. for the concert…is that the night before the final round?”
Jip’s mood immediately changed, always happy to talk shop.
“Yup. Ahhhh, I don’t know. I tried dancing that one around with old Frank one time when we were on the phone but he brushed it off.” He paused.”I mean sure, rising star, decent chops, would be the biggest break she’ll ever get. Their research is estimating the worldwide viewing audience might exceed two billion, maybe more. And he’s her uncle, for Christ’s sake.”
“I suppose,” Stonetree replied. But then it struck him that there were disconnected lines hidden below the surface story presented to the public.
“How much did he spend to get her onto the charts?”
Spotswood gave a sidelong glance, then looked up with feigned innocence, but said nothing.
“He’s not really her uncle, is he?” Not waiting for a denial, he added, “He’s just another wealthy old man who likes cranking hot young chicks.” He paused.”Famous hot young chicks.”
Jip shrugged, trying to suppress a grin.”I…let me put it this way. Crazier things have happened in the nutty showbiz world I spend my waking hours observing.”
“Fair enough. But getting laid is one thing, risking a mediocre concert the night before hosting the biggest gaming event in history is quite another.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more. Plus the fact is they’re not looking at the demographics right. The audience is trending way older than you’d guess it would. The 13 through 33 crowd is going to be lots smaller than they’re thinking. Gambling and current pop singers ain’t a very big draw with them. They’ve got other shit to occupy themselves with so ingénue isn’t the correct answer. Especially an unproven ingénue who,” he winked, “was somehow able to hire the best producers, technicians and musicians to record an only passable first album…”
“And has never performed live?”
“And could very easily implode if her vocal synch track went kablooie.” He paused.”Shit, this has got disaster written all over it. Got any suggestions, bright eyes?”
Pieces of a scenario flashed through Stonetree’s mind in a matter of seconds, as if he was watching scenes from a high def epic compressed into a highlight reel.
“I think they ought to go for the upper deck. Put on a show with everything but Yul Brynner.”
“Murray Head. One Night In Bangkok. 1985. Great song from the flop concept album Chess.”
“Composed by the lads who brought us ABBA.”
“One night in Bangkok and the world’s your oyster.”
“The bars are temples but the pearls ain’t free!”
They both laughed.
“So who’s the angel siding up to me?” Spotswood asked.
“You know those goofy Pinkie Polls you keep running? The Who’s Prettier one between Loveland and Billy Blair? Or the rivalry between Linda Bowen and young Peggy? Or those phony exchanges between Loveland and Polanski about who dates the prettiest women?”
“They’re not phony. I only use things they’ve actually said…maybe messing with the context a bit. But my reader’s love that stuff.”
“So tell Potcheck to give the world the real thing.”
“That being?”
“Isn’t there going to be a warm up concert the night before the big one?”
“Far as I know.”
“By who?”
“Hasn’t been decided.”
“Then shift Ms. Quinlan to the penultimate night and bring in the heavy artillery for a real barn burner.”
“Heavy artillery?”
“Tell ’em to put on the biggest rock concert ever held in the history of the universe.”
“And how will we accomplish this magnificent feat?”
“A good old fashion battle of the bands.” Stonetree smiled.”Pandora’s Obsession versus Christie Cramer, Billy Blair and The Alliance.”
Spotswood was stunned and when he reanimated he turned toward the bar and called, “Rosie? Could you bring us another round?”
While they waited, Jip opened his book to the title page and after writing in the dedication, eased it across the table.
To David
On a day which begins another chapter in our beautiful friendship
With respect, admiration and affection
Jip
Stonetree felt a lump in his throat, so after clearing it simply said, “Thanks, buddy.”
After Rosemary delivered the bottles, they returned to the details, Spotswood pulling out a small pad after asking if it would be okay for him to jot down a few notes.
The elegant Oasis Theater at Prism was of the in-the-round variety, the stage centered on a massive revolving platform that could accommodate anything from a small band to a huge orchestra to the new Cirque du Soleil show that was in early rehearsals, or removed for basketball and hockey games.
“House lights go down, audience goes wild then a pair of spotlights pick up Loveland and Polanski stepping out to meet each other in the center…maybe Walbee joins them while the ground rules are explained.”
“Man, I can see it now. They’ve got Geno Polata handling everything from sound to special effects. I hear he’s already working up some dazzling stuff for the show and the tournament room.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“He’s a genius. Met him when I was running with CCBBA to do Wheels Up. So then what?”
A coin would be flipped. The winner would have the choice of going first or finishing last. After a commercial break, the first band would perform its first number followed in kind by the opposition. Then back and forth for another, say, six songs each. While all this is transpiring, viewers in the auditorium and across the world would be texting in their votes on how the battle was faring for the competitors, the tallies running in real time.
Finally, the victor is announced and perhaps Potcheck donates ten or twenty million dollars to the winner’s favorite charity, another ten to the runner-up’s. A thunderous ovation followed by a short break.
“Then what?” Spotswood asked.
“You know what might be a nice touch? They come back and combine forces, playing some of those warm-up numbers they do by other performers like you described in the books. The audience would love it. I sure would.”
“You and me both. Can’t f
igure why they never do that. Some of those covers are really, really cherry.” He paused.”That’d be one hell of a show.”
Stonetree smiled.”We’re not done yet.”
“We’re not?”
“Huh-uh.” He paused.”They return to the stage, but now as a backing band.” He paused again.”For the special guests.”
All of the guys would be wearing NFL-style sweatshirts with a new logo on the front and their last names of the reverse. But instead of numbers, below their identities would be designations for their positions, like Polanski’s being K&G. The girls, in turn, would be dressed in cheerleader uniforms with similar IDs to the guys.
Spotswood glanced away to gather his thoughts.”Can you imagine who Andy and Laura could pull in for a finale like that? It’d be like…it’d be the biggest rock concert ever held in the history of the universe.”
They ran through a list of possibilities, returning again and again to 1980’s performers enjoying resurgent popularity who’d appeal to the expected older audience, then Spotswood asked, “D’you see this week’s album rankings?”
“Talk about longevity. Can you believe those five are still racing against each other?”
Stonetree suddenly recalled another of Uncle Chuck’s family outings, a day trip on a friend’s Lear to Churchill Downs to witness the Run for the Roses. He could smell sticky-sweet odor of the horse manure.
“Yeah, but c’mon,” Jip said.”They’ve had a lock on the top five slots for coming up on two months now. ’Bout time they left a little room for some of the other kids on the playground.”
“Go ahead and tell me you’d like Taylor to start dropping.”
Spotswood nodded that was a good point, then smiled wistfully.”I talked to her for a few minutes at the last Grammys. I mean, she’s getting a few wrinkles but…”
“But what?”
“But she’s even sexier now than when she was in her 20’s.”
“So’d you ask her out?”
“Me? Are you nuts?”
Stonetree thought it through.”Let’s see. She likes younger guys, she likes celebrity types, as in best selling authors. I’d guess she’d go for someone with enough brain power to match hers.” He paused.”So what’s the issue?”
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