by Alex Dyson
Caleb was even more confused. He looked at Rachel with an, ‘I don’t want to appear ignorant, but what the hell did this guy just say?’ kind of look. She returned it.
‘But, surely there is someone else who can –’
Dinesh put up his hand, cutting Rachel off. ‘I wish there were, Ms Clifford, but at the moment our liaison personnel are at full capacity. Not to mention the fact that our roster of …’ He looked at Caleb. ‘Your particular type of artist is already saturated to the point of exhaustion. Given this, we think this step is best for both parties.’
His words were firm, calm, and devastatingly indifferent. Even though Caleb could barely understand what was going on, he could tell it was bad.
‘Well, what about remuneration?’ said Rachel, slightly frantic now.
‘TransAtlantic is prepared to fully uphold all obligations on that front, once the project is deemed profitable,’ said Mr Chabra calmly.
‘But … but …’ Rachel spluttered. ‘He got over a million streams in less than two weeks! Surely he made something from that?’
Dinesh gave her a small smile. ‘Yes, that is true, there is a small stream of royalties as a result of those platforms’ numbers. But they’re a long way off covering the expenses incurred.’
‘What do you mean, expenses? We haven’t bought anything!’ Rachel said. Caleb just sat there, on edge, trying to follow what was going on.
Mr Chabra grabbed a piece of paper from his desk and began reading. ‘303 Studio rehearsal room hire – eight hours. Limo hire – five hours. Multiple meal bills from an establishment called the Boatshed. Egyptian cotton towels. Velvet pantsuit to the value of thirteen hundred dollars. Would you like me to continue?’
Both Rachel and Caleb sat in stunned silence.
Mr Chabra ploughed on. ‘It’s written plainly in the contract – all costs must be recouped before any remuneration to the artist occurs. I have a copy if you’d like to see it?’
Caleb was speechless. If he was understanding this correctly, then everything that had occurred in the past few weeks – from the towel he wiped his face with after a photographer doused him in water, to the catsuit that made him look like Mardi Gras Darth Vader – he had to pay for. Or, more specifically, future-Caleb had to.
Present-Caleb looked at his sister, and by the expression on her face, it seemed his understanding wasn’t far off the truth.
‘But …’ Rachel’s voice was breaking. ‘You can’t just DO THIS!’ she yelled, tears in her eyes.
‘I know this is an emotional time, but we do wish you all the best,’ Dinesh said, ruthlessly casual. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I have a conference call I need to make.’
Rachel didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, Caleb didn’t think she needed to be told once. He followed her quickly out of the office and over to the lifts. Rachel pressed the down button ferociously.
‘Hey,’ he said.
Rachel turned and flung her arms around him, sobbing. ‘Caleb, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.’
Caleb patted her back awkwardly. ‘That’s okay. But, um, what’s your fault? I didn’t exactly follow everything that happened in there.’
‘Oh, Caleb. They don’t want you anymore. They don’t want us anymore.’
‘So – it’s over?’
The lift dinged, sounding as if Caleb had given the correct answer on a game show.
‘First I failed Dad, and now I’ve failed you. I can’t do ANYTHING.’
‘Woah, hold up, “failed Dad”? What do you mean?’
‘I tried, Caleb. I TRIED. I tried to organise him and I failed, and I tried to help you but I stuffed that up as well. I’m hopeless. I shouldn’t be in charge of anything.’
The lift door opened and they stepped inside. A stunned office worker froze at the sight of the teary mess of Cliffords.
‘Hey, listen,’ said Caleb, patting his sister on the back again. ‘I’m, like, the worst artist to manage. And Dad was the worst patient. You did as well as anyone could have, considering.’ Her sobs subsided. ‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘if I really can get Ella to like me, I’m sure you can figure a way out of this. Y’know, what would Dad do?’
Rachel’s back straightened. Her eyes narrowed.
‘You’re right.’
Her hand shot out just as the lift doors were about to close.
‘You’re terrible with girls, and you can figure it out. Let’s see what I can do …’
Dinesh Chabra was hanging up the phone when his door burst open. He turned, shocked, as Rachel strode back into his office, Caleb close behind.
‘Excuse me, what do you think you’re –’
‘Listen, MATE! A man who was contracted to YOUR organisation and under YOUR employment not only tried to start a relationship with an artist’s manager, but assaulted that artist’s younger brother, with MULTIPLE WITNESSES, so unless you want us to take this FURTHER, and believe me WE WILL, I suggest you UNCONDITIONALLY turn over ALL FINANCIAL RIGHTS to BVTTON’s music, or we will be taking this up with the CONSUMER WATCHDOG and will ensure that YOUR COMPANY is dragged through not only the HIGH COURT, but the COURT OF PUBLIC OPINION so fast your BUMHOLE will have WHIPLASH. So, WHAT’S IT GOING TO BE?’
Dinesh Chabra took a tentative sip of TRÖYE water. Caleb could practically sense his aforementioned bumhole shrivel just a tiny bit.
Caleb grinned.
The drive home was pretty quiet. Caleb looked over at his sister, who seemed lost in thought.
‘What?’ she asked, catching his gaze.
‘Bumhole getting whiplash?’
She laughed. ‘Yeah, Dad said it to me once. It worked on me then, and hey, it’s worked again now!’
They both laughed. Mr Chabra had quickly decided that trying to defuse an obviously unpredictable loose end was a lost cause, and instead, he’d ‘claim it as a tax write-off’ and give ‘the kids’ what they wanted.
‘So, what are you going to do with all your royalties, Mr Button?’ Rachel asked.
‘I don’t really know. Fix your windscreen, I guess.’
Rachel laughed. ‘That could be handy.’
‘Done, then,’ said Caleb. ‘Maybe I’ll buy you a housewarming gift too?’
She turned to him. ‘What?’
‘Yeah. I think I might wait a while before I try music again. So I don’t think I’ll need a manager. You should call Grace. Tell her to save a room for you. I’ll be fine at home.’
Rachel smiled and put her hand on Caleb’s leg, squeezing tightly.
‘I love you, mate. I always will.’
They drove in silence the rest of the way home.
And it was a good silence.
CHAPTER 24
Caleb rolled a ball of Blu-Tack between his fingers. He’d spent most of Saturday scraping it off his walls, and now the tiny pieces had created a single girthy chunk.
He sat on his bed and looked at his bare walls. The posters he’d removed lay in a neat pile in the middle of the room. He wondered what he should do with them. Slide them under the bed? Chuck them out his window? Set fire to them in the forest at midnight while staring at them longingly, making this act of abandoning his musical heroes even more cinematic and meaningful?
He really didn’t want it to be a massive thing. It was just as good a time as any to move on. He’d done well. Better than most! But it was obvious that a career in music was not only harder than he’d realised, but more stressful too. It just wasn’t for him. Better to start channelling his efforts into a different avenue.
Being the conscientious guy he was, he’d probably put the posters in the recycling bin.
But the question was – what to put on his barren walls now? Art? Is that what adults did?
He checked his phone again. Miralee hadn’t replied to his text. He’d asked if she wanted to talk, but received only silence in return. He understood, though. He’d ignored too many of her texts to warrant a quick reply. Still, his own medicine tasted bad.
Th
ere was a knock at the door. It was Nat.
‘Hey,’ said Caleb. ‘How’s the tooth?’
‘It’s okay,’ Nat said, rubbing his jaw.
‘Thanks again for … y’know.’
‘That’s okay. You would have done the same for me.’
‘Probably not, to be honest. But it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.’
Nat smirked. ‘Fair enough. Anyway, someone’s at the door for you.’
Caleb sat up. ‘Who is it?’
‘That mirror girl.’
‘Who?’
‘Mirror someone –’
‘Miralee?’
‘Yeah. That’s her.’
Caleb almost ran to the front door.
Miralee’s tiny head poked around the doorframe. She smiled nervously. ‘I came straight here. Sorry.’
‘Yeah, I was expecting a phone call, actually.’
‘I thought it would be better in person. I caught an Uber.’ ‘What? That would have been, like, forty bucks or something?’
‘Thirty-eight, actually.’
Caleb was blown away. No-one had ever spent thirty-eight dollars on him. Well, except for his parents. Miralee must have really wanted to talk.
‘Shall we go for a walk then?’
They wandered to a local park without saying much.
‘You played really well the other night,’ Miralee said as they sat on a bench.
‘What?’
‘The Phresh Finds gig. I thought it was awesome. I didn’t know you had so many other good songs.’
‘Wait … how did you …’ Of all the ways Caleb had expected this conversation to start, he hadn’t expected this. ‘How were you there? It was a private gig!’
‘I won tickets through the radio. I called, like, fifty times.’
‘Oh. Okay. Wow.’
‘Anyway, you were great. I just wanted to say that.’
In the aftermath of the gig, Caleb hadn’t received a single compliment. Not even from Rachel. All he had to judge his performance on were the comments on the internet. So hearing this felt really special.
‘Thanks, Miralee …’ He smiled at her. ‘Not everyone thought I was good, though. KillahQween97, for example.’
‘You shouldn’t listen to randoms. Particularly not anyone called KillahQween97.’
Caleb snorted. ‘Maybe not.’
They fell silent again. Caleb wasn’t sure what was going on inside her head. Then Miralee took a deep breath and spontaneously combusted into words.
‘Caleb, I’m so, so sorry about the party, I totally didn’t mean to drink too much, I’ve never really drunk before and I had no idea what alcohol would do to me, but I’ve found out that apparently I can’t handle that much, so I promised myself that I won’t drink anymore, or if I do it will only be a tiny bit, I mean, you can get some really low-alcohol ciders, I’ve researched it, but anyway, I can’t remember that much of what happened, but Dana said I was pretty messy so I must have done something bad, especially because of how you’ve been, and then you ran out of class, so I was so happy when you texted because I’ve been dying since we haven’t been speaking, and yeah, I just wanted to say sorry and thank you and that’s it.’
Caleb waited for any sentence aftershocks before he spoke. ‘So I take it you don’t remember spewing on Tony Priestly’s shoes?’
‘WHAT? No!’ Miralee covered her face. ‘Oh my god, I shouldn’t be allowed out of the house …’
‘I guess not.’
Miralee peeked through her hands with the hint of a smile.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ Caleb offered. ‘For ignoring you. I’m finding I’ve got a bit of a habit of doing that.’
‘You mean with Ella?’
‘Yeah, I left it too long and now she just wants to be friends.’ Caleb’s shoulders slumped as he said it.
To his surprise, Miralee sounded almost offended. ‘Um, you make it sound like being friends with someone is a bad thing. We’re friends.’
Caleb backtracked. ‘Oh, yeah … I mean, that’s cool. I just want Ella to like me … more … than that.’
Miralee scoffed. ‘Well, my advice is to not be bitter about a popular person wanting to be mates with you. I guarantee that will make your chances ten times worse.’
Caleb got the sense Miralee knew what she was talking about.
‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘if the worst-case scenario is having two besties, then that’s not a bad thing. I’m a good sharer.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll even get a headphone adaptor so she can listen to Northeast Party House with us if she likes.’
Caleb chuckled. ‘Okay.’
The two sat in silence for a while. There was one thing on Caleb’s mind at this point. His smile faded as memories of his first day at Riverview began to flow back into his head. He’d cleared the air with Ella, but things wouldn’t be crystal clear until he let Miralee in on his secret. Told her about the torment he’d endured. The reason he had such trouble opening up. Trusting people.
She seemed to sense his discomfort. ‘What is it?’
Caleb took a deep breath.
Miralee’s face contorted through every moment as he told her what had happened, but she remained silent, allowing him to speak. By the end of his story, she had tears in her eyes.
‘Caleb, I am so, so sorry that happened to you.’ She hugged him fiercely.
‘I know, I should have told someone sooner,’ Caleb muttered.
‘Hey, no, don’t you dare say that,’ she said angrily. ‘You don’t have an ounce of blame here. They do. You told someone when you could, and that’s all that matters.’
Miralee dove back into the hug. Caleb liked it: both the physical embrace, and the verbal one. Deep down, he’d always known the incident was not his fault – but until now, he’d never really believed it.
He hugged her back. ‘It was worth coming to Riverview just to be friends with you.’
Miralee smiled. ‘Should we walk back to yours?’
‘Sure.’
‘So, are you playing any more shows?’ Miralee asked as they left the park.
Caleb almost laughed. After the emotional toll he’d endured that afternoon, and the toll of the last year, Caleb had totally forgotten about his most recent disaster. And so, he told Miralee everything. How it was Microsoft updates that had cut his performance short. How Jai had embellished his influence in the corridors of TransAtlantic Records. How Nathaniel’s right foot had impacted Jai’s testes. How he’d been dumped by his label as a result. And how, in the end, he really should be focusing on school anyway, because he was falling behind.
‘So basically, I’m going to let the professionals handle music from here. I want to go back to just being Caleb,’ he finished.
They’d arrived at his driveway. Caleb was exhausted. Relieved, but exhausted. He waited for Miralee’s understanding pat on the back, her sympathetic hug, her assurance that it was okay because he’d done his best. That everything was fine, and the real musical rewards were the lessons learned along the way. The kind of sentence that would be perfect to finish a story on.
But that’s not what happened.
Miralee Kahn instead said something else entirely.
‘Fuck that!’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Caleb, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you’re acting like the biggest moron right now.’
Caleb was taken aback. ‘Um, Miralee, I know I’m a moron. That’s why I should stop.’
Miralee groaned like an exasperated water buffalo. ‘No, you’re NOT a moron, that’s why you’re a moron.’
‘I don’t think you’re making much sense –’
‘I am making perfect sense!’ She took an extra-deep breath, one that indicated she was about to go on one of her rants. Caleb braced himself.
‘Caleb Clifford – you are one of the nicest, most humble, down-to-earth and above all talented people I have ever met. The other night when I saw you up on that stage, your songs were INCREDIBLE. And sure, yo
u looked more nervous than anyone I’ve ever met. But you LOVED it. You were where you were meant to be.’ She was starting to run out of breath, but pressed on. ‘I mean, Jesus, if things were meant to make sense, I wouldn’t be playing the friggin’ double bass. But I love it! And that’s all that matters. So you should definitely get your brother to kick you in the balls or something, anything to make you realise that one unfair incident doesn’t define you. You are a freaking amazing human being.’
And with that, Miralee Kahn destroyed every piece of emotional scaffolding Caleb had. The wind was knocked out of him. He was speechless. No-one had ever said such nice things about hi– oh wait, she wasn’t done …
‘So don’t be a MORON and give up music, okay?’
Despite the last bit, it was still a heartwarming speech. The silence that floated in the air after Miralee ran out of steam was somehow still bathed in the glitter of her words.
Caleb felt pretty emotional, to the point that he said the first thought that popped into his head instead of stewing on it and wondering whether it was appropriate, or if it would make him sound weird. ‘No-one’s ever said anything that nice to me, except my dad.’
‘Your dad called you a moron too, hey?’
‘No. Well, actually – yeah, once. I was in year eight and trying to heat up a waffle with Rachel’s hair straightener.’
Miralee smiled. It was a really beautiful smile. It was hard to imagine that only an hour ago Caleb had been annoyed at Miralee, such was the intensity of the feeling he was feeling now. He decided not to fight it and instead say something he’d never said before to a girl his age.
‘Can I give you another hug?’
‘Sure.’
They embraced. With her head pressed against Caleb’s chest, Miralee said, ‘Caleb, I really appreciate you asking if you can hug me before doing it. But for future reference, we’re at the stage where you can just hug me if you like.’
