by Lisa Gillis
“I’m having a burger,” I offer casually.
“I don’t see hamburgers.” Her voice is tiny, and my heart clutches to see the indomitable Sash at a disadvantage.
“Doesn’t matter. They’ll make what you order.”
For years, from preschool age to preteen age, I’d ordered jalapeno and pepperoni pizza from the classiest restaurants in the world and servers took the order without a blink of an eye.
“Then I’m eating a hamburger too.” She decides, and her chest relaxes as she blows an unconscious breath out.
“Cheeseburger?”
“Yeah.”
“Cheddar, mozzarella, both?”
Her eyes meet mine, maybe to see if I’m teasing her, but when she sees I’m not, her gaze gleams with the possibilities. “Both.” Her voice is stronger with that decision, and she gets into the spirit when she adds, “With bacon. Crisp.”
I restrain the urge to kiss her. Remembering Emily Dodge, I look up to see her smiling as if she’s enjoying our moment. In that split second, I decide to push further. When our server returns, I relay Sash’s order, mine, and then add, “Two Cabs.”
“Of course, sir. Preference?”
I’ve gotten away without an ID again. Since I haven’t looked at a wine list, I say what I know. Whenever we’re in California, my parents have always ordered from a relative’s vineyard. “Breaux Ridge?”
“Of course.”
“Make that three.” Emily says when our waitress looks to her. After adding the rest of Emily’s order to her mental tabulation, the young woman smiles and moves away. Leaning forward, Emily unfolds the monogrammed napkin from her place setting. “Would you two want to see some sights this afternoon? I can arrange for a driver to take you around.”
“I’d like to.” Sash tears a breadstick, handing half to me as she waits for my affirmation. “Trey?”
“Yeah. Sure. I have work tomorrow though. Will we still fly out today?”
“Whatever you want.” Emily looks up from spreading the napkin across her lap. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret. You don’t need to worry about jobs outside of your band.”
“How do you mean?” I wanted to wait until the woman had finished a glass of wine to interrogate her. But opportunity was knocking, and I decide to roll with it.
“I’ve been authorized to offer you a deal. If you accept, you’ll be going home with a sizable cashier check.”
Sash drops her breadstick to her tiny plate and wipes her fingers on her stockings.
“I’m not sure what you’re saying. I thought these things moved slowly. I mean, how it works is you offer a letter of intent that holds us to the record company until they offer us a deal, right? And any money comes with that deal.”
Sash is busy unrolling her napkin, and her hair flips over her shoulder as she jerks a surprised chin my way.
The waitress brings our wine and fresh breadsticks, interrupting the answer I’m waiting for. That’s okay though. I know the drill. I’ve watched my dad and grandfather in action. With alcohol on the table, I can steer this the way I want it to go. Taking another page from my predecessor Lorens, I tip my glass to my lips, and take a fake swallow.
Emily sips her glass significantly down. “You seem to know a lot about the business, Trey.”
I feel my eyes narrow at the slightly inflected tone in which she uses my name. “It’s my business to know the business. I’m in a band.”
“True. And I admire that. I meant no disrespect, love. But you’d be surprised how many bands don’t know how things work.”
I wouldn’t be surprised at all. My dad goes on about it all the time. He’s forever looking for loopholes to get some unsuspecting band out of some unscrupulous record label contract and into his, which has always been known for fairness.
“I don’t know about other bands. But about ours, I’d like to think we know our stuff.”
“Well, you’re right. It’s exactly as you say in a liaison between an ARC rep and the label. But as well as being an ARC rep, I’m also a music supervisor for Treble, a company with around sixty films and dozens of ongoing television shows on its dossier.”
“You’re a music supervisor?” This time I really take a sip. In some ways, a music supervisor can be even more important to a band’s career than a record deal.
Since music supervisors oversee the songs that make it onto movie, series, and advertisement soundtracks, they can catapult a band to fame. So much so that if the band’s not already signed to a label, they’ll have their pick of labels.
“Do you know the series ‘Virtual Passe?’”
I nod, easily recognizing the name of what is quickly becoming a cult series in its third season. In my peripheral vision, I see Sash twisting the napkin now in her lap, but her eyes remain trained on Ms. Dodge.
“They’re looking for a band for three episodes. There are no lines, just a band in a bar type of scene. But each episode will feature one or two tracks in their soundtrack. I’m sure your band is a good fit. So sure that I want to add it without a casting call.” Having drained her glass, she sets it to the edge of the table. “Is this something you would be interested in?”
I pause to take a sip, and then affirm. “Yeah. Sure. Tell us more.” Despite whatever it is about this woman that raises every hackle of suspicion in my body, I am beginning to believe I’m wrong about her. My dad does work closely with music supervisors. And it’s a different world from record contracts. Things can happen overnight.
By the time we leave the restaurant, Sash and I have agreed to stay overnight. Emily has explained that by casting Splynter and using our tracks in Virtual Passe, it’s a guaranteed level of success given the show’s hype and network rating. So the label she represents, the one we just met with, wants to sign us on before the episodes air.
I understand how oily the business can be. It was only a matter of time before music supervisors and ARC’s became the same person. After all, this way as a music supervisor they’re guaranteeing the success of the band they also represent as an ARC.
This puts a band in a difficult position depending on how contingent one offer is on the other. Turning the label down is also turning the casting down. But accepting the casting, means accepting whatever stupid deal the label throws out.
There’s another hitch in the scheme of things. An important wrinkle in the offer, which keeps us from responding in detail to Mark and Sladen’s many texts for updates while Sash and I tour L.A.
There is a reason only Sash and I were invited to this meeting and are now staying over at the luxurious and famous Beverly Hills Hotel.
Mark and Sladen aren’t being signed. They can still be in the band, but as paid musicians, not signed artists.
When I pressured Ms. Dodge about it, she said she was in the business of signing the talent, not the troublemakers. She enunciated that musicians were a dime a dozen, and if somewhere down the line they weren’t fitting into the band, she wanted the option to replace them.
I know that Mark and I fought in front of her. But Sladen is talented and a team player. He deserves everything offered to Sash and me. Hell, to be honest, I feel Mark deserves it all too. If anyone is undeserving, it’s me—the newbie.
“What are we going to do?” Sash throws herself on the hotel bed, resting the crook of her arm over her face. “I can’t tell them this.” Her phone is vibrating with yet another text from Mark or Sladen.
“There are only two things to do. Take the deal. Or not.” I sit down and play in her hair. “If you take it, you’ll bring them with you. They’ll be noticed over time and signed the next time. Right?” I let the blue tresses drop. “Or, you don’t take the deal and hope another one comes around. And that when it does, that they don’t say the same thing—that they sign everyone. But what’s happening is common. It’s common to not sign the whole band.”
“So you think we should take the deal?”
“I think it’s not up to me. I’m too new. This i
s all on you, Sash. I’ll back you whatever you do. But you have to choose.” The crown molding holds my attention for a moment. “Don’t worry about it now though. When we get back to Detroit, we need to lawyer up—we need an entertainment attorney. Someone who can advise us.” My dad. I need to call my dad.
It makes me angry suddenly that she is this miserable. This should be a time of celebration, not guilty introspection.
Lifting her phone, I read the most recent text from Mark. Without bothering to explain that it’s me, and not her responding, I type in an answer, saying we don’t know anything yet beyond casting on a few shows of a series being involved and that we’re staying overnight.
Kk, bay, love u.
I scowl at the return text and toss her phone to the spread. Sash is breathing evenly, her eyes closed, and I relax next to her, closing my own. Only because I’m exhausted do I fall asleep right away.
Before I do though, an ugly thought lingers, teasing my lobes. Because I do have some background, if only from watching the music business play out around me my whole life, I feel responsible for whatever is about to happen with Splynter.
Even though I told Sash it’s her choice, I know given her zero experience with this side of a band, it’s my responsibility to share anything I know that will help guide her into making an educated decision.
The ring of my phone and then hers doesn’t fully rouse us. Mine rings again, and then again, and I ignore it, assuming it’s Mark or Sladen. Sash turns from her back to face me, closes her eyes again, and I do the same, tossing a proprietary leg over both of hers.
The rap on the door comes shortly afterward.
Rising up, I wobble my disoriented head, the remnants of ordering room service in a dream suddenly seeming to collide into reality with this knocking sound. However, in the dream, that phone call down to the kitchen had come after crazy monkey sex. A look to Sash and me finds us both fully clothed and further assures the room service call was a dream.
Righting myself, I swing to the floor and pad from the ensuite to the door. A look through the peephole shows Emily Dodge and two men—one I recognize from our meeting earlier today—in the hallway.
After combing my fingers through my hair, I swing open the door and hold my stance as I fix Emily with a questioning look.
“Hello, Trey. You’re looking like you didn’t get my voicemails…”
“No. I’ve been asleep.”
“You remember Lenard, from earlier.” With a little twist, she encompasses one of her posse in her gaze, and then back to me. “Something’s come up, and we need to push things up a bit… well, to now.”
“I don’t understand…”
“I want Splynter in the series. But I’ve gotten word that another band by another agency is about to be pushed. And frankly, it’s a band with more experience. I have a lot of say about the music tracks, but even I can’t do anything if I’m outnumbered in votes, which I may very well be when this other band is presented.” She shifts her attaché case from one hand to the other. “Do you mind if we come in? Or would you prefer to talk downstairs in one of the conference rooms?”
“Uh…” Instinctively I remain rooted to the floor, blocking the doorway.
What would Dad do? Is this a case where letting them in would be letting the big bully dogs onto our porch? Or is it home court advantage?
“Trey? What’s going on?” Sash questions from behind me.
Reluctantly, I step back, allowing the trio in the hall entry into the suite. Emily begins to explain, filling in more details, however, I’m beginning to get the gist of it. They’ve come to our room for an on the spot decision.
The guy we haven’t met yet is introduced as an attorney.
“Mr. Scoggs is here to represent you and answer any of your questions.” Emily explains. “Unless you have your own attorney… We could Skype?”
“It’s after five in Detroit.” My arms are crossed over my chest, and even though the room is on the labels’ dime, I frown at Lenard who is raiding our wet bar.
“Trey and Sash.” Emily Dodge sinks to a wingback chair and looks up at us. I can’t help wondering if it’s a ploy to look non-threatening. “I know things are moving very fast. But that’s how it happens sometimes. And for every band or person who’s experiencing a sudden decision, is another to whom things are moving at a snail’s pace, and they are wishing to be in your shoes. Hollywood—L.A. is a fickle mistress. She’ll give you everything you want, but on her terms. Trust me when I say, we need to move on this.”
Sash has been standing beside me in a show of solidarity, but now she moves a few steps and sits on the arm of the loveseat as she takes in what Emily Dodge is saying.
“You need to decide if you’re going to say yes now, or say wait and risk losing out. If you say yes, and the band has an attorney, I’ll be glad to call. I’m certain I can be convincing enough that your interests will be represented at any hour of the day.”
“I get what you’re saying.” And I do, I know everything she’s saying can be true, but it doesn’t lesson my fear of doing the wrong thing—of screwing up the next several years of our life with a bad contract. Moving forward, I pull Sash up and toward me as I take a few steps back. “We just need a minute.” I eye Emily and then pointedly look to Lenard. “Help yourselves to a drink.” With that, I turn and usher Sash to the bedroom.
The second I push the door to, Sash speaks. “We have to do this, right? We can’t pass this up.”
“I don’t know, Sash, sweet. I’m not so sure. We need to talk to someone.”
“We don’t have a lawyer or anyone to talk to. We’re going to have to ask the guy out there our questions and figure this out for ourselves.”
“I’m trying to figure it out. Everything I know tells me this is weird. That it’s moving way too fast.”
“You heard her though. She said why. She wants us and—”
“Yeah. But why does she want us so bad? Huh? If there’s another band with more fans and experience under their belt, why isn’t she just as happy to make a deal with them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she believes in us, sees something in us. And maybe we should be damn glad she does!”
“Shh!”
“Don’t tell me to shh!”
“I’m not! I just mean don’t let them hear what we’re saying.”
The bed is between us, both of our cell phones vibrating atop it. Sash puts a knee to the mattress and crawls over it, ignoring the phones, and landing on my side. Standing before me, she rests her palms on my shoulder, and her forehead to my chin.
Gliding her hands down my arms, she steps back enough to look me in the eye. “You said I was the one who had to make this decision. Did you mean it?”
The wide-eyed intensity of her look melts my heart. I want her to have everything she’s ever dreamed. I don’t want to gamble it away because I’m being too cautious. “Yeah. I meant it.” My arms shoot out to grip her just below her shoulders. “I meant it, Sash. I’ll go along with whatever you feel on this. Just let me make one phone call first though. Okay?”
“Who? Who are you going to call?”
Feeling like an ass for not answering her question, I hold my finger up as if I’ll tell her in a second. And I will. It’ll be a necessity.
Because I know my dad. He’ll call me directly back. Then he’ll jump into the car, make the phone calls on the way to the airport to have a plane fueled and waiting when he gets there. And he will be here in this room in a matter of hours. No matter how furious he is with me, he’ll negotiate this thing to the best of our interests.
Closed in the bathroom, I make the call. I’m not surprised when he doesn’t answer. This is a strange number. After getting voicemail two times in a row, I leave a message the second time.
“Hey, Dad. It’s me. J.J. I need you. Your advice. I’m in the middle of something. Something kind of crazy. I don’t know… I’ll wait for you to call.
I remain in the bathroom for almos
t ten minutes, waiting for that call back. But it doesn’t happen. Sash is edgy and knocks on the door. Apparently, Emily Dodge and colleagues are impatient, and have knocked on the bedroom door.
Returning to the front room, I keep my hand curled around my phone, hoping any second it will vibrate, make noise, be my dad calling back.
Sash takes my other hand, and after pulling in a deep breath, she lets it out, putting on what I know is a brave smile as she accepts the casting offer and the label’s intentions.
Emily beams, putting out her hands to squeeze Sash’s fingers between hers. Looking to me, she holds the smile. “And Trey, this means you’re on board as well…” Something in my face may be a flag to her because she pauses for only a split second before continuing. “Because as we talked in the limo earlier, you two are a package deal.”
Jerking her hands from the other woman’s grasp, Sash turns to me with a twinge of betrayal in her expression as if I’m about to screw things up. Forcing my own smile, I reassure, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m in.”
The papers have yet to be signed, and I’m still waiting on my call. I can afford to be verbally ‘in’ at this point.
Through a half hour of legal jargon dummied down by the attorney and Emily Dodge’s narration of shooting schedules and studio recordings to come, I continue to check my screen to assure myself the phone battery isn’t dead.
Ms. Dodge begins spreading an array of papers across the sofa table. “You’re up first, Trey. Mr. Scoggs will explain what you’re signing, which will be everything we’ve just gone over.”
After Mr. Scoggs goes over the points of the first documents, I pick them up instead of putting my pen to them. I’m sure I won’t understand what I’m reading, but it’s a great stalling tactic if nothing else. Ignoring their impatient looks, I walk as I read.
One phrase jumps out at me. A clause essentially stating that if I sign with a different name, whether it be a legal DBA or an informal name I’m using as a stage name, the signature is just as binding as if it was my given name.