More Than Anything

by R. E. Blake

  I’m at the apartment brushing my teeth, hoping to talk to Derek before I hit the sack, when Melody shows up an hour and twenty minutes later. When she bursts through the door it’s like someone zapped the air with a thousand watts of electricity. She’s beaming, but stops when she sees the place.

  “Whoa. You weren’t kidding. This is epic,” she says. I’m so used to the apartment now I hardly register how lavish it is, but seeing it through her eyes reminds me of how lucky I am.

  “Pretty nice, huh?”

  “I’d say. I want to live here. I can sleep on the floor.” She plops down on the sofa and eyes the flat-screen TV. “Why do you ever leave?”

  I don’t tell her about my bout with depression. “Something about a record.”

  “Oh. That.” She smiles again. “I’m so excited for you. That song is mega awesome. If the rest of the record sounds anything like it, you’re going to be a blazillionaire. Blazillionairess. Whatever.”

  “Boy, I hope so. I mean, since I have to send you to…what was it, Stanford? Why not Harvard or Yale?”

  She shrugs. “It was the first one that popped into my head.”

  I love that she’s got absolutely no shame about any of it. “So, what do you think?” I ask.

  “About what?”

  “Life. My hair. The price of lasagna. What do you think?”

  “Sebastian?” she asks innocently.

  “I had a hard time keeping a straight face.”

  “Fortunately he was so busy staring at my boobs he didn’t notice.” She smiles. “He’s actually way different than I expected. Really nice. And oh, my God. You never told me how hot he is. I mean, seriously hot.”

  “I thought we’d settled that when you saw his photos.”

  “That’s nothing. I mean, he’s got this magnetism, you know? In person. And those eyes. Not to mention that butt.”

  “How can you tell his butt’s hot?” Sebastian was wearing baggy jeans. I’m honestly curious.

  “A girl knows. Or this one does. Are you completely blind?”

  “He seems to like you.”

  “Yeah, he does. Which is good. I could get used to him.”

  “What are you talking about? You just met him.”

  “I have a feeling about Sebastian. Had it the first time I saw his photo.”

  “That’s called lust, according to some experts.”

  “No, I’m serious. I didn’t want to jinx it, but I think it might be more than that.”

  “Melody. He’s way older than you–”

  She waves my objection off. “We’ve been through that. Elvis and Priscilla, remember?”

  “He’s not Elvis, and this isn’t the fifties.”

  “Thank God. Could you imagine having to have a chaperone on dates? Blech.” She gets a dreamy look in her eyes. “I needs me some a that proh-duc-tion, baby. Bring that proh-duc-tion this way, and let mommy have a look at it.”

  We explode in laughter, and she gives me the tongue waggle for good measure as she moans ‘production’ over and over, faster and faster. I can hardly breathe I’m laughing so hard, and a spike of pain shoots through my neck.

  “Ow. Stop. I can’t take it anymore,” I manage, which only encourages her.

  Eventually we run out of steam, and she walks through the apartment inspecting it with me.

  “You can have whichever bedroom you want,” I say.

  “Where’s Sebastian sleep?”

  “Probably at the studio. His sister says he’s married to it.”

  “That’s just because he hasn’t met the right woman.” She winks.

  “I get the feeling he’s met a couple.”

  “Not like me he hasn’t.”

  I don’t argue. My phone hasn’t rung, so I’m going to give in and call Derek before it gets too late.

  “You good? The fridge has milk and Reese’s in it,” I say.

  “Great. I’m frigging starved.”

  “I remember.” I try out my sexy angel voice. “I only eat rabbit food.”

  “Guys don’t like to think they’re getting a chick that eats like a lumberjack.”

  I never thought about it. Another reason I win with Derek. He doesn’t seem to mind my appetite.

  “Well, I’m glad you hit it off with him. Took longer than usual to get from the studio, didn’t it?”

  “We took a lap on the Sunset Strip.”

  “You what?”

  “I told him I’d never seen it. And how cool it would be to see it with the top down in a Porsche. He seemed to agree.”

  I’m dumbfounded; I don’t trust myself to speak. Hurricane Melody’s hitting the West Coast. Anything male, take cover.

  She quiets and gets serious. “He wants to go out tomorrow night.”

  “What? Again? Where are we eating this time?”

  “I kind of got the feeling that he wanted to spend time with just me, Sage.”

  Oh. Of course. I wonder what promise or offer she made, but I don’t go there.

  “That’s cool. We can get you a key made tomorrow. Maybe pick up some condoms and a pregnancy test.”

  She gives me a glare. “Are you pissed at me? Because you’re kind of acting like it.”

  I shake my head. “No. Not at all. I’m just tired, Melody. I’m sorry. I’m glad you like my producer. He’s a really great guy. You’re lucky he’s interested.” I can’t stop myself from saying the next words. “Of course, you didn’t tell him a word that was true.”

  “What’s the big deal? Dudes lie to us all the time to get what they want.”

  “Mine doesn’t,” I snap.

  “That you know of.”

  Ouch. Harsh, Melody. I close my eyes for a second. When I open them, they’re moist. “Derek’s not like that.”

  Melody approaches me and hugs me. “I’m sorry, Sage. I’m an asshole. That was uncalled for.”

  I hug her back. She holds me at arm’s length and smirks. “Stop giving me shit about Sebastian, all right? You had your chance. You weren’t interested.”

  “Are you going to wear your schoolgirl’s uniform?” I ask, and she gives me the waggle.

  “Turn my knobs, baby. Fix my mix. I’ve been bad. Really bad. Produce me, Sebastian! PRODUCE ME, you dirty bad producer man, you!”

  Derek doesn’t answer, and when I go to sleep, my stomach’s hurting from laughing so hard.

  Chapter 28

  Sebastian is his typical self the next day, and it’s strictly business as we set up another mix. We’re almost halfway done, and at this rate it won’t be more than ten days until the record’s in the can. Melody’s out on the town while we work, wandering around Westwood. Tomorrow I’m taking the day off, and we’re going to go to the beach since I nixed hitting Disneyland, which was her first pick. My neck won’t handle rides, and I’m hoping a few hours in the sun won’t burn me beet red. I’d bought a bikini in preparation for Derek’s visit, and it’s never been used, so I have no excuses other than the collar, which isn’t much of one. Melody pointed out I’m probably safe lying on the sand, so I can risk taking it off.

  I’m hoping the doctor gives me the thumbs-up next week so I can burn the damned thing. For all the talk about how fast the young heal, it’s been my constant companion for seemingly ever, and I’m so over it.

  Terry stops in around 3:00, her messenger bag stuffed with papers and photos, and we go over the resumes of the candidates for the band.

  “This one’s really cute,” Terry says, tapping a photo. “And he’s super nice. I met him when I was considering signing his band.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “The singer sucked. I told him, but it took another six months for him to figure it out when every label passed on his demo.”

  “Oh. Is he good?”

  “Scale of one to ten, I’d put him at a solid eight on guitar, nine on vocals.” She hands me a CD. “You can listen whenever you get a chance. As long as it’s by Monday.”

  She’s narrowed the pack down to three
guitarists, four keyboard players, three drummers, and two bass players. They all look like they’re in the early twenties, and all come with great credentials – mostly session work, although a couple have been on national tours supporting name acts.

  I put the photos and CDs into a plastic bag I retrieve from the kitchen, and Terry looks me over. “Looks like the bruises have faded enough so we can cover them with makeup, so we need to schedule a video shoot as soon as possible. Once Sebastian has the final mix of your first single, we’ll look at storyboards. Probably end of next week for that. Saul says it won’t be too much longer before you’re done in here, so I want to get moving on the band and the vid. He’s got you fast-tracked, and he’s already scheduled the release.”

  “He has?” That’s news to me.

  “Yes, which means you don’t have a lot of time to get a band up to speed. He’s making ad buys for six weeks from now, so you’ll have one month from when you’re done mixing, more or less, until you release. Which is some kind of record, pardon the pun, but he’s got a fire lit under him on this one and can’t wait to get it out.”

  “Six weeks? That’s…I mean, that’s like, tomorrow.”

  “It’ll seem even more so when you’re rehearsing and shooting videos. Can you see why I’m saying you have to give this your all? I’m working with the booking agent, and we’re looking at getting you as the opening act for Bruno Sears for forty-five cities in the U.S., then if you get a head of steam, Europe.”

  “Wait – you’re saying I’m going to be on tour in a month and a half with Bruno Sears?”

  “We still have to work out some of the details, but yes, I certainly hope so. Why? You don’t like his music?”

  “No, it’s not that. I love his stuff. It’s just…I need to get back to New York.”

  Terry reaches over and pats my leg. “You’re not going to see New York until month number two of your tour.”

  I’m breathing too fast. I feel light-headed and have to swallow several times before I can speak. “You don’t understand. I have to.”

  “Did you not hear what I just said? You’re going on tour with one of the biggest stars in the country a month after you wrap. And you haven’t even met your band. There’s a video to shoot. There’s photographs to take, merchandise to create, a social media presence to build…where in all that did you hear ‘hang out in New York’? I missed it.”

  “I’m going to need time in New York, Terry. If we need to bring the band there, then that’s what we’ll do. But I can’t put my life on hold.”

  She squints and gets a look on her face like she just drank vinegar. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? Because nowhere do we have a budget to put four session musicians up for weeks, fly them across the country, rent rehearsal facilities, pay for their room and board and salaries…”

  “It’s not negotiable. How much do you think it would cost for, say, two weeks?”

  She looks flabbergasted. “Not negotiable? When did I say we were in a negotiation? It’s not just the rehearsal time. I need you here to do interviews, photo shoots, approve cover art, and on and on and on.” Her voice quiets to a whisper. “Negotiable? I think you better explain to me what the hell’s going on, because you’re being handed a dream on a platter, and you’re acting like we want you to kill a puppy.”

  I look around, searching my brain for a way out.

  “How about one week?”

  “Sage. Talk. Why do you have to be in New York?”

  I take a deep breath and look her directly in the eyes. “Remember the guy I started in the show with? Derek?”

  Five minutes later I’m done. She’s looking at me like I’m insane.

  “So this is all about you getting your rocks off?” She shakes her head. “Tell me there’s a hidden camera around here, that this is all a joke or something.”

  That wasn’t the supportive response I was hoping for.

  “Look, doll. I’ll say this once. Nothing is more important than the first six months of this launch. Nothing. Hundreds of people are working their asses off to make you a star. Saul’s people, his publicists and ad buyers, my staff, Sebastian’s people, the booking agent, the talent coordinator, directors, photographers, merchandisers, endorsement people. You’re not Sage, the seventeen-year-old who has boyfriend blues, you’re Sage the business. The industry. So get your head screwed on straight. If Saul heard this, he’d pull the plug on you so fast it would make your head spin.”

  I start blubbering. I can’t help it. She’s being so mean. Although I know in my heart she isn’t – she’s explaining how the world I now inhabit works. Big money is riding on me not flaking, and all she’s hearing from me is a girl whose eye is anywhere but on the ball.

  She fishes a tissue out of her purse and hands it to me with a sigh, and when she speaks again, her voice is soft.

  “Let’s say I can get you five or six days. Figure four plane tickets, so maybe a grand apiece. Two hotel rooms someplace decent, couple hundred a night each. Call it three grand. You’re already up to seven thousand dollars, and you haven’t paid the band yet or fed them. Call that another three. Do you have ten grand to throw away so you can go play Romeo and Juliet in New York?”

  I shake my head. Of course not. Even with the couple of appearances, I only have around five grand after paying for flights to San Francisco, rental cars, Jeremy’s apartment, my aborted flight to New York, phones, and all the other crap that’s eating me alive. The show’s paying me fifty grand a year, but after taxes it’s not a fortune by any stretch.

  “Look. Why don’t you have him fly out here? He can spend a week relaxing on the beach while you do your thing. Isn’t that more practical than you moving heaven and earth to get to New York?”

  “I…he’s got the same pressure I do. A record releasing, putting a band together…”

  “Wait. So he can’t come out for a week, but you can? Who won the contest, you or him? Who got the big label deal, you or him?” She’s getting angrier. “Look, Sage, I’ll see what I can do. Maybe you can get away for three or four days. Then maybe he can. But that’s as good as it’s going to get. There’s way too much riding on this to screw around, am I clear? Am I getting through to you?”

  I bristle. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a child.”

  She gets deadly quiet, and her voice drops to a whisper. “Sage, I like you. I think you’ve got what it takes to go the distance. But so help me God, you keep this up, and I’ll drop you like a freaking rock, you understand? Because I’m not going to explain to Saul why Little Miss Hot Pants blew everything because she didn’t take this seriously.” She pulls her cell phone out of her pocket. “You want me to call him right now and tell him about this? Want to see how fast this can all evaporate? Try me. Just try me. You want to be talked to like an adult? Fine.” She slams the phone down on the arm of the sofa. “Start acting like one.”

  I stand and begin pacing. I want to run away. I want to hop on the first plane to New York and see Derek. I’m tired of people controlling my time, my life, telling me what time to be where, how long to stay, what I have to do next.

  Of course I realize I can’t. But it’s what I want.

  Which is exactly what she’s complaining about. I’m not thinking. I need to be more like Melody and calculate how to get what I want, not complain because I’m not getting it.

  I stop pacing and fix Terry with a calm stare.

  “I’ll see when Derek can get away. But I want four days. Five, counting the flying days. There’s got to be a sliver of time in there somewhere when I can be gone. I’ll work longer hours, I’ll rehearse all day, I’ll do whatever it takes. But I’m not going to lose the one person in the world I care about for anything. Does that sound adult enough for you?”

  She studies me, her face unreadable, and then nods.

  “Honey, I hope he’s worth it. That’s all I can say.” She sighs loudly and scoops up her phone and bag, and stands. “I’ll figure it out and let y
ou know when you can go. Talk to him and see what his schedule’s like.” She shakes her head and stares at the red light over the control room door. “You’re lucky I’m such a softie.”

  Chapter 29

  Melody arrives like a visiting ambassador, filling the studio with her over-the-top presence, and I’m in no mood. I tell Sebastian I’m through for the day, and without waiting for his reaction, I call a taxi to take me home. He doesn’t push it; his mind is probably on other things, for which I’m grateful.

  I spend my evening watching reruns of That Seventies Show, laughing and munching on three-day-old Chinese food. It’s almost midnight when Melody shows up, and she’s amped to the max, bouncing off the walls with excitement.

  “I gather it went well,” I say by way of greeting, and remind myself not to take my aggression out on her. I talked to Derek earlier and explained the situation. He took it surprisingly well, and agreed to look at his schedule and see about planning another trip. But I’m still angry at the world, and even that slim reed of hope doesn’t put me in a better mood.

  “You can say that again.” She sits next to me on the couch.

  “You didn’t…”

  She laughs. “No. But wow, do I want to. He’s amazing. Did you know he kite surfs? Goes to Mexico once a year for a week to do it?”

  “It never came up.”

  “And that he turned down a scholarship to Dartmouth? A sports scholarship?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He wanted to produce records. So he said no thanks. Tell me who’s got the balls to do that?”

  “Apparently Sebastian does.” I regard her curiously. “Wait a minute. What’s going on? This isn’t like you. You’re all about closing the deal, right? Not mooning over how neat the dude is.”

  She stands and moves to the refrigerator and returns with two diet sodas and puts them on the table. “You got any more chocolate?”